#i will tear at these trolls with my goddamn teeth

[cloudbattrolls]

To Mould Me Man

Various Parties | Hanhai Cavern

The butterflies flew away.

All the ones remaining in the cavern rose in twos and threes, then in larger clouds, streaming out of the tunnels and rooms and back up above the earth. 

The surviving jades blinked and marveled to see them go, wondering if they were free now.

Then the wasps rose in a furious, writhing mass, chasing them, killing some - but not enough. Dozens still escaped their sister’s stingers to make it past the cavern entrance as Rhyssa shrieked from multiple mouths. 

The noise of her rage made the trolls cover their ears, and even Ozryel slowed in her flight to listen.

Tuuya used the opportunity to shoot her in a wing, but she merely regenerated. Just as she had the entire damn time; nothing they did stuck, she healed too quickly. 

They had no idea why Rhyssa was screaming. They only knew this fight was hopeless; the mother of swarms was toying with them, and Uunive hadn’t managed to get close to the matriorb’s tank because Ozryel would swoop down to beat her back. 

She was fast, too fast even for Tuuya to get many hits on. 

They were lucky she didn’t seem inclined to use a gun. Perhaps she hadn’t bothered to learn how.

Tuuya gritted their teeth. How were they supposed to break this stalemate?

–

Rhyssa fumed in a small respiteblock, the few remaining clouds of her flying so fast in circles they generated heat. Her troll form’s fists clenched, and she bared her needle teeth.

How fuckin’ dare Inshii abandon her! Abandon Mama! When she got out of here, she was gonna give them such a -

Oh damn it.

Rhyssa found herself torn apart by multiple superheated blades at once, and the melted wasps could no longer make others as they struggled and died. 

She regrouped, panting, snarling as she stared at her attackers. The goddamn DeVilles, of course. They all looked at her with eyes as cold as ice.

“You think you can - can fuckin’ kill me?” She said, amused despite her rage, sending some of herself to sting them, tear at their skin. “Even if you put me down here, I’ll still -”

She was struck again, despite her counterattack. Again, and again, and again. So many wasps fell, they covered the floor of her cavern room in a mass of twisted, bubbling white. 

She screamed again, and the DeVilles winced as more wasps rose, but there were hardly any left now. Not after her construct Tuuya had destroyed, not after Rivali, not after the ones the Hanhai jades had managed to swat.

She had brought every part of her to this attack, taking even the ones she usually left to guard her town. 

Desperate to see her family whole again, Rhyssa had held nothing back. 

Now, under a trifold onslaught of freshly fed rainbowdrinkers, she was little more than a few dozen insects struggling to cling to bones, her skimpy clothes so shredded they barely stayed together.

Nothing to worry about. She’d just come back, she always did. She’d make these heathens regret -

Hirudo rammed her with her trident, cracking her bones apart, squishing most of the insects into paste.

Only a few left now, enough to barely make her voice work as she buzzed feebly, spawning a few last wasps, but they too were dispatched by Neffie and Joey’s blades.

“I’m not - you can’t -”

“I can.” Said Hirudo, and gored her through her lungs, destroying the final piece of the ancient swarm.

Her eggshell had been burned by Platar. She could not respawn.

After ten thousand years, Rhyssa the wasp was dead.

–

Ozryel paused again, and Tuuya riddled her with holes again.

Though she healed, she stayed still, her translucent wings barely beating enough to keep her aloft.

She landed, her bare feet touching down gently on the floor as her pale teal dress fluttered. 

Tuuya gave up shooting her for the moment. They shouldn’t waste any more charge. 

“Rhyssa…my daughter is gone.”

The old hag actually sounded mournful.

“Good.” Said Tuuya and Uunive together. 

“This was all her fault to begin with.” Snarled the worm swarm. “She had it coming.”

Ozryel turned her full attention to Tuuya for the first time.  Seizing the opportunity, Uunive began to slowly, stealthily make her way toward the matriorb again. 

“You blame Rhyssa for this?”

The fallen angel sounded amused, intrigued even. 

“Oh, Tuuya…what lies you tell yourself.”

“What can I say? I inherited deception from you.” They shot back, wanting to keep her eyes on them by any means possible.

Then Ozryel was shot directly in the heart - if she had a heart - by what looked like a superheated bullet, one the swarm hadn’t even heard coming.

She shrieked like her daughter had, Tuuya’s ears pressing down from a noise far louder and closer.

The mother of swarms launched herself back into the air, but more slowly, more unsteadily as her body had to push the steaming, bloodied bullet out.

Tuuya turned around, and smiled in relief and worry alike to see Rivali shooting at Ozryel again, narrowly dodging as she swooped down with her claws out and fangs bared.

With a quick reach into their sylladex, they swapped their laser pistols for their revolver, which Uunive had also made lucky. They had never preferred bullets, but now was the time. 

Ozryel cursed them both as they riddled her, swearing vengeance on Kotenkha’s line - wasn’t that Rivali’s ancestor? - and becoming so incensed her flying was more erratic. She was easier to hit now, but she also seemed to want to tear the komondor troll apart, and they were still only slowing her down for seconds at a time. 

Skilled as the jade was, they did not have the strength and speed of an undead, and Ozryel was starting to break through their armor and injure them, a slash here, a bite there.

Tuuya saw, out of the corner of their eye, that Uunive had gotten ahold of the matriorb. She nodded at them.

Tuuya gritted their teeth as they had the luck to land a perfect cluster of shots on Ozryel, enough to slow her nearly to a standstill. 

This was going to hurt.

Bone cracked and reformed, skin grew and stretched, their clothes tearing and Tuuya made their very bones lighter in the seconds it took them to drop their gun and begin transforming, dashing up the giant corpse of the mother grub.

Then they launched themself, arms now batlike wings, off of the carcass to tackle Ozryel in midair before she could strike at the wounded jadeblood one last time.

They tangled her up, bearing the screeching creature down to crash on the rock. 

Tuuya wrapped her in their tendrils, more and more even as she tore through them, as she clawed chunks out of the worm swarm, rending their skeleton, crushing their lungs.

Still they constricted her, still they held as their worms were scattered across the floor, chewed apart, shredded to pieces.

They heard a noise. The tell-tale hum of a technological energy barrier being thrown up.

As Ozryel finally ripped them into enough agonized pieces that they stopped moving, Tuuya still looked over with their nearly severed head and just caught the retreating figures of Uunive and Rivali escaping with the orb.

Their exit was now sealed behind a shimmering blue wall covering the only tunnel out. 

Not even Ozryel could break through that. 

She howled in rage and hate, and looked at her mangled descendant with glowing green eyes.

“I was going to make new children! Loyal ones! An army!” She snarled. “You took that from me! You - you filth! Pathetic imitation! Half-troll whelp!”

“You’re a terrible mother.” Murmured Tuuya with weary amusement, too tired to try to knit their broken body back together. “I’d say I did those poor would-be swarms a favor.”

“As if you are better!” Said Ozryel harshly, mockingly. “You blame Rhyssa for your troubles! But you did not listen to her when she first asked you to come, so of course she had to force you.”

Her green eyes gleamed as she spoke again, voice now low, a sort of sadistic purr. 

“I’ve seen all your memories, Tuuya. I lived in your body.”

The worm swarm swallowed.

“I know you abandoned Uunive for space, thinking you would die killing Firebird. You lied to her throughout her youth. 

You shelter Ailene, knowing as she grows more healthy, you’ll be more tempted to eat her.”

Tuuya’s ears drooped. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t thought before, but hearing Ozryel say it…

“Do you really think Florah will continue to accept you if he learns more of your deeds? That Melina will still humor you once she gets bored of your fussing? That Crimew will want you if she is ever able to return home? 

You are a hypocrite denying your true nature, pathetic and mealy-mouthed, trying to play both sides while embodying the worst qualities of each. You are nothing but a stain upon troll and swarm.”

Tuuya lay there, silent, having no retort. What defense was there to give?

Ozryel got up, her dress now tattered, and walked a few feet away, crossing her arms as she stared down at the second worm swarm. 

“I meant to save every race this empire has ever destroyed, and I failed. I am the product of trollkind’s own violence, and you wonder why I rage at what they took from me? At least I do not pretend to be anything else, unlike you. Lying to yourself so well that you believe you belong among trolls. Lleios had the same sickness.”

Tuuya shook with a quiet sob. 

“I don’t…I’m not trying to…”

“Liar.” Said Ozryel softly. “Still lying, even at the end. You have always loved to deceive and destroy…you cannot change your mind now, after gorging yourself on blood and pain for over a hundred sweeps.”

“No more.” Whispered the worm swarm. “I want to die. We both have to die.”

“I am death.” Said Ozryel scornfully. “You are a shadow of my weakest child. You cannot kill me.”

“No.” Said Tuuya, closing their eyes, mustering all their focus. “I can only offer you another way.”

Hundreds - thousands - of worms left their skin through their mouth and hands, their face, leaving it slack around their skeleton. They curled around Ozryel’s feet. She could have struck them down, but she was too amused. What were they doing now? 

It reminded her of how Lleios had played, when they were young.

They rippled and flowed over her skin, not biting her, merely tickling her with their wiggling. 

Then they curled inside her ears, her mouth, her mind, but they were so gentle. They didn’t linger…they dissolved.

They returned to her. Piece by piece, she felt her hope restored, given up so long ago when she’d thought there was no use for it anymore, trapped far underground in the dark, in a body she’d never wanted.  

She hissed and thrashed, trying to fight it. She still had no use for it! She - she - 

Ozryel glowed, not with the white pallor of an undead, but with promise; with the realization she should have left long ago, impressed on her mind as she became whole again. 

It was not possession, as she had once done to them. Tuuya willingly let themself melt away, their very identity slowly flickering into nothingness.

Her wings cast beams across the cavern, illuminating the entire place as she turned to pure light, shedding all her mortal concerns.

Corrupt no more, she ascended Alternia, an angel risen at last from her prison of flesh. 

Death was needed elsewhere.

When the light faded, Tuuya’s remains lay still and abandoned on the stony floor. 

–

The worm swarm floated far above their planet, adrift among its ships and satellites, the endless bustle of troll industry and empire.

Tuuya felt only a mild curiosity that they were not yet dead. Why were they witnessing this?

A last dying dream? Some sort of hallucination, like the one they’d had with Cestoa?

They saw…they saw Crimew, somehow.

Crash-landing on the planet, just like she’d said she had. 

Tuuya dove down closer, worried about her. She looked hurt and alone.

Tuuya saw Melina, alone, having just escaped her cult, unsure what to do or how to be a part of society. 

Florah, held captive by Allmah, suffering, driven mad by hunger.

Ailene, threatened by the drone. 

Devrin, cheerful, but a bit lonely on his turtle. 

Lulith, not taking any time to watch cartoons, bereft of the JoJo-themed clothing they’d made. 

Vallis, struggling to stay himself.

Ashe, still not knowing any other rainbowdrinkers.

The Diplomat, causing suffering once more.

Tantor, still longing for someone else like him when he was far from home.

Proxus, Hydran, Meloni…all their other students, still hoping for guidance.

Claire…never having gotten therapy, having no one to spar with to get her anger and frustration out.

Margol, still stuck on Alternia, slated to be helmed.

Gwyn, having made it off Alternia, but far slower, with more difficulty. 

Pebble, never having gotten a phone, unable to make friends far away from her volcano. 

Talula, untrained in her shadow powers, still a risk to herself and others.

Ichi, endangering himself far too recklessly in his daylight runs.

Rivali. Still miserable in a cavern that did not respect them.

Channi. Locked up in his mansion, even more afraid of the world than he was now.

Kamala. Still loved, still cared for, but not quite as much.

Vrayan. Similar to Kamala, and yet…

Jaskir. She and Channi were friends. Yet…she didn’t smile so often. Her lovely face was more muted now.

Uunive…

Uunive hadn’t lived at all.

Just another crushed grub, discovered hidden by Anders, simply for being lime.

Why were they seeing this? 

They were still selfish, parasitic of kindness better spent on those more deserving than them. They’d wanted to eat nearly every one of those people, dozens of times. 

They had consumed Kamala once, even if she had already died.

Such hungry love wasn’t real love.

Besides, they’d ruined so many more lives than they’d ever helped, starting with the massacre of Kaningård all those sweeps ago. It would never be even. 

They should get on with it and die.

Do the right thing, for once.

“Is that really what you want?” 

Lleios’s quiet, lightly accented voice asked.

Tuuya’s jaw dropped as they witnessed the first worm swarm now floating beside them. 

Translucent in their green suit, nearly intangible, Lleios’s angular face smiled at them with a grin almost identical to their own.

A ghost, or another hallucination? 

“Ozryel’s gone now, hm? And what a mess she’s left behind.” They said with a chuckle, then fixed Tuuya with a sharp jade gaze.

“Will you too abandon everyone you love? Leave them behind to deal with it all, like you did when you went off chasing Firebird?”

For once, Tuuya could not seem to find words. They all felt trapped in their throat. 

They couldn’t remember who that was. 

They felt like they should. But they couldn’t. 

Lleios wagged a slender gray finger at them. 

“Death is not a settling of scores, my dear. All the damage you’ve done would remain. I would know.” They gazed up at the stars, then down at Alternia. 

Then they looked their successor directly in the eyes. Tuuya didn’t know what that meant either. What scores? 

“I asked Rhomox to make something interesting of me. If there was one thing that man did right, it was you.”

Tuuya tried to laugh, but they were still too choked up. Them? Something right? Hysterical. 

Who was Rhomox, anyway? How had he known Lleios?

“What are you waiting for?” Said Lleios calmly. “The right punishment? The proper amount of suffering? What do those fix? None of the people who love you would enjoy seeing you in pain. Quite the opposite.”

Tuuya couldn’t remember who all those people were. Names started to turn fuzzy, to slip away. It was so tempting to slip away with them. 

No more pain.

Lleios sighed.

“You’ve got to try, despite - and because of - all the harm you’ve done. Will you waste the body I gave you? Yes; gave you. Willingly. I, Lleios the First, do not mind that I became Etuuya the Second. I’m rather proud of it.” 

The older undead put a hand to their successor’s shoulder as Tuuya stood stunned by this revelation.

Proud? Of them?

“Start by feeling guilty about one less thing. Little steps, hm? We are worms, after all. Not so fast, or powerful, or dangerous as the others. But always persistent.”

The second worm swarm crumpled, clinging to Lleios with a small squeak. They knew so little now, but they - they needed to know more - 

“I’m not staying, you daft thing.” Their predecessor said, amused, though they did gently put their arms around the younger drinker, hugging them for a moment. 

“You can. If you want to.”

They vanished, and the second worm swarm looked at the stars again, then back down at the planet.

All they knew for certain was that they had loved. 

They had loved over, and over, and over again, and they felt certain that they would always love, if they could do nothing else. 

Little steps, Lleios had said. 

Tuuya took one. 

–

Hours later, after the matriorb had been secured, the empire called and informed, and the surviving jades tended to, Rivali and Daudre warily deactivated the shield and stepped into the mother grub’s room.

Both of them looked sadly at the massive corpse waiting for them, bowing their heads in a silent moment of mourning.

Then they looked around the place, avoiding the laser-blasted spots and picking up any of Uunive’s knives they found, searching low and high for any trace of Tuuya.

They had almost given up when Rivali’s sharp eyes noticed shreds of the rainbowdrinker’s red clothing, then a tiny glimmer of white; a single worm curled up and lying still on a small rock nearby.

They rushed over, putting a pair of gloves on before they picked it up. Sure enough, it was Vannyn; a piece of them, anyway. 

They looked around. They couldn’t see any other worms, nor bones or any other remains. Only this one, which was so lethargic it didn’t even move in their hand.

“They need blood.” Said Rivali, looking at Daudre. “Blood and a place to reform.”

The other jade nodded, and they both left at a brisk pace.

Rivali carried the worm gently, attention split between the small invertebrate and watching where they were going.

“Thank goodness I found you.” They muttered to it. 

“Do you have any idea how much hassle it would have been to explain that you were dead? I’ve already had to deal with your family’s fretting. You never stop causing problems for me.”

The worm still did not move.

Rivali’s ears flicked.

“You had better perk up when we get you some food. I will be extremely irate otherwise.”

They walked a bit longer, finally making it to a room that hadn’t been destroyed, and appropriating an old ceramic laundry bin to put the worm in. 

“They might not make it if we don’t feed them now.” Daudre said quietly.

Rivali looked at the rocky ceiling.

“I want it stated for the record that I hate this.” They groused, but took out a knife and carefully shed some of their jade blood directly onto Tuuya, cut from their arm.

At first, there was no response. The komondor troll watched, agonizing seconds go by, as the worm still did not move…

…until nearly a minute later, with tiny, weak wriggles, its toothed mouth started sipping up the green liquid.

Rivali broke into a relieved smile, which they swiftly covered with a cough.

“Finally.” They said, avoiding Daudre’s amused eye.

“I’ll call their family.” Offered the other cavern troll. “You deserve a break. I’ll give them more blood, too.”

“Good.” Sniffed the lusus wrangler. “This is disgusting and I never want to do it again.”

Having said so, the dog troll stayed next to the basket as Daudre made the calls, and quietly shed a few more drops of blood into it.

The process was slow, slower than Rivali had ever seen from Tuuya before. It took them almost ten minutes just to make as many worms. They must have been damaged somehow in their final confrontation with Ozryel.

They still kept at it, segment by segment.

“Are you worried, is that it?” Muttered Rivali several minutes later, now watching the worms in between reading a book.

“You should be. Rhyssa is dead, but Inshii isn’t, they just withdrew for some reason. We don’t know where Gallen is, or if he’s alive…it’s a mess. We need you to deal with it. You can’t just escape responsibility.”

The worms kept building their brain, deaf and voiceless for the moment.

Daudre shed some more blood over them.

“They’re a funny thing, aren’t they?” The genet troll said conversationally. “Unique, scientifically speaking. It was interesting to study them, back when they were here.”

“Don’t say that to their family.” Warned Rivali. “They might think you want to imprison them again.”

Daudre laughed. “You did that, Riva.”

The dog troll looked delicately annoyed. 

“I’d do it again. Otherwise…I would have been trapped in this place for far longer.” They admitted quietly. “And Tuuya would have kept their jades captive for who knows how long.”

They looked down at the worms.

“They forced me to learn how to adapt.” Rivali admitted. “Insufferable creature.”

Daudre laughed softly. “You’re not going to say any of this to their face, are you?”

“Absolutely not. And give them the satisfaction?”

The scientist laughed, and so did the lusus wrangler. 

Hanhai’s jades slept and recovered. Rivali left to keep Uunive company. Daudre held Ashwat as she cried over the mother grub and laughed in relief to see her friend safe.

The sun set over Alternia after a very long day.

Tuuya kept rebuilding, more slowly than ever before, into a new version of themself.

Weakened. Damaged.

Sustained, now, by their own hope.

THE END OF

THE CHILDREN OF OZRYEL

[m1ndf4ng]

(holds up candy necklace) hand the driving headcanons over

…also ya want the candy necklace

Ok so I sorted them into five categories! There’s:

Good Drivers

Kanaya: obviously

Karkat: he’s so careful, he’s good and he parks perfectly and he never speeds

Jane: the only one of the kids to ACTUALLY have learned how to drive before the game

Can Drive

Dirk: he’s enough of a perfectionist that when they made cars he disappeared with one for like a week and came back able to drive. He’s not perfect though and it bothers him so much.

Vriska: she read one of janes old manuals and she’s been fine ever since. She’s probably using her luck powers though cause she definitely should have gotten a ticket by now

Jake: I just think he’d be fine at it

Jade: ^^^^same

June: jane taught her, janes dad offered but June doesn’t really like being around him since he looks like her dad but isn’t. She really doesn’t drive that often though bc she just does the windy thing

Bad Drivers

Roxy: she’s the kind of driver to be messing with stuff, shes putting on lip gloss, she’s adjusting her mirror, shes eating a snack, uh oh she hit a mailbox lol

Rose: she wants to be good at it so bad but she’s just NOT she tries to get Kanaya to teach her but she’s just hopeless

Equius: white knuckled, sweaty, gritting his teeth, he bends the steering wheel

Feferi: similar to Roxy but also she has road rage, if she’s driving she is also YELLING

Cannot Drive

Dave: Every time someone tries to teach him it ends in tears (if it’s karkat, then karkat cries; if it’s rose, then Dave cries) it’s not his fault, he’s much better at being navigator/DJ anyways

Aradia: she doesn’t really see the point, she likes to fly

Tavros: horn too big for he gotdamn head, when he rides in a car he sits in the middle seat in the back. He does know how to ride a motorcycle though!

Sollux: he just flies and when he’s tried to drive in the past he instinctually messes with other cars with his psionics which sucks if you’re one of those ppl

Nepeta: she’d rather walk anyways and she doesn’t go anywhere she’d need it so she just never learned

Gamzee: doesn’t really like being in cars (fridge trauma) and also even the specially made cars for big trolls feel cramped to him he’s so goddamn tall

Eridan: he’d rather be driven, thank you

Is NOT allowed to drive

Terezi: this is self explanatory, BUT one time vriska took her to a large parking lot and let her go crazy and she surprisingly only hit like one light pole and the only other car that was in the parking lot (it was karkat’s)

Davepeta: is not necessarily a bad driver but they had their license revoked. One time rose had a party at her house and Davepeta told her they were running late and then drove to her house, texted “on my way!” And then immediately ran the car into her living room as a joke

Jasprose: was in the car with Davepeta and also it may have been her idea, rose revoked both of their licenses permanently

I love to make little headcanons like this so if y’all have any thoughts lmk I’ll do more, also I forgot a few characters so I could add em later

[heli0s-writes]

Artichokes

Summary: A peek into the beginning of Bag of Tricks

Pairing: Chaotic Dumbass!Reader/ Exasperated! Bucky

A/N:  ~2k words. Written for @sunmoonandbucky​‘s challenge! So sorry it’s late! Congrats on your milestone, you deserve it and so much more! ✨ My prompt was “Even artichokes have hearts” 

Warnings: Canon-level violence, cursing. StupiT stuff.

“Hey.” It’s not a greeting.

The flight is still long, at least another two hours until the destination is reached. Behind his seat, you poke with your foot, other leg stretched over Natasha’s knee as she dozes off.

“What.” It’s not a question.

Fifteen minutes since the last time you opened your mouth and Bucky knew he wouldn’t make the half-hour mark; it was too good to be true.

“If you were an animal, what would you be?”

“Don’t like animals.”

A huff as you glare out the window and into the clouds, cross that he’s decided to be cross first.

“Okay. If you had a kid, boy or girl?”

“Don’t like kids.”

Natasha chuckles, eyes still closed, hand gently rubbing your knee in consolation because sometimes Bucky just gets this way, and he often gets this way in prolonged flights or car rides—when he’s showcasing his most winning personality trait: patience. Ha-ha.

And he gets this way, especially, with you. 

The new addition, after a disastrous mission where you almost blew everyone’s cover by getting into a near-scuffle at the bar. It’s not your fault you were dragged into that impending train-wreck on your day off—never even having met the Avengers to begin with, and then immediately being thrust into an asinine high-profile mission requiring you to wear an evening gown with heels.

And if the situation couldn’t get any worse, as you were stuffing yourself into spanx and tacking fake eyelashes to your lids, you were informed that you’d be Bucky Barnes’ date for the night. Discomfort in itchy and too-tight, clothing, a room full of strangers, remanded to being someone’s mute eye-candy. It was the perfect cocktail for fisticuffs with the very man assigned to be your date.

Moving on.

With a heavy roll of your eyes, you lean right, let your shoulder press up against Nat, trying to find a comfortable position. “It’s probably a good idea,” she soothes, cracking her neck a little and the light flickering through the window makes her wince before it’s cut off by her hand closing the shutter.

-

“Stop looking at the squirrel,” Bucky shoulders his rifle. You’re sprawled out on your stomach, eye pressed against the scope, as he clocked—looking at a squirrel. It’s just so damn cute, stuffing that acorn into its cheek where the nut joins about three more. Beady little eyes flit back and forth before it takes off and you retreat from the show, crawling back on your elbows and lifting yourself up.

“You scared it!”

“Shut up. Let’s go.”

Nat crackles in your ears, “Stop arguing.”

You do, because Bucky yanks you away by the back of your suit, and because you (kind of) listen to your superiors. Might as well, you’ve only been a part of the team only two months and Bucky’s been here since the goddamn Stone Age, it seems, with the way he struts around so fucking stoic and grim. Me Bucky Barnes. Me Crush Newbie Into Dust. Me Don’t Like Fun. More Hulk than Winter Soldier. You snort.

Even Natasha will spend a little bit of time with you, watch a movie or do something that doesn’t require staring into the eyes of the same people every. Single. Day. She’s glad to have another woman around, anyway. You’ve been told Wanda and Vision (a robot, or something) have taken a sabbatical from the life.

Steve will go on runs and let you tag along for the first twenty minutes. Tony will let you put on the booster boots and clap when you careen yourself into a table because it warms his little troll heart to see you nursing a welt on your eyebrow. Sam? Sam will tear it up at a club; he will dance on top of the goddamn bar. Sam Wilson is a riot and a half, but Bucky?

Nothing. Looks at you disparagingly from across conference room tables. Rolls his dead-eyes at every opportunity when you open your mouth. Granted, your mouth doesn’t have a lot of helpful information and most of it is a deflection from true answers because that’s your stupid coping mechanism for when people get too close—but everyone else laughs.

Bucky Barnes doesn’t laugh. Bucky Barnes doesn’t like jokes.

Doesn’t like animals. Doesn’t like kids. Doesn’t like fun. Doesn’t like you.

Doesn’t help that you tried to strangle him with an evening gown two months ago, but, pish-posh, past is in the past.

“What’s the timeline for when I can graduate from newbie-status?” You ask breezily, inflecting your tone just the right way so that he knows you’re not that invested in this conversation.

“Whenever you can run a solo.”

“I can.”

An exasperated huff as he sticks his arm out in front of your collar. You look at him in irritation, ready to swat it away until your feet trip over a loose root and Bucky catches you by the shoulder. 

“No,” he says calmly, setting you on your feet, “You can’t. You were on probation for a reason. Still on it, even if you moved jobs.”

Okay. So maybe calling it a “day off” was giving yourself too much credit. Fury was – haha—furious with you after The-Mission-That-Will-Not-Be-Named (lots of explosives, your boredom, paranoia, and inclination for entropy) and took you out of the field. Desk duty was the only apt punishment, until your immobility spiraled out of control and led you down the rabbit hole of hacking into your co-workers e-mails. He put you on probation after that. Took all your toys. No laptop. No badge. No gun.

Smartly, you shut up, letting Bucky walk ahead in case any more errant roots might make you eat your words again.

The path to the hideout is thick, full of stupid twigs and branches and you repeatedly brush spiderwebs from your face. Keeping close to Bucky, you let him shoulder most of the burden, only putting your hand up when a branch he snaps off with his hand flies too close to your eyes.

“IF—” You start loudly, and Bucky bristles at your volume, “If you had to go back into a burning building to sav--?”

“I wouldn’t.” He retorts, “And you’re being annoying.”

Three bullets whizz over Bucky’s head. He ducks immediately, snatching your arm and taking you down, too. If only this were one of those moments in the romantic comedies where he cages you in with his arms and you have a brief and blessed second of staring into his blue eyes where the world goes quiet and he realizes maybe you’re not that bad.

“ROLL--” He yells, instead, as he ducks behind a boulder. “--OUT OF THE GODDAMN WAY.”

Alas, not meant to be.

His gloved hand pushes into the air sideways, like he could push you, too, across the bed of fallen leaves and to safety. You’re quick enough to flip on your side, but not quicker than a third bullet and it streaks through the top of your forearm, carrying a fast stream of blood with it.

Your reach into the side holster on your thigh, pulling out your knife and launching it past the barrel squeezed between two trees. A clink as it misses and ricochets off the gun. Bucky does the same motion and it goes right into a shoulder with a firm squelch. He’s up on his feet, rushing across the leaves in a blur. Throwing the rifle down, you start sprinting right as an elbow jabs itself into Bucky’s chest and he stumbles. Then, a quick turn and you hurtle your weight across the air, spinning both feet into the man and landing on top of him. Bones crack beneath your weight.

There go the shoulders.

The agent gurgles again as you roll your sleeves up, ignoring the blood that splatters onto your knee.

Bucky steps back when you grab a fistful of dirt and throw it into his face, “Pocket sand, motherfucker.” Then, the butt of your handgun meets his temple with a loud pop. “Goodnight, ya dumb bitch.”

More rustling ushers in more lackeys and Bucky is dodging behind tree trunks, weaving knives and dodging bullet hailstorms. He warily looks around the bend of a tree, breathing through his mouth, assessing the situation. There are about four guys, armed to the teeth, well-trained as far as he can tell. Bucky should be able to take them out, and it would go easier with yo—Where the fuck are you?

Your shriek makes him flinch and he dashes across the way behind another trunk, heels digging into the dirt ready to charge. Guns are firing off, grunts and yells, and not even one second after Bucky comes out from behind the tree, he watches you punch a goddamn grenade into the thicket before shooting its previous owner in the neck.

The explosion rocks the ground slightly, but you’re unfazed, instead, focused intently on your hand. There is something wrong with your left arm. You hold it close to your side, fingers curled gingerly under your rib.

You look up at him, eyes brimming with tears.

Dread boils up from the pit of his belly. Bucky calls out to you, asking if you’re okay. You turn around and he hisses at the sight— shot through the bicep, cut over your cheek, but your gaze keeps falling downward.

Inside your cupped hands is a hedgehog, nose frantically twitching like a tiny rotten gumdrop. A sniffle as you slowly set the creature down, waiting for it to scurry away, but it never does.

Bucky groans. Shoulders his rifle with a disappointed sigh, exasperated that you tricked him into being concerned for your well-being, “Fucking-- you’ve got to be kidding. You got shot for that rodent?”

“He’s helpless! Look at him! Little baby! He could have a family! A hedgehog wife and hedgehog kids!” A wilted blubber, and good God, you’re completely serious about it, “Even artichokes have hearts, Barnes!”

“I’m about to artichoke you,” Bucky retorts, irritated, and the first comeback that pops into your head isn’t ideal for a family setting, but your mouth moves faster than your brain and there aren’t any kids around anyway.

“How’d you know that was my kink?” And then you brace yourself for the moment when Bucky Barnes annihilates your entire life, but there is only silence. Then, a snort. Then, finally, a series of low chuckles before he gasps, “Jesus Christ.”

You’re stunned into silence, and it’s a wonder, since he’s never known you to be silent for anything. Two months of no-filter commentary that makes him physically ill at times, and you’re shocked quiet.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, “You laughed. You don’t like anything. You don’t like kids. You don’t like animals… I don’t really know if you like to even laugh. God knows you don’t like me very much.”

“I like you just fine,” Bucky grins, and-- it’s a little blinding. His eyes shine brightly, midday sun in a mischievous blue sky, framed perfectly with those dark, long eyelashes. For a second you regret almost pummeling that nice-looking face in the first time you met it.

“You can’t keep that thing. I can see you.” Your hands freeze, one opening a pocket on your thigh, the other halfway sliding the creature in. Bucky glares when you continue, pretending he’s not there.  

“Barnes, I’ve decided,” you declare, hoping it would throw him off, “This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

A beat passes as he chews on his next response, deep in contemplation. Bucky’s not sure what being your friend would entail— his annoyance, at the very best. His literal death, at worst.

“Hm,” he grunts softly, edge of his voice giving way to amusement, unable to fully keep his stoic demeanor. One eyebrow raises your way, corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly when your forehead furrows in wait.

“What?” You ask.

“Don’t like friendship.”

Taking a note from your book, Bucky punches the back of your hand, launching the hedgehog into the thicket, cackling at your screech all the while.

-

tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs @pinknerdpanda @xoxabs88xox @imsoft-barnes @momc95 @typicalangel @wretchedgoddess @readeity @iwannasail @ya-lyublu-tebya​ @geeksareunique​ @wildefire​ @satanxklaus @jhangelface0523 @wkemeup​ @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave

[indefiniteimagines]

Not Even For A Minute || Poussey Washington Imagine *Requested*

Summary: Poussey has a crush on the reader and thinks she doesn’t like her back, but she does.

Pairing: Poussey Washington x Reader

Warnings: Fem!reader, lewd language/comments, language, reader doesn’t have a preferred sexual orientation, use of R slur, angst, fluff

A/N: Holy shit! This is my first piece of writing in actually only a couple of months, but I’m claiming years because I am officially back like I was in high school. I’m so sorry if this is not my best, I am EXTREMELY rusty, so take it easy on me for now :) 

It was dinner time at Lichfield and it was only my second meal in my new home. My new home filled with almost 200 other women. For the next 5 years, I will see the inside of this cafeteria 3 times a day, 21 times a week, 1,095 times a year and a whopping 5,473 times in total. You’re probably wondering why that matters, but it matters.

I take my tray and do a quick search for a place to sit. I find a spot at the very end of one of the middle tables. It was the only seat with no one in a two foot radius of me. I sit down and look at the food in front of me. My first dinner includes spaghetti, two mini oranges, a salad, and a brownie. It’s not horrible when you think about it. It’s a pretty standard meal. Well it would be without the questionable odor coming from the meatballs. I close my eyes and sigh. 

“Maybe she’s deaf.”

“She ain’t deaf.”

“HELLO!”

“She can’t hear you if she’s deaf, dummy.”

“Fine, then you try, Angie.”

I was so deep in my own world that I almost didn’t notice the cherry tomato that hit me in my head. 

“Hey, girl!”

I opened my eyes and looked to my left.

“Are you talking to me?” I asked with a hint of a nervous tone.

“Uh yeah, have been for the last 5 hours. You retarded or something?”

“5 hours ago? No that can’t be right. Remember, we was in the laundry room 5 hours ago, Tucky.”

“Jesus, Angie! I was being snide.”

“You mean sarcastic?”

“Snide means sarcastic.”

“Then why not just say sarcastic?”

I watched as “Tucky” closed her eyes and tilted her head in annoyance.

“I’m sorry, but did you guys need something?”

Tucky’s eyes snapped open, “Uh, yeah. Why’re you sitting here?” She took her bottom lip into her mouth as she waited for my response.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was sitting here.”

“She never said that,” Angie said while flashing her pearly browns.

“I’m confused.”

“Wow maybe she really is retarded,” Angie said.

“Tucky” nodded at Angie, “I think you’re right, Ang. Here, I’ll break it down real slow like for you: You don’t belong here.”

“Look, I don’t want any trouble. Just let me finish my dinner and I’ll never sit with you again.” I tried to reason with the little troll, but she just wasn’t having it. 

She nodded her head while picking up her milk carton. She then poured it all over my food. “Seems to me like you’re done.”

All I could do was stare with my mouth open. 

“Why did you do that?!”

“BECAUSE YOU DON’T BELONG HERE!” She screamed as she stood up and let one of her fist hit the metal table.

“Dogget! You’re done! Empty your tray.” A CO finally intervened from the next row over. Dogget and her Meth Mates got up from the table and walked out. 

All I could do was sit there with my head hanging low as I let a few tears escape. I’m not usually this weepy, but in my defense, all I wanted was that little brownie...which was now swimming in a pool of used milk. 

*A few tables over*

“Fuck was that about?” Poussey asked her family as she nodded her head over to the other table; finally arriving with her tray. 

“Mmmm, Meth Mouth and her cult were fuckin’ with one of the newbies,” Janae replied in the middle of finishing her bite.

Poussey hovered over her chair to get a good look at the bothered inmate and sat back down while shaking her head. 

After having a mini pity party for myself, I got up and dumped my spoiled tray before leaving the cafeteria. I go back to my temporary bunk and buried myself under my blanket. 

“Cheer up, Kid. You’ll be out of here sooner than you know.”

I gave a pitiful grin to the nice older woman.

“I like your eyeshadow.”

“Duh,” she said as she threw me a wink.  

I let out a sigh, got comfortable and laid in my bed until morning.

I finally fell asleep, but only for 2 hours. At the ass crack of dawn, I was woken up by the morning announcement, which had absolutely no enthusiasm. “Good morning, ladies. Try to seize the day. The world is your oyster.”

“You’d think she’d quit if she hates her job so much.” That was the first time I heard the redhead with the horrible bed head speak.

“Bell is about as enthusiastic as a wet bag of hair, but she’s one of the good ones.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said groggily.  

“You joining us for breakfast?”

I drifted back to sleep before I could hear her response. I woke up in what seemed like an hour, but was only 30 minutes. For the slightest second I forgot where I was. I opened my eyes and was met with DeMarco standing right in front of me.

“Well good morning sleepyhead! Nice of you to join the living.”

“What? What time is it?”

“You see a clock in here? What I do know is that you got 10 minutes left for breakfast. You better hurry.”

I hop down off my bunk and start to change.

“Thanks.” 

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

I gave her a shrug as I zipped up my jacket and headed for breakfast. I arrived in the cafeteria and was able to get my food right away since there was no line. Some tables are still filled, but some are also empty. I scan the room and pick the table farthest away from Doggett and her followers. I was in the middle of eating my eggs when Angie walked by and sneezed on my tray. 

“Oops, ‘scuse me,” she said with a shit eating grin.

“God damnit,” I whisper to myself while trying not to deck this bitch.

“You shouldn’t say the Lord’s name in vain like that.”

I look up at her through hooded eyes, “Walk the fuck away.” My voice was low and I kind of scared myself.

“Oooo, devil eyes. Hey! She’s got devil eyes,” she says louder than the first time, except now she’s giggling and pointing at me while backing away. Doggett sucks her bottom lip at me while flipping her hood and getting up to walk out. I can feel people starring so I do a very quick observation and then stand up to leave. 

“Empty your tray,” the guard at the door told me. “Get some coffee while you’re at it. It’ll help you stay full until lunch.”

 I look up at his name that’s stitched into his shirt. Ohhhh, so this is O’Neil. I heard some of the girls talking about his scandalous relationship with CO Bell. Good for them. I turned around and went to dump my tray before following the advice and going for the coffee. 

“Yo, why they always fucking with her?” Poussey asked the table as she watched in disapproval as Y/N dumped her tray.

“Why do you care?” Taystee asked while rolling her eyes.

“For real? You ain’t notice that ever since China got out, Prince Charming over here been lookin’ for a new helpless, basket case? I mean, shit.”

“Aye don’t talk about Brook like that. Not cool, Cindy.”

“ “Cindy”? Bitch, fuck you think you is? My mama? Ugh, check ya tone.”

“Whatever man. I’m just tired of seeing Meth Madness fuck with people like they run the place.”

“Again, why do you care?”

“Shit just ain’t right, is all.”

“Mmmhmm,” Taystee replied as they got up from the table.

I turn around after filling my mug and notice that it’s just me, the inmates that clean up and the CO’s supervising them. I carry my warm mug through the halls and I notice there’s not as many people crowding them as there were last night. 

“Inmate! Where you are supposed to be?”

“Uhm, I’m not really sure.”

“Wrong answer!”

“Wrong?”

“Don’t get smart with me. Jefferson! Tell inmate...Y/L/N where she’s supposed to be.”

“Well, since it’s after lunch, we’re supposed to be headed to our work detail. Not whatever you was doing, apparently.”

The tall guard with the creepy mustache looked down at me and raised his eyebrows.

“Thank you, Jefferson.”

“I don’t have a work detail yet.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. When he opens them he looked back at Jefferson, “you work in the library, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Take her with you.”

She sucked her teeth, “Man, what do I say when someone asks why she’s there? No offense, but I ain’t taking no shots just because she’s somewhere she’s not supposed to be.”

“What’s a shot?”

“Jesus fuck. Will you both get out of my goddamn sight?” 

He snatched my mug; Jefferson and I gave each other a look and started towards the library. When we got there it was almost empty.

“You know, the labels are there to help the books be put back in their respectful place, not to look cute. I mean, damn.” I notice Jefferson chuckle at the girl we hear before seeing. She’s talking to a pair of inmates who are whispering to each other before tossing another book down and scurrying off. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” she calls after them, but to no avail. She sighs to herself before returning back to work. 

“Hey, P! Whatchu up to?”

“Practically cleaning up behind bitches. I mean, why is it so hard to put a book back in its original spot? Jane Eyre belongs in literature, not SAT Prep,” she called back.

“Truly first world problems,” Jefferson said unamused.

“Yooo, you ever heard of “Oedipus”? It’s mad crazy. Like this one part where the main dude...” she kept talking as she rounded the corner to finally come face to face with us.

“...who’s this?”

“Our puppy dog for the day,” Jefferson said as she rolled her eyes.

“Oh alright then. Well I’m working over here in history. Y’all can start in fiction. It’s a fuckin mess over there.”

“Um, then why don’t we all work in fiction?”

“Did you not hear me say it’s a fuckin mess? Have fun.”

I walked away, smiling to myself. I didn’t think anyone here would care for books like I did.

After the work day was over, I separated from the two friends and went back to my temporary bunk until dinner. The next day I followed Jefferson back into the library.

“Oh, puppy dog is back.”

Jefferson turned her head to me, “Don’t you know when you gettin your work detail yet?“

“Sorry, still no.”

“As much as I’m sure you love the view you get, I’m gettin tired of you following me.”

“I can ask someone if I can work somewhere else.”

“T-ha! And make me look like a problem? I think not.”

“Nah, we could use the extra help in here since bitches can’t put shit back where it’s supposed to go. Hate to break it to y’all, but foreign language is even worse than fiction was.”

“My god. Can’t you help us over here instead of doing whatever it is the fuck you doin?”

“Uh no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m President of the Library.”

“Says who!?”

“Suzanne,” she said as a matter of fact while leaning forward to show us her ID that read “President Washington: Library”.

“Aw damn. It’s official and everything. Man, that’s some bull shit,” Jefferson said as she walked away.

All I did was look at the Presidential badge and smile.

“Since you don’t complain like some people, just know you’re first in line for Vice President. Just don’t tell Taystee,” she told me on the sly.

“Taystee?”

“Jefferson.”

“Ohh, got it.”

“I’m Poussey, by the way,” she said extending her hand.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah you too.”

She has a beautiful smile.

Towards the end of the work day, I found myself near Poussey’s section. Since our work for the time being is pretty much done, I start to browse the shelves when I spot a book dear to my heart, “Alice in Wonderland”. I get a mini rush of serotonin and pop a squat up against one of the shelves. I lose track of time, until I realize I no longer see anyone. “Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality”. You are right about that, Mr. Carroll.

“Hello?” I’m immediately startled. I start to shuffle to my feet and by the time I stand, I’m met with someone else.

“Whoa, shit. My bad. I didn’t think anyone else was in here.” Shit, I must’ve I said that out loud.

“Sorry, I guess I lost track of time.”

“It’s cool. So you haven’t been assigned a work duty yet, huh?”

I shook my head.

“I, uh, I must admit that this is the best job. Call me bias, but it’s the truth.”

“Thanks,” I say with a slight smile.

“You’re the one Pennsatucky and her crew keep messing with.”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Y’all got beef on the outside or something?”

“No, but I found it’s better to not provoke a methed out mental case.”

“Not wrong there. Well, I’ll see you around. Oh and be careful with Alice, she’s my favorite.”

The next few days were the same. I would follow Taystee into the library and listen to her and Poussey be absolute clowns. Poussey and I got to be closer since we were usually the last two to leave. We talked about how much time we have, our family, and she even told me about the Vee drama. During my stint of unpaid work in the library, I was finally able to change out of the highlighter jumpsuit and into a khaki set.

After an hour or so into a shift, I found myself distracted with my favorite book, “In Five Years”.

“Oh uh, that goes on the second to last shelf right behind you.”

“Huh? Oh yeah. It was actually already in the right spot, but it’s one of my favorites,” I tell her as I put the book back.

“What’s it about?”

“This woman named Dannie-“

“Y/L/N!”

We both looked towards the door and saw and the same pasty CO that sent me here.

“With me.”

I gave Poussey a grin and walked towards the CO,

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer me and just kept walking. I followed him to a warehouse that smelled of Clorox and musty water.

“Janitorial. Your job assignment. Morello will fill you in on what to do.”

“Oh yeah I can do that. No problem.”

The first couple of hours involved cleaning the halls, but I moved on to the Spanish bathrooms. Poussey was right, the library was the best job to have.

*A few weeks later at dinner

“I don’t know why you’d let Edward Scissorhands cut your hair and not me.”

“Because Danita only charges me a bag of Doritos. Not two cokes. Plus, she don’t even ask for the Cool Ranch flavor!”

“Beggars can’t be choosers. I do two cokes worth of work, Child.”

I laughed at Taystee and Sophia having their little banter in the food line. I walked with them to the table and sat down.

“...but then the dragon realized the little ghost girl was friendly, even though she was cold as ice. Fire and ice, that would never work!”

“Why not? What happened to opposites attract?” I ask sort of challengingly. 

“Mommy said ice is used to put out fires. Well, technically water is used to put out fires but ice is just water in solid form. So the fire would go out!”

“But do you know what happens when fire and ice mix?”

“The world goes dark?”

“No. They make steam,” I gave Poussey a “subtle” smirk.

“Mommy says steam is for showers, crab legs and “fun times”.

“I miss making steam with a fine gentleman with a curve on that dick.”

We all laughed along at what Cindy said and I agreed with her.

“There are just some things your fingers can’t accomplish,” I said jokingly while being serious. She pointed her fork at me, “I like her.”

Poussey was noticeably quiet throughout the rest of dinner. Only chiming in to seem interested. She didn’t even finish her tray before she was dipping out.

“Wait I’ll come with you.”

“Nah, stay and eat. I’ll catch you later.”

“Uh oh. Trouble is Lezzy Paradise?”

I almost didn’t hear Cindy as I kept watching Poussey leave the cafeteria.

“Stop it.”

Taystee rolled her eyes and shook her head.

For the next few days, it was hard to get ahold of Poussey. Since we knew each other’s schedules, it was easy for her to avoid me.

Meals were no better. She made sure to get there early so by the time I was sitting down, she was done.

“Aye, you need to fix that,” Janae told me with her eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know what the problem is.”

“I know you are not that dumb,” Boo said as she sat across from me.

“She’s kicking her own ass because she broke the #1 rule of being interested in pussy...” she continued.

I looked at her as I was waiting for her to continue.

“Never fall in love with a straight girl!”

“Love? What-When did I say I was straight-”

“The other night when that one was talkin bout curved dick and you chimed in basically foamin at the mouth at the thought,” Taystee said.

“Noooo, I was joking.”

“Yeah well, apparently she don’t know that.” I looked at Janae and sighed.

I had to wait until the weekend to see her. It was pouring rain and there was a leak in the library and the cleaning warehouse had a slight flood, so neither of us had work.

I snuck my way to her bunk only to discover her to not be there.

“There’s only one place she’d go...” Janae told me.

I made my way down and opened the door.

She was right.

“...there was another before you, but she got out. There’s a time machine in the laundry room. That was their place. That’s where she goes to think.”

“How’d you find me?”

“Your bunkie.”

“What do you want?”

“What’s going on? Why are you being so weird?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said standing up.

“Are we not friends anymore?”

“Friends,” she said with a sarcastic chuckle.

“Can we please sit?” I gestured to the inside of her hiding spot. She backed up slightly to let me further in to the time machine and we both sat down. Neither of us said anything for a while until I did,

“I’m not gay...”

She nodded her head with a sad smile on her face.

“...but I’m not straight either. I’m just me. I’ve dated guys, I’ve had experiences with girls-”

“Experiences? But you’ve never dated a girl?”

“No, but for the past few weeks, I’ve really wanted to,” I said with a slight smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because of this. I didn’t want to say something stupid and mess this up. And because I’ve never dated a girl before, but I have dated guys, I didn’t want you to think I was using you. I thought that because I don’t identify as anything, you wouldn’t like me back.”

“I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Look, I got my heart broken not too long ago by a girl that promised me forever. She didn’t identify as anything either and she ended up falling in love with a dude when she got out. We were both in a dark place when we met and getting to know each other and eventually falling in love helped. I could’ve given up on love and fate, but I haven’t yet. Look, maybe this-..this connection that we have, challenges what you thought you were. And maybe I'm gonna get my heart broken in a thousand different pieces again. But those are maybes. You can't live your life according to maybes.”

The next few months were bliss. Poussey and I have connected on a level I didn’t know was attainable. 

Today is Valentine’s Day and right now we’re back in the time machine. We’re both laying down, holding each other and looking up at the ceiling. 

“It’s about a woman named Dannie who’s this a high-powered corporate lawyer. She’s one of those types who has everything planned out. The story has a lot of twists and turns because her five year plan goes differently than she thought.”

“So why is it your favorite if it’s so inconsistent? For a woman who knows what she wants��“Dannie” sure seems okay with settling.”

“It’s my favorite because it mirrors me. It mirrors us. In five years I saw myself at some job a teenager would have with my only responsibility being my phone bill.”

“What do you see now?”

“I see me with our dog, Keith, holding signs with your dad on your release day. Then I see us heading to our apartment where you can see it for the first time in person. Then we’ll go to our jobs, pay rent, and hound our parents for travel money.”

“I’m in your future?”

“You are my future.”

She gave me a kiss when there was a bang on the cardboard door, “Hey kids! They’re doing interviews in the bunks,” Boo informed us.

When we got to her dorm, there were a few guards asking ladies questions about love.

“Does anyone else want to be asked questions?”

“Yeah, I do,” Poussey said while raising her hand.

I feel Taystee put her elbow on my shoulder, “What the hell?” The rest of the family comes around.

“Okay Washington, what is love?”

“Love. It’s just chilling, you know? Kicking it with somebody, talking, making mad stupid jokes. And, like, not even wanting to go to sleep, ‘cause then you might be without ‘em for a minute,” she looked at me, “And you don’t want that.”

•taglist: @mina672

[rawiswhore]

Rowdy Roddy Piper x Fem Reader- "Flash Forward"

This has to arguably be my corniest, cringeworthy fanfiction I've written so far.

But...this is a fantasy I've had, and I hope I'm not disrespecting Rowdy Roddy Piper with this fanfic by typing and posting it on his birthday...

____________________________________________________________

A lot of professional wrestlers during the 1980's weren't really pretty boys and sex symbols in the looks department.

However, there is one pro wrestler from the 80's that's an exception, and he is one of the most iconic wrestlers of the 1980's (and of all time in general): Rowdy Roddy Piper.

He got even cuter and dare I say it, sexier during the end of the 80's and early 90's when his hair grew longer, especially when he didn't have those bangs over his forehead.

In the 80's and early 90's, the World Wrestling Federation as it was known then didn't have hardly any profanity, almost no sexual content besides the Ravishing Rick Rude, barely any bleeding, didn't have wrestlers breaking tables set on fire or falling off of the tops of cages and landing in thumb tacks, and didn't have wrestlers playing porn stars, pimps, sex addicts, or even rappers that say politically incorrect insults.

The WWF was like a live action Saturday morning cartoon aimed at kids during the 1980's, but...it was still over AF back then.

What it means to be "over" in the wrestling world is something wrestling audiences really enjoy; and the WWF was really popular during the 1980's despite not having Attitude and Ruthless Aggression era-esque content.

Hulk Hogan, Macho Man Randy Savage, Andre the Giant, Rowdy Roddy Piper and the Ultimate Warrior were massive draws in the 1980's and early 90's without swearing, throwing middle fingers, drinking beer, or anything else "adult like", Hulk even tried sending positive messages to kids with drinking milk and saying prayers, and these were wrestlers that were household names, popular enough to cross over into pop culture, appeared on talk shows, and people got out of their seats and cheered loudly for them.

The WWF in the 80's was proof that you could still be over and popular without having R-rated content.

However, during one moment in the late 1980's WWF, there was a particular moment that wasn't quite so family friendly and kid friendly, and even a bit Attitude and Ruthless Aggression era like.

During the late 1980's, Rowdy Roddy Piper no longer had his iconic Piper's Pit interview segment, but instead would sometimes appear on Prime Time Wrestling in the WWF, where wrestling commentators would speak behind a table and it looked like a news program.

That'll do just fine for your little plan.

Rowdy Piper had grown his hair longer by the end of the 1980's, and he looked so much more handsome with long hair.

During a segment on Prime Time Wrestling in 1989, Rowdy Roddy Piper had hosted it and didn't have any little bangs clinging to his forehead.

He looked so handsome like this and you told him you didn't want him to have bangs during this segment.

You had your hair teased and hairsprayed, this was the 1980's, and wore a midriff bearing halter top and short little denim shorts that reached the tops of your thighs.

There's a reason why you wore this.

This moment of Prime Time Wrestling was filmed for television, and you set next to Rowdy Roddy Piper while he was rambling about something.

You were just staring at him, grinning and thirsting over him and how hot he looks, biting your bottom lip and looking like you wanted to fuck him.

You didn't wear red lipstick in this segment because you're afraid if you bite your lip, you'll get red lipstick on your teeth, although you're worried you'll get lipstick on your teeth in general.

The other person Rowdy Roddy Piper was talking to noticed you looking at Hot Rod, mentioning how you're staring at Roddy like you want him.

Eventually, you leaned into the little microphone in front of you and put one of your hands on Roddy's shoulder, telling him he's really cute.

Pretty soon, the camera focused solely on Rowdy Roddy Piper sitting down behind a table as well as you, not the other person the Hot Rod was talking to, the camera filling the entire television screen with the room Roddy and you were sitting in.

You had then lifted your feet off of the floor and placed them on the chair you were sitting on, standing on the chair and then placing one of your feet on the table in front of you, then the other foot on the table.

Roddy's eyes grew wide seeing you now standing on the table, and your back was turned in front of the camera while your torso and head were in front of Rowdy Roddy Piper.

You began to slowly sway your hips back and forth horizontally, swaying your hips to some sexy mood music that fit the pace of your dancing, you were trying to sexually arouse the Hot Rod.

Rowdy Roddy Piper had an ear-to-ear smile spreading across his face while you danced for him, his eyes looked at you, thank goodness he was standing behind a table to hide his boner.

Even though this wasn't filmed, your fingers were grabbing onto the bottom of your top and started lifting it up your torso more and more, and Rowdy's eyes were staring at your hands, he knew what was up next.

'Tis a shame that the camera isn't filming your torso, however...

As your top elevated up your torso more and more, pretty soon, the bottom of your top was over your breasts, showing your barenaked tits in front of Rowdy Roddy Piper, flashing him.

You didn't have a bra underneath your top or even nipple pasties, but you were showing the Hot Rod what Jerry Lawler would eventually nickname "puppies".

Roddy's eyes grew wide and wild seeing your tits, he had a huge ear to ear smile plastered and spread across his face.

You flashing Rowdy Roddy Piper predated when Drew Barrymore flashed David Letterman in 1995.

(Author's note: yes, this fanfic is inspired by when Drew flashed David, since David has his iconic late night talk show and Rowdy Roddy Piper had his Piper's Pit interview segment...)

Unlike Drew, it wasn't a quick little blip where she quickly lifted the bottom of her top, flashed her tits and then covered her boobs, you showed Roddy your breasts for quite some time.

Not just that, but you wiggled your breasts a little bit back and forth, as well as slightly bounced and jiggled your breasts.

You then got off of the table and straddled onto Rowdy Roddy's lap, where you can feel his erection under his kilt.

You removed your hands off of the bottom of your shirt and put them on the sides of his face, where you pulled him into your face and locked his lips in between yours.

His eyes were slightly bugging out and looking at the camera while you kissed him, whereas your eyes were closed.

Surprisingly, he isn't trying to push you off of him, no, he likes this.

You want to do more than just kiss him and flash him your boobs, and your hands moved from his face to his shirt collar, where you tried to rip and tear apart his iconic Hot Rod shirt a la Hulk Hogan.

Would he be angry if you did that to his signature, iconic shirt?

Rowdy Roddy Piper used to disrespect and troll people all the time, sometimes saying things that were downright problematic and shocking.

You feel a little horrible deep down inside for tearing apart such a wonderful shirt, but goddamn it, you want him, and your hands tore the middle of his shirt, more of his skin was showing under his shirt.

The camera eventually cut away from this, just in case things get too naughty.

Despite the WWF's Golden era of the 80's and early 90's being a family friendly era, this moment wasn't so particularly kid friendly and quite risqué.

Though, compared to Katie Vick, Jacqueline in thong swimsuits that left little to the imagination, Sable showing her breasts covered in handprints, and the Kat flashing her puppies to the audience, this moment is tame.

The WWF's Attitude era was an era that was popular around the same time Jerry Springer's infamous talk show, Jenny Jones and Ricki Lake's talk shows, Howard Stern, "South Park", Tom Green, Marilyn Manson, Lil' Kim and Eminem at his most shocking were all at the heights of their popularity, these things being notorious for being trashy shock value pop culture.

And guess what? The WWF during its Attitude era was very shocking and dare I say it, trashy.

However, during the late 80's and early 90's, Andrew Dice Clay and Sam Kinison were popular and controversial comedians infamous for their vulgar, obscene comedy (that was considered shocking even back then), 2 Live Crew were a popular and heavily controversial rap group notorious for their sexually explicit, pornographic lyrics that got them banned in their native Florida, Madonna was at her most hypersexualized during the early 1990's, Morton Downey Jr. and Geraldo Rivera had infamous talk shows that were predecessors to "The Jerry Springer Show", and so many hair metal bands sexually objectified women.

Maybe in the late 80's and early 90's the WWF could've had an Attitude era-esque era back then.

Actually, if you think about it, Rowdy Roddy Piper was a bit of a predecessor to the WWF's Attitude era; with his trash talking, insulting others and even saying and doing some things that are politically incorrect and problematic nowadays.

[japiform]

Helmsman: Wake up somewhere new

Grand: You are doing more paperwork, fuckin kill you with a culling fork. More and more and more and you satisfy yourself by reading one, telling the sleeping psion the joke that is these assholes requesting aid, and write 'Fuck Off' in big spiky letters across the whole thing. That goes in the Done pile. Next paper, type a moment to research what the fuck they're even talking about, because you stopped hiring motherfuckers to know more details than you when they kept fucking dying or leaving. Getting exiled. Whatever.

Your typing hand leaves the husktop to run over the fuzz of the psion's warm fragile skull while you read some more shit, strike out some more shit, and sigh. "Motherfuck, I need a vacation," you mutter, and it's a joke because this is about as close as you GET to a damn vacation, but not a joke funny enough for you to laugh. You look up round the room, all the medicullers absent save the one you successfully disarmed (okay, that one you'll laugh at), and he's dead the fuck asleep. Everything's in white, save the floor which is a multihued stain down to the drain in the center of the room, though it is mostly subtle variations of purple. Not a lot of offcolor fucks that you consider WORTHY of gettin tended to, after all.

This helm don't know how lucky he has it.

Helmsman: Stirring, your hornbeds crackle with power as the sedatives start wearing off. The dull, fullbody pain makes you groan under your breath and squinch your eyes tight, before it fades and you can settle again. 

It occurs to you that you're being touched, but you don't sense any animosity from it, which is strange and new. Along with this feeling of not-bad is the voice you recognize. The one that makes you feel. Not-bad. 

Your blue eye creaks open to survey your surroundings, and you grimace at the white, zapping the troll next to you to get their attention. 

"Hey. Can'ya turn off th'lights? Ssbright." Grumble.

Grand: The crackling of his horns takes a moment to register, the groan less so. You finish writing Fuck Off on this next illustrious waste of tree pulp, running your off hand down his nug til you get to the base of it before you withdraw--Just in time to get zapped. You let out a curse that's actually just a verse of your most holy of texts (elixirs 5:18; pour one out for you, your blood is paint yet to be spilled), and bare your teeth at him, eyes flashing with menace. 

Oh. He's just waking up. 

“Poor motherfucker," you croon, and it's a mocking tone that you speak in. But what the fuck ever, you can stand for a break. You turn off the lamp closest to him, shut your husktop with a finite click, and captchalogue the stack of important papers that you've filled out. ... Oh, and the not done ones too, if for no other reason than state secrets or whatever the fuck.

Helmsman: "Thenks." Your voice is rough from both overuse and underuse, and you clear your throat a few times before swallowing a little bit of blood. Gross.

Blinking your eyes open, you take a better look at the room around you, and then up at the troll looming over you.

"Oh sshit." Oh shit is right, because if you aren't mistaken, that's the fucking Grand Highblood. In the flesh.

"Sso. Are you the personification of the Angel of Death, or am I hallucinating?"

Grand: "You fuckin flatter me," you say, batting your lashes a bit. "Either that, or you're hallucinatin, cuz I ain't been called angelic in a while." Your hands are to yourself, but you know the sound of a fucked up voice when you hear one. You wonder if you'll have to shove a tube in his mouth to get him to take somethin from you, or if he'll take it just to make you stop botherin him.

... But you also take the chance to look him over. Mostly just his face, which has the capacity for expression now, and is therefore finally actually interesting. "So surprised to see me? I told you I'd help."

Helmsman: You look confused, and a bit upset, like you'd had a present ripped away from you. "Then... I'm not dead." Thin eyebrows furrow and you attempt to sit up, which is hard when your arms feel invisible. After a bit of struggle, you flop back down heavily, hissing at the pain. The light in your eyes seems to pulse, like you're trying to focus. "The- the data..?"

Grand: "Not a fuckin clue." This is definitely about to get spicy, and you don't grin. But you want to. You want to rub your 'i told you so' in his moronic fucking face. "You ain't dead. You're limbless and on my ship, after you tried to fire up a single fuckin cannon and immediately fainted. Whether you managed ta finish transmittin your entire self into the space between helms, i ain't got an iota of an idea. But I told you that you didn't have to shoot me, that i would wait for you to get your business done. So I don't know that I feel like that's my problem."

Helmsman: "Limbless." Yeah, that explains why your arms feel invisible. You failed. After everything you did.

After all that pain and hard work just for it to fail. You're silent as you process this, before your eyes grow damp. You can't even wipe the frustrated tears away, so you curl away from the clown so you can cry with a little bit of fucking dignity.

God your life goddamn SUCKS. The sobs hurt as they rip out of you but you can't make them stop, thin frame heaving. He should have let you die. You shouldn't have told him anything. God you're so stupid!

Grand: ... Oh.

You expected this motherfucker to fight. To flare up bright, like you saw he could do in the ship, like you know he could do as a ship. The fight wouldn't do much good, him limbless and you your powerful, merciless self, but you woulda had fun trying to take him out without takin him all the way out.

You look over him, crying, weeping and just barely able to turn away from you, and you feel

something.

Fuck knows what.

"For fucks sake, we doin this shit?" you snap, and you think it should have come out a little harsher, a little louder. Or maybe you should be laughing, perhaps. No motherfucker would be surprised to hear you laugh.

"Like I ain't the most powerful motherfucker this side of the damned universe. Where the shit are your files or what the fuck ever."

Helmsman: Shaking your head, you laugh through the tears, a mirthless, harsh noise. "Where the fuck do you think they are?"

Crying is such a relief, though. Like you finally can expell all the horrid feelings you've been holding close to your chest for so long. You've been ripped from your ship, sanitized, bundled up all careful in a medical cot, what more do you need to hide? What would it possibly change?

"I was always doomed. What difference does it make now."

Grand: You grit your teeth at that unrighteous sound, but what the fuck is it you can do? Where the fuck indeed. You keep your helms and your files separate, at the rate you burn through them, and why the fuck wouldn't you? But you've never thought about the logistics of how the fuck one would store themselves, never thought about how it wouldn't be in ship storage unless it was some place the fish bitch could see.

For a second, from the way you have trouble breathing, and from the way your pump aches, you think you're finally kicking it. It's only a breath, only a beat, but still enough to get your fronds all wound the fuck up in the soft silk of the hospital bed. Still enough to have you reeling.

"Well. Guess you're gonna have to stay lively long enough ta write your fuckin memoirs, ain't ya?" you say, and it's quiet, and not all that funny, and you don't know what the hell is going on. "So, let's see to that."

Helmsman: You half feel vindicated from seeing that conflicted look on GHB's features, but the other half of you feels really bad. The guy went out of his way to save your useless life, used his resources, time, and energy to pluck you specifically from death's door and sit next to you.

Memoirs he says, like that isn't a ridiculous statement to make this late in the game. How are you gonna write them without arms, you wonder. It makes you laugh again, and this time it feels better to laugh. Once the giggles have settled down, you look at the troll next to you, really look at him, yellow streaks run down your cheeks and staining the white pillow under you.

"You've been here the whole time, right?"

Grand: There you all in all your glory, thousands of sweeps old and not quite so young looking as you were when you first caught this motherfucker, wearing what amounts to your casual clothes and the tie you wear when you're feeling like you should get yourself in the head for business. Your hair has grey, your paint has a fine line or two in it, but you're still an unholy terror when you want to be, which is still fucking most of the time. 

Your hands unfist in the covers, and you roll your eyes at him, recline in the chair you stole from your office because fuck if you're gonna use a visitor's chair, you're the fucking king. "Nah, motherfucker, I got shit to do other than tend to your pathetic ass." Your ankles cross and you look up at the ceiling, casual as you fucking please. "But I been here often enough. When I ain't preachin or doin other holy shit. Medicullers just ain't made like they used to be, and some don't know how to ask first instead of puttin their knives where they ain't wanted. Can't have them makin that mistake when I went through all the trouble to nab your scrawny ass, can I?"

Helmsman: "Well. Thanks, I guess. You've got your reasons I don't doubt, but." You avert your eyes, not that he can tell. "It was better than being alone."

Okay you need to sit up Now. Cracking your neck, you test your reach with your psionics, the energy roving over the whole room as you manually adjust the power. Ugh, that feels weird. It takes a negligible amount of thought to arrange yourself a bit more upright against the pillow, and it does wonders making you feel less like you're at the mercy of circumstance. 

"... You haven't changed a bit, huh you shitty old man."

Grand: You roll that thought around your head, feel it shifting shit behind your eyes. It was better than being alone, he said. Ain't that a terrible weakness of his, that dislike of being alone? Feels like the fucking point of a wriggler's afternoon special, soft and sweet and weak as it is. Pathetic, is what it is. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye, watch him sit himself up with power that you still don't trust not to be pressed into the flesh of you, though the thrill keeps you from locking it away tight with something or another, and you are a little impressed that he even knows how to use those when he's spent so long being sucked dry of em.

"Course I've changed. I think I've gotten taller. Definitely gotten older. I think I've killed a few more thousands of fuckers, though I might be off by a decimal point or some shit. You gotta be more specific, motherfucker, if you want to get a particular answer."

Helmsman; Scoff. "It was rhetorical, fuckhead." The residual psionics definitely is filling the air with static, and now that you've tapped into them it's increasingly hard to tamp down on them. Guess you're going to be fizzing like a carbonated beverage for the next little while. 

"I do have some questions for you though."

Grand: You bark out a laugh, as your head fills with static and your hair puffs up faintly like an angry cat. You're going to have to rub him down with fuckin drier sheets or some shit, just to get some peace and not have your papers stickin to you. 

"What the fuck else have we got to do, bitch? Go on, ask."

Helmsman: You chew on your lower lip as you think of the right way to word it. "Does Survivor know I'm alive?"

Grand: "Yep," you pop the word sharp, rocking back on your heels and two legs of the chair. More throne than chair, really.

Helmsman: Would be a shame if he were to fall backwards and hurt himself... Someone's gotta teach this guy not to lean on the back feet of chairs. He could hurt himself. What a shame. 

The front two legs slam back onto the floor, and you sneer at him. "The last thing I need is for you to suffer some kind of concussion right now."

Grand: You yelp, an unseemly noise, as your chair is forced groundways, making you a six legged shape once more. "My skull is thicker than that, for messiahs motherfuckin sake, ask your damn questions instead of fussin over my old ass, you motherfuckin limbless horror."

Helmsman: “It'd just be inconvenient, is what I'm saying. Like I'd bother fussing over you, nightmare fuel." 

This fucking guy. You shut your eyes, exhaustion hitting you like a truck all of a sudden. "Will I see her anytime soon or am I just gonna be stuck in this glass bottle forever so you can keep prodding me with sticks?"

Grand: Nightmare fuel. You like that, and it makes you chuckle different, a low bass rumble in your chest. 

"You'll see her when she comes up with a plan that her and blue think will keep me from wreckin their shit, and as soon as you can get jostled without openin up every scab you got from nose to nook, which believe me, are plentiful.. And maybe a little longer than that, dependin on your amusement ta annoyance ratios. Don't go tryinna manipulate em to your wantin, cuz I ain't gonna tell you which keeps you here longer."

Helmsman: "I'm going to be honest with you: I'm a doer not a schemer. I'd pinky promise you, but, well..." 

Shrug. 

"As long as I get to see her again." You forgot what it was like to yearn for someone, but right now it's all you can take to be away from Bastet. You were being honest earlier when you admitted you don't know how to be alone anymore.

Grand: You hear that, and you tip back in your chair again, arms crossed behind your head, and you smile. Fuck yes. "Ain't that sweet," you chirr, and it could be nice if it was anyone other than you. But you are, as he said, nightmare fuel, and you ain't particularly inclined to be anything else. 

"Give it a week or two. A perigee, tops. You'll get where you wanna be. Think you can wait that long, motherfucker?"

Helmsman: "Only been waiting the majority of my life." Sinking back into the thin blanket. "If you're going to stick around, do it goddamn quietly, for fucks' sake." 

You're starting to feel lightheaded, and want to sleep now.

Grand: A snort. "And here I thought you liked my company. You'll tolerate it or you won't, and it ain't my problem either way." 

Still, when he nestles himself down, you draw the blanket up past his damaged shoulders so he don't catch chill and kill himself on something nothin much at all. And you go ahead and take off your business garb (the polkadot tie you wear when you're deep in the shit creek that is your backed up paperwork), twirling it around your finger before you captchalogue it. "Just fuckin sleep, you're gonna need it."

Helmsman: “Don't need your permission." You bite back, already fading off into dreamland. Geez, being a sassy sourpuss takes a lot of energy.

Grand: He falls asleep to the low rumble of your laugh at his expense, amusement in the face of his fucking spite. Once he's out, you realize you forgot to make him drink, and decide you'll get on with it when he's a little more conscious. No point forcing him if he's not around to make you work for it, is there? 

You don't turn on the light for a good hour or so. You just sit back in your throne, the back legs of it worn away from just such play, and you think. And you speak a few more times, half thoughts that you don't bother to explain cuz he ain't around to ask. But mostly, you just think.

[nancywheelxr]

Prompt: Robin Buckley accidentally "adopts" Billy Hargrove as a pseudo brother figure because gays have to stick together. They rent a place together, and because Robin's brilliant she figures out what's wrong with Billy way before anything happens and basically gets rid of the MF on her own. The two of them then secretly battle the Upside Down and Russians until they run into Steve and The Party.

Okay, so, I love this prompt so much, but I just couldn’t think of a way for Robin to get rid of the Mind Flayer without closing the gate, so I made little changes. I hope you don’t mind, anon!

*

“Fucking piece of shit, mother fucking shitty death trap,” Robin vehemently hisses at her car as she lays it on the horn once, throws the door open, and kicks the front tire. “Goddamn it, should’ve taken the fucking bus! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The school parking lot is empty because it’s way past the time any teenager would hang around the school, any teenager aside from Robin, probably, because she’s the only freak who had to stay in late practicing the clarinet for next week’s prep rally. Then again, she would like the record to show that if her parents had deigned to buy her a damn clarinet, she wouldn’t have to stay late and practice with the dirty, cheap school one.

So what she’s really trying to say is that if she gets mugged or you know, murdered, it’s all her dad’s fault.

And to make matter’s worst, which is just her luck, really, no surprises there, a car turns the corner, engine roaring, and slows down as it nears the school. Not any car either, no. Billy Hargrove’s blue Camaro is a one of a kind car here in Hawkins, and right now, it’s screeching to a halt.

Great. That’s just– great. The town’s douchebag, just what she needed.

He rolls down the window, lays on his charm, giving her the kind of grin that makes the girls swoon in the halls. Too bad for him, really, this kinda shit isn’t gonna work on Robin. “Hey there, beautiful. You wouldn’t happen to have seen my sister, would you?”

Robin frowns, gives him an extremely unimpressed look. Not really what she had been expecting, but better than being harassed. “Do I look like I know who your sister is?”

Hargrove huffs, dropping the act and closing his eyes like he’s trying really hard not to scream. “Tiny red-head, always fucking yelling shit. Probably had a gaggle of nerds with her. You seen her?”

Gaggle of children? Why would they be in the high– oh, actually, Robin kind of remembers a lot of running after hours? She thought the drama kids had been rehearsing some weird shit again, but now–

“I might,” she answers, leaning on her door. There’s an idea, and it’s crazy, and it’s probably going to end up with Hargrove tearing out of there or fucking kidnapping her or some shit, but Robin’s getting a little desperate here. The next bus is due in like, a whole hour, it’s gonna be dark by then. “Might have heard where they were going, too.”

Now, Hargrove doesn’t perk up, but there’s a weird wave of relief that she can clearly see wash over him before it’s replaced by his smarmy doucheness again. “Well?”

Robin grins. “Well, my car here broke down.”

“Not my fuckin’ problem, do I look like a mechanic to you?”

“As I was saying,” she glares, “my car broke down, so say, if someone were to give me a ride home, it might jog my memory a little.”

“You’ve got be shittin’ me,” he stares at her, scoffs, and checks his watch. A weird nervousness creeps in on his shoulders, on the way he sits up a little straighter and drums his fingers on the wheel. Then, gritting his teeth, “fine, Jesus, you’re such a bitch. I’ll give you a ride, but we’re picking her up first.”

Her grin widens and Robin hurriedly picks up her backpack and locks her car before throwing herself on Billy Hargrove’s passenger seat. Somewhere in their pink little rooms, every straight girl in their school is wailing in jealousy. It’s funny in a very ironic kinda way.

He gives her an impatient look. “So?”

“Okay, do you know how to get to the quarry?”

*

“If you’re fucking with me,” Hargrove snarls for about the tenth time in like, fifteen minutes, as he drives like a maniac and Def Leppard screams from the speakers. As it is, Robin only rolls her eyes. 

“Dude, that’s way too much effort,” she says, slouching further on her seat, and watches the trees grow in number at the side of the road. They’re almost there now. “And it wouldn’t be very smart of me anyway, considering the quarry would be a prime spot for a murder.”

He grunts. Then, because apparently, life in Hawkins is weird as shit, the headlights hit the crook on the road where most people park before trekking into the woods and, get this, they illuminate a preppy little Beemer.

“Harrington,” Hargrove grumbles, hitting the wheel as he throws his car beside the Beemer, parking haphazardly, and nearly sending Robin squashed against the door. He glares fiercely at her, lighting up a cigarette, “stay the fuck here.”

Yeah, no, that’s not gonna happen. One, Robin’s not gonna stay alone in a car in the dark just waiting for someone to murder her or something, and two, she’s invested in this now, alright. So she’s curious, sue her. 

Robin spills out the car just in time to see Hargrove squinting at the dark trail where a bunch of tiny lights is approaching. “Well,” she says, sidling up to him, “at least they remembered to bring flashlights.”

“What the fuck did I say about staying in the car?” Hargrove snaps at her, crossing his arms over his chest all macho. It makes her choke on a snort. Man, boys are so fucking dumb. “Do you have some kinda death wish, shitbird?”

“I have a name, thank you very much,” she glares right back, crossing her own arms in a challenge, “it’s Robin and you can use it if you don’t want to get decked.”

Hargrove grins, delighted for a second. “Is that so, shitbird?”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”

Before they could say anything else, the sounds of talking came closer, and Robin heard some variations of oh, shit as the kids appeared from out of the woods. Hargrove snaps his attention to them, a scowl on his face that looked like it could set them on fire. “What the fuck were you thinking, Maxine?”

“Fuck OFF, Billy,” a, well, tiny red-headed girl screams stomping ahead of the little group, which, now that they’re somewhat in the light, she can see includes Steve Harrington. “What are you even DOING here?”

“Picking you the fuck up because you missed curfew again like a dead fucking idiot,” he snarls back, but his eyes are now focused on Harrington, dark and sharp. “The better question is, what are you doing alone with the kids again, Harrington?”

Which, to be fair, Robin thinks is a fair question.

The kids, six little nerds, are now sort of around Harrington? Like, like, six tiny little bodyguards and it’s kinda funny, and Robin can see it’s kind of annoying Harrington a little too, but it’s not like he can say anything, what with the weird standoff he’s having with Hargrove.

“Stopping them from traipsing alone in the woods at night like shitheads, Hargrove,” he snaps back, and oh, shit, he’s got a– is that a bat? With nails? “Now, are you going to be a problem?”

Hargrove just stares at him and he stares back, and it’s getting too weird for Robin, okay, so fuck this, she decides. “Is that a bat with nails?”

Harrington seems to startle, blinking at her like he’s only now realizing she’s there. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

“Oh, my GOD, Billy,” Hargrove’s little sister groans, “did you seriously bring one of your girlfriends here?”

“Excuse me?” Robin scoffs, giving her a very unimpressed look, “I have taste and standards, okay? I’m Robin and I’m just trying to get a ride home.”

“From him?” Harrington gapes, then seems to realize he was being kinda rude, “I mean, no offense– no, you know what, full offense. All the offense.”

“Nice one, pretty boy, I’m wounded,” Hargrove laughs. Although, Robin thinks there’s not a lot of humor there. “I can be a real gentleman, you know.”

And– okay, literally everyone, Robin included, has to snort at that.

“Hey, hey, okay, it’s just– I have to ask,” she raises her hand, wiggling her fingers, and then gesturing all that, “is this, like, a cult situation?”

Hargrove smirks, slow and predatory. “Yeah, King Steve, answer the lady.”

“No, it’s not– it’s not a cult, alright?” Harrington goes red in the face, gesturing a lot as he speaks, “the kids– they wanted to hit the quarry and I’m not– it’s not like I could stop them! “

“That’s freaking weird, dude,” she says, shrugging, the kids seem to be fine, so. It’s more pathetic for him than anything, she figures. “You’re their babysitter?”

“We don’t need babysitters!” One of the kids cries, all pouty and shit.

“Yeah, Steve’s the coolest, that’s why he’s our friend,” another one with curly hair adds.

“Can we just GO?” Hargrove’s sister says, stomping in the direction of the Camaro, “Billy, remember the fucking deal!”

Hargrove’s face goes blank and hard, and he grumbles, glaring murderously at Harrington as he steps on his cigarette. “Come on, shitbird. The fuck do you live?”

Robin shrugs, following back to the car when Harrington’s voice rings. “Hey, Robin, right? You can ride with me if you want?”

She studies him and his tiny little bodyguards, his preppy Beemer, and back at Hargrove and his sister; he’s shoving her things in the backseat and the passenger door is open. Robin doubts she’d get shotgun with Harrington. “Nah, I’m fine, dude, no worries.”

*

“So you’re not his girlfriend?” Hargrove’s sister– it’s Max, I’ll punch you if you call me Maxine– asks, leaning between the seats, “or, I don’t know, friend?”

The way she says friend leads Robin to believe she means something between Girlfriend and Friend, and that Robin is in some way attracted to her troll of a brother. Robin cackles. “No, kid, not really my type,” she winks, “like I said, standards.”

“I’m still fucking here, you know,” Hargrove grumbles, still driving like a fucking psycho.

“Okay, so why are you here?” Max continues her interrogation.

“My car broke down,” Robin shrugs, “I really needed a ride home.”

“So he offered you a ride?”

Now, Hargrove snorts. “No, Maxine, she fucking blackmailed me into giving her a ride.”

Max looks at her with wide, delighted eyes. “Oh, my god, seriously?”

“Yup.”

“That’s awesome,” Max crows, falling back into her seat as her brother cuts a corner harshly, parking on Robin’s driveway halfway up the curb. “You’re so cool.”

“Get the fuck out, shitbird,” Hargrove snaps, scowling, and Robin laughs, internally flinching at how similar it sounded with his earlier laughter. Yeah, it’s really late and her parents are not gonna be happy.

“You’re welcome, asshole,” she says, throwing the door open, and grimaces at the lights in the living room, “oh, man, my dad’s gonna kill me.”

To be fair, she thinks he might be a bit relieved Robin is with a boy, like a normal girl her age, and her mom will probably lecture her forever but then wink like she thinks Robin is finally doing something normal too. 

“Hey,” Hargrove grunts, and Robin turns, backpack in hand and ready to get out. He’s got a cigarette on his lips and his face is all blank again, unreadable, but she doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the living room lights too. When he speaks, it’s quiet. “You gonna be okay?”

Something flickers on his face and Robin thinks she’s missing something huge here about him, tries to add his concern to his general douchebagness and finds that it’s an awkward fit. 

Still, she smiles. “Yeah, I’ll be fine, dude. See you, losers.”

Weirdly, the Camaro doesn’t peel away until Robin is locking the door behind her.

*

 It’s not like Robin expected to like, become buddy-buddy with him after or even any sort of recognition at all, she knows how High School works, and she knows how Billy Hargrove’s brand of peacocking douchebagness works, so she’s not surprised when he ignores her as usual.

She is a little surprised when Steve Harrington corners her outside English. “What’s this?”

He blinks at her, looks down where he had been holding her arm to steer them out of the way, and drops his hand hastily. “Sorry, I just wanted to ask– are you alright?”

“Hm, yes?” She raises her eyebrows, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you, uh. Last night, you drove off with Hargrove, so. Just checking.”

Robin snorts, remembering the interrogation Max had put her through. Harrington clearly hasn’t talked with his children yet. “Thanks for the concern, but I can handle myself. Besides, wasn’t him that was traipsing in the woods at night with a bunch of children.”

Harrington makes a face, throwing his hands up. “Look, you don’t know them, okay? It’s like, impossible to stop them from doing stupid shit, they were going to probably lock me in a classroom and steal my car if I hadn’t gone with them! That was, believe it or not, the best-case scenario!”

“What were you doing in the woods anyway? That place gives me the creeps at night.”

“That’s, uh. That’s classified,” he tries to sound confident and all snotty, but Robin can hear through the fake- loftiness, snorts. “Okay, they were looking for something– it’s about their Dungeon and Dragons shit, I don’t know. They never tell me shit.”

“Right,” she snickers again. Harrington looks like a stressed mother of six alright.

“And hey, I mean it,” he says, growing serious, “if he gives you shit, let me know okay? I know he’s all, you know, but he– last year, he almost beat my face in, okay? Totally lost it on the kids, too. He’s a real asshole. So.”

Robin sucks in her teeth, considering his words. Harrington is trying to say Hargrove is dangerous and she should stay away, and well, he’s making a good case of it, Robin has to give him that. She kind of remembers the state of his face last year, all black and blue, and she remembers Hargrove’s cracked wrist. Rumors of their fight had been legendary.

“Okay, thanks for the gossip,” she smiles all fake sweet, and slips out his space, “it’s not like we’re friends or anything, anyway.”

And that should have been that.

*

Except, Robin is, unfortunately, terribly cursed with the gift of being too smart for her own good.

It’s a tragedy, truly.

So, she’s super smart and she notices things. Like, for example, now that both Hargrove and Harrington are more than just names, now that she’s curious about what the fuck is going on there, she’s more aware of their presences in the halls.

So, she notices.

Robin sees the way Hargrove follows him with his eyes when he thinks Harrington’s not looking, and she sees how his face does a thing whenever Harrington’s walks in the room. She sees how casual he is with a different girl hanging off his arm every day but inevitably cuts a glance at Harrington as he walks by. She sees all that and thinks oh. 

This is interesting.

This is– everyone keeps telling her to stay away from him, but if Hargrove is– if there’s a chance she’s not alone in this small, small town in the middle of nowhere– 

Robin’s heart races, and for the first time, she watches Tammy watch Harrington and feels a little less alone.

*

She corners him at his locker when Tommy and Carol aren’t there being nuisances for once. She stops there, waits for him to slam his locker closed, and notice her. 

“Shit, the fuck you doing here? Jesus, almost gave me a heart attack,” he snaps, glaring at her.

“Can we talk?” She goes straight to the point, not sure she’d have the courage to follow through if she beats around the bush. “Like, in private?”

Hargrove makes a face, dripping with pity and condescension. “Look, shitbird, sorry, but I’m just not interested–”

“Yeah,” Robin says, then looks pointedly at Harrington passing by, “I know you’re not interested.”

The shift is instantaneous. Blind panic flashes on his eyes and the next thing she knows he’s dragging her to the parking lot and roughly shoving her into the passenger seat of his car. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you know, but that’s not the kind of shit you can go around saying unless you want to fucking die, okay? I don’t beat up women, but I’m sure Carol would be real happy to tear into your face. Fucking ruin your life, hear me?”

“Jesus Christ, dude, chill,” she glares, rubbing at her wrist. What is it with these boys and grabbing people by the arm? “I didn’t say I was gonna, like, tell the whole school.”

“Right, blackmail’s more your thing,” he glares, snarling at her.

“Would you just– it’s not–” she flounders, losing her nerve. What if he decides to tell the whole school? By all means, that’s an asshole move and Billy Hagrove’s nothing if not an asshole. But Robin, she’s so, so tired of keeping this locked inside. Having someone, even an asshole, to talk about this with, someone like her, it’s– 

“I know all about pining for straight people, okay?” She finally says, rushing the words all in one breath, and looks down at her hands, bracing for whatever comes next. No turning back now, no take backsies.

There’s a long minute of silence in the car and Robin thinks she might burst if he doesn’t say anything soon, and maybe this was a terrible idea, maybe she was wrong after all, or maybe she wasn’t but he still thinks she’s a freak, fuck, she needs to get out of here–

“Fucking sucks, doesn’t it?” Hargrove says, and when Robin finally risks a glance at him, he’s smoking a cigarette and holding the steering wheel like it’s gonna solve all of his problems. He’s got a fading black eye, too, she notices. 

Robin nods, exhaling a shuddery breath, and huffs a laugh, feeling relieved as shit. “Like hell. Can I bum one?”

“Those will kill you, you know?” He throws her his pack, then his lighter.

“Not if Tammy’s stupid pretty face kills me first,” she grumbles, and shit, it feels good to say it out loud.

Hargrove laughs, startled.

*

When she arrives the next day to no one whispering about her liking girls, it cements on her mind that Billy Hargrove and her were friends now. This is the sort of thing only friends should know about so there’s no helping it. They were stuck with each other.

And Billy seems to think so too as he drops by her locker, grumbling about Harrington’s stupid jeans, and walks her to their Math class.

At lunch, he steals a quarter if her sandwich and lets her whisper about Tammy’s new haircut.

Sometimes, they sit at his car and smoke cigarettes in silence, just contemplating how fucked they are or something, and sometimes they rant about whatever shit there is to rant.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

And like, sure, people talk about it. This weird random friendship, but it’s not like Billy’s always hanging out with her. He still spends nearly all his time with Tommy and his stupid friends, and Robin has band practice and her band friends. They just talk, sometimes, because there’s no one else to talk about this with.

She bets people still think they’re fucking though.

It’s fine; kinda embarrassing, but a lesser evil.

*

“So,” she says one day when they’re smoking in his car, “Steve Harrington.”

“What about him,” Billy grunts, fiddling with the radion. Some old Cindy Lauper song is playing and he looks two notes away from murdering someone.

“Heard you had some big fight last year,” she offers, studying the way his shoulders go tense and he grimaces. “What was that all about?”

“Was looking for my sister, found her in some creepy house in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere with a bunch of boys and Harrington,” he shrugs like it’s not a big deal, even though Robin can clearly see it’s kind of a big fucking deal. “No one was sayin’ shit, and man, I had told her hanging around Sinclair was gonna be a fuckin’ problem but she never fuckin’ listens.”

“And why is that?” She asks sharply.

“My dad,” he says simply, eyeing the way she got her hackles raised, before continuing with a sigh. “I kinda lost it that day. Some shit had gone down before–”

“You took it out on them?”

“Yeah, and Harrington punched me real good so I broke a plate over his head, didn’t stop until Max stuck some needle on my neck.”

Billy says all of this and watches Robin like he’s half expecting her to storm out of his car, or some shit like that, but. Well. It’s been what– three months since they’ve started hanging out? She knows– she knows when Billy says some shit went down he means the source of the bruises he’s always hiding, and yeah, that doesn’t excuse him at all, but it shines enough of a light for Robin to be willing to grant him a second chance.

If she’s being honest, he is being less of an asshole than she remembers last year.

“Dude, that’s messed up,” she tells him, blowing smoke out of the window, “have you apologized yet?”

“It’s not like it’s gonna make any difference,” Billy says, again like it’s not a big deal, but the way he punches his Mettalica tape in is very telling, “so why the fuck bother.”

Robin gives him a look. “Uh, because we just agreed that was messed up?” She shrugs, “if you’re gonna say sorry just to get something in return, you’re not really sorry, you know?”

“So that’s why the fuck I should bother?” He asks, eyebrows raised and a wry smile.

“Dunno, dude,” Robin stubs her cigarette, “you do you, I’m not gonna like, force you to do anything. Just thought I’d get your side of the story.”

“So if I don’t say shit to them,” Billy speaks slowly, “you’re not gonna get on my case about it?”

She shrugs again. “I think last year was a long time ago and I think you’re sorry about it. Are you gonna do that again?”

Billy pauses, looks out the windshield. “I don’t know,” then, “I’m trying not to.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Robin flicks his cigarette out the window, grins, “now, are we gonna get some fries or what?”

“You just wanna make googly eyes at the Thompson girl while she takes our order,” Billy snorts, but peels off the school parking lot while on the radio, James Hetfield sings about puppets and strings.

*

They don’t talk about Billy’s bruises but he knows that she knows in the same way they don’t talk about the mornings Robin can’t look anyone in the eyes, some very strong choices of words ringing in her head. Shitty parents are abounding and they just have two very different flavors of shitty.

*

A week after his graduation, they meet in a diner. Not Tammy’s diner, but one less frequented by the people they went to school with and he opens with:

“Talked with all the shitheads.”

Robin raised her eyebrows. “Yeah? How did it go?”

“Apparently I’m on probation now,” he quirks a smile, playing with a packet of sugar, “the one with the curly hair, you know? Yelled a lot, fucking hell. He and Max are going to leave me deaf at this rate.”

“That’s cool, man,” she smiles, patting his hand in support, “what about Harrington?”

He– oh my god, he goes kinda red in the face, it’s amazing. “Talked with him, too. We’re– a truce or some shit. Whatever any of that means.”

“Hey, did you mean, your apology?”

Billy makes an irritated encompassing gesture of obviously.

“Then, fuck, dude, that’s it,” she waits for a beat before adding innocently, “of course, if you’re gonna, like, woo him or something–”

“Fuck off, shitbird,” he snaps, scowling, but that stopped sounding like a curse a long time ago, and Robin likes to think it’s at least half fond now. It’s the only reason why she tolerates it.

“Just saying, asshole,” and besides, that, too, is kinda fond on her part.

Billy rolls his eyes, leaning back, more comfortable now that they’ve got that confession out of the way. “You say a lot of shit. How’s job hunting going?”

Robin perks up. “I’ve got a job,” she singsongs, “it’s at that new Starcourt thing, at the Ice Cream place, but hey, it’s money.”

“Damn, that was fast, we gotta celebrate,” he grins, flagging the waitress, “hey, can we get two cokes here?”

“A chocolate milkshake.”

“And a chocolate milkshake, please?” He amends and smiles all charming at the girl.

Robin rolls her eyes and laughs when he turns to her and makes a face. 

Outside, the wind is picking up and everything is colorful for the change in season; summer is just starting, but something is already changing in Hawkins, Indiana.

*

Working with Steve Harrington is funnier than Robin expected.

Like, she never spoke with the guy after that day he cornered her in the hallway and yeah, she had been aware of the number of children that was always following him around, but man, she did not expect him to suck so much at picking up girls outside the school.

The YOU SUCK tally is only growing and teasing him is a large part of what makes working there survivable. If it were anyone else, she thinks she might have quit a while ago.

Because sure, she resents him a little for the whole Tammy thing, but she has to admit that the guy is funny and genuinely nice. The kind that walks her to her car if they’re closing late and expects nothing in return. It’s like now that school is over, Harrington became a real person.

Or maybe, that change happened a bit earlier and she’s only noticing it now, but either way, Robin thinks as she snickers at his terrible pick-up lines, by the time summer ends, she just might have to consider him a friend.

*

“I think you should come by the pool sometime,” Billy says one day when they’re eating at the food court before Robin’s shift.

“Why’s that?” She speaks through a mouthful of burger.

“Besides the heatwave?”

“Yeah, besides that.”

Billy grins his shark grin. “I think you should meet someone.”

Robin chokes on her burger, doubling in a coughing fit. “Oh, hell no. You’re not playing matchmaker, asshole.”

“I’m just saying,” he throws a fry and it bounces off her forehead, falls on her plate, “you and Heather would get along real good.”

“That sounds like you’re playing matchmaker,” she glares, throwing his fry right back. “Why don’t you come by Scoops, then?”

“Fuck off,” he says without any real heat, “don’t fucking come, then, Christ. I’m just sayin’.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” Robin grumbles, checking her clock, “I gotta go. My car’s still at the shop, you’re gonna pick me up after my shift, right?”

Without waiting for his answer, she takes off, laughing, and hears his voice yelling after her, “not your fucking driver, shitbird!”

*

Billy’s not always on time, but he never takes this fucking long, especially when he knows she’s gonna be closing the shop, so Robin thinks she has a right to be mildly worried.

“You, uh, you sure, he’s coming?” Steve asks, sitting with her in the parking lot while the cars slowly file out. “Because I can, like, give you a ride, you know.”

“Nah, it’s fine. He’s probably messing with his hair. I swear, he’s worst than you,” she snorts, snickering at his offended face, and tries not to be so jittery.

“I don’t even spend–”

Steve’s cut off by the Camaro’s loud engine, and Robin watches delighted as he nods at Billy in acknowledgment, no weird tension between them. Maybe this whole probation thing Max and the kids have going is working after all. 

“Hey, you’re late, asshole,” she glares at him half-heartedly, buckling up, then scrunches up her nose at the strong whiff of cologne that suffocates the car. “Jesus Christ, dude, roll down the window, are you trying to kill me?”

Billy only grunts and that’s when she notices how dressed up he is. Well, dressed up for his standards, anyway, and his fingers are drumming restlessly in the steering wheel, his whole body tense, coiled tight, ready to snap.

“Are you alright?” She frowns, eyeing his face for any signs of new bruises.

“Got a date after I drop you off,” he says, voice tight. Not a good sign. This isn’t first date jitters.

Robin raises her eyebrow. “With who?”

“Now that’s none of your fucking business, is it?” Billy snaps, and he’s never been this harsh with her, not even months ago when she had been stranded in the high school parking lot and he had been looking for his sister. 

“Fine, don’t tell me, then, dickwad. Sorry for fucking caring,” she scowls, crossing her arms over her chest and turning away from him to stare out the window.

She hears him sigh, can bet he’s running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to– it’s with Mrs.Wheeler, alright? We’re meeting at that motel outside town.”

What the fuck.

Okay, Robin’s heard plenty of stupid ideas over the course of this weird friendship of theirs, but this, this one, it takes the fucking cake. Jesus Christ. She doesn’t even know where to start.

“I– Billy, I don’t even– what the fuck, dude?”

Now, she sees him huff, having the audacity to look offended. “See? This is why I didn’t want to fucking tell you, now you’re gonna go up in your goddamn high horse–”

“High horse? Excuse me? You’re going to fuck a married woman when you’re not even attracted to women, and you wanna be mad at me?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he warns, and his fingers are white in the steering wheel, a dark cloud over his face, “you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t,” she snaps, pinching the bridge of her nose, “because I can’t think of one fucking reason why this is a good idea.”

Billy says nothing, staring resolutely ahead and turning up the volume on the radio. At this speed, they should’ve arrived at her place already, so she thinks the fact they haven’t yet might mean something.

“And even if– even disregarding all that, you really think Mrs.Wheeler’s gonna show? Really? She has like, three kids, she’s Nancy’s mom. Have you met Nancy? Do you think Nancy’s mom is going to have some torrid affair at a dingy motel down the road?”

“What do you want me to say?” He asks, real quiet, like he’s tired and all this screaming they’re both doing are deflating him like a balloon.

Robin sighs. “That you’re not gonna do something real stupid.”

“Can’t promise that,” Billy shoots back, immediately, pulling out in front of Robin’s house. It’s dark out already, and the moon is illuminating the car’s interior. It makes him look pale, sickly. Scared. Robin tentatively covers his hand on the gear shift. She can understand being scared.

“I know fucking Mrs.Wheeler would get people off your back,” she says quietly, gentle, “but Billy, this isn’t good for you. I know there’s a lot of shit going on, but remember what we talked about? A place after I graduate? Maybe sooner? Just– don’t make it harder on yourself, okay? This whole thing is stupid as shit. Don’t be stupid, asshole. See you tomorrow?”

Billy stares at his hands. “I’ll pick you up, freeloader.”

This time, it’s Robin that waits at the sidewalk until Billy’s blue Camaro turns a corner and disappears from sight. 

Above her head, a streetlight flickers.

*

Something bad happens that night, not that Robin would know as she sleeps fitfully through the night. Like all Hawkins residents, she dreams of fire and black smoke, something wailing in the distance.

*

“You’re late again,” she says as soon as she enters the Camaro, but her voice is cautious and she eyes him like anything about his appearance might tell her what happened last night. 

Billy sighs, sunglasses firmly on top of his nose. “I fucking chickened out if that’s what you’re fishing for.”

Robin beams. “I knew you weren’t just a dumb blonde!”

“Shut the fuck up, Christ,” he grumbles, and oh.

“Are you hangover right now?” She says. Loudly. Grinning at his flinch.

“Yeah, I went home and got shitfaced,” he snaps halfheartedly, “why, you gonna lecture me on that too?”

Robin shrugs, sniffs all haughty. “Why, I just might,” laughs, “kidding, it’s healthier than the other option, I think. Still, getting drunk alone is no fun.”

“Your face is no fun,” he flicks his cigarette at her, dropping ashes on her jeans. “Now get the fuck out of my car.”

Starcourt mall is packed as Robin walks in laughing in her relief and the sound of tires screeching can be heard from the parking lot.

In a few hours, Dustin is going to barge in with news of a Russian conspiracy. In a few hours, she’s going to overhear them and demand in on it, but instead of dealing with this alone, she’s gonna make a phone call to Hawkins’ Public Pool.

“Hi, I was wondering if I could speak with Billy Hargrove? He’s a lifeguard. What? No, I’m not– I swear! It’s uh, family matters. Yeah, I’m his sister. Sure, I can hold.”

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

When ya reread what you wrote and it don’t make no sense... anon me the hate

Leading Pike away from the group, his boyfriend was on edge. Perhaps using the forever ominous “We need to talk” hadn’t been the best phrasing of words, though they needed to do just that. Promising him it was nothing bad, his boyfriend had spent their walk with one arm across his stomach like he was trying to give himself a hug. Sure, it was a conversation they could have had as a team, but Keith didn’t want Pike feeling overwhelmed with everyone trying to have their say at the same time

“Babe, I’m serious. It’s nothing bad, I just want to talk to you about an idea Pidge had”

Pike let out a huff

“You could have just said that. I’ve been worrying myself in circles. Why couldn’t we talk to the group about it?”

“I wanted to get your opinion on things before we go talk to the others”

“Basically everyone, but me, knows whatever it is and you’re not sure what to do?”

Keith nodded, leaning in to kiss Pike’s cheek

“I’m sorry. I’m overreacting, I know it, but I’m... I’m worried about you”

Pike slipped out of his hold, leading Keith over to the base of a rather boring tree. Leaning back against it, Pike tugged Keith into his hold

“It’s the sleeping thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. Babe, what’s been going on with you?”

“I don’t know. I feel exhausted all the time... all I want to do is sleep, even that walk’s left me tired”

That wasn’t good. Nuzzling into Pike, Keith found his hands were shaking. How could they fight a troll, when Pike was so weak?

“Do you feel anything else? Sick? Hungry?”

“No. No, just tired... and, um... maybe a bit horny”

Their theory had to be correct, the pearl was draining Pike’s energy at an accelerated rate due to finally being near the end of their journey. Sliding his hand up his boyfriend’s tunic and onto the taunt skin Pike’s stomach, Keith found warmth. Not simply the warmth of the man he loved, but a good warmth radiating from the swell. Wriggling, Keith raised his gaze from Pike’s stomach to his face, cheeks flushed and his bottom lip between his teeth. His boyfriend looked so damn fuckable...

“Babe?”

“I’m okay...”

There was a clear unsaid “but”

“But?”

“But when you touch me, it feels... I feel the pearl throbbing, everything throbbing... What’s wrong with me?”

Keith slid his hand back out of Pike’s tunic, wrapping his arm around his lover

“There’s nothing wrong with you”

“You’re worried about me. Like, more than usual worried. I can see it, and I’m still like this... what’s wrong with me?”

Pike was getting teary now, Keith couldn’t keep him in the dark. His lover finally recognising that maybe he was “allowed” to worry for himself. That it was okay to recognise that there was something wrong with him that they needed to address

“We have a theory. The closer we get to the castle, the more the pearl feeds on your energy. We’re now so close that the pearl is reaching its peak. I... I kept something from you. Ryndery, at the village, said the pearl fed on your energy, and mine when we’re connected. The pearl is calling out for my energy, as yours isn’t enough anymore. I shouldn’t have kept things from you, but I wanted to concentrate on all of us reaching the castle. You haven’t been well, babe. You’re sleep walking in the middle of the night. You’re weakened, and I’m scared. Pidge said we need a guide to cross the mountains, but we can’t get a guide unless we kill a troll... we need to do this, but I... all I care about is being your boyfriend. I can’t... I can’t put you in danger. I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself. I’m not saying that at all. I’m saying I’m scared taking you to the castle will mean losing you forever. We’ve only just begun our journey as a team. We need more time... Time to reconnect and heal. Time to rest, but if we stay here for too long... what if you close your eyes and never wake up?”

With a sniffle, Pike rubbed his cheek against Keith’s

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I understand why you didn’t tell me, but things like this are what we need to talk about. If you need to wake me up, then wake me up. Keep waking me up. Wake me up a thousand times if you have to. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to be useless. I don’t want to drag the team down, but most importantly, I don’t want you to feel like this. You’re a good leader, in a sucky circumstance. If we need to kill a troll, then we’ll goddamn kill that troll. And we’ll do it as a team, even if you have to wake me up mid fight to do so. Dark, you can do this. All those thoughts in your head, it hurts that it hurts you so much. You’re my boyfriend. We’ve got enough unsaid history between us as it is. We can’t afford to keep secrets, and you can’t afford to get weighed down in the “what ifs”. I don’t want to weigh you down. Maybe... maybe we should stop having sex? I don’t want you to feel the way I do... I want you to be happy”

“I’m happy when I’m with you”

“That’s a lie. Right now you’re miserable and scared”

Pike was killing him here, he was happy with Pike. He didn’t need him pointing out the obvious that should obviously be left unsaid. Keith felt so quiznakking overwhelmed, he wanted Pike to just shut up about everything serious. He wanted to lay under the stars with his boyfriend, cuddle and kiss, share whispers and not talk about this anymore. Pike needed his energy

“But you make everything better... I want to give you my energy. I want to spend that eternity with you”

He never should have told Lance he didn’t want to. He should have manned up and realised sooner, not lashed out because he was struggling

“I won’t have you risking your life any more than you are...”

Risking his life kind of came with the game. It was also about par for being a Paladin. Until they reached Earth, they’d continually be in danger, day in, day out

“It’s my life to do with what I wish. I’d take having you in any way I can get, even if it cost me my life. You’re so quiznakking important to me... that’s why all of this is so hard”

“I know. I know it is... but, Dark, I feel the same way, remember. I don’t want to live in a world without you”

“Then let me help you. Let me keep supporting you until the end. You promised...”

Pike sighed, nuzzling into Keith’s hair as he held him

“What am I going to do with you?”

“Come to bed with me... let me give you my energy. I love you, Pike. If we’re going to battle a troll, you need every bit of energy you can get. Let me be with you, if not for your sake, then for mine”

“I can’t tell if you’re horny, trying to be sweet, or just a self sacrificing idiot?”

“One and two, maybe a little of three?”

Pike sighed at him again. Keith was pretty sick of the all the sighing his boyfriend was doing

“What?”

“You didn’t have to be so honest”

“Really? What should I have said? Denied it all?”

“No, no. I don’t know. The idea of having sex to share energy scares me. I don’t want... I mean...”

“You wanna do it because we like each other?”

“Ugh. You make it sound so lame out loud”

“That’s because you’re an idiot. I already like you. I more than like you. You needing energy is a bonus... maybe not a bonus... argh. Right. You, me, sex, now. Clear?”

Pike pushed him away to double over laughing. His hand waving air across his red face. Keith didn’t appreciate being laughed at, but he could see the humour in it for Pike. His words sounded more like Lance would say anyway, as he stomped his foot

“Stop laughing”

“Babe... I don’t think I can... that was... not subtle at all”

“You’re the one who said...”

“It’s all about the mood. You sounded like me... By the god of light, I love you”

“You’re impossible”

“And you worry too much. Me, you, cuddle, now?”

Had Keith not been so whipped, he might have thrown his hands up and stomped off. Their whole conversation made no sense. He hadn’t been trying to get into Pike’s pants, but then he was, because he was panicked over the following day, and now he was huffy because his boyfriend was laughing when not even 10 minutes ago he was admitting he was scared... and now his dick was interested more in feeling Pike than in Pike’s feelings

“If we cuddle you’ll fall asleep”

“And if we don’t cuddle, you’ll fall asleep all grumpy”

“I’m not grumpy”

“Really? Was that not a whiny tone you just used?”

Yeah, it’d been a little whiny. Keith was tired of going around in circles with his head. Cuddles wouldn’t just stop at cuddles, but he was annoyed at himself for saying they should have sex basically so he could worry less about taking Pike into battle with the troll. It was a douche move. It was a douche move that he couldn’t take back, even if Pike laughed it off, Keith was kicking himself for it

“Screw you”

“If you insist...”

“You’re not funny. Let’s just... let’s just go back to camp. You’re asleep on your feet as it is”

*

Sex happened. Keith couldn’t deny he was to blame. Curled around Pike, they’d both been sleepy as kissed turned to more, then next thing Pike was in his lap and Keith was awash with orgasmic bliss. There middle bit was fuzzy, but the sex bit... the sex bit was as great as it’d been... even if the team was sleeping not 10 metres away from them. Wearing himself out, Pike had bottom from the top, Keith’s hands leaving marks on his slim hips as he fucked his lover without mercy. The deed was done and he couldn’t undo it, nor he could ignore the tendrils of sleep. Come morning he would have thought it a dream if their pants hadn’t been around their ankles with Pike’s very naked arse, up against Keith’s very shameless dick... aaaaand sex happened again. Pike wasn’t thinking straight, Keith feeling as if he’d taken advantage of him as his boyfriend began to purr, soft and warm in Keith’s arms, pulling Keith as tightly against him as he could. Had Pike been thinking right, he would have rejected taking Keith’s energy to feed the pearl. He would have broken down into tears, apologising for what happened, not take his hand and held up to his chest as his body vibrated with the loudness of his purr.

Still tangled together beneath the blankets, Shiro cast him a judgmental look as the others went about getting up and organised for the day ahead. Pike didn’t help things with his messed up hair and well fucked expression as the pair of them were left waiting until Shiro finally took mercy on them and sent the others out to find supplies. Openly affectionate, Pike’s kisses were far too tempting and far too sweet as Keith died internally from having to be rescued by his brother. They didn’t have enough time for another round, Keith felt drained as it was. Knowing it was for Pike’s sake didn’t take away the uneasy feeling in his stomach. Nor did it clean up the mess they’d made of their bedding. Today was going to quiznakking suck, he just knew it.

The fact Pike was awake and walking under his own steam clued everyone into the fact they’d been getting busy. Forced to appear as Paladin’s of Light, Keith couldn’t hold his boyfriend’s hand, the distance giving him some much needed time to cool himself down... continually yawning as he tried to think

“Dark, can we talk?”

Hunk and Pidge were making by the most of Pike being awake, pointing out things they thought he’d be interested in as they walked ahead as a group with Allura, in the overly busy town that Keith instantly disliked. There were too many people, each person only putting him further on edge as the walked, Shiro’s hand brushing against his

“What is it?”

“You. Something’s on your mind”

“It’s complicated”

“It’s Pike. I know you talked with him”

“And you can see how well that worked out”

Grabbing him the arm, Shiro held him back

“Talk to me. You’re not alone”

“No. I’m not alone and apparently I can’t keep my dick to myself either”

Shiro sighed at him

“Is that the problem? That you had sex with Pike?”

Twice... once was bad enough... but twice...

“I... I fucked up and he’s completely clueless”

“What do you mean, that you fucked up?”

“I had sex with him. I told him yesterday, about how he’s probably feeding on my energy. He said he didn’t want to have sex, then the next thing we do is have sex. He said he didn’t want it, then he did, then it happened and now I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t want my energy. He’s scared at the idea, but... we can’t keep our hands off each other. I feel like I took advantage of him. He said...”

Keith’s breath hiccuped, Shiro going from holding Keith’s arm to wrapping his arm around him

“Okay. You’re okay. I get it now. You’re worried about him not really wanting it, but entertaining you”

“Yeah... I feel... like a dick”

“You two got swept up in the moment. Did you hold him down?”

“What? No...”

“Did you force him down and force yourself upon him?”

“What...?”

“You two are young and in love. You want to be with each other all the time. Neither of you have much blood for your head when you’re together. Pike loves you. You should talk to him about this. Be honest about how you feel right now”

“How can I? I don’t... I don’t want him to think that... that I’m...”

“You’re trying to respect him. There’s nothing wrong with that”

“But what if he doesn’t remember. What if the game changes things? What if he... What if he gets hurt because he doesn’t care, because he thinks I don’t respect him?”

The “what ifs” seemed endless

“I honestly think you’re over thinking this. If you don’t want a physical relationship, then be clearer about why”

“I told him straight up that I didn’t mind sharing my energy with him. He’s the one who said no, then climbed in my lap”

“Then apologise to him. He loves you. He didn’t want to have sex with exchange of energy as the basis. Explain to him that wasn’t what it was, and make sure you make yourself clear. You can’t keep beating yourself up when we have a troll to defeat”

Keith nodded, not entirely sure Shiro had helped him figure anything out

“I don’t know if this helped or not”

“I don’t know either, but you’re my brother. Whatever you do, I’ll support you the best I can”

“I know you will... Gyro, I really love him. I don’t want to live without him”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re all getting out of this together. We’ll bring him back, then we’ll figure it out together. Our pack will be stronger than ever”

“I hope so... I don’t think he’ll survive things going back to how they used to be...”

“They won’t. We’re all aware of how many mistakes we’ve made. When we get back, we’re all going to apologise to him properly”

“And what if... what if he decides he doesn’t want me in the real world”

“He’s in love with you. His head might be all over the place, but to him, you’re the one he wants to be with. Just because things didn’t work out with Adam, doesn’t mean things won’t work out with Lance. I made some stupid choices I wish I could change, but being your brother isn’t one of them. Believe in yourself, like Lance believes in you. You’ve got this, kiddo”

Keith wasn’t sure he did. Once Lance woke, things might be even worse than they’d been before. He didn’t want to doubt his boyfriend, but Lance had so many issues he still needed to work through, leaving Keith only able to support him as he did. Feelings were so damn complicated, but feelings that might die as the game ended... he didn’t know how to come back from that. If they lost Lance, then the universe would no longer be this bright hope that Lance seemed to think it was. If Lance was gone, hope was gone... and without hope, what else remained? He’d been right in thinking today wasn’t going to be a great day. How was he supposed to fight a troll when his heart was breaking because he couldn’t shut his own head up. He didn’t doubt Lance cared for him... so why did he have to be like this?

“Hey, Pike! Dark wants to talk to you”

Keith could have stabbed Shiro for interfering. Hunk, Pidge, and Allura all moving away to leave Pike standing alone. He was ready to stomp on Shiro’s foot at least, until Pike turned back to him, his eyes bright and his smile wide

“Babe, you have to come see this!”

Keith wasn’t ready to talk... he was deep in self brooding, angry at everything, until he saw that goddamn smile. Leaning in Shiro whispered to him

“See, he wants to talk, we’ll go ahead a little and give you time to catch up”

“You’re an arse. Why do I love you again?”

“Because you’re you. Now go talk to your boyfriend”

Keith forced perk into his step as he jogged up to Pike. In Pike’s palm sat a single yellow daisy thing, so very Earthly when compared to the rest of the world

“You found a flower?”

“Yeah... Hold still”

Tucking it behind Keith’s ear, Pike giggled happy with himself

“It suits you”

“I think it’d suit you better”

“Nah. Babe, I know Gyro said you want to talk, but can I say something first?”

Keith didn’t think he could feel sicker if he tried, until Lance burst that last little bubble inside of him, nerves nearly too much as he tried to sound casual

“It’s never stopped you before”

“That’s true. Um... I feel like you’re not okay. So I want to say, you don’t have to tell me what you two were talking about, even if Gyro’s saying you should. I just want to say that I’m sorry if I’m the one who...”

Keith reached out, pulling Pike against him, not really sure why

“No. No, it’s... Are you okay?”

“I’m okay... just worried about you. Block and Meklavar we’re trying to distract me, but this whole time I’ve been thinking about you. If there’s something you want to say, I’ll always listen... just... don’t forget that you can talk to me”

“I... I feel bad. I feel bad we had sex, after you said you didn’t want to. I feel like I took advantage of you, and I feel like the crappiest boyfriend alive”

Rubbing his cheek against Keith’s, Pike hugged him tighter

“I wish you’d talked to me sooner”

“How could I... after...”

“Nope. No. Okay, we did it, and yeah, neither of us were probably thinking about anything more than the next few minutes, but we didn’t do it out of obligation. We did it because were young and horny, and that dick of yours is on point. I’m the one who feels bad. You’re sleep walking while I’m awake, but we can’t undo what we did. You didn’t take advantage of me. You wouldn’t do that. You’re here because you’re not like that. I... I love you”

“Do you?”

Pike froze in his arms, a tremor running through the fellinwere

“What?”

“Do you... when... when this... we’ll be together, won’t we?”

Pike let out a shaky breath

“You’re all that I want. I thought you knew that”

“I do... but I’m scared. I’ve never been... you’re the one I want... but what if...”

“Babe. No. Don’t go there”

“I can’t help it. I’ve tried talking to Gyro, that only made me more confused. I tried working it out and now I don’t know...”

“Okay. No more thinking for you. You’re tired and your brain isn’t working right. I’m serious about this, us. I’m also serious that we’re not having sex again, not when you’re so tired you look ready to cry. You’re my boyfriend. I care about you and your feelings. You keeping it yourself and worrying yourself in circles isn’t good for you. I promised we’d be together until the end... okay?”

Keith groaned

“I think I feel even more confused”

Kissing his cheek, Pike then leaned back

“That’s okay. You’re Darkstorm and you like to stab things, like big ugly trolls. Today we’re going to kill a troll, and get the win so we can be together... even if I don’t know why you’d...”

Keith hurried to kiss Pike before he could start insulting himself.

[carol-effing-danvers]

Have a blurb from the dark magicks AU

Let’s pretend I’ll finish this at some point, eh? Wouldn’t that be nice?

The eyes of the wolf tattooed between Hargrove’s pecs seemed to be staring at him, with a gaze as eerie as its owner. The bones in his long blond braids were singing low, whispering songs, ancient tongues of the sand and sea. Steve wondered if Billy could actually hear them or if someone had sold him beads made of bone as a joke. He glanced at the black symbols inked over Billy’s knuckles, designs of alchemy and old ruins. No, he was certain Billy knew they were real, and he heard the song of the deep seas. His eyes seemed bluer than before - like quicksilver, almost - as they stared at each other and the words emerged before Steve could snatch them back. “You aren’t really a human, are you?”

Billy cocked his hip against the counter and grinned at him, tilting his chin up to openly study him. “What about you, pretty boy? Whatcha got hiding underneath that pretty face?”

Steve tried to keep the line of his shoulders relaxed, but he could tell from the way Billy’s grin suddenly matched the wide jaws of the wolf that he hadn’t been as successful as he hoped. “My face is my face, Hargrove,” he said flatly. “Try not to cream your pants.” 

"Oh, you’re a terrible liar. No, no, no,” he crooned, tilting his head. Around his neck, the silver medallion he wore spun wildly, chiming a tune that set Steve’s teeth on edge. “You’re wearing an Illusion spell - no!” he corrected, delighted with himself. “You’ve Transfigured yourself!” 

For the first time, Dustin looked at Steve with uncertainty in his eyes and it was making him feel sick. “Steve...what’s he talking about?”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Steve said sharply, squeezing the back of Dustin’s neck reassuringly. He could smash that smug grin right off Billy Hargrove’s face - even now his own blood sang a song of how easily they could destroy him. If Steve would give in.

Tear, bleed, fuck, feast.

Max popped her gum with a sassy expression. “Are you calling my brother a liar?!” 

“No, he just doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he said, unable to quite stop himself from imitating her bratty tone, despite being twice her age. 

“Oh, come on, Harrington,” Billy said, amused. “It can’t be that bad. I doubt you’re part mountain troll. You don’t stink enough. Take off the mask, it ain’t Halloween anymore.” 

"Every day is Halloween, haven't you been paying attention?" he answered coolly, turning away from him.

Billy snarled at the implied dismissal, quicksilver eyes gleaming mercury-bright. Lowly, he said “That wasn’t a request, you snotty little twat.”

Steve turned in time to see the five glowing yellow points on the fingertips of his left hand. With those glowing fingertips, he pulled at the air between them, like Billy was tugging on a leash. 

And Steve was at the other end. 

Tear, bleed, fuck, feast.

Mrs. Wheeler’s fruit bowl spilled all over the floor and the tablecloth as Steve stumbled backward to crash into the dining room table. Fire blazed along his shoulder blades and Steve groaned in pain. “Stop!” Dustin pleaded, sounding close to tears. “Stop, you’re hurting him!” 

Each of his knuckles burned and the wood of the table screeched as Steve blindly reached to hang onto the edge with hands that suddenly had thick claws in place of nails. When the pain begin radiating through his jaws, his shoulders tightening up, Steve roared “DON’T!”, his vocal chords reaching a pitch that made Billy’s face look triumphant. He could feel the sharp edges of his own teeth, trying to fill his mouth with daggers. He cried out in a human range, “Not in front of them! Don’t hurt the kids, you fucking idiot!” 

He’s never hurt someone without meaning to before, but he wasn’t willing to bet their lives on that record, either. Especially when Hargrove already made him want to kill something.

The burning pain in his back and jaws began receding and Steve glared balefully down at the claws at the ends of his hands. Sounding almost stunned, Hargrove asked “What the fuck are you, Harrington?” 

Steve raised his eyes, wondering if they were still dark brown. “None of your goddamn business.” He bared his fangs, feeling like a fucking monster when he saw the children all cower against the kitchen cabinets out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not Transfigured, you arrogant asshole. I’m Dormant. And don’t ever fucking do that again.”

[elizabethemerald]

10 Years Later

To everyone who enjoyed my “Did the others know?” Question from the other day. Here is them finding out. It’s a lot less beating up the wizard and a lot more caring for the child who was hurt. I hope everyone likes it, or it makes you very sad. Please reblog just like you did with the other post! I want to make sure everyone who saw that sees this. 

Ten years. It was the ten year anniversary of the end of the war. The week had been filled with celebrations, speeches and toasts. Now at the end of the week, the heroes of the wars gathered for their own smaller celebration.

This was the date they all considered the actual anniversary of the end of the war. Not when the last wizard died, but when Jim and Claire finally woke up from their comas to be told the good news. 

Toby hadn't left their sides the entire week, sitting in the room they shared in his wheelchair. Aja had woken up a few days before the others. This was the day that they celebrated. The day of tears as the heroes were told about their victory, and what that victory had cost them. They celebrated with drinks and stories, laughs and more tears. 

Jim sat on the long couch in between two of his lovers. His mane was growing longer and he seemed even taller. To his left was Claire and his right Toby. 

Claire sat with several of her most powerful wards glowing in a circle around her. While she had finally stopped trying to hex Morgana into non being on sight, it was clear she still didn't trust her. Anytime Morgana looked her way the temperature in the room would drop or jump a few degrees. 

Toby sat on Jim's other side. His prosthetic leg sat on the coffee table. With his mastery of gravity the prosthetic was mostly for appearances, and no one here cared. 

On his other side was Darci. She held his hand tightly throughout the evening. Her belly already starting to show the baby bump. 

Aja and Krel leaned against the wall. She was in her human form, he was in his Akiridion form. The pressures of their daily lives often kept them in their other forms so here where they could relax they opted for the form they were so often denied. 

The various adults were sitting around the room as well. Barbara sitting with one arm around Morgana and the other around Zelda. Zadra would occasionally walk through the house and run her fingers through Barbara or Zelda's hair as she passed, though her focus was on security for the royals. Blinky, Aaarrrgghh, and Strickler sat around the dining room table. 

"I'm telling you, Gunmar was the worst." Toby was saying. The discussion of which villain was the worst was one that was still hotly debated even ten years after the end of the wars. They all politely refrained from mention Morgana, at least while she was in the room, though Claire had made her opinion on that clear. "After everything he did, Gunmar gets the biggest douchebag award."

"You don't have to tell me the awful things he did." Jim said. It was accepted that other than Aaarrrgghh and Nomura that Jim had the most first hand experience with Gunmar's cruelty and thus be taken as an expert in the matter. "But we all knew he was evil. His name was Gunmar the Skullcrusher!"

Toby and Claire nodded. Jim had made this argument many times before. 

"Merlin pretended he was a good guy, when really he only cared about his magic. He gets the biggest douchebag award." Jim paused and his eyes went a little distant, then his voice turned bitter. "Especially after what he did to me."

Several in the room reacted to the extreme bitterness in his voice. Barbara sat forward. Blinky looked hurt. Walter and Zelda made eye contact across the room. Jim seemed lost in his thoughts and didn't notice. Walter cleared his throat to draw his attention. 

"Young Atlas, I thought you had come to terms with your current form." He said. Jim looked up surprised. 

"Oh, being a half troll is great! I'm stronger, faster and a better fighter. Plus I'm closer than ever to my dad." Jim smiled broadly at Blinky. "Plus I can do this."

Jim flexed his arms, his custom tailored suit strained to hold his muscles form. Claire immediately blushed up to her ears. Toby swooned dramatically into Darci's arms. Even Aja had to take a deep breath. Jim smiled and quirked his eyebrows at his lovers. Walter struggled not to roll his eyes. 

"Then what are you talking about Jim?" Barbara asked. She was still concerned and her son's show boating wasn't going to distract her. "What else did Merlin do to you?"

Jim looked at her and then the others, confusion etched on his face. "Remember he refused to let me go to your rescue, beat me unconscious then tied me to a chair?"

There was several long seconds of silence. Glances flew across the room rapidly as everyone tried to process that statement. The temperature in the room plummeted. 

"He what?!" Claire shouted. The air crackled around her, her hair starting to float around her head.

"Did I never tell you?" Jim asked, his expression a mix between remorseful and incredulous. 

"Do you think I would have been willing to travel across the entire country with someone who had done that if I'd known?" Claire asked. 

Blinky immediately rose to his feet and moved to sit in front of Jim on the coffee table. 

"Master Jim...son…" he hesitated and looked to Barbara for help. She joined him on the coffee table.

"Jim, tell us what happened." Barbara said softly. She put her hand on his knee.

"Oh if you don't know, then I'll tell you later. I don't want to spoil the party!" Jim tried to put on a brave face. However, his voice still choked up and he had tears at the edge of his eyes. 

"Everyone here loves you Jim." Blinky said. "Please tell us what happened."

Claire and Toby pressed themselves against his shoulders to show their support. Jim took a deep shaky breath. And told them. 

Jim told them about his fear that Gunmar would hurt his mom. Trying to coordinate the search with Toby and Claire. Wanting to leave the house to help them search. How Merlin had stopped him. The fight in the house. Jim described the desperation with which he fought to escape so he could rescue his mom. 

By the time he described Merlin ripping the Amulet from his chest there wasn't a single dry eye. Jim telling them about waking up tied to a chair brought several sobs from his family. Merlin's describing Jim's choice dragged growls from a few of his guardians, including Aaarrrgghh and Morgana. 

Then came his trip into the bathroom. 

Everyone knew how they had found Jim. They knew the aftermath of what happened. But he hadn't told any of them his thoughts as he filled the tub, as he donned his armor for what he thought would be the last time, as he stepped into the black potion. 

Jim was sobbing, tears pouring down his face as he spoke. Toby was holding him tight. Claire had dropped some of her wards so she could be just as close. Aja had walked over and was leaning against the back of the couch holding Jim from behind. 

"I thought I might be dying!" Jim said. His voice broke their hearts. "Merlin didn't explain how the potion would work. I didn't know if I was going to come out on the other side. I didn't even know what was going to come out on the other side."

"When I woke up in that pond I thought I might be in the Void. I was barely able to stumble into the house."

"And then you had to travel across the entire country with the man who did that to you.” Barbara said softly.

“We had won, we had defeated Gunmar. I thought at the time that it was worth it.” Jim said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I tried not to think about what he had done, and when I did I thought it was my fault for not listening to him.”

“And the way he talked about you after.” Claire said, her eyes distant. “Not just before the Eternal Night, but after as well. On the road to New Jersey, anytime he was tutoring me in magic, he would talk about how he had “fixed” you. And he would talk about your life before like it didn’t matter, like your life didn’t shape you into the hero you are.”

“God if I was there I would have squashed him into goo.” Toby said, shaking in fury. He held out his and the collapsed handle of his hammer flew across the room. 

“Careful Toby!” Darci said covering her belly. 

“I am sure there are many things we would have done had we known.” Blinky said. “But the important thing is we know now. Jim is there anything we can do for you?”

“Other than constant reminders that we love you no matter what.” Barbara said. 

“Honestly that’s what I need the most.” Jim stood up from the couch as he spoke. He easily lifted Claire and Toby as they clung to his shoulders. Aja had to nimbly step over the couch as she held onto his shoulders. Barbara and Blinky both stood with him and embraced him. Jim’s soft sobs echoed in the house as one by one every person there came up and joined the hug.

Later, the “kids” were out in the back yard “sparring.” Barbara thought to herself that she had to stop them thinking about them as children at some point. They were her children, and she loved them all. Of course the sparring was really just playing around. The older crowd stood together in the kitchen. 

“That bastard is lucky he’s dead and buried. I have half a mind to dig him up and desecrate his corpse, for what he did.” Barbara had a death grip on the kitchen counter. “I did everything I could to protect Jim from the abuse I went through. And the person who we thought would be our savior hurt more than anyone else.”

Morgana held her close. “Merlin always was a bastard. He cut off my goddamn hand in my sleep.”

“He was constantly abusive towards Claire on our journey to New Jersey.” Blinky said. 

“And he hated me for being a changeling.” Nomura said, grinding her teeth. “Among many other reasons.”

Barbara sighed deeply. “Well whatever’s he done he’s long gone. Now we have to be there for Jim and kids. Make sure none of them are still hurting from the war.”

Barbara continued to glower as the other adults made their assurances that they do what they could to assist. The party returned to its celebratory nature. 

[leupagus]

more musician AU nonsense

Here’s more of the Schitt Records AU because I just want 100K of Patrick trolling David at every opportunity, no matter how wildly inappropriate. (These kinds of auctions exist and they are just as weird and off-putting as you’d imagine. Rich people and fundraisers, I could tell you STORIES.)

*

There are so many worst parts about having to manage Patrick Brewer — his constant need for tea, his little half-smile that David still has no idea if it’s laughing at him or with him, the absent-minded guitar strumming while David’s trying to have a conversation — but this might be the worst worst part, which is that Patrick in a tux looks fucking edible.

David grits his teeth and says, “So, it’s very important that you not screw this up, all right? You go out there, say hi to the very nice, extremely rich people who are going to bid on you, you play the single with the correct amount of wistful yearning—“

Patrick’s eyebrows go up at that but David’s teeth are probably audibly creaking by now and he wisely stays silent. They’re backstage, which is nothing new, but instead of a concert hall or a music venue they’re in a tiny ballroom at the Hazelton, where a few dozen donors are doing what donors do, which is make up truly ridiculous excuses to give money to causes. The various items up for auction include a Ming vase and that Wu-Tang album that finally got released from the FBI. Patrick is being raffled off as the grand prize.

“—and then they bid, and then I schedule you to have dinner with whatever lucky lady or gentleman has purchased your affections for an evening.”

“Okay, could we make this sound less… prostitute-y?” Patrick says, fussing at the headstock of his guitar.

“Welcome to the music industry,” David huffs. He wants to straighten Patrick’s bowtie, put his hands on his shoulders and tell him to relax. This is awful.

“And when you say ‘extremely rich,’” Patrick says, the question not quite there.

“I mean some of them could probably buy the entire town you grew up in.”

Patrick cocks his head. “So richer than your family was?”

“No,” David says, firm and trying to scowl but failing. Most reminders of what the Rose family had been were painful, or enraging, because they either came from curious idiots or smug assholes. But Patrick talks about it like it’s…just part of the past. Something that happened.

“Well, I guess it’s good you got me at such a bargain price,” Patrick says, just as the very chipper auctioneer announces him.

“Hello, ‘Apollo,’ then shut the hell up,” David hisses as Patrick makes to go out there.

Instead of meekly agreeing, Patrick just smiles some more. “Get out on the floor,” he whispers back. “You know I can’t concentrate if I’m worried you’re going to tackle me from stage left any second.”

David clenches his fists and imagines throwing him off a balcony, or possibly sucking him off on a balcony. It’s hard to say which is more tempting. “Fine,” he says. “Go.”

“You first,” Patrick says, gesturing to the door which will lead to a hallway which will lead to another door at the back of the ballroom, because Patrick is the world biggest dickhead. David spins on his heel and marches out, wanting desperately to slam the door behind him; instead he closes it gently and proceeds to run into a small army of waiters swarming the hall. Apparently it’s the cheese course.

He manages to get to the ballroom entrance after nearly getting beaned with a trayfull of brie; a very security guard is gazing absently at the stage. David is about to show him his pass when he finally hears it.

“—How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now For twenty brave men all fishermen who Would make for him the Antelope's crew God damn them all! I was told We'd cruise the seas for American gold We'd fire no guns, shed no tears But I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier The last of Barrett's Privateers!”

“Oh my fucking God, that fucking asshole,” David screams very, very quietly. The security guard notices him.

“You know Patrick Brewer?” he asks, looking mildly impressed, which is the first time a security guard has ever looked mildly impressed at him, but David’s too busy having an aneurysm to appreciate it.

“I was his manager up until about five seconds ago,” David says, waving his badge.

The security guard shrugs. “They seem to be into it.”

David takes a moment away from his defenestration plan to notice: Patrick isn’t singing so much as he’s leading the entire roomful of bankers and lawyers and movers and shakers into the next verse. There’s a lot of stomping to the beat, although it’s a bit off-tempo. “How is this happening,” David mutters.

“Didn’t think rich people knew Stan Rogers,” the security guard admits.

“I’m pretty sure they revoke your citizenship if you don’t know the words to this song,” David says, because it’s true. He’d lived nearly his whole life in New York or Long Island or Maui before, the entire expanse of Canada nothing more than a reason to use a different passport when he was feeling whimsical, but he still feels a gut impulse to join in as the room roars into the verse about the slutty Yankee ship. Instead he installs himself along the back wall, filching a glass of wine and trying not to break it in rage as Patrick finally hits the final chorus and — goddamn that fucking pied piper, what the fuck — the entire room lurches to their feet, cheering and clapping and red-faced with patriotism. “Every goddamn time,” he mutters.

The bidding is — brisk, he thinks is the right word; a surprising number of people hang on while the price goes from the introductory to the interesting. David’s already trying to work out a tasteful way to phrase how high the bidding went in a press release without making it sordid, although there’s a stunning woman in her 40s with a gleam in her eye who he suspects might try for a little sordid if she wins. David glances up to where the auctioneer is buzzing around Patrick the way she’d been buzzing around the Ming vase; Patrick is starting to look nervous again. The bidding has gone from interesting to extravagant, just like David had hoped.

Before, he could have come in here and named a price so ludicrous that it would have shut the whole room up, ended the party and gotten him what he wanted, and now he just stands here with a drink and a knot in his stomach, planning to brag about how much money other people spent. He should go back to the backstage area and wait for this to be over, so that when Patrick wraps up he can kill him for singing Barrett’s fucking Privateers instead of his single and maybe pin him up against a wall.

The bidding’s now mainly between the stunning woman and a cute guy about Patrick’s age with a shy smile that’s at odds with the way his paddle keeps going up. David wonders about the ethics of putting in some bids, just to nudge up the price a little more. With only two left it’s risky, but a late entry can get people panicking and nobody in this room knows who he is; he could bump the price up another twenty or thirty easily, and Patrick would see him and wonder what the fuck he was doing, and David could smile and put in a bid and—

“Sold!” the hammer comes down and there’s some polite clapping; shy-smile guy won and Patrick makes his way down the steps to shake hands with the guy. David will need to get his name and information so they can arrange the dinner, make sure he isn’t some really sweet-looking serial killer or anything. But Patrick’s already done, working his way through the crowd with exchanges and selfies. He’s getting better at that, the hold-still-and-smile pause that Alexis had drilled into him. He could be good at this, good at being wanted and rich and worth a whole lot of money for just one night. David had never been good at any of it.

“Before you kill me,” Patrick says as he gets close enough, “I’d like to say—“

“Are you actually going to apologize? Because that would be a first,” David says, trying so hard to be furious, but Patrick’s smiling with his stupid guitar slung across his back like he’s some troubadour from a romance novel, he’s already pulled off his bowtie and undone his collar like David had known he would, and people are hovering on the periphery trying to get his attention but he’s ignoring them all to grin at him, unrepentant and joyful.

“David,” he says, stepping closer and grabbing at his wine glass, which David relinquishes without too much protest, “You should never apologize for Stan Rogers.” And he gulps down the rest of the wine and sets it on the nearest table. “Shall we?”

The security guard gives him a thumbs-up as they pass.

[itsthesinbin]

Get Back Here (Draal/FemReader sfw)

Thank you to @skeletonshades for purchasing a slot!

This is just a simple fluff piece, with a bit of anger. No real warnings, aside from mentions of Vomit

Hope you guys enjoy!

“You have to stay here”. Those words knocked the breath out of you. Draal was gathering his weapons, on the way to save Jim from the Darklands. You grew angry.

“Why can’t I come? I can fight-” “Not… as well as we can,” he snapped, deflating a bit as he talked. He began towards the tunnel in your basement, and you stomped after him.

“You are NOT leaving me here while you go to the goddamn DARKLANDS, Draal!” He turned to you, grabbing your shoulders.

“I know you want to come, but I can’t let you. You’ve just… started your training- you couldn’t… I can’t-” He growled softly, the way he does when he can’t get his words out.

“You’re staying here,” he finally said, going into the tunnel. You called out to him, trying to follow, but he blocked the path with the large piece of wall he uses as a door. You glared at the offending piece of wall, trying to push it down.

He must’ve blocked it with something else, because it barely gave away. You pounded on the blockade.

“DRAAL! OPEN THIS TUNNEL RIGHT NOW!” You could hear his footsteps slow, before he sped off. Furious, distraught tears fell down your face.

“Get back here,” you hiccupped, dropping back onto your backside. You scrubbed at your face, taking a shaky breath.

“Please… Come back, Draal”.

You don’t know how long you sat on the floor, crying and being angry. You kicked the wall one last time, weakly.

You let out a quiet sob, rubbing your sore eyes. You stood, fists balled before stomping back upstairs.

How dare he just… just GO like that! You may not be as used to fighting as the other humans, but you’re a goddamn ADULT! You can, at the very least, defend yourself.

“But NOOOO,” you yelled, pulling out the tray of brownies you were going to surprise him with tonight, before the news of the Darklands became your topic of choice. You put on your favorite movie, sitting down and stuffing your face.

“He decides to leave me here and possibly get himself KILLED!” That complaint made you stop. God… he could die, if he goes into the Darklands. They could all die.

And it’s not like you could waltz into Trollmarket to figure out if something happened, nor could you walk up to a stranger’s house and ask if their child had come home.

You put the brownie in your hand down, feeling nauseous. You swallowed thickly, a new wave of despair and anger washing over you.

They could all die, or be stuck in the Darklands, and you’d never know for sure. You choked out a sob, putting your head in your hands.

And the last thing you two did was argue, and yell at each other. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he’s so angry, or concerned, that he can’t concentrate?

… God, what are you thinking?

Thinking all of that is just as bad as just… giving up and accepting his death.

You stare at the platter of brownies, before pulling out your phone. Draal’s face was your lock screen, and his confused- and slightly offended- stare greeted you.

You… can allow yourself to be angry, but you can’t give up.

You’ll talk with Draal when he gets back.

You don’t know when you fell asleep. All you know is you woke up with a horrible headache, brownie crumbs on your shirt, and an intense feeling of nausea.

Ugh… did you eat the entire fucking platter? Are you a goddamn fool?

Yes, you thought as you threw up into the nearest trash can. You, truly, are a goddamn fool.

Lazily, you went to brush your teeth and just… shower. And by shower, of course that means sitting in the tub while the water pelts you until it turns cold.

Did you doze in the shower? Yes. Did you wake up snorting some shower water and coughing? Of course not. You’re smarter than that.

You got out and got dressed in some pajamas. You plopped down on the couch, staring at the clock.

You slept about… four hours, so it was only 3 am. What the hell are you supposed to do? Worry yourself to another restless, queasy sleep?

You would go find the Killahead Bridge anyway, if you knew where it was located. You knew where it ORIGINALLY was, but not where it was moved to. If it’s in Trollmarket, you couldn’t get there, anyway. You don’t have a Horngazel, and anyone who does is already in Trollmarket, or in the Darklands.

Running your hands through your hair, your gaze fell on the single axe Draal left behind. Your axe, technically, even though he owned it first. He let you have it- gave it to you when you two got together.

He had prettied it up with hard gems and rocks on the handle, and carved some designs into the blade. A courtship gift, he had said, although he was very unhappy with the presentation. He was supposed to make it from scratch, he explained, but he just… wanted to get the awkward shit out of the way first.

He promised he’d make you one, eventually.

You picked up the axe, feeling the familiar weight settle in your hands. You gripped the handle tightly, tears stinging your sore eyes.

You’re going to hold him to that promise. But… for now, you need to sleep.

Or, at least, lay the fuck down for a few hours…

It was a full two days before something finally happened.

You were barely watching a movie at about ten at night when you heard noises from the basement. You gripped your axe, slowly moving to the stairs.

“Whoever’s down there, I have a fucking axe”. You slowly went down the stairs. Faintly, you heard a deep chuckle. You heard something heavy scrape across the floor, and your heart sped up.

Hurrying down the stairs, you caught sight of a large mass moving near the tunnel in the basement. It was opened, and the wall was being set to the side.

Your axe dropped onto your shoulder, where you were holding it.

Draal lumbered over to you, stopping nearby when fat tears fell down your face. The amused smile he had dropped, and he let out a worried keen.

“I’m-” You whacked him with the handle of your axe, dropping the weapon onto the ground.

“Ow- Okay I know I deserved that-” You threw your arms around him, earning a small “oof” from the large Troll.

“God, I’m going to kill you, myself,” you huffed, hiccupping slightly. He began purring- a particular purr used when he tries to calm you down. He sat down, pulling you against him.

You pulled back a bit, leaning up and kissing his nose. The huff-snort that came out of him made a watery laugh leave you.

He began to get a little uncomfortable, as you continued to press kisses to his face. He did like the affection, he just… never knew how to accept it.

“Hey-” He called your name, trying to get you to stop.

“You left me to possibly die, sir, you’ll allow me to do this”. That made him stop. He grumbled, a weak churring noise coming from him as he looked away. You smirked slightly, kissing his cheek again.

“... Everyone’s okay, right,” you asked, and he came to full attention again. He nodded.

“Yes, everyone’s safe. Nothing… happened, while I was gone?” You smiled slightly. Of course, he comes back wounded and tired, and he’s more worried about you.

“Nothing happened, Draal. Everything was way too safe, here,” you said, giving him a pointed look.

“The only thing that happened is that I ate all of the brownies I had made for both of us”. He paused, knowing you got him.

“.... There’s no more?” You snickered slightly.

“No, there isn’t”. He cursed slightly, before picking you up. You squirmed slightly in his arm, watching him pick your axe up.

“Don’t know why you still have this thing,” he grumbled, taking you upstairs. “It’s hideous, and needs to be sharpened”.

“Then sharpen it,” you threw back, making him huff. “Besides, it was a gift. I’d never get rid of it, even if I can’t use it anymore”.

“Why?” “Because you gave it to me, you idiot”. You could tell he got flustered, from the little deep “mrr” that came from him.

You’ve learned that Trolls are basically giant rock cats, by this point.

He sat down in front of the tv, pulling you against him. You felt your eyes tear up again, and you wiped your eyes.

“Please stop crying,” he pleaded, pressing his forehead to the back of your head. You let out a laugh, hiccupping slightly.

“Sorry. I’m just… relieved”. You turned to face him, kissing him again. You knew he couldn’t really reciprocate, but he enjoys it anyway. Hence the loud, vibrating purr.

“I love you, Draal”. He grew flustered again, but he didn’t let that stop him from nuzzling into the side of your face. He’s probably happy you can’t see his face, at least.

“I love you, too,” he mumbled, giving your cheek a small lick.

“... Are there... more brownies we can make?” You let out a loud laugh, before standing.

“Yeah, come on. You can be my assistant”. “As long as I don’t have to move too much. My side hurts”. You smiled slightly, going to preheat the oven.

“Just don’t let me eat them all in a fit of anger”. He paused.

“Is that why it smells like old vomit?” Your face flushed, and he let out a small snort.

“That angry, huh?” “You know what-” He laughed, letting you smack his shoulder lightly. You huffed, smiling despite your embarrassment,

As much as you wanted to slap his smug little self, you were glad he was home. You gave him another quick kiss, before pulling out the baking trays.

Later that night, you were passed out in his lap. You were wrapped in a blanket, and a pillow sat behind your head- as it normally goes when you’re going to sit on him for a long time.

The movie you were playing had long since ended, and it had looped and started over again. Draal was perfectly content to let the movie play. His attention was on you, anyway.

He felt himself smile, even as you drooled on yourself. Little, sleepy mumblings came from you as you shifted. He leaned down, carefully nuzzling against the top of your head. He let out a small huff as your hair tickled his nose.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbled, picking you up to take you to your room. He’d never be this lovey-dovey when you were awake, but since you were asleep… he could be the big goober he truly was.

“No matter where I go, I’ll always come back to you”.

[activatingaggro]

INKTOBER - 22 - WISHES

PHERES DYSSEU | 9 SWEEPS / 20 YEARS OLD RICCIN KAYATA | 9 SWEEPS / 20 YEARS OLD

TEMASEK, HANHAI REGION, ALTERNIA | 2,641 words

"Don't you ever wish your telekinesis was weaker?" Pheres asks you, tilting his head back, and you have to pinch his chin to keep him in place.

Because brother's like the bird that raised him. He flits more than Nzinga, if you don't keep an eye on him: he's already smudged his mascara three times over, and the white cakepaint on his face's streaked across the back of his hand, where the knuckles skated right across. You hadn't realised how much he gestures, how much he fucking touches everything, until you'd looked away and turned back to find white smudges all over your counter.

Least your bathroom's small enough to make it almost work. First thing you'd done, when you'd moved into the indigo flats, was knock down all the walls to make one massive room to store your collection. Who needs walls, when you've got shelves and cupboards to designate locales instead? But they'd refused to let you tear down the bathroom's drywall, so the only thing you'd been able to do was narrow it.

You hadn't expected to end up quite this fucking large, though, when you'd done it. The tub's only big enough for you to fit now if you fold your knees up, and stretching out your legs on the commode leaves your feet braced flat against the wall of the sink. It's sized for a motherfucker like your little rust, not for you, but that's fine.

There's only so many places he can smudge. And it ain't like the walls aren't already stained white. "Used to be weaker," you say, mild as you dip the brush back into the pot. Pheres's got hollow cheeks. They've rounded out since you first met him, but he's always going to be gaunt, you think.

Chiloa'd explained, once, when you were real young, it was a sign of mistreatment. The caverns didn't always do right by every troll. They let custodians get out that weren't the right fit for their charge: ones too small, too young, too delicate to take proper care for the troll they were selecting. Ones that might die, as soon as they got out, and leave their ward to be eaten by the others, or scrounge to survive.

And pupas just weren't made for scrounging. They managed! Orphans are a dime a dozen in the program, where surviving the cull is as easy as signing over your life. But they always look queer, after. They developed late. They stayed small. Their arms stayed thin, and their bones long, and they were delicate, in a way that just always struck you as sad, the closest to wanting to coddle a motherfucker as you've ever come. There's a tragedy to be found in looking at a soul, and seeing the shadow of what they should've been draggin' behind them, heavy enough that everyone knows it's there.

Pheres's got hollowed cheeks, but you suppose he's always gonna, and there's no harm in pulling 'em in more with a little colour. "But Shep wanted to see how far it could go, brother, so she spun the wheel and drew me taut. The fuck is the use for small scale? She's got Conetl's line for that. Close your eyes, now."

He shuts them obligingly. "Why does she have Conetl's line?" he asks. The two of you keep drifting back to Ico since that not-a-pile you had. The topic's like a sore that you can't stop picking, but..

It's a kind of healing, you think.

"'cause that's what we do, brother. You get a bucket, and you -" His eyelashes fan as he peers through them, just in time to catch the gesture you make. He titters. He always fucking titters, like he's some seven sweep from the films.

"Don't be disgusting." But he's smirking, lopsided like he’s trying to bite it back and can’t quite manage. "I know you spit into a vial,” he says, and ever has there been a motherfucker who sounded so prim? "There's no need for - direct pailing. That's how the psionics corps does it. But - why Conetl's?"

"Stop moving," you scold. With the gray blooming across his cheeks, it makes him look sharp in the way he used to. When you dab the brush down his nose, dragging shadow along the edges, it extends it. Makeup's like singing. There's always something satisfying about taking notes off a page and turning them into proper sound. "Because he's got control, cuz. Only good thing about him. Cross the lines right, carry the genes, and Shep thinks she could get a motherfucker hale enough to split molecules, make the most wicked of miracles. Shit's bull, but.. the fuck ever, right?"

"Ah, I don’t know anything about genetics, I’m afraid. I suppose that could be plausible." He doesn't sound convinced, but you can't bring yourself to care much. Right now, you ain't sure if you're convinced right, either. "Heavens. That’s.. hm. I never thought of them just --”

“Cultivating trolls,” he says, delicate, “like plants.”

(Like dogs, Hadean had said once, but you ain’t thinking about Hadean in the here and now, and Pheres isn’t his boy, no matter how treacherous his tastes lie.)

Then he adds: “Does that mean she has your line, too?"

The brush stills on his face. It’s enough for Pheres to notice, even that little gesture, and after a moment, he reaches up, careful, brushes his fingers across the back of your wrist. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. It's not quite acquiescence, the sort of thing meant to pacify. His fronds don't linger. His wrist stays down. It's just.. comfort, that's all, for all that it’s gilded in bemusement. "Ah! You don't need to answer that. I was just curious."

He's always curious, you want to say, if your tongue hadn't gone leaden.

But you don't need to say nothing. You never do, if you wait long enough; Pheres reads the mood of a room like words on a page, and he clears his voice, lets his breath catch in a low hum. "You know! I used to want to have telekinesis, when I was younger," he tells you, all faux-bright, and he tilts his face up as you dust the highlighter along his bridge. "I just thought.. well. It's the superior skillset, isn't it? All I can do is hide. But a skilled enough telekinetic.. they can do anything."

"They can copy constructs. They can stop bullets. They can move faster than any speedster, and they can start fires, and they can freeze ice. Ah. Water? They can freeze water, I mean, whereas the rest of us are just.. specialised. All we can ever do is one thing, and hope we can do it well, but you people.. you're generalists."

"And you never have to get out of bed to get coffee," he says wistfully. "You can just think about it, and it'll be made. Ah, I tried to train Kabiir to do that, but she just knocked over the pot, instead. And then tried to eat the coffee beans. I adore her, but sometimes I think.. well. She's not very smart, is she? Even for a barkbeast? But, ah, that's unkind. She does try, and I should respect that.."

"She'll have my line," you say. There's no emotion to it. It's just.. a thing, a thing you've been thinking about for the past few nights, ever since the notice had appeared in your box. You've always known you'll be contributing slurry. The thought's never bothered you, even the first time you'd heard it. It was what everyone did. "I'm supposed to go contributin' pails in the next few perigees."

It's his turn to pause. "Oh." His voice's so delicate. And - once, this was the thing you'd thought you'd loved him for, or could have. Pheres is infuriating in the way he minces. When he gets to worrying, he holds back his words like eggs in his mouth, where the slightest slip of a tongue'll shatter them outright. But there's a kindness to it that you can appreciate, one that few trolls manage, and a benefit to that. Especially right now.

"Isn't that early?" he asks. The thought of contributing slurry's never bothered you, but this.. it's strange, in a way you can't place. If you don't know how to feel about it, though, Pheres ain't giving you any guidance.

"By six perigees, or maybe ten." A beat. "They picked folks for me, too. Ain't that something? Here, lift your chin -"

He obliges. His voice's still got that spun glass quality, delicate and free of any kind of filler. "Is that standard, then? Ah, picking your partners. It's very.. efficient, I suppose. I can see the appeal."

"Nah. You're supposed to pick 'em yourself. Doesn't matter much, who's pailin' who. They can pull your bits out of the fucking pail, spin it into something worth using, on the usual. But -" Pheres's watching you, eyes locked on yours like he's trying to drag out a secret. Or carve one out of you. It’s the sort of look you’ve seen him aim at plenty of folks.

Ain’t ever been a time he’s pointed it at you. And there ain’t even a time you’ve stuttered in your goddamn life, either, but now, your words catch. "- uh -"

"Sorry," he chirps, looking down. "I didn't mean to get - ah - if you'd rather not talk about it, it's fine.."

"Just don't stare, little rust. Those eyes of yours make a motherfucker feel like they're about to get fucking ATE." The words come out waspish, but he doesn't wilt. (A half-sweep ago, you know, he would've.) And he just stands there while you take the moment to rediscover your words. None of this is bad. It's just strange, is all. "Why would I mind talking about it?" you say, sharp. "Ain't no need for all that. We're running low on psions. We're runnin' low on genes, 'tween this and the fucking Glub, and our cavern prices are gettin' too high to waste on slurry products."

"We need a few cohorts of set runs. Proper Sincans, 'n' Kayatas, 'n'.. probably Conetl's. He donated sweeps back, wouldn't be fucking surprised."

"They're not going to.." Pheres clears his throat. If his ears could pin back, they might, but instead, he just steps back. When you blink at him, he doesn't smile. It's the first time he might've missed the opportunity, really, in the whole time you've known him. "Ah."

"What?"

He runs his tongue over his lips, a swipe of black over the white. When he opens his mouth, there's chalk blooming on his teeth, because of course it fucking is. He'll ruin his entire face before you're done, if you don't keep moving. "They're not going to pair you with Kindra, are they?"

Except how the fuck are you supposed to keep moving after that?

"Why would they pair me with Kindra?" you demand, straightening up. You've been hunkered over Pheres, but you refuse, not when he's spitting out bile like that.

He frowns at him, folding his arms and slipping his hands around his waist. He's whippet thin, and gaunter still under the influence of the paint. The gesture just emphasizes that. "Don't be like that. It's just a question, Riccin."

"The fuck kind of a question is that? We ain't like that. They wouldn't have us be like that," you snap, and when he pulls back to flatten against the wall, you step forward. Pheres wants to slink away from the discussion. He always does, soon as he puts his foot into it, but -

- it feels like he just slapped you. The idea of you and Kindra together.. it's as bad as if he'd asked you if you were going to fuck your lusus. He knows that! He must know that. Everyone ought to know it, everyone who's ever seen the two of you together, or even heard your fucking names.

You and Kin are written in the stars in a hundred different ways, but pails have never been one of them.

When he looks up into your face, mouth mulish, he tries to step back another step. But then his horns hit the wall behind him. Part of you expects him to wilt, when he realises. Duck his horns and start murmuring apologies, one after another, the way he always does.

He hisses at you instead, and that's different enough that it cuts through your outrage like a knife. There's blotches of brick blooming along the curl of his ears, the only place that ain't swathed in white, but you don't need a blush to see the way his face scrunches. "Oh!" he cries.

"Stop that! You're not - you're not going to intimidate me," he bites off, "just because I said something you don't like. And we're not pale. I'm not going to - to fucking pacify you." He rolls back his shoulders and lifts his chin, the motion jerky. Then he stepa forward, no more fluid for how quick the motion goes. "I shouldn't have to. We're friends, aren't we? We'd better be, if I'm letting you deck me in paint."

"I -" He scowls up at you. You take a step back, and its your turn for heat to flare under your skin. "Yeah," you say, your voice a little sheepish, and it's hard to feel strange when shame's flooding you like icewater in your veins. You’d told him that it was wrong for Sipara to go scaring him, but when push comes to shove..

Maybe this is what comes of being raised with clowns, the two of you. Pheres acts like he ought to, from his blood to his size. But you and Sipara have always shaken your horns and stepped up at the first provocation. You’ve always acted like your blood was cooler than it was, and..

(Gunners don’t get paired up, like fucking plants.)

.. well. If you don’t want him showing throat to every highblood that looks his way, or rolling over for Nzinga, maybe you oughtn’t go trying to play their fucking parts. "We are. Uh. We are friends,” you say, with one long exhale. “Sorry, brother. Shit was uncalled for. It's just -"

"You don't like Kindra like that. I understand.” He brushes his hair back, where a braid has fallen forward, then scrubs at his cheek. His palm comes back white, but you don’t have the spirit in you right now to go smacking hands. Let him ruin it, if he wants. It’s his fucking face. “That's why I was asking,” he says, brisk, like he didn’t notice none at all. “I was concerned, Riccin, that's all, and you needn't go - go- being cruel on account of it."

"You can just say you're uncomfortable," he says. "Isn't that what you told me?"

It's strange, hearing your own words puppeted back at you. But you expect that’s the point of it. "'course I did," you admit, letting your shoulders fall back down into a slouch. He's got the right of it. ".. sorry about that. They ain't pairin' me with Kin. And I'm not uncomfortable -"

"Yes, well, don't apologise, just.. don't do it again. And of course you're uncomfortable. Don't lie to me, either, that's dreadful. But at least they're not encouraging coloursmearing, I suppose, and that's all we need to say on that topic for now." A beat. He peers into the mirror, then puffs out his cheek. It's a blatant attempt to change the subject.

It's one you'll accept, given the topic. "Unlike me," he says, mournful. "You might as well come over here and finish up. Is the black supposed to be leaching into the gray like that? Because, ah.. I think I smeared it again..."

[ectoflowermaid]

Homestuck 4th of July Headcanons

John: brought those little popper things to throw at unsuspecting ppls feet. He is v frustrated to find that the trolls don’t jump at all bc they’re so used to hearing strange and sudden loud noises that this is baby shit to them. Of course, John simply takes this as a challenge to up the ante aka slip them into ppls shoes when they aren’t looking. “Hey uhhh Terezi why aren’t you wearing any shoes?” “I don’t know john, I just like to feel the earth beneath my humble feet”

Jade: lovesssss fireworks she found some old ones on her island once and tried setting them off but it was meh, these are so much better and everyone is here to share the experience with her! Helps Jane barbecue up some veggie burgers and some hot dogs for everyone and Definitely Does Not slip any of the scraps to the Becs. Nope. None. At all.

Dave: is decked head to toe in obnoxious USA gear. Has an American flag muscle shirt with an eagle dramatically superimposed in front of it. Has a head band with flags attached by boingy springs at the top. He is wearing red white and blue jorts and his regular sunglasses have been replaced by super shitty jpeg ones that spell USA. Karkat looks at him, utterly disgusted, and says Dave what the Fuck are you wearing. Dave. What the fuck. Also, those Strider boys sure do love sparklers because he and Dirk have All of the sparklers. All of Them.

Rose: as a light player, digs it. As someone who doesn’t want to be reminded of her land bc she didn’t complete her quest, not so much. But she has to be cool about it bc Kanaya has never seen fireworks before and fuck if she’s going to let her very Gay girlfriend, with whom she is in Lesbians, have her first fireworks soiled in ANY WAY. And if there’s a few fireworks that look like purple and green eldritch horrors,,,,it’s a coincidence. Maybe. Dave says hey rose uhh you didn’t have anything to do with those creepy as fuck looking ones did you. Rose flutters her lashes. Why, no Dave. Of course not. I have never ever done anything like that ever in my life ever. Smiles v sweetly.

Kanaya: first of all, is a little frustrated that apparently these “fireworks” are capable of multiple colors when they light up, but she’s not?? That doesn’t seem fair but whatever it’s Fine. Rose thinks she’s being sneaky about her anxiety around fireworks but Kanaya totally picks up on it and Very Subtly tries to comfort her. Ahem. Rose, I Understand That You Totally Do Not Feel Uncomfortable About This Situation, Wink Wink, But Allow Yourself To Feel Comforted By My Presence. Not That You Need It, Obviously. Your Human Emotions Are A Mystery To Me. (To those wondering if Kanaya winked physically or just said the word wink out loud, the answer is Yes).

Karkat: this is so stupid why do all the fireworks have colors. Where are the gray, nondescript fireworks. What if the fireworks don’t want everyone knowing their goddamn fucking business. “Dude, you might be overthinking this, they’re just fireworks” hey Fuck You, Dave, I don’t give a shit if they’re your MOTHER who I had HUMAN INTERCOURSE with last night even though she is SO MEDICALLY OVERWEIGHT. *whispering* (john did I do those “your human female ancestor” jokes right). John wipes away a single tear. Yes karkat, your “yo mama” jokes were great. They were perfect. I’m so proud.

Terezi: she absolutely did try to lick a sparkler. everyone watched, horrified, but she just sort of shrugged and went “meh”. She and Vriska are watching and feeling,,,a weird déjà vu kind of thing? Like maybe they’ve seen this before?

Jane: has been barbecuing up some good eats all day! She’s got veggie burgers for Roxy and Jade (and some snausages just in case), she’s got hamburgers for the trolls who actually prefer them as rare as possible because let’s face it, they’ve got the teeth of bloodthirsty carnivores. She has bratwurst for herself, hot dogs for Dave bc he’s a baby with no taste for fine food, and just a big assortment of stuff for everyone. Dirk helps cook and he’s got one of those weird anime girl aprons and it’s awkward for everyone involved.

Jake: burns himself on every single sparkler. every single one. Dagnabbit! These foolish things really are a trick to get going, aren’t they? Dirk just nods and agrees with him as he and Dave share nervous looks and hide their hordes of sparklers. Jake has successfully managed to burn every single finger and also a couple toes. Karkat laughs at him for being bad at this despite being unable to light any himself. They both receive pre lit sparklers and have a sparkler duel. It’s Bad. They smell like burnt hair for weeks after.

Dirk: Sparklers Georg, aka Dirk, who lights approximately 99,999 sparklers per celebration and is an outlier that should not have been counted, tells Jake uhhhh yes. They’re very tricky to light. You’re absolutely right and I am a Fool. He hides the 37 currently lit sparklers behind his back. Roxy begs him to put away his anime girl apron. Dirk. Dirk. Her titties. They’re so anatomically incorrect. You’re not even straight. Yes, he tells her. I know. That’s what makes it Ironic™. She throws her shoe at his head. John yells fuck! in the distance because there goes his secret poppers prank.

Roxy: definitely knew that john put the poppers in her shoes. Brought so many glow sticks and has to explain to Kanaya, no you can’t drink them. No I really don’t think that it will help you glow different colors. Please- oh god no. On the bright side, Kanaya’s tongue glows for the rest of the night. Watches the fireworks while sitting in a tree because Callie likes to feel tall.

Sollux: chills with Aradia in the back bc we all know that she loves to watch things blow up. Sollux kinda grumbles that it’s just a bunch of chemicals and science shit and it’s really not that impressive and I could probably do the same thing with my psiionics I’m just saying. Just putting that out there in case anyone wanted to know. Aradia smiles and pats his shoulder reassuringly. No one cares, Sollux. Just shut up and watch the fireworks.

[rantceratops]

“So... you’re telling me that you’re a werewolf?”

“Yeah. Yes, I am.”

“Like... an actual living, breathing werewolf?” One delicate brown eyebrow arched high above a stormy iris, mouth pulled down in skepticism after delivering her deadpan question. Artemis waited for the punch line, the laughter, for his troll friend-- Dick, she thought had been his name-- to jump out behind him wearing a cheap plastic wolf mask.

But Wally West simply stared at her, no hint of amusement present on his lightly freckled face. His green eyes stayed on her face, darting between both of her eyes, and she spotted something more intense than anything in the pinch of his brow.

“How many times can I say yes?” he asked with a slight hitch in his voice; the question lacked any sort of bite. He sounded almost scared, which was completely and utterly ridiculous, because there was no way on Earth that he was actually a-- “I’m a werewolf, okay? I wasn’t going to tell you but... we sort of figured that if you’re going to being hanging out with us, you should be in the know. It’s only fair. And it... it, you know, gives you the opportunity to leave, if you want.” He paused, tilted his head aside and gave her an askance look. “You don’t want to leave, do you?”

Artemis blinked at him, her heart pounding, and for once it wasn’t because of the way he looked so goddamn adorable when his messy bangs brushed against his forehead as he looked at her. Now, instead, it was with a sense of dread curdling in the pit of her stomach.

Oh, god, why are the hot ones always insane?

“Artemis,” Wally pressed, his brows tenting in worry. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that the only reason I might want to leave is because you’re obviously completely insane,” she choked out, taking a half step back from him. She would have been dying laughing at the situation, if he hadn’t been looking at her so imploringly, like this was some kind of life or death scenario; she didn’t think she had ever seen such a dark and serious expression upon his usually happy and expressive visage.

All laughter had died in her throat.

“You don’t believe me,” Wally stated, his posture relaxing and his mouth forming into what she could only consider a shallow pout. He looked upset.

Now Artemis laughed, but it sounded strained even to her own ears.

“Of course I don’t! Wally, that’s fucking insane! It’s not October, can’t you at least wait until Halloween month to start busting out the spooky jokes or... whatever the hell this is?” 

“It’s not a joke!” the redhead exclaimed. “It’s true! I swear to you!” He let out a frustrated sigh and ran one hand along the length of his face. Then he ran that same hand through his hair, and Artemis felt her traitorous heart stutter in glee at the sight of his messy red locks becoming even messier. “I figured you, of all people, Artemis...” He shook his head slowly. “You always seemed so open-minded... you sure as hell aren’t afraid to speak your mind, at any rate.”

Artemis felt her hackles raise a bit. 

“Are you suggesting I’m close-minded just because I find it a little bit hard to believe that you’re a fucking furry mythical creature?”

What had happened to this day? So much for all the flirtatious banter she had planned on starting, now she was just wondering if maybe she was barking up the wrong tree... a werewolf tree, apparently. Jesus christ, now she was starting to feel a bit unhinged.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Wally said, taking a step closer to her. A gentle summer breeze ruffled his thin button-up and brought with it the scent of his subtle cologne and fabric softener. “Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?”

She opened her mouth, but then closed it. His words gave her pause; it was true, after all. She’d only known him and the rest of their friends for about three months, but even in that short time she’d come to trust and rely on them as if they were her extended family. And truthfully, they were. 

Not that she wanted to go getting all deep and sentimental about it right now. The point was... Wally had a point.

“Well... no, not really, but--”

“No buts!” Wally interrupted, a tentative smile stretching his lips, and fuck it all, even with his sanity being in question, her brain still delighted in the idea of her snatching his full bottom lip between her teeth and giving it a nibble. She bit her own lip at the thought and had to tear her eyes away from his mouth before she did something incredibly stupid.

He had a habit of making her feel a little more reckless than usual.

“Well,” she said after clearing her throat, letting her head tilt back to gaze at him. “If you are actually a... you know, werewolf... then prove it.”

His eyes widened. “What!?”

Artemis pursed her lips, raised an eyebrow, and crossed her arms, challengingly. 

“Yeah. Show me. If you really are one, then I think it’s only fair I get to see it. You said it yourself, I have no reason not to trust you... and I do trust you, but I still need to see it for myself.”

A smile graced his features again, and her knees knocked a little. 

“Okay. Okay! Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair, damn him. “But not here, obviously. It has to be somewhere private, where no one can see us.”

Just her and Wally? She could get behind that.

“Okay, let’s go,” Artemis said, and turned on her heel to march across the grass of the park, but she was stopped by a yelp and a large hand closing over her skinny wrist. She rounded on him. “What?”

“Not now, Artemis!” He looked down at their hands and quickly released her, biting into his lower lip as heat flared across both their faces. “I’d rather it be at night, and maybe tomorrow at that. I’ve got some stuff to do this evening with my uncle.”

“Okay. Name the time and place, then.”

“Okay... um, you know where the dog pound is, right? A few blocks down from the Happy Harbor Highschool?” Wally asked.

“Yeah, I know the one,” the blonde mused, mentally marking it’s location.

“There’s a decent sized forest that hasn’t been developed over not far from there. I go there a lot to... shift. How about we meet at the school tomorrow at 7, and then we can walk there, and I’ll show you?”

“Okay,” Artemis smirked, then leveled him with a threatening stare. “But if you don’t show up--”

Wally laughed. “Believe me, I’ll be there! And uh... don’t eat before then, okay? I’m totally going to bring a picnic basket full of sandwiches. Shifting makes me hungry as shit.”

The blonde laughed huskily, still unable to wrap her mind around what he had told her... then her mind screeched to a halt as his words caught up to her.

“Wait a minute...did you just basically ask me out on a date to watch you turn into a werewolf?”

[lost-andfound]

Here’s my Dean/Seamus fake wedding date au for @provocative-envy‘s birthday :) This was really fun to write, and I hope you like it!

“I can’t believe you talked me into doing this,” Seamus grumbles, trying valiantly to magic his tie into something less of a catastrophe.

“Hey, it’s just for a night,” Dean reminds him. “I don’t want Ginny thinking I’m alone—she’ll feel guilty, it’ll ruin her night—and with you living here, everyone already thinks we’re together. Why not just… go along with it?”

“How do you have a better opinion of your ex-girlfriend than I do?” Seamus asks incredulously. “Remember, I was the one who had to sit through your endless why-won’t-Ginny-love-me monologues at all hours of the night in sixth year—”

“Hey!” Dean hits him lightly on the arm, offended.

“It’s true!” protests Seamus. “And now she’s getting married, and… nothing? I have to be the one mournfully condemning the tragedy of love lost while you caper about, drinking and eating yourself sick on that fucking amazing singing mousse? I refuse.”

“Then swallow your pride and have fun at the wedding with me, you wanker,” Dean retorts affectionately, and knocks Seamus’s wand aside to fix his tie with his hands. “There.”

They take a moment to admire themselves in the mirror, and Seamus’s glance drifts over to Dean, tall and handsome in his dark blue suit. He’s painfully aware of the close proximity of their hands, knuckles almost brushing.

Seamus clears his throat, jokingly offering Dean his arm. “Our carriage awaits, my liege.”

“By carriage, I take it you mean our Portkey,” says Dean, smiling and summoning the Portkey from the kitchen, where it lay next to the colorful invitation. “And by ‘my liege,’ I hope you meant ‘temporary boyfriend,’ because that’s your role for the next six hours.”

“Six hours?” Seamus says disbelievingly, but the Portkey sweeps them away into a whirlwind of sound and color before Dean can do anything but laugh.

…

The venue turns out to be the area behind the Lovegoods’ house.  It actually looks quite nice, for a wedding half-planned by Luna Lovegood. Dirigible Plum trees line the aisle, luminous fairy lights twinkling from the branches. The tents look to be handpainted (”Luna,” Dean tells Seamus fondly) in a medley of vivid hues that mimic the sunset. 

“Dean! Seamus!” Hermione Granger hurries up to them, clad in a rather sensible dark blue sheath dress with matching bows to keep her curly brown hair in check. She gives them each a quick hug, mind already spinning in a different direction. “So lovely to see you! It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it? I’m sorry we haven’t seen more of each other–the Ministry’s in absolute shambles and there aren’t many competent wizards to deal with it, so they’ve called in some of us former DA members to fill empty slots. These last three years have been a shitshow, to be frank, but we’ve been clearing it up as best we can. Kingsley’s doing wonderfully as Minister, of course, but there’s still corruption to weed out! I’ve hardly been getting my usual 5 hours, there’s so much to do. Anyway, how are things? I haven’t heard a word from you since–was it the May reunion?”

Dean shoots an amused look at Seamus. Good old Hermione. “We’ve been good,” he begins, “Settling in and living as normally as we can. Seamus has been working at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, helping George out. I’ve been pursuing a career as an artist–”

“Oh,” Hermione whispers, cutting them a guilty look. “It’s starting–better go.  Sorry to stop you there, Dean; magical artistry is fascinating. See you at the reception!” She gives Seamus’s arm a quick squeeze, then moves towards the front to stand with the rest of the bridesmaids. 

Though there aren’t any chairs, there are wooden benches reminiscent of the Great Hall, and Seamus and Dean slide in next to– “Is that Pansy Parkinson?” mutters Dean. Seamus squints and oh fuck yes it is, but she shoots them a poisonous look out of the corner of her eye as if anticipating a nasty remark, and Seamus just accepts that things have changed since the war, things have changed so drastically that Pansy Parkinson is attending the wedding of two notorious war heroes at which Harry Potter himself happens to be. But he can still hear the echo of her shrill, accusing voice, and scoots a little closer to Dean, who looks over and seems to immediately understand, his hand settling just once, just briefly, on Seamus’s thigh, a warm weight that both startles and comforts him. But before he can really think about why his stomach suddenly feels fairly invaded with butterflies, the music starts and he has to choke down a laugh (because it’s fucking pan flutes accompanied by a singer warbling in a Scottish brogue–of course it is) and the two women walk down the aisle, accompanied by their fathers. Arthur Weasley beams proudly, fairly bursting with joy, and Ginny looks radiant, smiling widely at everyone and gliding gracefully in a gold-trimmed lace gown that clings to every contour and brings out the shine in her sleek red hair. Luna’s pretty much floating on thin air, a dreamy, happy smile on her face and Xenophilius aside her, in matching light blue. They stop when they reach the minister, a small man who seems to officiate every magical wedding. Their vows are fucking poetic, honestly, and Seamus sneaks a glance at Dean and Dean’s tearing up, which in turn makes him get choked up, because sometimes he remembers just how good and kind of a person Dean is and it fucking overwhelms him.

“And you may now… er, you both may now kiss the bride!” proclaims the minister, and Luna kisses Ginny on the nose, which makes Ginny laugh and pull her into a passionate kiss. 

The reception takes place in the painted tents. Plates laden with food so delicious it could only have come from Molly Weasley’s kitchen float by, hovering by each guest as if urging them to take something. They head towards the crowd surrounding Ginny and Luna, and Dean takes Seamus’s hand as the mass of people thickens. Seamus’s shoulders stiffen and there’s those butterflies in his stomach again, which is stupid, since they’ve been holding hands since first year of Hogwarts. And it hasn’t been like, gay, or anything–well, until now, Seamus guesses. Fuck. Shit. But before he can really, truly panic, they reach the happy couple, who look… well, the same, except more lovey-dovey and fancier than usual.

“Hey,” Ginny says, grinning at them. “Glad you could make it.”

Dean hugs Luna first, a long, tight embrace that has Seamus feeling irrationally jealous, then guilty for being jealous, because sometimes he forgets that Luna had been the closest thing Dean had to a best friend during the War, while they were separated. He shakes hands a little awkwardly with Ginny, who rolls her eyes and pulls him into a hug. 

“Have fun tonight,” Ginny says quietly against his neck, and how exactly does she make everything sound like a threat? 

Seamus only smiles warily before he’s passed on to Luna, who kisses her fingers and taps them to his forehead, then nods once and says “Thank you ever so for coming, Seamus. It means very much to Dean.”

“Oh,” Seamus says, nonplussed. He also sometimes forgets that Luna’s one of the most straightforward people he’s ever met. “Er, congratulations!”

She smiles serenely at him, and Dean taps him on the shoulder, a look of poorly disguised exuberance on his face.

“We’re sitting by Viktor Krum,” Dean tells him delightedly.

…

Krum, it turns out, is an excellent drinker. He downs firewhiskeys like water, and it’s fucking amazing to watch, which Dean and Seamus do for like… longer than they would actually admit.

“Quidditch season starts in September,” Krum informs them, eyes mostly on Dean. “Perhaps you would like tickets to our game against Italy, no?”

“How do I say fuck yes in Bulgarian?” Dean merely answers, and Krum snorts, moving a little closer to them.

“Then I will owl them to you,” Krum says with a decisive nod, and he smirks a little at Dean, and oh fuck he’s flirting, Viktor goddamn Krum is flirting with Dean, and how the fuck is Seamus supposed to compete with a world-famous Quidditch star?

Dean smiles roguishly at Krum, and Seamus feels something tighten in his chest at the flash of white teeth and the friendly crinkles around Dean’s eyes. He has to do something about this, whatever this is turning into.

“Yeah, you can owl them to our flat,” Seamus cuts in loudly, grabbing Dean’s hand possessively. 

Krum just sighs and knocks back another shot, then gets up from the bar and stalks away, muttering resignedly in Bulgarian. Dean looks at his retreating back, then at Seamus, eyes quizzical. 

“Okay… want to tell me what that was about?” Dean asks, letting go of Seamus’s hand. 

Seamus grimaces. “C’mon, you know what that was about.” He refuses to meet Dean’s eyes.

Dean just groans and grabs Seamus’s jaw with one hand, forcing their eyes to meet. “Listen. I’m not trolling for a boyfriend at my ex-girlfriend’s wedding, that’s a bit tacky,” Dean tells him. “You don’t have to be ridiculous.”

Something like relief flashes through Seamus, and he almost laughs. “Sorry, mate. Just… something about weddings.”

“I know,” Dean says, and he’s still so close, their noses are barely touching, and Seamus pulls away, stands up. 

“You want to dance?” Seamus asks, and there’s a joke behind the words, of course, but there’s something else too, something new and fragile that he can’t figure out.

Dean merely grins and gets to his feet, and for a moment it’s normal, like their friendship has been ever since Seamus introduced himself on the very first day of Hogwarts with a cheerful “Name’s Seamus Finnigan. Want t’ be friends?” And they had, just like that: best friends, forever and ever. And it’s been easy, it’s been so goddamn easy, up until now. For a moment, Seamus feels them slipping back into their old comradery, but as soon as he recognizes it, it’s shifted back into this weird tension that’s been following them all day.

Seamus’s hand settles on Dean’s waist, and their hands clasp. He almost forgets to breathe. Dean smiles down at him, and it’s a different smile from the one he flashed at the waitress. Softer. More intimate. Seamus smiles reflexively back, tightening his grip on Dean’s hand. Their fingers lace, and his heart beats a little faster. The band is playing something slow and nostalgic that he vaguely remembers from the Yule Ball all those years ago, and the lights dim to a soft gold, and Seamus’s head falls to Dean’s shoulder. Romantic, a little voice says in his brain, and for once he doesn’t fight it. Just… lets it be.

“Hey,” says Dean, quietly, and Seamus looks up. 

“Hey,” he responds, and suddenly they’re kissing, a fucking explosion of pent-up tension and Seamus’s heart is beating so hard it could burst and Dean’s arms are loose around Seamus’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair—

“Want to get out of here?” Dean whispers, and Seamus is too breathless to respond. He just nods and smiles, and they make their way through the crowd, saying distracted goodbyes and holding hands and flashing each other secret smiles.

“We played right into their hands, didn’t we,” says Seamus when they’re a bit outside the mass of tents. 

Dean just shrugs and they Apparate home.

…

What happens next is nobody’s business but their own.

…

Later, when they’re lying under Seamus’s sheets, tangled around each other, Dean confesses that “this was, er, kind of my plan all along?“

“You scheming motherf–”

Fin.