#ok time to tag all the characters featured. cracks knuckles.

[anxietyfluffy]

posting some of the pacific bay cc memes (ft tony sometimes) ive made on my discord server, some of these are OLD old but i thought they were funny LMAO

[yongtxt]

hundred [johnny]

word count: 4.5k words

characters: boxer!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: blood/wound/stitches mentions, johnny hates hospitals but he likes the pretty doctor, [im not a doctor nor a boxer pls dont say that i have info wrong because I Know]

author’s note: i know this isnt long to some of u but to me it is and i havent written this much for so long im so proud of myself for finishing this:( it isnt that good but this is the first long fic ive written in a while and shhsdjk also i needed to get this out of my system ive thought about this au since that jcc came out where johnny and hyuck was doing muay thai plssss (i couldnt find a better gif tho) ok this is getting too long / feedback is appreciated tysm

Johnny Suh hated hospitals with a burning passion.

It wasn't from a past trauma nor was he afraid of it, it wasn't that serious. He wasn't exactly sure what the cause of it really was. If he had to make a guess, it was probably from the accumulation of the little things, the insignificant factors people would usually dismiss but bothered him enough that it contributed to the big hatred he built for hospitals.

Maybe it was the distinct smell of hospitals, it reeked of death and old people. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the fluorescent-lit hallways, always gloomy and heavy. Maybe it was also the fact that the fees were so expensive and yet the food they provide tasted horrible, even the coffee was a hit or miss. The only upside he could think of was people get better in hospitals, but even that wasn't assured.

Despite how much Johnny despised hospitals, he always finds himself coming back. If he wanted to get better, he had no choice but to go. He would endure the gruesome process over and over again whether it be to treat his wounds or to stitch his cuts.

With his jaw littered with small bruises and his lips busted at the corner, he sat impatiently on the hospital bed as he waited for his doctor. He was fiddling with his fingers, knuckles bruised the same way his face was. He looked beaten up, he always did.

The clothes he wore contradicted the state he was in, they were fresh and laid back. He looked like a college student from the way he dressed. A delinquent more like, if one considered his cuts and bruises. Before heading to the hospital, he always makes it a point to shower and make himself appear presentable to the public. Although no one really bothers to take notice of his effort, only him.

The sliding door opened and Johnny's attention shot up from his phone, his gaze meeting with yours. Your head popped in, peaking through the small crack you made. Your eyes lit up in recognition as it always did whenever you see him.

"Youngho-ssi?" You spoke almost as if it was a question, voice barely above a whisper to make sure you were in the correct room, about to tend the correct patient.

Johnny didn't understand why you always did that, call out his name as if this was the first time you were seeing him. At that point, you've been already acquainted with him enough due to his numerous trips to the hospital. Either way, he nods every time.

You gave him a small smile, widening the door enough so you could enter. You wore a white lab coat, a name tag pinned to your chest and a stethoscope hung around your neck. You were small, although anyone compared to him was bound to be comparatively smaller – that wasn't the point, you looked young and that never fails to astound him every time you go through the door.

You had a clipboard in your hands, scanning through what he assumed to be his condition that a nurse had written earlier after a quick checkup and disinfection of his open wound. Your lips were formed on a tight line, eyebrows furrowed. He continued to stare at you with such amusement.

"You don't have to answer my question, Youngho-ssi, but why are you always here?" You finally broke the silence, startling him in the slightest. You never bothered to ask before, always just offering smiles and small talks while you did your work; maybe his sudden regularity of coming to the hospital recently made your curiosity peaked.

He couldn't blame you. Anybody would be curious why a 24-year-old man keeps coming back to the hospital with no clear explanation.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, he never liked saying his job. He said, "I box for a living."

"Ah, that makes sense!" Your eyes visibly glimmered, absentmindedly jotting down notes on his medical records. "My coworkers and I thought you were in a gang or something."

"I don't think I would be allowed to be here if I was." He chuckled, making you giggle as well.

"Seo Youngho, 24, minor lip laceration in need of immediate suture." You read of his data from the clipboard, almost comically. It was medical terms he was unfortunately already too familiar with, to him, it basically meant that he had a busted lip that needs to be sewed shut.

"You can just call me Johnny. Youngho sounds too formal to me." He said nonchalantly. You nodded your head to his simple request; it probably was best if you got to know him better since he frequented the hospital so much.

"Alright, Johnny. We'll start the process now, okay?"

With keen eyes, he watched you slip on a pair of surgical gloves. You grabbed a tissue from the metal tray that sat beside him and began folding it into squares. He felt his heartbeat quicken, he hated getting stitches or any form of medical treatments for that matter, but as morbid as it was, he thought of it as punishment for his recklessness in the ring.

"Isn't boxing just, I don't know, senseless violence?" You asked, tone dripping with pure innocence and unadulterated interest as you gently dabbed away the remaining dried blood the nurse failed to clean earlier.

"It's a sport, it's how I bring money to the table." He pursed his lips, ignoring the twinge of pain that surged through his nerves. He visibly relaxed when you placed a hand onto his shoulder to reassure him.

Ever since the first time you got assigned to him, the first thing he took note of was the softness of your hands. You handled him as if he was fragile glass, despite how he easily towered over you. He felt pathetic as a 24-year-old but your gentle touches would greatly help put him at ease.

"I guess. I didn't mean to be rude." You were hesitant, Johnny could tell but he was glad you didn't push on any further. He couldn't handle explaining his occupation when you were about to pierce his skin. "Okay, Johnny, now that your lip is clean and the anesthesia had seeped in, we'll start. I think you know how it goes by now."

"Make it quick, please." He nodded, squinting his eyes shut at the mere contact of a surgical pen grazing over his gaped lips. You were relieved that his cut wasn't too big, you couldn't stomach the idea of putting him in too much pain for longer.

As you picked up the tweezers and string of nylon, you couldn't help but laugh at the six-foot boxer in front of you who was clearly petrified of getting stitches, "This will be done as soon as you know it. You won't really feel it because of the anesthesia, remember? Now count to a hundred backward for me."

Once the numb feeling of nylon dragged through his lips, he swore he saw white spots flicker in his vision. His eyes immediately watered and he tried his best not to squirm under your hold, beginning to count to a hundred backward like you had instructed him to. You admitted it to him the first time you stitched him that it was a trick that you learned from your pediatrician friend. Despite it being for children, it helped to get him distracted while you focused on your job.

Minutes felt like hours, Johnny had been fighting the urge to punch something, anything, to release tension and nerves. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a peak and tried to take his attention away from what was currently happening on his lip. His gaze landed on your pretty eyes, how it was narrowed in focus and how your lashes perfectly framed it.

This wasn't the first time he'd observe you up close, there had been many occasions in the past that you had been too close for comfort in order to tend his wounds. It had been too many that it was almost as if he was close to memorizing your features. You were not only beautiful but you were also a smart and capable doctor.

Eventually, you finished and started to rub ointment on his sore lip — the finishing line.

"Try not to eat anything spicy or hard. You know the drill." You grinned at his suddenly pale features, ripping off your gloves as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the room. "You're good to go. Be careful next time."

He let out a shaky breath, clearly still winded up from the procedure, "I'll try. Thanks again, doc."

-

The punching bag felt great against Johnny's fists. There wasn't a feeling in the world that could compare to the impact of leather slamming against his skin. He could last hours mindlessly pummeling the bag if his stamina just allowed him to.

Hyunsik, Johnny's manager and personal trainer, drew away from the punching bag he held in between his arms. He let out a breath and held out a hand to motion that Johnny has done enough.

Johnny was hurting, Hyunsik could see that much. The bandages he had wrapped for the boxer's fingers were turning into a shade of red that they were all too familiar with.

Hyunsik clicked his tongue, "You should've used your gloves."

"How can I grow stronger if I keep relying on them?" Johnny rolled his eyes. His muscles needed a boost and this seemed to be the only logical way to strengthen them — a little blood never hurt anybody.

"Someday you're gonna fracture your hand and you'll be forced out of the ring. Remember that." Hyunsik huffed, his voice stern. "Take them off, I'll clean the blood off."

Johnny reluctantly did as told, unfurling the bandages wrapped around his fingers. The pain was excruciating when the fabric grazed along his tender skin, he winced at the unsightly view of his reopened wounds.

Hyunsik led him back outside of the ring to the benches where the first aid kit was. He made the boxer sit down so he could start cleaning off his wounds. It looked horrific, more so than it usually did and he had no choice but to break the news to Johnny.

"It looks really bad. You need to go get that checked in the hospital and have it sewed back." Hyunsik said, taking a wet towel and carefully dabbing it across Johnny's bloodied knuckles.

He didn't want to go to the hospital. Going to the hospital to have his wounds treated meant that Johnny would be medically required to take days off work to let his hand heal. Johnny frowned, "Don't you have an ointment or something that could help? I can't afford to lose a day of practice."

"Don't you think I know that?" Hyunsik rolled his eyes. "As your manager, I want you to be in top shape for your match next week, even if it means sacrificing a day or two for you to heal."

Johnny could only nod. He sat through Hyunsik's lecture on the changes he should make to his dietary plan and the exercises he should do during his temporary break. It infuriated him that he couldn't do anything about it but nod along.

The incoming match that was set next week would make or break his career as an underground boxer. He didn't have the option of missing it because of some measly reopened wounds. If he had to rest to get better, he had no choice but to suck it up. This was his fault anyway for pushing himself too much.

Johnny showered in the locker rooms and changed into nicer clothes that didn't reek of blood and sweat. His hands were stinging but he shook it off.

He ignored the concerned looks other boxers were giving him and begrudgingly made his way to the hospital to get himself checked in. You wouldn't be happy to see him all bloodied again, he thought.

-

Much to Johnny's surprise, it wasn't you who was assigned to him. It was a much older doctor with graying hair and a nose stuck too far up in the air. She was rude and condescending, her lack of politeness to her patients was quite appalling. If Johnny wasn't in such a bad mood, he might've complained already.

God, this day couldn't get any worse.

With a meek voice, Johnny asked where you were and at the mention of your name, his doctor gave him a narrowed look. She sneered, "She's handling much more important cases. Does she know you?"

"I think so." Johnny gulped, unsure of the answer himself.

The doctor's grip was tight and she was hasty. It was as if she was trying to speed through the process to just get it over with. Johnny wanted to cry because he was starting to get traumatized by this doctor's procedure, he didn't want to hate the hospital more than he already did.

He internally screamed for your name as he watched the doctor pull on the gloves. The sliding door harshly whipped open and there you were in all your glory, like an angel sent from above to save him from the devil incarnate who was about to pierce his skin.

You were panting and the sheen on your forehead made it obvious that you ran your way to his room. Johnny's heart leaped with glee.

"Unnie, I'll handle him." You said, unable to catch your breath as you made your way inside. "I think the ER needs you more than me."

The doctor seemed hesitant at first but you tried to convince her otherwise. She eventually agreed and left you with Johnny who had a cheesy smile on his face the entire time since you've arrived.

"So Johnny, what happened this time?" You asked, picking up the clipboard that sat next to him on the bed.

"I overdid the punching during training and it reopened some old wounds on my knuckles. It hurts like a bitch."

You pulled a face, "That's a bit intense."

He chuckled, "It's normal."

"Can I please see it?" You opened your palm so he could place his hand on yours. You observed his cuts and the scabs that were beginning to form around it, it was too deep to let it heal on its own so you made the verdict that he needed to get it sewed back together ⁠— as unfortunate as it was since he was a boxer and he needed his hands to box.

You tugged on a new pair of gloves and began the painful procedure, Johnny started counting down even without you instructing him to. You quickly got to work and stitched back his wounds with your lip in between your teeth

Johnny felt squeamish, he could never get used to the feeling of stitches. His eyes were glued shut and he mumbled numbers like it was mantra.

Once you were done, you smiled fondly at your work. You managed to get by with fewer stitches and you felt pride swell up in your chest. Johnny noticed and, as lightheaded as he was, couldn't help but smile as well.

"You're pretty good."

"At stitching?"

Johnny nodded with his cheeks flushed, he made a mental reminder to smack himself in the head later for such a crude comment. You probably thought he was an idiot now.

"I sure hope so." You chuckled, making him blush even deeper if that was even possible. "It's part of my job."

Johnny shook his head in embarrassment, his dark hair bouncing from how vigorously he did it. He mumbled, "That sounded really lame and not smooth, I'm sorry. Please forget I opened my mouth."

You could only chuckle as you apply the ointment around his knuckles. He wanted the ground to open up and just swallow him whole.

"Please let this heal completely, Johnny. Don't apply any strain on your injuries for a couple of days and refrain yourself from carrying anything heavy so that the stitches won't rip." You said, carefully placing down his hand back on his knee. You were gentle as ever, Johnny swooned. "Absolutely no punching for a while."

"I have an important match at the end of next week. Is there any way to speed up the healing process?" Johnny asked, his eyes were almost pleading at you and you blinked at him in surprise.

"Apart from what I just said, there's really nothing else you could do." You pursed your lips, watching his expression visibly deflate. "If you want to have even a sliver of a chance at winning your match, I suggest you do as I say. Your stitches won't take too long to heal, I promise."

If Hyunsik was there with him, he would've probably already scolded him but the point would be the same. He had always prioritized Johnny's health above winning.

"Okay, doc. I'll do my best." Johnny said, defeated.

"You know, I always see the aftermath of your matches and your training. I want to see you in the ring next time when you're not bloody and beaten up yet." You smiled at him and you swore that all the color that was previously drained from Johnny's face came rushing back. "If it's okay."

"Are you serious?" Johnny asked, almost dumbfounded. Did the pretty doctor he'd been crushing on for months really just asked if she could watch his match?

You nodded with the same hue of red now tainting your cheeks.

"O-Of course! It's on Saturday next week! Please come and cheer me on!" Like a little kid, he excitedly rambled on about the details about the upcoming match and you nodded with the same enthusiast as you wrapped bandages around his hands.

You weren't from his world so everything he said sounded foreign to you. The terms he said, the infamy of his opponents, the prominence of it all — you were eager to learn it if it meant seeing him this happy.

You've always known that he hated hospitals. It was clear from the way he acted during your first meeting. He was stiff and tense, the body language he exuded just screamed that he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. As he visited the hospital more and more, you noticed the hatred never faltered. He only became better at hiding it from you.

To see him so relaxed and carefree within the four walls he hated with all his being, it was a breath of fresh air and the feeling you had in your chest grew stronger.

"You're good to go. I promise to see you in your match." You were jotting some last-minute details on the clipboard and you missed the way Johnny kept grinning like an idiot. "As much as I love seeing you here, I hate that you keep getting yourself injured. Keep out of trouble for me, Johnny."

You left the room without letting Johnny say another word.

Fuck, Johnny realized he hadn't asked for your number.

-

Johnny's match started in ten minutes. His heart was pounding in his ears, he almost couldn't hear what Hyunsik was shouting to him.

The underground stadium was filled to the brim with people, he felt more nervous than he did during his first boxing match. A lot was at stake for this win, he needed the belt. He was desperate for it.

"Johnny, are you listening to me?" Hyunsik raised his voice, aggressively slapping Johnny's cheeks together in his hands so he could focus on him. The boxer's mind was fleeting and it was his job to pull him back to reality now.

He hadn't seen you since last week and as much as he wanted to go back to the hospital to see you, he refused to badly hurt himself in the days that led up to the match. Johnny scanned the crowd for your face but he couldn't see it. You weren't there.

At the lack of your turnout, he failed to mask his disappointment. Hyunsik let out an aggravated groan and pulled the boxer on his feet to berate him further.

"Johnny, please for the love of all things holy, look me in the eye."

"I'm sorry. I'm okay now. I'm listening."

"Good because your match is starting soon and I need you to win this. All your hardships and sacrifices boils down to this match, you hear me?" Hyunsik bellowed, trying his best to keep his voice louder than the cries and chants of the audience. "Show them what Johnny Suh is capable of!"

Johnny nodded fervently, forcing himself into a state of serenity of peacefulness. He let out heavy breaths to even out his breathing as his team surrounded him, prepping him for what was about to come.

Hyunsik raised his hand at Johnny. He had five minutes left until his match started and he wasn't calming down.

"Can I please have some water?" Johnny asked and his medic stumbled on his feet to fetch him a bottle from the nearby cooler. He couldn't help but let out a shaky chuckle, his team seemed tenser than he was.

He downed the bottle as soon as it reached his hand. His hand was shaky. Goddammit, why was he so nervous?

At the corner of his eye, he saw Hyunsik making his way over to the barricade that separated his corner to the rest of the stadium. He arched his neck in a way that would let him take a peek what was so important that Hyunsik had to leave his side when the match was starting in a few minutes.

It seemed like Hyunsik was trying to stop a girl who was forcing her way in through the barricade. His stomach lurched at the sight of her familiar face.

As if he was acting purely on instinct, Johnny shot up from his seat and ran towards you. Hyunsik held up his arm to stop him from going any closer to you. You could've been a deranged fan, for all Hyunsik knows.

"Johnny-"

"I know her."

Hyunsik was startled at his response and started to profusely apologize to you. You looked nothing but smug and Johnny let out a breathy laugh that helped unravel the knots in his stomach. The boxer quietly motioned for him to take his leave and Hyunsik hesitantly did as told only after tapping his wrist as a sign that time was ticking.

You bowed at him apologetically, "I'm so sorry I'm late! There was this damn patient-"

"It's okay. You're here now." He cut you off, a cheesy smile on his face. You easily reciprocated it back.

"I just came down here to wish you good luck." You said with the usual confidence in your tone gone and now replaced with a sudden timidness and bashfulness. "Not like you need it or anything."

"Where are you sitting?" Johnny asked, noticing that you were struggling to keep your attention on his eyes. He peered down and realized that he didn't have a shirt on, he chuckled.

You pointed near the walls of the stadium and he strained his vision to see so far away. He pursed his lips and let out a noise of discontent. You said that it was the only seats available because you were so late.

"Why don't you sit here with them? They wouldn't mind." Johnny said, jutting his thumb over to his team who was furtively watching his interaction.

"Oh no, it's okay."

"I insist. I want you to see me win up close."

You blushed a deep shade of scarlet and Johnny grinned at his successful attempt at a flirt. Was it even a flirt or was it an ego stroke? Either way, it didn't matter because you were smiling at him. You were easing his nerves and you didn't even know.

"I got out of my shift early so I wouldn't be in the hospital later to stitch you up." You teased, softly prodding his shoulder blade.

Johnny playfully puffed out his chest, "I don't plan on getting too injured today, I wanna look cool in front of you."

"Whatever you say, Johnny."

"But I'm nervous. I'm actually really nervous today." Johnny mumbled as if he didn't want anyone else in on your conversation, gone all traces of his cockiness as his heart thudded erratically against his chest when he heard Hyunsik's call of the last minute until he has to go inside the ring.

You gingerly reached for his taped hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Just count back from a hundred like I always tell you to. You'll do fine."

"Wait for me after the match, okay?" And so you did.

Counting down the numbers, Johnny clambered inside the ring and the bell rang to signal the start of the match. Being in the medical field meant that you were against all forms of violence so you couldn't really watch the entirety of the match without feeling sick to your stomach. Johnny didn't care, he was just happy that you kept your promise and was cheering him on.

It was hectic and everything was happening all at once. It was loud and everybody was screaming. This wasn't your world, it was Johnny's and your heart fluttered at the thought that he was willing to let you in it.

Eventually, the match ended in Johnny's favor and the next thing you knew, you were being hoisted up in the air. You had the biggest smile on your face, similar to Johnny's who now had a shiny belt slung over his shoulder. All his hard work and all his trips to the hospital paid off.

"Congrats on your win!" You exclaimed, placing your palms on his chest to steady yourself.

"I wanted you to see me get the belt." He admittedly sheepishly, reaching out to hold your wrists in his bruised hands.

"Aren't you hurt in any way? We can drop by the hospital if you want." You asked, checking to see if he had any major injuries but true to his word, Johnny was inflicted little to no injuries during the match, exclude the few bruises on his jaw and a busted lip

"Actually, I'd rather we get some coffee instead." Johnny said, the small smile on his lips making you chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I don't date my patients." You smirked at Johnny's crestfallen expression, softly shoving his side to make it known that you were only joking.

Johnny pulled a face, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding once he realized your joke. He played along, "I think you can make me an exception, I don't usually invite people to my matches."

"So this is about getting even, huh?" You were teasing him and now your faces were merely inches apart but before Johnny could even think of leaning in, you spun around and grabbed his hand once more. "C'mon then, my treat!"

Johnny let out a laugh. A boxer and a doctor, who would've thought?

[bob-events]

Friendship Bonanza Prompt List!

International Friendship Day is right around the corner, and our AO3 collection is going out to our authors any minute! That means we are excited to announce the prompt list for the friendship bonanza - which we have hidden under the “keep reading” because it’s ridiculously long. If you’d like to make a “gift” for any of the prompters, you are welcome to, and we just ask that you either post it to the AO3 collection and tag them (but please mark it as a “gift fill”) or post it on Tumblr and tag them AND us so we can share it! Happy Friending

@nowinnablewar AO3: unseelieCollapsar Will Accept: Fanfic, Other types of media Prompt 1: Skip bounces ideas off Easy Company for the letter he wants to send to Faye. Prompt 2: Easy Company craft a plan to get back at Sobel without getting caught. Prompt 3: A Yank staff correspondent (Reader or OC) interviews the officers at the Eagle's Nest. Prompt 4: Three Musketeers AU with Toye, Luz, Guarnere, and Buck

@softspeirs AO3: sunlightdances Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart, Other types of media Prompt 1: Speirs being soft (either gif moments from the show, art of your choice, or platonically with a canon character, or paired with an OC!) Prompt 2: Nixon + "I wish I didn't care about it" - gifs showing him caring about other characters canonically or fic with platonic friendship or background romance with an OC Prompt 3: Lipton being Easy's Mom and Dad. Fanart, a fic of a missing scene, or gifs from the show! (Post-war AU feat. a background romance is also ok too) Prompt 4: Any happy, smiley moments between Easy boys. Gifs of happy moments, fanart, or a fic of a moment we didn't see on the show! DNW: Character/character slash fic, modern AU

@serasvictoria AO3: Caren80 Will Accept: Fanfic, Other types of media Prompt 1: Chuck and Babe are supposed be doing guard duty at Membury airfield. Chuck takes Babe to a pub instead (this genuinely happened by the way). Prompt 2: It’s Christmas and since Easy is still stuck in Bois Jacques in Belgium, Joe Liebgott decides to share a Hershey bar with Chuck and Tab as a present. Prompt 3: We all know that Luz and Perconte ended up in a barn to steal eggs, but what happened before that scene? Who even came up with the idea to begin with? Prompt 4: It’s 1946 and word reaches Bill that Joe Toye is really struggling with the loss of his leg. He decides to show up at Joe’s place unannounced with Babe and together they will do their utmost to make sure that Joe cracks a smile. Prompt 5: After hearing Joe say that he could use some brass knuckles right before D-Day, Bill finds some for him.

@josephtoye AO3: corawrites Will Accept: Fanfic Prompt 1: Joe Liebgott & Floyd Talbert, one is trying to set the other up, or some other banter-y kind of situation Prompt 2: Johnny Martin & Bull Randleman, any historical AU Prompt 3: Buck Compton & Joe Toye, do with that what you will Prompt 4: Shifty Powers & Carwood Lipton, anything wholesome DNW: Any other characters, angst is okay provided it has a happy ending, no romantic pairings please

@churchkey AO3: churchkey Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart Prompt 1: Don Malarkey & Skip Muck. Canon-era. Don's not in love with Skip , he just wants to spend the rest of his life with him. Maybe the two of them talking about their plan for being "together" (as besties) after the war. Maybe some cute "I've never told anyone else this before" intimate self-revelations. Maybe Don's reaction to Winters splitting them into different platoons. Basically I just want any chapter in the epic love story of their friendship. Prompt 2: Don Malarkey & Skip Muck Post-War Fix-It. Don's the best man at Skip and Faye's wedding, wondering how this is going to change things and if anyone will over love him the way Skip loves Faye (bonus points for background Don/Joe [Toye that is]; pining, long-distance flirting, whatever) Prompt 3: Dick Winters & Harry Welsh. Post-VE Day. Dick is crestfallen after Nix leaves. Harry feels bad for him. He really does. He's also kind of like "now you know how it feels, don't ya?" Still, he hates to see his friend suffer. Just a couple of sad, lovelorn bastards being miserable together. Prompt 4: Dick Winters & Kitty Grogan/Welsh. Post-war or Modern AU (hence you decide if she takes Harry's name). Would super love these two just doing some GBF things together, shopping, getting coffee, complaining about their husbands and trading gardening tips. Maybe the convo gets a little spicy after dark. Maybe they've each got some private dilemma the other helps to solve. Or maybe they just wander around a flea market looking for good deals on Fiestaware. Prompt 5: Lewis Nixon & Harry Welsh. Post-War. ROADTRIP! (Bonus for background Winnix but it's not necessary). DNW: anything sci-fi/fantasy; OCs; xReader; Tab

@how-are-those-nuts-sarge AO3: whoahersheybars_3up3down Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart, Other types of media Prompt 1: Historian AU - one character worked at a museum/was a historian before the war and geeks out over a few things while deployed to their friends = any character/s. Prompt 2: Penmanship - one character has lovely handwriting, but something/s hit them HARD during the war and they write much less pretty; with one of their friends' support, however, their hand steadies and they heal (lotsa metaphors there I know 😅) = any character/s. Prompt 3: Chess - one character teaches the other to play chess = any character/s. Prompt 4: Bicycle - one character finds a tandem bicycle in Austria and convinces the other to go on a ride with them = any character/s. Prompt 5: Anything with Bill & Babe, Malarkey & Skip & Penkala, or Dick & Nix, I love their friendship dynamics so much.

@speirstookmysoul AO3: speirstookmysoul Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart, Other types of media Prompt 1: mentor/mentee bonding Prompt 2: shoulder clasps Prompt 3: overdramatic arguments about non-important subjects Prompt 4: "getting mistaken as family and not correcting whoever’s mistaken”

@kmorecoffee AO3: vintagelavenderskies Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart Prompt 1: gene and renee: diasastrous, chaotic cookie decorating! the rest of the gang can be involved too for extra chaos because who doesn't love chaos. anyways: gene and renee try to make holiday cookies but something goes awry. too much salt and not enough sugar? distracted and accidentally burn the cookies? luz plays a practical joke and switches out sugar for salt? go crazy! Prompt 2: gene and renee: stargazing!!! all the stargazing :) just two friends, vibing, talking about life and whatever comes to mind Prompt 3: can be modern au: chaos in the coffee shop! just the gang's shenanigans at the local coffee shop. mayhaps there's an ongoing bet of how long it takes luz to get banned? DNW: speirs. i mean, i guess he can be like mentioned or featured. but not too much speirs.

AO3: Muccamukk Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart Prompt 1: Renee & Augusta/Anna: Any backstory about how/if they knew each other before, their different points of view on things. AU where Renee doesn't die and what they do after the war. Would prefer racism not be the focus of the story, though it can be an element. I like it when there's queer characters and romance isn't the focus. Prompt 2: Winters & Guarnere: Something with them getting to know/respect each other better set early in their relationship, especially between Day of Days and Bastogne. They have such different outlooks, but in the end very similar values, and I'd love to see that explored. Maybe they get stuck together and have to survive? Prompt 3: Randleman & Garcia: I'd love to see more of Bull mentoring the replacements, especially Garcia, and how their relationship changes as the replacements get combat experience and integrate with the company. Would love to see growing respect for each other. I like it when there's queer characters and romance isn't the focus. Prompt 4: Guarnere & Martin: They have matching tattoos! They got in so much trouble with each other and were so ride or die even post war! Bill went to Martin's wedding! Pat and Frannie wrote too each other during the war. I would love them getting to know each other, or small moments of affection. Or just write about Pat and Frannie. That's fun too. Or Bill & Bull & Johnny. Or Bill & Joe Toye. Basically any configuration of this is great! Prompt 5: Powers & McClung: Basically them chilling in the woods silently understanding each other? Healing through chilling in the woods? Comparing their experiences as country boys on opposite sides of the country? Post war stuff where Shifty's so badly hurt and Earl's PTSD? I like it when there's queer characters and romance isn't the focus. DNW: Focus on character death (mention of canon stuff is fine), graphic sexual violence, hopeless endings of utter sadness, character bashing, zombies, AUs that change the setting (turn left AUs fine, AUs that add magic etc fine). PoV characters having strong racist or homophoic views.

@papersergeant-pencilsoldier AO3: papersky_pencilstars Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart, Other types of media Prompt 1: Airborne OT5 (Liebgott, Grant, Mcclung, Ramirez, Babe) missing scenes - can be fluffy or angsty (fallout from Chuck getting shot?), dealer's choice! Prompt 2: Mortar Trio - Early days at Camp Taccoa Prompt 3: Dukeman & Perconte & Tab (bonus Trigger?) teasing the replacements Prompt 4: Renée LeMaire  & Gene Roe- (everybody lives AU) connect postwar (I would die if this was a letter fic, but it absolutely does not have to be!) DNW: webgott (platonic or romantic background)

Prompter # 11 Will Accept: Fanfic Prompt 1: Dick, Nix, and Harry being involved in some shenanigans during their downtime in Mourmelon. Prompt 2: Bill and Babe reminiscing and sharing Philly stories. Prompt 3: The friendship between Smokey and Lip because I think it deserves more hype :) DNW: Nothing NSFW

@dansssks​ AO3: danesaber Prompt 1: Dick & Nix: The time they offered to protect Kitty for ice cream and Vat 69. Prompt 2: Spina/Babe/Gene: College AU? Prompt 3: Spina & anyone: They show Spina all their booboos Prompt 4: Mortar Squad: Any au, cannon or modern Prompt 5: Harry and Moose: Go sheep shopping as a present for Winnix on their new farm.

@anthrobrat AO3: anthrobrat Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart Prompt 1: Any of the Last Patrol OT5 (Chuck, Babe, Lieb, McClung, Ramirez) owning a business together - coffeshop, bar, accounting firm? Don't care. Can either be a post-war or modern AU setting. Prompt 2: Skinny Sisk and anyone being bros during the war. Maybe him and Frank deleted scenes in Bastogne fox holes Prompt 3: Shifty & McClung shenanigans during leave. The cat story is hilarious, and I'm sure there are more, and I just love these two because they are so calm and collected but McClung is a total wild card. I would also take a modern AU of them being besties. Prompt 4: Shifty and Popeye being best friends after the war maybe? I just imagine them at each other's weddings being disasters. I would also take the two of them as friends in a modern AU Prompt 5: Any friendship prompt that gives life to the lesser known characters would be awesome imo. DNW: Speirs or Lipton as main protagonists.

Prompter # 13 Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart Prompt 1: shifty powers and floyd talbert - mermaid/fisher au Prompt 2: babe heffron x reader - ice hockey/team manager Prompt 3: dick winters x reader - college au! tutor au Prompt 4: easy company boarding school au DNW: pwp/smut

@mercurygray AO3: mercurygray Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart, Other types of media Prompt 1: Harry + Nixon - marriage, divorce, and everything in between. Prompt 2: Shifty + Smokey - Guess we're not in Kansas anymore - or Mississippi, or Virginia. Prompt 3: Tab + Grant - Chuck's really just here to keep Tab out of trouble. Prompt 4: Bill + Babe - First jump's the hardest - and while the jump into Holland is easy, what comes after it is not. Prompt 5: Tipper + Luz -  Tipper's pretty good at impressions, too. DNW: Liebgott and Webster (as a unit; individually they're fine.)

@lyselkatz AO3: Lysel Will Accept: Fanfic Prompt 1: Any group shenanigans/friendship fluff including Skip, Smokey, Nix, Bull. Prompt 2: "The guys are stranded on base without pass (or requisitioned to work overtime to meet an important deadline/exams, if modern AU) Prompt 3: Smokey does his best to cheer his brothers up with his peculiar brand of silly (Valentine) gifts. Extra ❤ if Skip and George offer their help. Chaos and ensemble fluff ensue. (+ playing Cupid/background ships if you like)" Prompt 4: "Lieb and Hoobs are bored so they decide to troll Web. Since it's valentine's day soon they'll play crack!cupid for fun. Prompt 5: Web is a shark nerd and Pat has a great shark smile. Infallible logic, right? (Input from the other guys /ensemble shenanigans are welcome)" DNW: Nothing I can think of, since it's a friendship fest

Prompter #16 Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart, Other types of media Prompt 1: found family taking care of each other (feat. liebgott being happy and content <3) domestic fluff Prompt 2: anything fluffy coffee shop AU or flower shop or tattoo parlour or bakery or anything along those lines Prompt 3: university AU but they are the professors! DNW: webgott, fantasy AUS, omegaverse, mpreg, anything mafia related, not too much angst

Prompter #17 Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart Prompt 1: Era switch: take the boys and put them in the Vietnam War. WWI? The Korean War? The American Revolution? Any conflict that you're comfortable with. Prompt 2: The Pacific AU? Put the BoB men in the Pacific. How they get there or why they are there is all up to you. Maybe their parachute infantry regiment was simply assigned to the PTO instead of the ETO after training. Maybe Japan didn't surrender as quickly as they did. Anything. Prompt 3: Supernatural AUs are my favorite. Preferably I'd love to keep them based in the WWII era, but you can switch it up if you'd like to -- I'd be fine with that! Any type of supernatural is cool with me. I'm aware this might be super vague but I really don't mind whatever you go with :) Prompt 4: Role-switching scenarios: putting men from within the series in each others' positions. DNW: Romantic shipping, characters (Cobb, Sobel, any higher ranking officers above Winters like Sink), modern-day AUs, aged-down AUs (high school/middle school/college with the purpose of aging down = no); a/b/o trope; nsfw (no sexual material; show-level gore okay).

@mariamegale AO3: mariamegale Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart Prompt 1: Babe and Julian being best friends. They are snarky, excited, happy and having a good time together. Bonus if their boyfriends are Eugene and Spina, accordingly! Prompt 2: Baberoe. They're dating, but they're dating their own best friends. With romantic feelings taking the back seats, I'd love to see a healthy relationship of two people in love but doing normal platonic things because they're also each others' best friends in the whole world! Prompt 3: Roe and Spina being tired doctor friends, meeting up in between shifts or calls, being tired and exasperated and just having their sandwiches and a moment of god damn peace. Prompt 4: George Luz and Babe Heffron being best friends. They'd be a disaster, but that disaster that also knows how to step the fuck up if shit gets serious. But mostly they're a disaster. Prompt 5: Joe Liebgott and Eugene Roe. They're roommates, they're pals, Joe likes smoking weed, playing mario kart and complaining about whatever dipshit he's gone out with now, Eugene is trying to make it through med school and enjoys the soothing background chatter of Joe blabbering on about this guy's shirt, or whatever. DNW: Canon era (Ambiguous era is fine if you don't like writing/drawing modern!), Carwood Lipton, OCs, xReader stuff

@mizunoir AO3: mizunoir (but I use 49thpersona for reblogging stuff) Will Accept: Fanfic, Other types of media Prompt 1: Hogwarts AU! Would be lovely if it would include Babe. I leave it up to the artist if they would like to portray one specific house endeavours or all 4 houses befriending. Prompt 2: Stargazing, can be set in modern times or in the original timeline. For angsty interpretation it would be nice to read/see some Eugene and Spina bonding. Prompt 3: Stargazing (original timeline or modern times). For more crack-ish one it could include for example: Luz, Toye, Guarnere, Babe etc. But I leave it absolutely open - include whoever you want! Boys share their music taste. Bickering and reminiscing of the good times free of war ensues. Can be platonic, can be slightly shippy, AU or modern - up to the artist. Preferably including Babe with Eugene.

@thrillingdetectivetales AO3: ThrillingDetectiveTales Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart, Other types of media Prompt 1: Bill & Babe: Bill talks Babe through gay panic about his extremely obvious crush on one John T. Julian, convinces him to ask Julian out, and demands to officiate their wedding (not necessarily in that order) Prompt 2: Harry & Nix (with bonus Buck?): commiserating about trying to keep Dick out of trouble Prompt 3: Blanche Nixon & Ann Winters: they know each other because their idiot brothers are """"friends"""" but they both know what's up and cover for Dick and Nix at various times throughout their lives Prompt 4: Kitty Grogan & Franny Guarnere & Pat Martin: they meet because their fellas are on the line together and keep each other sane throughout the war Prompt 5: Floyd Talbert is everyone's best buddy DNW: No mpreg/pregnancy in general, no rape/non-con (dub-con like drunk!sex or sex pollen or hatesex is fine), no modern AUs, no ABO/dynamics, no kidfic.

Prompter #21 Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart Prompt 1: Speirs & Shames: These stern, "unlikable" men are just not very social or nice, but they get each other. Outcast gay solidarity. Prompt 2: Kitty & Nixon/Winters: Nixon and/or Winters gets to meet Harry's special girl at last. Harry's made her sound like the romantic lead of a novel and really cool, and they are completely unprepared for the tall, awkward chess club captain. Prompt 3: Babe & Guarnere: Post-war readjusting of a friendship. Disability, marriage, kids on the way, Babe is gay. You know, the usual. DNW: xReader, OCs, hopeless angst, AUs, heavy focus on heterosexuality

@aloraundomiel AO3: ElfLadyArwen Will Accept: Fanfic, Fanart Prompt 1: Dick admires Eugene’s medical skill and always shows interest in learning from him while he’s on the job. Eugene uses it to his advantage, making sure Dick takes care of himself (because shaving doesn’t count) under the guise of ‘teachable moments.’ Any battlefield setting would work. Prompt 2: Nix and Harry are joined at the hip, two class clowns who wind each other up.  When one gets them into deep trouble, the other one is always there to get them out again. Prompt 3: Dick Winters is jealous of Ronald Spiers ruthlessness/ability to detach and athletic prowess. Ronald Spiers is jealous of Dick’s empathy and ability to earn loyalty through compassion. Each man agrees to give the other lessons in order to be more well rounded leaders. DNW: Please no Blithe. Never Blithe. You can leave out Compton too.

@bandofmorons AO3: bandofmorons (pseud for sonsofmahal) Will Accept: Fanfic Prompt 1: Babe & Lieb friendship!! I don't have a ton of specifics for this, I just want them being friends and getting into shenanigans but also being supportive of each other... like they're just guys bein' dudes but they're also pretty close ya know! They take care of each other when they need to! Ideally this would be a modern AU, maybe they're college roommates or something? Prompt 2: But mostly I just want to see them goofing off but also being helpful when shit goes down or something, because that's what friends are for. Prompt 3: Some kind of traveling AU with the 5 officers (Winters, Nix, Harry, Lip and Speirs) all as friends and how going on a big trip like that can strain a friendship when something goes wrong or just from people being tired from traveling so much... maybe it's a cross-county roadtrip, maybe it's spring break in Europe, maybe they're going backpacking in New Zealand or something.. I just wanna see how all those 5 boys' different personalities interact on a big logistical venture! Prompt 4: I'm not picky about who necessarily but I want to see Webster getting close to & forming a close friendship with someone in Easy! I feel like in the show/fandom he gets a bad rap for being pretentious (which, fair) but I think it would be awesome to see him becoming good friends with someone and feeling more accepted among the company bc of it. This could be a canon-compliant thing or it could be a modern AU where the boys are all friends. Background Webgott would also be cool as long as Lieb is supportive of Web befriending more people. DNW: explicit sex

[bondsmagii]

I mean to ask this genuinely, no hostility, but can you explain how you correlate scp to being in a cult? I dont disagree, I just cant articulate the reasoning as to why I dont disagree, and would like to see where youre coming from with this. Also, could you tag it with cults or cult discussion or something similar, please? Thanks! Have a good day.

OK [cracks knuckles] I will try and keep this as short as possible, but you have to understand I’ve been observing the wiki in the wild literally since its inception, so there is a lot of stuff to consider. anyway let’s buckle up.

[EDIT: after finishing, this is obnoxiously long. sorry. I encourage people to read it though, because yikes.]

I base this theory on a set of guidelines set out for spotting if an organisation might be a cult. generally cults are religiously based; obviously this does not apply here. as far as I’m aware, nobody sees the SCP wiki as a religion (yet). because of this a couple of the points regarding spotting a cult are irrelevant (they concern things like separation from the Church which obviously doesn’t apply) but nearly all of the others (even some religious ones) can apply if we provide context. so without further ado:

Signs You’re In A Cult and How the SCP Wiki Literally Fits Into All of Them

let’s start with the most obvious:

opposing critical thinking

something that has long pissed me off about the SCP wiki has been its complete inability to think critically. staff will literally ban people for criticising them, and the parameters of “criticism” have only grown wider and wider over the years. anything that is the “party line” is sacred; nothing can be improved upon because it’s already perfect, and Staff Knows Best. any policy changes are law, and any dissenting voices are silenced – even among younger staff members (length of service wise, not age wise). I have seen staff put on probation or demoted for arguing against pointless or pedantic policy changes; I have seen people of all levels banned for arguing with staff. if this doesn’t happen right away, arguing with staff over their decisions will absolutely get a target on your back, and they will find a way to ban or demote you as soon as they can.

any criticism on the wiki is frowned upon unless it comes from the Major Staff Members – these are people at the top of the hierarchy who can do no wrong, and as you can imagine, they’ve done some shit. staff has always had a problem with elitism, bullying, and even abusive behaviour (blah blah blah #NotAllStaff, but the ratio is quite concerning) and any criticism of their behaviour or even pointing this fact out is dangerous if you want to remain on the wiki. hell, I know many people who are aware of this who don’t speak up because they’re genuinely scared of retaliation. a lot of staff are really nasty people, and because of this attitude they are beyond criticism.

isolating members and penalising them for leaving

the penalising them for leaving part isn’t strictly accurate, because as far as I know, nobody has ever been bullied or threatened into staying on the wiki. however, I do remember a while back (2011/2012-ish) when the Foundation RP community began to show up on Tumblr, and the wiki began to get a fanbase that wasn’t contained on the site itself. staff were not happy about this and to this day they still constantly try and get a monopoly on all off-site locations. they have an official Offsite Outreach Team (yes, that’s its real name) who “reach out” to communities on other platforms (YouTube, Reddit, Tumblr, etc) and set up an Official Presence there, and then they encourage everyone to use the Official Presence rather than the fan-made ones (which are often more established and better/more consistently run). there have been several off-site spats between staff and the fandom, because they arrive demanding the authority and respect they have on the wiki and get Big Mad when they don’t get it. just recently one (now ex) staff member, djkaktus, went absolutely primal on Reddit and banned a whole bunch of the community for daring to say that they didn’t like the new LGBT logo for pride month (many of these people were LGBT themselves and felt as though it was pandering/putting targets on their backs); several more years ago (2014, I believe?) I myself had a run in with the Outreach Team and it was one fucking hell of a headache that ended in a malicious smear campaign against me, so like. yeah.

as for isolating members, they do this via elitism. the above is an example of it (making everyone feel a sense of obligation or loyalty to the Official Presence), but a huge part of it has always been the elitist attitude prevalent on the wiki. the SCP wiki has high standards for writing (allegedly… I’ve seen some garbage on there tbh, same as any other website) and it uses this to bully and demean its users. criticism of writing is overly harsh but highly encouraged; anyone complaining that it was too cruel (which it often is) is ridiculed for being too sensitive. (staff have been working on this for years, but really nothing has changed; people have just gotten more between-the-lines about it.) this encourages a kind of desperation among new users to “rise up the ranks” and earn respect so they can be the ones dishing out the criticism instead; they will do so and then immediately act in accordance to their status, bullying others how they were bullied and sticking to their own “rank”. brief interruption: staff and bootlickers if you’re reading this and thinking of reblogging to defend yourself, the code word is yeet. if I do not see the word yeet in your reply I will know you have not read this thoroughly and tell me why I should then bother reading anything you have to say.staff themselves is incredibly removed and closed off from the rest of the community; they have a bunch of private chat rooms they hang out in, and inter-dating is common. they don’t tend to interact much outside the flock, and are the definition of cliquey. joining this rank is supposed to be an achievement, but really it’s probably the most dangerous place to be. I have seen so many staff members have literal, clinical mental breakdowns over the strain and treatment they suffer.

(there’s nowhere to neatly slot this in, so: I don’t know how many people have noticed this, but SCP fans, when you spot them on other platforms, are snooty. not casual fans, but those involved with the wiki? I can spot them from a mile away, because whenever the Foundation is mentioned, there they are, acting like they’re part of some cool club. some of these people are innocent (they’re just mimicking the behaviour of other members) but some of them really do seem to think that their site is somehow better than whatever site they’re on, and it’s really creepy to see.)

emphasising special doctrines outside of scripture

obviously this is religion-specific, but with context it can fit. if we take scripture to mean SCP lore, and special doctrines to mean differing headcanons, ideas, writing styles, etc… oh boy.

there’s something that’s often said on the wiki: there is no canon. buddy, there is. yes, you can write whatever you want technically, and you can disregard headcanons you don’t like and you can build on different things and theoretically people can just ignore your shit if they don’t like it, but that is not what happens. there is absolutely a canon, and deviating from it will get you downvoted into oblivion and even personally attacked. people will accuse you of the most ridiculous shit, like desecrating the wiki or betraying the universe or whatever. so where does the emphasising part of this come in?

why, it’s simple! if one of these special doctrines (headcanons or whatever) comes from staff or an Approved Member, it’s fine. go nuts. even if it’s something that anybody else would be absolutely slaughtered for, it’s fine if staff approves. there is no creative freedom on that wiki, and anyone attempting to carve a piece out for themselves will suffer for it. one of my close friends still gets hate for an SCP he wrote featuring heavy headcanons and building on existing lore about a well-known character, and some of this hate is because he didn’t set the fucking article out “how it should be”. 

seeking inappropriate loyalty to their leaders

oh boy. staff are god on that website. they’ll deny it, but they know it’s true. many of them are arrogant and, in my opinion, some of them are pathologically narcissistic. they think they are hot shit, and they encourage people on the site to believe the same. a huge majority of users on the wiki are high school students, so 15-18 years old. the next huge group are college-aged, so 19-22 or so. several staff members are in their mid-20s up to 30s, maybe even coming 40s or early 40s now. when you’re in your mid-20s, it’s very easy to look cool to a 15-year-old. it’s very easy to look at a young userbase and convince them that you’re hot shit, and that’s what staff do. they act like it; most users respond to it, and if anyone dissents? see point one.

staff have always had double standards. from the very beginning of staff, they have gotten away with a lot more than the average user. staff have been allowed to bully, ridicule, harass, dismiss, shit upon, and target people with reckless abandon, usually only meeting punishment when other staff members feel too inconvenienced by them. a lot of the time when they’re punished, it’s a lot lighter than it would have been for an average user (a month ban rather than a permaban, for example). this is seen as almost a point of hilarity for a lot of people, who think it’s cool and just a right you get when you’re staff. you know best, you’ve seen some shit – who can blame you for slamdunking a 15-year-old’s first SCP?

the amount of respect and adoration these people demand is ridiculous, and anybody daring to criticise them ends up on a shitlist. staff show up in other areas (Tumblr or Reddit) and expect that same amount of respect, even among people outside of the wiki who might just be casual fans. they act a lot more important than they are, and demand that everyone treats them appropriately. I’ve seen staff members throw shitfits because they didn’t get enough upvotes for their articles, and many staff members’ quality of work declines when they make staff, simply because they know that they’ll get easy upvotes as soon as people realise it’s a staff member who wrote it. downvotes are enough to get you put on a shitlist. 

publicly, their word is law. you are not allowed to debate with them in the forums if they put a “stop” on the topic; the same applies in the IRC chat. if staff says “stop”, you will be punished if you mention it again. you are allowed to discuss it with them privately, but I think that’s rather insidious, as staff have been known to twist facts and withhold information before. this gives them a public persona of always being right – and something else that cults do is silence dissenting voices so nobody who might agree can see other people saying the same things and feel encouraged/emboldened. 

crossing Biblical boundaries of behaviour

again, we’ll need to contextualise this. if Biblical boundaries are things like sins and all the stuff the Bible says Do Not Do, then in this context these are the wiki rules. staff (and their friends) will constantly cross the rules, as previously mentioned, and they will get away with it.

the wiki rules say “don’t be a dick”. I have caught staff bullying people countless times, and no doubt there’s more I haven’t caught. even out in the open, staff are argumentative, dismissive, rude, intimidating, and oftentimes plain nasty. the wiki rules say “don’t coldpost articles; get feedback”. staff is just out there throwing their shit onto the wiki and expecting an avalanche of upvotes in five minutes Or Else. policies are made that set parameters and staff changes them whenever convenient – for example, the long-standing rule that things that occur off-site are not the responsibility of the Disciplinary Committee (yes, its name.). unless, of course, it’s someone they don’t like. a major staff member bullies somebody on Tumblr? “sorry, it was offsite, not our problem”. someone staff doesn’t like gets into a brief spat on Reddit? banned for harassment. 

there are countless examples of this, from small things to major things like bullying, harassment, and even abuse (or enabling of abuse). staff will punish people for transgressions and then turn a blind eye to a fellow staff member committing a transgression that was ten times worse. they have even protected rapists and sexual predators in the past – another kind of behaviour common in cults, because that’s what happens when you combine narcissism and entitlement with total authority.

that’s the main bulk of it

but now the context has been established, here are a few more concerning things I’ve noticed (quickfire now):

cults shit on former members

and the wiki does the same. any staff member that’s grown fed up of the groupthink and the cliquey attitude and how nasty people are or who has been mistreated by staff themselves; any regular user who feels the same and vocally quits? shat upon. lauded as a bastion of whatever is wrong with the wiki. declared an Enemy and rallied against. it is so creepy.

cults use Us vs Them mentality, especially in language

broad declarations establishing a community and a community spirit in the face of adversity are common in cults. appeals to emotion and loyalty are used in a very manipulative way. catastrophising and fearmongering is common, too. I’m seeing this in how the recent drama with the legal issues is being handled. broad appeals to “defend the wiki”, hashtags being encouraged, emotional speeches from staff about how it’s a make or break situation… 

…and this is being reflected in the absolutely insane comments people are responding with.

this is a fucking writing website. the above is not a normal reaction at all.

the attitudes of regular users quickly grow concerning

people very quickly get obsessed with the wiki and it defines their lives. they seem to feel as though they owe something to it or they need to serve some kind of a purpose; many people try and “get the word out” and become voluntary spokespeople. they go around practically preaching, and I do not see the users of any other website doing this.

cults want full control over how they’re seen by outsiders

and the scp wiki does the same. as mentioned previously, when the fandom grew and spiralled off the wiki to other sites, staff debated for weeks over what to do. brief interruption the second code is shrek is life.they were not comfortable with the idea of the wiki having an independent fandom, and for years now they have been in constant struggle with offsite communities, trying to gain the same amount of control they have over the wiki. it’s impossible to do so thoroughly, and it’s clearly an annoyance for them.

cult leaders will let “lesser” members do their dirty work for them

and guess what staff does? rather than wade in there and get their hands dirty with internet arguments, they’ll sit back and let regular users dogpile on dissenters and say all the things staff shouldn’t be seen to say in public. note how even if this would violate the bullying policies, they’ll just get a warning so long as staff agrees. 

in conclusion

@ everyone on the scp wiki: yall know you’re in a cult, right?

[soranihimawari]

what he sees...

word count: 1.8k

tagging: @m0nstergeneration20xx​

warnings/genre: gamer friends to lovers [is that even a thing?]// rated F for fluff

<< |master list|>>

hallway meeting [day 0] :

part of kenma’s daily routine was to roam the halls of his high school during lunch break in search for a stronger wifi signal. recently that proved to be a challenge considering the fact the wifi was acting all wonky during the aftermath of the thunderstorm that occurred two weeks ago. the dual-toned setter was about to abandon all hope and just suffer the penalty for using one of his many devices as a hotspot during school hours.

that plan was almost coming into fruition when he heard a rather pleasant monotone voice pleading with the audio visual club members to take on a new second year recruit. with a resounding and stern, “no,” kenma heard the door close when he rounded the corner. he paused long enough to see the girl in the class across from his lower her closed fist before releasing a short lived sigh. for the life of him, kenma could not remember the name of the student he was quietly observing, but that didn’t stop him from staring at the phone you took out from your blazer pocket.

you held your phone in one hand while using your dominant hand as a mischievous smirk carved its way across your features. you swiftly stepped away in the opposite direction of the clubroom with a few keystrokes of code being typed before you pressed enter. you pretended to not hear the screams of horror when you whistled a tune down the hallway. kenma glanced down at his phone to notice his phone switched from LTE to a new closed wifi server nicknamed “chaos fiber.” it wasn’t password protected, meaning the girl’s device picked up his phone’s presence. kenma let out a chortle before he turned on his heels to head back toward his homeroom.

that afternoon on the train ride back to their neighborhood, kenma was rather quiet,even more so than what his best friend/neighbor had been accustomed to.

“kenma, do you think there’d be aliens on mars?” kuroo baited a question to see if his friend would bite.

“mmhm,” kenma replied; his subconscious was busy trying to remember any noticeable detail from lunch. the mysterious tech angel helped him out, but he didn’t want the rooster haired third year next to him cause a raucous over it. 

“you’re acting strange, even for you,” kuroo said when they were heading off the train and taking the stairs outside to the platform leading to their side of the tokyo suburbs.

“you think so?” kenma quipped knitting his brow.

“i don’t know what happened, but i guess it’s alright for now. you probably need sleep. don’t stay up too late, man.”

“ok.”

the next day right before classes were dismissed for the day, you found yourself tinkering with your mother’s old phone trying to breathe it back to life. you decided to take a break to crack your knuckles and stretch your arms when your class vice-representative, sayo-kun, said you had a visitor. Kenma did not come up with a valid reason why he thought his feet to moved on their own at lunch leading him to an impromptu visit to your class across the hall. 

he wanted to know thank you for sharing the closed wifi name with him because he was able to finally play all this games without any interruptions whatsoever, but since he knew himself to be no expert on romance, he decided to text the team. ok, let’s be real, he texted kai and yaku. if kuroo found out, homeboy would have made a big show out of something so small like kenma’s first high school crush. kenma did receive some decent advice after making the vice captain and libero of his sports club team promise to not tell their captain right away for fear of scaring the girl. 

12:05 

ꜰʀᴍ: ʏᴀᴋᴜ-ᴢᴀ ʟɪʙᴇʀᴏ

ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴇʀ? ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴄʟᴀᴍᴍʏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴠᴇꜱ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ? ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀꜱᴋ ʜᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ɪꜰ ꜱʜᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴍᴍʀᴘɢꜱ? 

12:09

ꜰʀᴍ: ᴠɪᴄᴇ ᴄᴀᴘ

ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ ʏᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ʏᴀᴋᴜ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀꜱᴋᴇᴅ ᴋᴇɴᴍᴀ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɢᴇɴᴜɪɴᴇ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀ. ɪꜱɴ’ᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏꜱ? 

“talk to her, ask her out for some ice cream or pie at the cafe down the street from campus? practice is cancelled today anyways since nekomata has family visiting today,” kenma mumbled the last text kai sent him right before reaching your class’ door.

“can i help you?” your ears were completely oblivious to whomever sayo-kun was talking to while you pressed the power button of the phone on your desk, eyes lighting up with glee as it slowly powered on. You chuckle amused at your own genius turning your mother’s older (and by all means obsolete) phone into an emergency back up of the back up mp3 player.

“hey y/n! kodzume-san’s here to see you,” your classmate said breaking your thought process. 

“thanks,” kenma said quietly brushing past sayo-kun stopping roughly a foot before your desk. He played with his hands a bit as you lowered your arms back on your desk folded on top of each other.

“what can i do for you kenma?” you asked, an eyebrow raised at him. You knew why he was there. you were the one with the wifi server that you closed off to the other audio visual club jerks the other day, but what you didn’t know was what piqued your interest.

“i wanted to say thank you for the other day,” kenma stated in a shy tone. he was testing the waters by taking a step or two forward in your direction. you had this sly smile growing across your face which kenma found kind of endearing. Have you always looked this effortlessly sophisticated? or was that just how nature laid out your kind features every time artificial fluorescent light made your eyes sparkle in the day time.

“ah,” you reply. you bop your head while adding a quick, “i see.”

a fleeting moment of silence passes between you two before you suggest something to him which nearly caused the aloof member of the volleyball team to be caught off guard:

“want to spend a free period with me? a have one coming up right before classes are dismissed today. i’ll be in the computer lab if you’re interested.”

kenma didn’t say anything else, but you took into account the way his pupils dilated in excitement at the invitation right before he accepted your offer. you exchanged contact info once he arrived at the lab an hour later where you helped each other in creating a small network of computers to connect to the fiberware and now password protected “chaos” server from a few weeks ago. every computer that was turned on in the lab had different operating systems running through (of course with the best games downloaded by the seniors beforehand). 

“welcome to the chaos network. wanna play a game?” 

kenma did not have to be asked a second time as he sat down in front of one of the computers and thus began a partnership between you and the pudding haired setter. you brought over an extra wireless keyboard for the game kenma chose to play, laughing with him as he began to design his  lvl 1 character. you did the same when the game prompted kenma to choose to add another member to his party... 

later that evening, when he offered to walk with you to the train station with kuroo saying he had cleaning duty, kenma and you found yourselves headed in the same direction for the platform close by.

“seems like this is where we part,” you say, readjusting your school bag on your shoulder. “thanks for accompanying me earlier. i haven’t been able to play that game yet. i had fun.”

“yeah,me too.” kenma agreed taking out his gaming console again. what you did next, you had no idea why you did it, but you just went with it: you invaded kenma’s personal bubble rather quickly pressing your lips onto the side of his cheek without any forewarning. you retreated back to where you stood in front of him before

“sorry, i should of asked if that was ok,” you apologize in a meek voice admist a now crowded station. kenma shook his head to indicate that it was alright. afterall, his crush just kissed him and his brain had an emergency halt of normal kenma-esc thoughts. “see you tomorrow at school.”

“see you later,” was all he managed to say seeing as you turned to walk to your platform number to wait for your train.

--[ three weeks later]--

A couple of weeks later, you were formally introduced to the rest of the Nekoma Volleyball Club when you mentioned that your gaming partner left behind his switch in the computer room during mid-class break. Needless to say you were bombarded with questions ranging from, “where did you meet kenma,” “what class were you in,” and finally, “are you going to be our manager? You’re practically kenma’s ‘player 2’ already, right?”

Nekomata chuckled at his team, recalling the days of his youth, when something eerily similar happened to his captain at the time.

“Umm,” you cleared your throat before you drew a deep breath in. You closed your eyes on the exhale and tilted your head to the side, curling a hand under your chin in thought. 

“C’mon, you don’t have to answer any of--” Kenma’s voice was pretty even throughout meaning he was getting more annoyed at how everyone else got to ask you those pressing questions, but he had been interrupted. Over the past three weeks, you hung out with kenma more and more, seeing what was his level of comfort around you versus other people. Every time you hung out with him, kenma finally felt himself breathe a little better than before. His crush still clung on to him, so it wasn’t properly addressed until that afternoon when seeing you dropped by unannounced to return his console after you helped free the os for any bugs and malware. 

“I met Kenma in the other side of the hallway where audio/visual club after they shut me down from joining their ‘prestigious’ club, so I launched a virus that killed their LAN party mid-campaign; class 2-5 [college prep]; if you need one, i don’t see why not? I’ve got time to spare. And actually,” your eyes never wavered off Kenma’s beet red ears from the moment you interjected. “I don’t know. You should ask him that when I leave Lev.”

[ The team’s focus switched back to where their setter was standing utterly dumbfounded by your honesty. You’d think you never saw a clowder of kittens look this excited for their ‘brain’ to find someone as wickedly smart (if not smarter) than their captain. ]

Scowling at the tallest first year on the team, Yaku nearly roundhouse kicked his kouhai for the third time that practice. Kai, judging by the way Kuroo and Yamagoto’s jaws went slack after you agreed to be the official team manager right before the prefecture qualifiers were announced, just laughed with a knowing smile. The first years on the team were so enamoured by your bold, yet casual attitude, they could see why their gaming senpai would find someone special like you. Especially since they noticed how Kenma’s usually displeased expressions seemed to have subsided to his version of “i’m not upset, just disappointed,” neutral face during practices lately.

“Do you want to be?” Kenma’s voice was the loudest anyone ever heard him speak, well except for you. This voice you had grown accustomed to when you helped him during a rare monster raid in one of the various mmorpgs you linked your devices to. By now you two were at the half-way point when you were walking toward each other, it was like your bodies just took comfort automatically as though your subconscious knew the other was close. Kenma was facing you and despite his height, you were a little shorter than he was while wearing your ballet flats. 

You extended your hand to hold one of his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Your thumb rubbed miniscule spirals to calm the tensions in his fingers down. Much to their surprise, their setter rested his forehead against your shoulder muttering a “please?” so you did what you do best, you pat the top of his head gently. you avert your gaze for a split second; you hum while you prepare a straightforward answer.

“I thought we already were,” you say with the utmost sincerity in your voice. “Let me know when you get home. See ya Kodzu-san.” Your lips curled into a hauntingly gorgeous smile as you walked away shaking your head. You chewed your bottom lip to stop from screaming in excitement. You introduced yourself with a slight bow toward the coach, asking him to cut the team a little slack with the remainder of time left for practice; you told him you’d also fill out the manager interest form asap.

“Did we just get my second player to be our manager?” Kenma was given enough time to process what he said aloud a few more times. Before he realized what he truly said,he took a knee covering his mouth in a failed attempt at hiding the widest grin he’d ever show his teammates.

Kuroo chuckled, nodding with his answer. “Yep we sure did buddy. Is she the reason why you were acting so strange that day?”

Kenma glared at Kuroo who held up his hands in the air like he was caught stealing cookies before dinner like when they were kids.  

fast forward four days later, you found yourself in the comfort of kenma’s room. more so, in the comfort of his hoodie you saw lying around at the edge of his bed. you were stealth enough to quietly slip it over your head while kenma went downstairs to grab a plate of cut fruit from the kitchen. you were invited at the request of his grandparent who just happened to be visiting that day after he mentioned your name in passing right before he left for school that day. you were lost in your within your own stream of consciousness, so you were unaware that kenma was standing behind you. the sound of the plate landing on the corner of his desk in his room caused to you to turn around quickly. 

“you look cute,” was all he said slightly lowering his head to kiss your forehead. you hugged him, sweater paws and all, causing him to chuckle when he made his way to his bed. kenma patted the space next to him. 

“oh?” you hum in earnest. your eyes scrunching up when you felt your blush under your eyes glow a little more iridescent than before you sat down next to him on the bed. “glad you think so highly of me.” 

kenma rested his head on your shoulder similar to the way he did on the day you dropped off his switch earlier that week. you raised you right arm in order to have your hand run through his hair and you could of sworn you heard him purr right as he drifted off into a nap. you felt your eyelids grow heavy not too long after, not realizing you were about to lay yourself down on the bed to get more comfortable with kenma’s arms loosely wrapped around your waist (and your hand lost in his blonde hair).

Later that evening/morning:

[myriadimagines]

Gym Partner

The Umbrella Academy One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Diego ‘Number Two’ Hargreeves

Other Characters: Allison Hargreeves, Number Five, Klaus Hargeeves

Warnings: mild violence

Request: “Oneshot for always bantering and fighting with Diego. But starting to get along pretty well when you start being training partners at the gym proofing yourself to each other. Then when both of you come home with bruises his siblings think your fights got physical and get worried. Much to both of your amusement. But in the end resolving and explaining what is really going on. [I hope that is okay and not to complicated! Thank you!]” – anonymous

Word Count: 1,585

A/N: Hhhhhng ok it started off okay and then I didn’t like the ending. AH oh well thank you for requesting, I hope you like it anyway!!! Also I know bruises take longer to form but I’m choosing to ignore that because I didn’t want to write in a time jump

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

Your name: submit What is this?

You’re all too familiar with the sound of a fist connecting with a punching bag, the sound of the metallic chains straining as the punching bag swings back and forth. You push open the creaking door of the gym, smirking as you see Diego’s back to you as he steadily attacks the punching bag, the sounds of his labored breaths and occasional grunt filling the otherwise empty gym. 

“You’re late.” Diego quips, not bothering to look over his shoulder at you as you walk closer to him. You snort, dropping your bag onto a nearby bench as you unzip your jacket before reaching into your bag for your gloves. 

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” you snap back, and Diego throws a final punch in the punching bag before turning around, and you snort at his unamused smile. Shrugging off your jacket, you raise an eyebrow as you challenge, “Ready to go, Hargreeves?” 

Diego rolls his shoulders back. “I’ve been ready since half an hour ago.”  

He makes his way to the boxing ring in the middle of the gym as you take an extra minute to stretch out your arms, lunging against the bench to relieve any lingering stiffness in your legs. Diego hops back and forth impatiently, watching you intensely as you pull out your roll of bandages to wrap around your knuckles. He frowns before shaking his head, jerking his chin out to you as he calls out, “Wrap it tighter.”

You look up at him with a taunting smile. “Aw. You looking out for me, Diego?”

“No,” Diego deadpans. “I just don’t have time to find a new gym partner if you get injured.”

You laugh loudly, and the tiniest grin cracks through Diego’s stoic expression before he forces it away, and you shake your head as you rip the bandage with your teeth. Tossing it back into your open bag, you tuck one glove under your arm as you put the other on, making your way into the ring as Diego positions himself in the center. He raises his fists in a defensive position as you finally secure your second glove on, and Diego barely gives you a second after squaring your shoulders to throw his first punch. You narrowly dodge it, skipping to the side and stumbling slightly, caught off guard. Diego uses this to his advantage, not wasting any time to advance towards you and throw another punch, which you’re unable to avoid as you instead raise your fists, blocking his glove from hitting you square across the cheek. He punches again, and this time you move faster, swinging under his fist as you swoop under his arm and jump up behind him. He spins around to face you as you throw your first punch, and he barely raises his arm in time to defend himself.

He sucks air through his teeth, trying his best not to react to the brief pain he can feel throbbing through his arm, and you pout at him as you tease, “Oh no, did I hurt you, big boy?” 

Diego rolls his eyes before suddenly thrusting out his leg, kicking you into the corner of the ring as you stumble backwards. Your smile fades as Diego is now the one who looks amused, and he jeers, “Who’s hurt now?”

You regain your balance. “Oh, it’s on.” 

You relentlessly advance against Diego, throwing punch after punch as he’s forced to defend himself, and you back him into a corner as you don’t give him time to fight back. Your punches eventually begin to slow as you can feel the lethargy seeping into your muscles, and Diego suddenly grabs your shoulders before kicking his knee into your stomach, elbowing you in the face as you double over, staggering backwards. Just as you begin to straighten, Diego charges towards you, grabbing your waist before flipping you over his back. You slam your fists on the floor in frustration as you roll onto your stomach, your back stinging from hitting the ground as you watch Diego saunter towards you. Tucking your feet under you, once Diego is within distance, you suddenly spin around, sweeping your leg from under Diego as he loses balance and falls instead. Before he can recover, you swing yourself over him, securing your legs over him as you twist his arm in between your thighs. Sweat glistens on your forehead as your chest heaves with your labored breaths, and you tilt your head at him through your legs as you ask, “Does that mean I’ve won?” 

Diego attempts to struggle out of your firm grasp before he nods, catching his own breath as he taps his hand against your leg. You release him before he sits up, waving his hand as he wheezes, “Yeah, alright, today you have.” 

You stand, holding out your hand to Diego as you pull him to his feet. He leans against the edge of the ring as you duck out of it, reaching into your bag for your water bottle before grabbing Diego’s lying a short distance away. You toss it at him, and he catches it before popping the cap open, messily taking large gulps from it as the water dribbles down his chin. You snort, taking a gulp from your own bottle before you remark, “Classy.”

Diego simply responds by throwing the empty bottle at you. He reaches for his towel, wiping his chest down before grabbing his shirt, and he pulls it over his head as he says, “You’ve improved a lot.”

You look up at him, all previous tension and competitiveness dissolving as you smile at him. Despite the act the two of you put up, under the teasing and the liberally thrown insults, you do respect Diego, a respect you know which is reciprocated, especially after having started training together after months of training in the gym by yourselves.

“Your gloves look worn down.” Diego points out, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder. “I have a spare pair back at home, if you want it.”

“Well, since you’re offering.” you grin at him, and he jerks his chin towards the door as he motions for you to follow him. You quickly stuff your gloves back into your bag, zipping it up as you jog to catch up with Diego. It’s a short walk, a few blocks up the street, and as you near the infamous Hargreeves mansion Diego stops, clearing his throat as he looks up at the house.

“I’m sure you already know about them, but, um, don’t get weirded out by my family.” he warns, before leading you through the front gate. You gaze in awe at the massive foyer you immediately step into, and Diego wanders to the right into the living room, grabbing the gloves he left lying on the shelf in the morning. To his dismay, Allison is sitting at the bar, savoring a cup of coffee and a book while Five sits on the couch, rolling his eyes as he tunes out whatever nonsense Klaus is spewing. Allison perks up upon seeing Diego, and she pauses as you trail in behind him. She gives Diego a look, knowing full well that Diego doesn’t often bring just anyone back home where he could risk running into his siblings, before composing herself.

“Diego.” Allison looks her brother up and down before her gaze flickers to you, masking her surprise. “You’ve brought home a friend.”

Diego doesn’t bother going into details. “This is y/n.” 

“y/n?” Five pipes up from the couch, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Aren’t you always complaining about a y/n at your gym?”

You shoot Diego a look, which he dismisses with a wave of his hand. It’s then Allison notices the bruise beginning to form on Diego’s forearm, a result of your punch, and her eyes widen in alarm as she reaches out to him. “Diego, oh my God, are you okay?” 

Simultaneously, Five squints at you, noticing the faint purplish tint to the edge of your nose where Diego had jabbed his elbow in your face. Scoffing, Five remarks, “Don’t tell me the two of you go into a fight. I suppose it’s a long time coming, based on Diego’s description of you.”

Allison immediately glares at Diego, disapproval written all over her features, as Klaus bursts into laughter. Giving Diego a shove, she chastises, “Seriously, Diego? Can you not stay out of trouble for one day?”

You can’t help but enjoy the scene unfold before you as Diego simply rolls his eyes, shooting Allison a look as she continues to lecture him, before she turns to you and apologizes, “I’m so sorry about him, he has a tendency to lose his temper.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” you chuckle, eliciting a glare from Diego, and you raise your hands above your head. “Hey, hey! I’m only teasing.”

“We’re gym partners, Allison.” Diego finally explains, and Allison’s expression softens as she looks between the two of you. “Yeah, we were fighting, but because we were training.” 

Allison looks to you for confirmation, and you smile at her, and her shoulders relax. “Oh. Well, I guess if that’s how the two of you like to spend time together.”

Diego chooses to ignore the slight judgement in her voice. Turning to you, he hands you the gloves as he asks, “Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time tomorrow.” you repeat in confirmation, and a wide smile finally breaks across Diego’s lips.

tags: @egg2k16 ↳ want to be added to the tag list?

[cruelangelstheses]

louder than the maker’s revolver (and twice as shiny) - chapter 1: look alive, sunshine

fandom: dragon age rating: M characters: isabela/f!hawke, bethany/merrill, anders/fenris/m!hawke words (total): 6.5k words (this chapter): 6.5k additional tags: fabulous killjoys au, post-apocalypse, twin hawkes, slow burn, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, canon-typical violence description: in which an eight-person gang of rebels living in the desert pisses off the government, firefights are lost and won, homoerotic wound-dressing is commonplace, bonds are forged and broken and reforged, feelings are hard, fighting a powerful and corrupt institution is slightly less hard, and everyone is just trying to survive, to heal, to find their way. (or, “the da2 killjoy au nobody asked for”) a/n: ITS STILL 2019 OUT WEST I MADE IT!!! ok so. [cracks knuckles] this is an AU fic based on the universe created in my chemical romance's album “danger days: the true lives of the fabulous killjoys” (and gerard way's subsequent comics) about rebels in the desert fighting a corrupt government post-apocalypse. the album starts/takes place in the year 2019 which is why i wanted to get this fic out before the year ends. while the general setting and terms are the same, no characters from the killjoy universe will appear and everything else is a more loose interpretation. you do not have to be familiar with my chem or the killjoy universe to read this. (for those who know the story, this fic takes place in the year 2030, so after the original “fab four” have died but before the events of the comics, during a sort of “lull” in the action you could say)

a key feature of the killjoy universe is the usage of “killjoy names,” usually one or two-word phrases that relate to the person, and often the person created the name themself - the original four are party poison, fun ghoul, jet star, and kobra kid. i've given each member of the crew a killjoy name (see below) that the other characters will usually use in dialogue (except for characters who knew each other before they became killjoys and got names), but i will use their real names for the most part in narration so you don't forget who's who

ANYWAY i've been planning this fic for a whole year now and it's gonna be a FUN RIDE !!!! i've left a guide at the end for the killjoy names (not all of them are mentioned in this chapter though). i tried my best to explain what certain terms mean in this chapter but they will all be expanded upon more throughout the fic!! ALSO some of characters might end up aged down a little bit because people in the zones tend not to live very long and someone in their early to mid 40s is considered like, ancient in the comics. bethany and carver are still 19 though, the others might just be adjusted in proportion

thank u for reading, i love ensemble casts and da2 and mcr and rebellion and also being gay. fic title and chapter title come from “look alive, sunshine” (by mcr of course lol)

read it on ao3

—

Bethany has never been one to complain, but she has to admit, her knee hurts like a bitch.

The rest of the Birds take down the remaining Draculoids fairly easily, so she doesn’t feel as bad about having to hide crouched behind a crate on the ground. If there were more of them, or if there was a Scarecrow, she’d probably try to keep fighting despite her injury, but this is just a small, unlucky group of Dracs, leaderless and mindless in their pursuit of one of the biggest gangs in the Zones. Perhaps a Scarecrow would have ordered them not to try to fight a group of eight fairly seasoned Killjoys.

When the guns stop firing and the Dracs lie dead in the desert sand, Isabela’s voice floats over. “You know, Blondie, a smoke bomb would’ve helped.”

Anders sighs. Bethany can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Those things don’t grow on trees, you know. And even if they did, it’s not like we have many trees out here. You think I want to waste them on a group like that? We got rid of them just fine.”

Bethany peers out from behind the crate just in time to see Isabela shrug and gesture to her. “Well, at the very least, it might’ve saved Sunshine from being shot.”

At that, Carver seems to snap to attention. “Bethany’s hurt?”

Now it’s Bethany’s turn to sigh. Gingerly stretching her leg out and trying not to wince, she says, “It’s not that bad, Carver.”

Marian huffs, shoving her red-and-black ray gun back into its holster. “‘Not that bad,’ my ass.” She sounds angry, but there’s an edge of worry to her voice that Bethany knows like the back of her hand. “A few more shots like that and you’d have been dusted for sure.”

“But I wasn’t,” Bethany replies. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Anders rummaging through their supplies for the first aid kit.

“But you could’ve been,” Carver adds, crossing his arms and glaring at Marian as if she had something to do with the injury.

Marian scowls defensively. “What are you looking at me for? I was killing Dracs! Maybe if you weren’t so busy trying to show off at every opportunity, you could protect her better!” She sneers out the word protect.

“Maybe if you actually thought before you acted for once in your life—”

“Hey!”

Garrett’s voice rings out above everything else, so loud and firm that for a split second it feels like the whole world stops. These are the moments when Garrett Hawke is at his most serious and his most powerful: when he’s breaking up an argument between Carver and Marian.

“How about instead of blaming each other for Bethany’s injury,” he says, his hands held up in an appeasing manner, “we set up camp here and rest for the evening?”

Marian and Carver exchange glances. After a pause, it’s Marian that says, “Fine.”

The place in question is an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Zone Four, not so remote that it’s off the map, but remote enough that there aren’t a whole lot of Dracs crawling around (and even fewer now that they’ve taken care of this group). A few empty crates and barrels litter the ground surrounding it, some knocked over or zapped from previous firefights. Other than that, there are no recent signs of life—which means it’s a perfect place for the Birds of Passage to recuperate.

Bethany pushes herself to her feet, using the top of the crate to balance herself. Her knee hurts even more when she tries to stretch it out or place any weight on it, but she’ll be damned if she lets anyone help her.

“Are you alright?”

Well...almost anyone.

She lifts her head up at the sound of Merrill’s lilting voice. The girl’s black hair is plastered to her tattooed and sweat-covered face, not long enough to pull up into a ponytail like Bethany’s, but just long enough to get in the way. “I can help you get inside, if you want,” she says, holding her hand out. “Then we can take a look at it, get it all wrapped up.”

For a moment, Bethany just stares at her, searching her face for any signs of pity. Instead she finds only sincere concern for a companion, the same as it would be if any of the others were injured. With a nod, she lets Merrill wrap an arm around her shoulders and guide her slowly into the warehouse. She can feel the eyes of the rest of the group on them, some more subtle than others, but she knows deep down that they’re just making sure she’s okay. Like it or not, she and Carver are the youngest, and though he tries so obviously hard to act like he isn’t, there are still moments where the others look at him and remember that he’s only nineteen, too—moments like right now, as he paces agitatedly across the floor, looking like he’s never been more stressed in his life.

“Carver,” Bethany calls as Merrill helps her sit up against the wall, her legs stretched out. “I’ll be fine.” She laughs a little despite the stinging pain. “It’s not like we’ll have to amputate it or anything.”

Anders kneels down beside her, first aid kit in hand and a good-natured smile on his face. “We might.”

Merrill smacks his arm. “Don’t scare them!” she hisses as she sits down next to Bethany.

Garrett turns to Carver, cool and composed. “She’s fine,” he says matter-of-factly, a playful smirk on his face. “If it were really that bad, none of us would be joking.”

Carver snorts. “You might.”

Garrett puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Dear brother, you wound me.”

Merrill giggles as she watches them, her gaze soft. “Your siblings remind me of my family sometimes,” she says as Anders begins cleaning and dressing the wound. “Well-intentioned, but sometimes they need to be reminded that you’re an adult, same as them.”

Bethany nods. If there’s anyone that understands her, it’s Merrill. “To be fair,” she says quietly, “sometimes I need to be reminded of that, too.”

Merrill turns to look at her, pushing a few strands of hair out of her face. “Then I’ll remind you,” she says. “You’re a grown woman. You don’t have to always agree or go along with them. You can stand up for yourself like anyone else.”

Bethany nods again, unable to stop a faint smile from breaking through. Anders doesn’t say anything, but she can see the blush on his face, as if he’s just witnessed something he feels he wasn’t meant to see.

—

The Hawkes are only on the run for a month or two before they meet their first recruit (and fifth member).

Well, perhaps “on the run” isn’t the right phrase. All Killjoys are technically “on the run” from Better Living Industries—it comes with the whole “openly rebelling against your corrupt government” thing. But it doesn’t really feel like running. It feels like surviving. Every Killjoy knows it’s dangerous to stay in one place for too long.

Still, they’re traveling a lot more than they did when their parents were both still alive. Growing up in the Zones outside of Battery City, away from BLI brainwashing, the Hawke children learned how to thrive in the desert fairly quickly, which meant that their family was able to more easily live off the land for longer periods of time.

Now, though, after selling most of their belongings, they live out of their car, a black 1969 Chevy Camaro convertible, spray-painted with two red stripes down the sides and a red bird symbol on the hood (courtesy of Garrett). In honor of their surname as well as their living situation, they’ve christened themselves the Birds of Passage.

For obvious reasons, one of their most common pit stops is one of several Dead Pegasus gas stations littering the Zones. The siblings usually draw straws to determine which one of them has to pump the gas.

“Damn! Again?” Carver says, staring at the short straw between his fingers in disbelief. Frowning, he starts to open the left-side car door. “Just my luck.”

In the driver’s seat, Marian reaches into the back and pats Carver on the shoulder, a smirk on her face. “You’ll live. Now go.” With that, she gives him a light shove out the door. Carver snorts.

As he starts pumping the gas, Marian absentmindedly surveys the area, not really expecting to see anything out of the ordinary. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she spots someone she’s never seen before at one of the other fuel pumps: a petite girl filling up a black and forest green motorbike.

Bethany seems to notice her at the same time. “Who’s that?”

Garrett strokes his beard, like an asshole. “No idea.”

“Let’s find out.” Before anyone else can respond, Marian hops out of the car, popping the collar of her black leather jacket. She’s mostly tuned Garrett out at this point, but she thinks she can hear him warn her not to scare the poor girl. He underestimates her ability to be charming rather than terrifying.

The first thing Marian notices is that the girl dresses like a Killjoy. Her brown boots have flowers painted on the sides, and her acid-washed jeans are ripped and dirty. The back of her denim vest features a large daisy with white petals and a yellow center, and in the center is a radiation hazard symbol.

“Nice logo,” Marian says as she approaches.

The girl yelps in surprise, nearly dropping the gas pump in her hands. When she turns around, Marian sees that her face is adorned with branch- or root-like tattoos on her cheeks, forehead, and chin. “Oh!” she says, clearly taken aback. “Uh…thank you.”

Marian can practically hear Garrett’s “I told you so” from the Camaro. Holding a hand up, she says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Somehow, her voice still comes out sounding gruff and vaguely threatening.

“Oh, that’s alright,” the girl replies, leaning against her motorcycle and seeming to relax a little. “I was just filling up Feathers.”

Marian raises an eyebrow. “Strange name for a motorcycle.”

The girl blushes. “Well, I named it after a pet I had when I was younger.”

“Oh,” Marian says, nodding. That makes a bit more sense. “A bird?”

The girl laughs a little and shakes her head. “Oh, no, it was a lizard. I always wanted a bird so I could name it Feathers. But I grew up in the Zones, and there aren’t many birds out here. Lots of lizards, though.” She gives Marian a lopsided smile. “I took what I could get.”

Marian can’t help it; she laughs, though in the back of her mind, she wonders why she’s never seen this girl before, if she grew up in the Zones.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” the girl says, her green eyes widening. “I didn’t mean to ramble. I didn’t even introduce myself.” She holds out a hand, both of which are covered in long, fingerless fishnet gloves that end near her elbows. “Deadly Daisy. Daisy for short. Or you can just call me Merrill. I don’t mind.”

That explains the logo. “Kitty Hawke,” Marian replies, shaking Merrill’s hand firmly.

Merrill nods and starts to speak again, but something behind Marian makes her stop and narrow her eyes in confusion. “Who—?”

Marian glances over her shoulder and nearly jumps out of her shoes. Not one, not two, but all three of her siblings have decided to join the conversation.

“Firebird,” Garrett says, bowing dramatically—so dramatically, in fact, that it makes his stupid sunglasses fall off his face. Garrett has a habit of collecting weird sunglasses and goggles and such. This particular pair has bright orange lenses, which Marian is pretty sure do nothing to block out the sun, and flames sticking out on either side.

Marian rolls her eyes. “My twin brother,” she explains. “It seems I stole all his brain cells in the womb.”

Garrett blows a raspberry at her as he picks his sunglasses off the ground and uses his shirt to wipe off the sand and dirt.

Bethany steps forward, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ears, one of her nervous habits. “Midnight Sun,” she says with a tiny smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh! You, too!” Merrill says. Gesturing to Carver, who has yet to say anything, she asks, “Who’s the grumpy one?”

“I’m not—” Carver starts, but he cuts himself off at the sound of his siblings’ snickering. “Fantom Fighter,” he says, his face heating up. “Two Fs.” He turns around and gestures to the two large black Fs painted on the back of his jean jacket. Then, gesturing to Bethany, he adds, “I’m her twin brother.”

Bethany chuckles. “And we’re all siblings.”

Merrill cups her hands over her face. “Oh, my goodness.”

Marian clears her throat. “Anyway,” she says, side-eyeing Garrett, “why are you guys even here?”

Garrett throws his hands up. “Don’t look at me! I am but a slave to the whims of our younger siblings!”

Bethany and Carver exchange embarrassed glances, then both turn to glare at Garrett. Marian sighs. They’re all a mess.

“Oh, well, I shouldn’t keep you,” Merrill says, patting the side of her motorcycle. “Feathers and I can get moving, if you all need to leave.”

That catches Marian’s attention. “Wait, you’re traveling alone?” She hadn’t seen anyone else around, but she’d assumed that Merrill had at least one companion somewhere, perhaps inside the shitty convenience store connected to the gas station.

Merrill nods. “I was raised by neutrals,” she says—people who live outside Battery City, but don’t openly rebel against BLI. “I didn’t become a Killjoy until just recently. I haven’t really found a group yet.”

That explains why Marian’s never seen her before. Neutrals tend to stay out of the way unless they run a business, like their friend Varric.

“That’s dangerous, you know,” Carver says, but he sounds less matter-of-fact and more concerned. “You’re a lot more likely to get ghosted by yourself.”

Merrill sighs. “I know. But what am I supposed to do? Invite myself to tag along with the next Killjoy gang I see?”

Garrett shrugs. “Why not? You could tag along with us.”

To be fair, Marian had been thinking that, too, in the back of her mind, but it still stuns her to actually hear it spoken.

Merrill’s eyes widen with hope. “That would be wonderful, but I wouldn’t want to impose…”

Instinctively, Marian and her siblings all turn to look at each other, none of them saying anything, just glancing back and forth with various facial expressions ranging from embarrassment to uncertainty to excitement. Finally, Marian turns back to Merrill and says, “You wouldn’t be imposing. We’d be glad to have you join us.”

Merrill gasps. “Oh, thank you! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

Bethany smiles. “Welcome to the Birds of Passage, Daisy.”

(At the use of Merrill’s Killjoy name, Marian briefly wonders just how long her siblings had been eavesdropping before Merrill noticed them.)

“We’re headed to one of the outer Zones for the evening,” Carver explains. “You could follow us on your bike until we find a place to set up camp.”

“Oh, perfect!” Merrill says. “I’ve been meaning to head that way. Too many Dracs this close to Bat City.”

When the Hawkes climb back into the Camaro, Marian steals a glance at Merrill in the rearview mirror, watches as their newfound companion unties a green bandana from her belt loop and wraps it around her head to keep her hair out of her face. When Marian steps on the gas pedal and tears out of the Dead Pegasus parking lot, the roar of the motorcycle lets her know that Deadly Daisy is right behind them.

—

Fenris doesn’t sleep well that night.

Granted, Fenris doesn’t sleep well most nights, but for some reason, the night after Bethany gets shot in the leg is particularly bad. Maybe it’s the hard concrete floor of the warehouse, which no amount of blankets or cushions can completely alleviate. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s lying only a few feet away from Garrett, who sleeps like a log and snores like a chainsaw. Maybe it’s the pain in his shoulder from an injury a few days prior.

Or maybe it’s the fact that tonight, his nightmares are worse than usual. Tonight, when he dreams, he is alone, but worse than that: the bodies of his fellow Killjoys lie dead at his feet, glassy eyes wide, their hands still on the triggers of their guns. Draculoids—more Dracs than he’s ever seen at one time—close in on him, zombielike in the way they reach for him, pull at him from every angle, pin him to the ground and snarl in his face. He’d fight if he could, fight with everything he has, but his body is stiff and frozen, and no amount of willpower can force even his mouth to move. For a man with an aversion to closeness and touching, and painful tattoos from BL/ind experimentation, the sensation of being trapped makes him feel like he’s about to vomit.

It’s when they pull out a Drac mask and shove it over his head that he wakes up gasping for breath.

It takes a few minutes for his body to relax and his heart to stop pounding in his ears. Fenris can see the faintest bit of morning light trickling through the windows—he’d guess that it’s around five o’clock—and concludes that attempting to get a decent amount of sleep will probably be a fruitless endeavor. Sighing and forcing himself to sit upright, he reaches into the small backpack beside him and pulls out a Killjoy-made magazine that they snagged at the last gas stop.

The zine is filled with artwork of desert landscape and rebels fighting BL/ind, accompanied by writing—a few short stories and poems, a few articles and essays, all about the highs and lows of revolution. It’s a perfect representation of life in the Zones, every copy made by hand, since few (if any) Killjoys have access to a working printer. However many were made, probably no more than twenty, the artists and authors must have had to redraw and rewrite their work. Two Polaroid photos are taped to the inside cover, one of a Dead Pegasus gas station at sunset, the other of two female Killjoys kissing, with their names listed at the bottom. There are probably different photos in every copy, likely taken from the same photographer, someone lucky enough to have access to a working Polaroid camera (though Fenris concedes that it’s actually not too difficult to find batteries out here, though they might be half-empty).

He’s so focused on flipping through the zine that he doesn’t realize anyone else is awake—at least, not until the sound of someone sitting down next to him nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

“Sorry,” Anders whispers, holding a hand up. Behind him, the orange light of the sunrise creates a halo around his blond head. “I assume you couldn’t sleep, either?”

Fenris makes a noncommittal grunt, enough to give Anders his answer, but curt enough to hopefully get his I don’t want to talk about it message across. He’d rather not have to even think about the nightmares that his subconscious assaults him with, let alone explain them.

“Alright,” Anders says with an understanding nod. He glances over at the zine, skimming the page Fenris has it open to with clear interest.

Fenris holds it out for him to take. “You can look through it.”

Anders hesitates for a moment before obliging. Fenris watches his face as he flips through the pages. The brilliant poetry and detailed artwork seem to fill him with awe, similar to what Fenris felt browsing the zine’s contents, but there’s something else, too, something deeper—something like longing.

“I wanted to tell you something,” Anders says finally, slowly closing the booklet. “I just remembered, and I think you deserve to know.” He glances over at the windows, and the sun shines on his pale face, reflecting off of his gold earring. Without looking at Fenris, he says, “You have a sister, named Varania.”

Fenris blinks in surprise. A sister? Anders apparently knew him when they both lived in Battery City, before BLI wiped Fenris’s mind—or reprogrammed him, as they like to call it. It’s times like these that make him feel like Anders knows him better than he himself does. “And you’re just now telling me this?” Fenris says in an attempt to mask his bewilderment. A sister. He has a sister.

“You only mentioned her once or twice,” Anders says. “It was the last thing on my mind. But something reminded me of it this morning, so I figured I’d tell you.” He shrugs. “I don’t know much else about her. But I know she’s still alive, or she was by the time I left Bat City.”

Sister. Sister. Sister. His brain repeats it so often that it no longer really feels like a word. He knows he’d be angry if Anders had kept this hidden from him, but at the same time, he’s not really sure what he’s supposed to do with the information. She’s probably still in Battery City, which means it’s too late and far too dangerous to go back and search for her, or even attempt to write a letter to her.

Still, he feels like he has to say something. “Well,” he mumbles, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Thank you. For telling me.” Then, tilting his head to the side, he adds, “May I ask what reminded you?”

Anders sighs and pushes a few loose strands of hair out of his face. “She appeared in a dream last night.”

Fenris doesn’t expect it to hurt, but it does, just a little. To think that he doesn’t even know what his own sister looks like, while a man who barely knows anything about her sees her in his dreams.

Abruptly, Anders hands the zine back to him and stands up, covering his eyes with a hand to block out the sun. Fenris glances down at the page he left open: a poem written in an angry hand, calling for revolution, calling for justice.

—

Varric Tethras is what people in the Zones call a “neutral.” He doesn’t wear the flashy clothes, he goes by his real name, and he tends to stay in one spot minding his own business rather than get into fights with Draculoids. He has his own little gas station convenience store in Zone Three and is an expert at aiding Killjoys without giving BLI a reason to go after him. In short, he’s the perfect person to go to when there’s trouble, and there’s always trouble.

The trouble this time has nothing to do with BL/ind, for once; about five miles away from Varric’s shop, the Camaro broke down, so Marian had to jump start it using Merrill’s motorcycle, and now they’re hanging out in the store while she tries to fix the car.

Garrett frowns as he glances out the window at the setting sun. “We might have to camp out here for the night, Varric.” It’s not the first time, and he knows Varric doesn’t mind, but he still feels bad about it.

Varric waves a hand nonchalantly. “Yeah, I figured,” he says from behind the store counter, where he seems to be digging through some junk he’s stored underneath. Varric is a whopping four-foot-eight, so the chair he uses to reach the counter makes most other people who sit in it look like giants. Merrill finds a particular delight in this, and she’s so sweet that anyone would feel terrible asking her to get off of it, even Marian, which has been an especially interesting phenomenon to witness.

As if on cue, the front door swings open, and there stands Marian, covered in grease and wearing nothing but a sports bra and ripped black shorts. “I’m turning in for the night,” she says as she waltzes into the shop, letting the door slam shut behind her. “Round two starts in the morning.”

Garrett watches as she heads into the bathroom to wash herself off. Carver came in from practicing his shooting about a half hour ago (and is currently sitting on the floor eating potato chips), so now they’re all inside for the evening. Bethany’s been drawing quietly, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sits on the worn couch in one of the back rooms, and Garrett and Merrill have been making their own fun out front. The store is Varric’s home, so he had to get creative with the few extra rooms.

Garrett is wandering aimlessly through the little aisles, examining various snacks, all stamped with the BLI logo, when he hears the front door open, and in walks possibly the most gorgeous Killjoy Garrett has ever seen.

The first thing he notices is the shock of silver-white hair, the way the undercut contrasts against the man’s brown skin. The dim light of the store reflects against his leather jacket and his surprisingly wide eyes. When he takes a few steps forward, a chain hanging from his black jeans—yes, jeans, in the desert—makes a jangling sound, and his heavy footsteps suggest combat boots. He looks like he just walked out of a mosh pit, but that’s not what intrigues Garrett the most. No, what really catches his attention is the pale white tattoos that stretch from the man’s bottom lip down into his chest and out to the tips of his fingers—they almost seem to glow. “Varric?” the man calls in a deep voice as he surveys the area.

Varric pops his head out from the back of the store. “Oh-ho! Long time no see, Wolfy!”

The man rolls his eyes at the nickname and leans awkwardly against one of the snack aisles. “I see you are having a sleepover,” he says slowly as he eyes each of the Birds suspiciously (save for Marian, who is still washing up, thankfully). Bethany walks out into the store to see him better, and Garrett flashes him his best good-natured smile, causing the man to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Their car broke down not far from here,” Varric explains as he walks out from behind the store counter. “And because I’m just so charitable, I let them stay for the night.” That’s his way of saying that they’re friends.

“Hm.” The man makes his way through the store, seemingly on edge, like he’s keenly aware of the way the Birds glance his way out of the corners of their eyes, pretending that they’re not looking at him. Eventually, Garrett gives up on trying to be inconspicuous and plops down in a chair pushed up against one wall, allowing himself to stare openly. He’s never been good with subtlety.

Suddenly Marian’s voice rings out through the shop. “Who’s this?”

Varric clears his throat. “Birds of Passage, allow me to formally introduce you to the Painted Wolf. He’s kind of new, doesn’t have a gang to roll with yet.”

The Painted Wolf looks away, not making eye contact as he wanders into another aisle where he can’t as easily be seen. “I think I would prefer to keep it that way. No offense.”

After a few beats of silence, Merrill says from her place on top of the chair behind the store counter, “You have tattoos, like me.”

Instinctively, almost as if he was expecting it, the Wolf replies, “But you received yours willingly, I’ll wager.”

Merrill blinks in surprise. “Well. Yes, I did. You mean you didn’t?”

The Painted Wolf does not respond, just runs a hand through his hair and takes a breath through his nose.

Garrett frowns a little and stands back up, making his way over to where Marian is still standing in front of the bathroom door, her arms crossed. “Don’t tell me,” she says quietly. “You think we should let him come with us.”

Garrett shrugs. “Well, why not? He doesn’t have anyone. And he’s…intriguing.”

Marian rolls her eyes. “You’re just saying that because you think he’s hot.”

“I do not,” Garrett lies, but his face heats up, giving him away. “Okay, well, maybe I do, but that’s not the only reason.”

Marian shakes her head. “He doesn’t seem too keen on making friends. I mean, he just said he’d rather be alone. Also, what you call ‘intriguing’ I call ‘suspicious.’ The man’s got secrets.”

“So do we,” Garrett says, though at the moment he can’t think of anything particularly damning. If nothing else, he’s sure Carver’s got something embarrassing.

“You being gay doesn’t count as a secret when you gawk at any man that isn’t related to us,” Marian says, a tiny smirk forming on her face.

“That’s not what I meant!” Garrett says. He can feel his face turning even redder. He needs to find a way to get Marian on his side, and if he can’t do it with emotion, then maybe he can do it with logic. “Seriously, I think we should talk to him. He’s a new Killjoy, but he looks way more experienced than most newbies. He might even be older than us. I’d be willing to bet he knows something about BL/ind. I just think he’d be good to have on our side. And it’s not like he has to stay with us forever.”

Marian seems to think it over for a long time. It’s different than it was with Merrill. Unlike the Wolf, Merrill had expressed a clear interest in finding a group to fall in with, and the Birds just happened to be the first ones to click with her. Also, Marian is a lesbian and about ten times more suspicious of men than she is of women as a general rule, which is fair, but it makes these things difficult sometimes. Finally, she says, “Fine. If you can convince him, then I’m game. I can go tell the others.” She cracks her knuckles. “At the very least, he looks like he knows something worth knowing.”

Garrett holds his hands up. “Well, hopefully you won’t have to beat it out of him, so you can stop with the threatening looks.”

Marian snorts. “Just asserting my dominance, my dear little brother.” She reaches forward and musses his hair.

Garrett shakes his head as he starts to head over to the other side of the store, where the Wolf is standing. He doesn’t bother pointing out that she’s only older than him by nine minutes, because she’ll hang those nine minutes over his head until the day they die.

The Painted Wolf looks up from the magazine he’s been flipping through. “Let me guess,” he says. “You want me to join your gang.”

Garrett smiles sheepishly. “What can I say? We think you’d be a good addition to the team.”

The Wolf frowns and puts the magazine back on the rack. “You barely know anything about me.”

“I know you’re a Killjoy traveling alone, and that’s enough for me,” Garrett says, and it’s the truth. Killjoys stick together. It’s the law of the desert. It’s how they survive.

The Wolf narrows his eyes. “I already said I prefer to be alone.”

Garrett folds his arms over his chest, allowing his knowledge of the Zones to give him confidence. “That’s how I can tell you’re new,” he says. “Rule number one of making it as a Killjoy: find a gang. Hordes of Dracs are less likely to target larger groups, and even if they do, you have a better chance of making it out alive when you’re not alone. If you watch our backs, we’ll watch yours.”

The Wolf nods slowly, as if this just confirmed something he already suspected. “You watch our backs, we’ll watch yours,” he repeats to himself. “It’s...a sentiment I am not entirely familiar with.”

“I figured you were from Bat City,” Garrett says, stroking his beard thoughtfully. (Carver and Marian like to make fun of him when he does that. Marian says it makes him look like an asshole.)

The Wolf nods again. “The sense of camaraderie was one of the things that drew me to the Zones, and to the Killjoy lifestyle specifically. But until now, I suppose I have been too wary to actively engage in it.”

Garrett raises an eyebrow, careful not to show too much excitement. “Until now, you say?”

The Wolf gives the softest chuckle, his mouth curving briefly upward. “Perhaps you have a point about me traveling alone. BL/ind knows that I left Battery City; no doubt they’re looking for me. It...would be prudent to join a larger group, at least for a little while.”

Garrett allows himself the beginnings of a grin. “It definitely would.”

The Wolf clears his throat. “I...never got your name,” he says, fingers playing mindlessly with the hem of his jacket.

“Firebird,” Garrett replies, holding a hand out for him to shake.

The Wolf looks at it for a moment before responding. “Well, then, Firebird,” he says slowly, “if you’ll have me, I would like to travel with you and your gang.”

“I certainly would love to have you,” Garrett replies, only realizing how strange it sounds once the words are out of his mouth. His face heats up. “I...I didn’t mean it like—”

Across the room, Marian calls, “Real smooth.” Garrett flips her off.

An awkward little smile forms on the Wolf’s face. “I know what you meant,” he says, but if Garrett isn’t mistaken, he’s blushing, too.

—

A few days later, Varric, whose talents include knowing everything that’s happening in the Zones, says, “So I got a tip that there’s someone after you guys.”

Isabela rolls her eyes and leans against the counter, conscious of the way her ripped white jean shorts ride up her ass—she’s doing it on purpose, and she peers over her shoulder to make sure Marian’s watching. “Someone’s always after us, Varric. This isn’t new.”

“No, like a major someone,” Varric replies. “Does the name Meredith Stannard mean anything to any of you?”

The Birds exchange glances from their various positions throughout the shop. They’ve all heard the name, but only Fenris and Anders seem to know who she is. Makes sense, since they’re the only ones who have actually lived in Battery City and seen BL/ind’s inner workings up close.

“She’s a Scarecrow, right?” Marian says from behind Isabela. She steps forward and takes a large sip out of her Neptune Pop can. “Isn’t that all we need to know?”

“She isn’t just any old Scarecrow,” Fenris says as he examines the shelves for more food. “She is one of the Director’s favorites—very high-ranking, always flanked by six or more Draculoids and sometimes other Scarecrows. I have known a few BL/ind workers who do not wish to kill, but do so because they fear the consequences of disobeying.” He shakes his head, speaking calmly but severely. “Meredith is not one of them. She kills out of hate and nothing less. She views it as her duty, a mission she will carry out until the day she dies. I suggest taking her seriously. She has slaughtered many of you.”

The way he refers to Killjoys isn’t lost on Isabela. It’s been a little less than a year, she thinks, since he left Battery City and joined the rebels in the Zones, but he still seems hesitant to identify himself as one of them. He still refers to them as you instead of us.

His words send a brief chill down Isabela’s spine, but she shakes it off and looks up at Marian to gauge her reaction. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t seem fazed.

“It doesn’t matter how many of us she’s killed,” she says. The piercings in her left ear gleam in the light from the windows. “She bleeds just like the rest of us, and she’ll die just like the rest of us.”

Varric holds a hand up. “Fair point, I suppose. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. My source says Meredith considers you guys one of the most dangerous gangs in the Zones. That means one of her biggest priorities is wiping you out. Just...be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name,” Marian says as she finishes her Neptune Pop, crushes the can in one hand, and launches it across the store, causing Anders to duck because of his ridiculously long bird legs. The can lands in the garbage bin with a loud crash.

Marian grins. It’s lopsided, and her teeth are crooked and stained with soda, but it just makes Isabela want to kiss that alluring, imperfect mouth even more.

“I thought your middle name was Selene,” Merrill says from her designated spot in Varric’s chair. They call it the Tallening Chair.

Marian’s face softens, and her cheeks turn pink as she gently explains to Merrill that it’s a figure of speech. Isabela watches in silence until Marian suddenly turns to her, lightly smacks her ass, and says with a playful glint in her eyes, “Well, back to business.”

Isabela smirks. Works every time.

—

It only takes half an hour for Marian’s nonchalance about Meredith Stannard to come back and bite her in the ass.

“Guys!”

Garrett bursts through the front door of Varric’s shop, his eyes wide and panicked. He’d been outside restocking the trunk with supplies. “I think we’ve got company.”

Marian peers outside, and the rest of the Birds do the same. Sure enough, veering into the parking lot are two white vans with the Better Living Industries symbol emblazoned on their doors.

Shit.

In a flash, they all whip out their ray guns and rush outside just in time to see a horde of Dracs pouring out of the vans. Then, from the passenger seat of one of the vans, a woman climbs out. She’s tall, blonde, and middle-aged, and her eyes seem to pierce right through them.

“Ah,” she says as the Dracs line up behind her, brandishing their plain white ray guns. “The notorious Birds of Passage, or so you call yourselves.” As she speaks, she pulls out her own weapon and seems to aim it straight at Marian. “It looks as though you’ve been expecting me.”

For a moment, the two groups just stand there silently, revolvers pointed at one another, a classic example of a Mexican standoff. It feels like the air has been sucked out of the atmosphere, like the atoms themselves have stopped moving completely. Then Meredith snaps her fingers with her free hand, and the desert explodes in gunfire.

——

killjoy names: garrett - firebird marian - kitty hawke bethany - midnight sun carver - fantom fighter merrill - deadly daisy anders - nuclear blonde isabela - storm chaser fenris - the painted wolf

[cole-winchester]

Fallen Angel

SPN FIC

TRIGGER WARNING - DEPICTIONS OF DOMESTIC ABUSE.

John Winchester/Original Female Character pairing

Cole Sawyer is on the run from her abusive past when she falls into the hands of John Winchester and is plunged into the world of the Supernatural.  The duo end up making quite the team of hunters on the road.  Feelings begin to grow and romance ensues.  But will they be able to save themselves from each other’s demons?

Tag List: @negan--is--god @haleyea

Chapter One

Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked across the sky as I exited the motel lobby.  I shoved the room key in my pocket as I made my way across the parking lot to the rundown bar at the other end.  I needed to feel numb, just erase my memories for a while.  It had been three days since I had packed my shit and walked out; I jumped in my truck and just drove.  I didn’t know where I was going or what I planned on doing, I just needed to put distance between that town…that life…the asshole excuse for a boyfriend…

My boots clunked on the pavement as the cool, stormy air snaked around my body sending a slight shiver up my spine.  Maybe I should’ve worn a jacket instead of just a tank top…  I didn’t care who saw the bruises on my arms and face.  The ones on my arms were fading but my black eye and bruised jaw were fresh.

I hugged my arms around my body as I neared the end of the lot, my pace quickening some as the rain began to fall.  I reached the entrance and yanked the door open.  Standing for a moment, I surveyed the interior as the door squeaked shut behind me.  I eyed the available stools at the bar and made my way to the far end to one that had a clear view of the entire establishment and its exits.  I moved my way through the bar being careful to avoid eye contact with anyone.  The air was full of a mixture of cigarettes and stale beer.  I could feel eyes on me as I made my way over to the stool.  Everyone always judged and gawked.  I ignored it and eased myself onto the cushion, the bartender stepping to stand in front of me.  

“What’ll it be little lady?”  He was an older gentleman, his voice was scratchy but kind, his features rough but soft.   

I met his blue eyes and forced a small smile.  "Whiskey…please.“

He eyed me as he finished wiping a glass and set it in front of me as he retrieved a bottle from under the bar.  His gaze wandered from the purple bruise around my eye running down the side of my face and jaw to the ones on my arms and wrists.  My gaze turned stony as his eyes returned to mine after he finished pouring my drink, my look daring him to say something.  He gave me a slight nod. 

"Just holler if you need anything, sweetheart.”  He held my gaze for a moment and then moved off to the other patrons.

I leaned my head back and downed my drink in one shot.  The smooth caramel colored poison burned and a warmth spread through my chest.  I closed my eyes for a second, reveling in the familiarity that I had missed so much.  I glanced down at the bartender, his eyes met mine and he gave me a small smile and nod as he returned to fill my glass, this time up to the rim.  

I took my glass, taking slower drags off it.  I sighed, dropping my shoulders some as I leaned my forearms onto the bar.  I stared down at my drink, my reflection gazing back.  I almost didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me.  I had changed so much in the past six months.  My eyes were hardened, sunken in slightly.  My skin pale.  Then my thoughts drifted to him.  What the fuck was I doing?  How did I get to this point?  I should’ve left the first time that fucker raised his hand to me…but I was stupid, broke with no where else to go, no friends, no family…all I had was my truck, what was I supposed to do?  Live out of it?  At the time, it seemed like a stupid idea and I never went for it.  Now, it was a welcomed commodity compared to the daily hell at the apartment.

I downed the rest of my second glass and the bartender filled my third. I dropped my head and held my breath, fighting back the tears that had started to sting my eyes.  No fucking way was I going to start crying in a bar.  I took a deep breath and ran a hand through my hair before drinking more of my whiskey.  The gentle slight numbness was starting to creep into my mind.  Good, I needed to drown out his memory….  

* * * *

I had no idea how long I had spent in that bar.  I had put quite the dent in the bottle of whiskey and the familiar buzz had started to set itself in.  I didn’t have to look around to know that most of the bar had cleared out by now.  There were only about three other patrons besides me from what I could tell.

I suddenly felt eyes on me.  I glanced up to the man across the other end of the bar.  He was roughly 50 years old, black short semi wavy hair and a two day salt and pepper beard.  His eyes were stone with an expression of harsh concern and slight anger.  I moved my hair to cover some of my face and narrowed my eyes at him, downing the rest of my whiskey and motioned for a refill to the bartender.  He obliged and went back to cleaning off tables. I dropped my eyes from the man and stared into my glass.  I didn’t need pity or anyone’s concern, especially from someone who appeared to be twice my age.  I could take care of myself.  I just had to figure out how exactly I was going to do that. I took a few sips of the whiskey and fell into my thoughts.  What the fuck had my life become?  

My thoughts were jarred as I saw the man stand from his stool and slowly make his way over to me.  

Shit.  

He stopped at the stool on the corner next to me.  

“May I?”  His husky voice had a drawl to it that was intriguing.  

I sighed.  I could tell there was no way he would leave this alone.  Without glancing up at him I nodded and motioned for him to sit.

“Thank you.”  He set his glass of whiskey down and eased onto the stool, slightly leaning in towards me, but not too much.  "I’m not trying to intrude…I just want to make sure you’re alright.“

"I’m fine.”  I stated flatly as I took another gulp of whiskey.

“Judging by the way you’ve been knocking back the whiskey, I’d have to say that you’re not.”  His tone was stern but had an underlying to it that calmed me.  This man meant me no harm, he was simply trying to help.

I sighed and tucked my hair back behind my ear and met his gaze, tears slightly stinging in my eyes.  "Thanks…but honestly.  I’ll be alright.“

He paused for a moment, eyeing me before he held his hand out towards me.  "I’m John.”  His features softened some as he actually looked at me and not my bruises.

I clasped my hand in his, giving it a small shake.  "Cole.“

He released my hand and sat back a bit with a small, intrigued smile.  "Cole?  Short for Nicole I presume?”  

I returned his smile slightly.  "I don’t like Nicole.  Cole fits me better.“  

He nodded as he took another drink.  "I like it.”

We talked for a while about anything and nothing in particular.  Just two random people at a bar getting to know one another.  Well….one man trying to comfort and make sure that an injured girl was really as ok as she insisted she was.

He excused himself to the restroom after a while.  I sat there for a moment, fumbling with my glass as I smiled slightly.  This man…John…had comforted me tonight.  When I thought all was lost and there’d be no way I’d make it on my own…he was like a shining light that gave me strength just when I needed it. I heard the door open to the bar but didn’t care to look up, probably some drunk finding his way in from the motel or some lonely truck driver looking for a night cap.  Only when a looming presence stepped between me and the next stool, and the smell of his aftershave hit me is when I realized who had walked in.

Jason… “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”  His voice growled against my ear. I stiffened and gripped my glass, refusing to look at him.  My heart pounded against my ribs as I could feel his breath against my ear and neck.  "Thought I made it quite clear.“  I raised my glass up and took a shot off of it, desperately trying to stay composed. He grabbed my upper arm forcefully and gave me a slight shake.  I cringed slightly and tilted my head away from him as he leaned his face closer to me.   "You’re coming back home with me.  Now.”  He seethed. “And what the fuck makes you think that I would?!”  I barked at Jason, ripping my arm from his grasp.  "We’re done!   Get it through your fucking head!“  I downed the rest of my glass and stood, throwing money on the bar top.  I glanced up towards the bathrooms wondering where John was.  My gaze met his as he entered from the hallway.  Realization and anger flooding over his face as he took in the scene from across the bar. Jason grabbed my arm painfully as I tried to move past him, his fingers digging into the already bruised muscles.  Fury burned inside of me at this point.  I was done being a punching bag.  Done being walked on like a doormat.  Just fucking done!  I spun around and threw all of my weight into my fist.  This caught him off guard… I had never struck him back before.  My fist landed right square on his nose.  Satisfaction rushing through me as I felt the crunch beneath my knuckles.  His hand released my arm and I stepped back, rolling my shoulders.   "You fucking bitch!”  He yelled as he held his face, his eyes clenched shut as blood gushed from his nose.  This bought me some time since he couldn’t see for a few moments.  I turned and stormed out of the bar.  Not before seeing John making his way over. I managed to make it a quarter of the way across the lot before Jason was barreling through the door behind me. “Nicole!!”  He hollered.  I heard him racing towards me and I picked up my pace, although trying to sprint in a whiskey buzzed state is not the best idea. Then it happened.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back.  Pain seared through my head and neck at the onslaught.  My knees buckled and I cried out, desperately clawing at his hand.   “You think you can fucking hit me and get away with it, bitch!”  He yanked me around to face him.   “Jason stop!”  I screamed.   My eyes looked up at his sneering, bloody face as he raised his other fist.  I managed to gather my legs beneath me and planted a swift knee to his groin.  He groaned and doubled over but his hand kept it’s hold on my hair, yanking me around.  I tried kicking him again but he recovered too quickly and slammed his fist against the side of my face.  Stars sparked in my eyes at the impact.  Dazed, I couldn’t fight back as Jason knocked me to the ground and sat on top of me.  He grabbed my head and in one swift motion he lifted and slammed it to the pavement.  Bright white lightning flashed across my vision.  My body went limp against the blacktop.  My vision blurred and my hearing sounded like I was underwater.  I blinked slowly, trying to focus.  I saw Jason’s face, but then he was jerked backwards off of me.  

 What… I couldn’t see straight, everything was out of focus.  Someone … someone was fighting Jason…?  

 I tried moving but searing pain shot through my temples at the slight movement.  My vision darkened as I tried to stay awake.  I couldn’t black out now, not with Jason here.  He’d kidnap me!  I forced all of my might to keep my eyes open as my vision continued to darken.

“Hey… hey stay with me, sweetheart.”  A man I didn’t recognize right away was suddenly standing over me.  I struggled to focus on his face, everything was blurring and swirling.  I managed one look before the darkness enveloped me… …it was John.

[pinknerdpanda]

The Wedding Singer - Track 11

“Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?”

Characters: Reader, Ellen, Bobby, Lisa, Dean & Ketch (mentioned)

Word Count: 1,760

Series Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Language, Mentions of Infidelity, Alcohol

A/N: This is the 11th chapter of an AU SPN Series co-written by myself and @hannahindie entitled The Wedding Singer and is inspired by the movie. We have been working on this for the last few months and are very excited to share it with you. The series tag list is open. If you would like to be added, please send one of us an ask. Hannah made our beautiful aesthetic and the series was Masterbeta’d by @wheresthekillswitch.

Track List

Track 11: “Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?”

The first beams of morning sun flickered through the window and across the floor, dancing happily as though the night before had never happened. Y/n watched them sway to and fro, their steps choreographed by the thin tree branches just outside the window as they rustled softly in the breeze. She frowned and rolled over. Stupid tree. Stupid sunlight. Stupid everything.

Even the sound the alarm made as it began it’s morning assault was too chipper for her liking. She grunted and slammed her hand down on the clock, silencing the sound and knocking it off her nightstand. She sat up and punched her pillow, wincing in pain and reminding her of the last thing she punched. Dean.

His face flashed through her mind and she groaned as her stomach somersaulted at the thought.  None of this made sense. It was like up was down and black was white. Dean shouldn’t be making her feel like she’d swallowed a thousand butterflies that were all trying to make their grand escape. She should be furious at him. In a way she was - he’d shown up out of nowhere and made her feel things she hadn’t even realized she’d been missing. And that was before he’d kissed her. That kiss, though!

She jerked the blanket over her head trying to hide from the memory. Instead, the large diamond on her finger caught in the fibers and she yanked her hand back. Instead of untangling herself from the blanket, however, she wound up pulling the thread, creating a large loop and marring the surface of the fabric.

“Motherfucker!” She cried out, ripping the blanket off of herself and turning over so violently, she ended up falling over the side and hitting the floor with a thud.

As she laid there, sprawled across her floor in front of bed, she sighed, unable to force herself to feel anything at all. Between spending the entirety of the night before tossing and turning and the unending barrage of various emotions over the past few days, she was drained; Physically, emotionally, spiritually. So she laid, her cheek pressed against the hardwood of the floor, her eyes fixed on a speck of dust clinging desperately to a long lost sock just under her bed. “I really should clean under here more often,” she thought out loud.

She heard a soft knock seconds before the squeak of her door cracking open. She didn’t bother turning to see who it was.

“Y/n?” Aunt Ellen’s voice was tentative. “Honey, is everything alright?”

“Yep, everything’s just dandy,” y/n mumbled, her words muffled by her mouth’s proximity to the floor. “Never better.”

Ellen slipped into the room and closed the door behind her before moving to sit on the floor next to her niece’s head. She crossed her ankles and wrapped her arms around her bent legs, clasping her fingers together and resting her chin on one knee.

She sighed, “You wanna talk about it?”

Y/n focused hard on the wayward sock and contemplated the symbiotic connection it shared with its dusty companion. Neither the sock nor the speck seemed to appreciate the bond they shared, hidden away from the public’s eye.

“I’m not completely sure,” she said finally, pausing in an attempt to reverse the drop of drool threatening to pool under her smushed lips. “But I think when someone starts to feel jealous of a sock, it’s what some might call ‘a new low’.”

“Sweetie, you know I love you,” Ellen frowned. “But I don’t have a damn clue what the hell you are saying.”

Y/n rolled onto her back, tipping her chin toward the ceiling to look at the upside down image of her aunt and sighed. “I don’t know Aunt Ellen. It just seems like lately my life has been spinning out of control.”

Ellen lifted one eyebrow, her eyes gentle. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Dean Winchester, would it?”

Y/n pulled herself up and turned to face Ellen, her eyes now glued on her own hands as she picked mindlessly at her thumbnail. “I punched him, Aunt Ellen.”

Ellen barked a laugh, and clapped one hand over her mouth. “Sorry, it’s not funny, but that was not was I was expecting. What did that boy do to deserve that?”

“Ketch was meeting a client last night at a bar and apparently ran into Dean there. I guess something happened, because Ketch came home with a broken nose. And just with everything that’s happened over the last few days, I just, I dunno, I lost it.”

“So let me get this straight, your fiance got his nose broken in a bar fight and sent you in as his attack dog?”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” y/n chewed on her lip. “I didn’t go over there planning to hit him. But then he brought up the times we kissed and-”

“Times, y/n?” Ellen narrowed her eyes. “It happened more than once?”

Y/n’s face flared with heat, embarrassment rising up in her throat. “Twice.” Her voice was soft.

“Ok.” Ellen pursed her lips and waited for her to continue.

“Anyway, Dean said that Ketch wasn’t there meeting a client or business partner, but that he was there with Lisa and that they were a little too comfortable.”

Ellen gasped, anger burning in her eyes. “Lisa and Ketch?! That son of a bitch, I…”

Y/n cut her off. “I thought he was just being a jealous asshole, so I hit him. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’m afraid…” her voice broke and she clenched her eyes shut tight trying to keep the tears from falling. She took a deep breath and continued, this time her voice barely above a whisper. “What if Dean was right?”

Ellen shifted to throw an arm around y/n who melted against her. She stroked her hair gently as her body shook with silent sobs. “Honey, I have known that boy since he was a snot nosed, bratty little kid. And while there are many things someone might call Dean Winchester, ‘liar’ is not one of them. If he says he saw something, I wouldn’t hesitate to believe him.” The silent sobs blossomed into hoarse, broken cries as y/n clutched onto Ellen. “I’m sorry, y/n.”

After what seemed like hours, y/n sniffed for the last time and sat up. She dabbed at her eyes with the cuffs of her nightshirt.

“Listen, I have never been one to pry into your life or make snap judgements about people, but honey, I never liked that British pansy.”

Now it was y/n’s turn to chuckle in surprise. One side of Ellen’s mouth turned up in a half smile. She went on.

“Dean is a good man. He’s been through a lot lately and I can’t say I agree with all of his choices,” she paused, looking at y/n pointedly, “but it sounds to me, like you two need to have a talk and figure out just what the hell is going on.”

Y/n nodded.

“You just remember that you don’t have to let life drag you around by your pigtails. You just need to put on your big girl panties, decide what you want and make it happen. You are in control of your life. Not the other way around.”

Bobby’s voice carried up the stairs and through the closed doors. “Good god almighty woman, aren’t you ready to go yet?”

Ellen rolled her eyes and shouted loud enough for Bobby to hear her loud and clear. “Bobby Singer, you keep your damn mouth shut and be patient. I will be down when I am ready.” She turned to Y/n, her voice softer now “And I don’t care how much money he does or doesn’t make, you don’t let any man tell you what to do.” She winked at her niece.

Y/n smiled and hugged the older woman. “Thank you, Aunt Ellen.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

-----

Y/n flipped down the visor on her mirror and checked her reflection. She took a deep breath and leveled her shoulders. She glanced toward the house and tried to ignore the rock in her stomach doing the Cha Cha Slide. She’d tried to call Ketch half a dozen or more times on her way over, but after the fourth voicemail, she’d given up.

She had all but decided that whatever happened with Ketch the night before didn’t really matter to her as much as what she’d done to Dean. It was freeing in a way, to allow herself to admit the one thing that she had been trying to deny for the last three weeks: she cared about him. In the few short weeks of knowing Dean, she’d felt every emotion she thought herself capable of more intensely than anything she’d felt with Ketch for years.

“Stop stalling and just go talk to him,” she told her reflection. She sighed, flipped the visor back in place, opened the door and climbed out. Her legs felt wobbly as she made her way across the street and up the sidewalk. She hoped she looked more confident than she felt at the moment. As she reached the front door, she took another deep breath and lifted her fist to knock. Just as her knuckles made contact with the wood, the door sprung open, startling y/n and making her jump.

A petite, dark haired woman, with large, round eyes wearing an equally stunned expression appeared in the opening. Both women chuckled lightly, trying to recover. The dark haired woman smiled, though y/n thought it to be strained, closed the door and made her way past y/n.

Y/n returned her attention to the door but as she lifted her hand to knock, a soft metallic clink from behind her made her turn around. About halfway between her and the retreating woman, lay a set of keys, sparkling in the warm morning sun. Y/n didn’t hesitate to scoop them up off the ground and jog toward the woman.

“Miss! I think you dropped these,” she held out the keyring as she approached the woman, who turned around, relief brightening her pretty features. Y/n glanced at the keys as she handed them off to the woman, and, as if in slow motion, a beam of light reflected off of the shiny metal surface of the rectangular key chain, revealing the last four letters she’d expected to find etched there.

LISA.

Track 12 “What’s Love Got to Do With It?” Coming 12/19/017

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here and the lovely @hannahindie‘s can be found here. Thanks for reading! :)

The Wedding Singer - Series Tags: @nanie5 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @tiffanycaruso @faegal04 @bethbabybaby @aesthsuggestion @escabell @lavieenlex @letmusicguideu @charliebradbury1104 @ericaprice2008 @kathaswings @feelmyroarrrr @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @journeyrose @kudosia @spnfangirl1965 @pickupthatamulet @faithfullpanicmoon @castianityislife02 @hexparker @squirrel-moose-winchester @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @fullmetalavatar54 @flormolero @mrsbatesmotel53 @dancingalone21 @caitthejourno @sleepless-sin

My Forever Tags - Stay weird. I love y’all: @wheresthekillswitch @pretty-fortune @arryn-nyxx @emilywritesaboutdean @fandommaniacx @cookie-dough-lova @impandagrl @maddieburcham1 @trexrambling @beachballsizeladyballs @hannahindie @rosie-winchester @winchesterprincessbride @that-writer-one @deansdirtyduchess @fandomismyspiritanimal @angelsandwinchesters @cfordwrites @zenia3 @charliebradbury1104 @9769997118 @mogaruke @luulaachops @supernaturaldean67  @barbedwireandbubblegum @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @muliermalefici @galaxy-jellyfish-queen @canadianjelly @kathaswings @almusanzug @feelmyroarrrr @captainradicalpassion @bethbabybaby @thinkwritexpress-official @akshi8278 @hexparker @emoryhemsworth @boxywrites @atc74 @anticipate1003 @super100012 @lovesj2m  @easelweasel @masksandtruths @ellen-reincarnated1967 @growningupgeek @there-must-be-a-lock @sylverminx @mrswhozeewhatsis @amanda-teaches @cassieraider @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @its-my-perky-nipples @squirrel-moose-winchester @carryonmyswansong @sandlee44

[pinknerdpanda]

Don’t Speak - Part 4

Word Count: 2,451

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam (mentioned briefly)

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Angst, Language

A/N: I had so many requests for this series to continue, so here it is. Just remember - you asked for this. There will be at least one more part after this, maybe more.

This is part 4 of a series I wrote for @fandommaniacx​ (also tagging @becs-bunker) Beckii’s 21st Birthday Challenge. My prompt for this challenge was “Don’t Speak” by No Doubt.

Thank you to my betas @hannahindie​ and @wheresthekillswitch​. I love you both so much! Thanks for all your support!

Catch up here:  Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tags are down at the bottom - if you would like to be added to my tag lists, please send me an ask! :)

Your feedback is always welcomed and appreciated! 

Don’t Speak Part 4

Cold.

It seeps up through the hard tile into your socks as you navigate your way through the Men of Letters bunker. It’s fitting, really. The feeling in your feet is beginning to match that of your heart.

It was never supposed to be this way. This was never the plan. But now, here you are, creeping through the dark like the one of the monsters you hunt.

You have avoided Sam as much as possible since you returned, which has proven harder than you’d expected. But still you’d managed to dodge him and whatever question he’d mentioned that night. The thought of your last hunt stops you dead.

-----

When you hadn’t responded to his text that night, he’d called, leaving you a voicemail that you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to. It was a few hours before you’d calmed your nerves enough to text him back. You’d lied, saying your phone had been dead, and assured him all was well. Another lie.

Nothing was fucking ok.

The emotion radiating off of Dean had been almost palpable that night as you’d driven in silence back to your shared hotel room. Neither of you were able to look at each other as Dean threw the car in park. The shame of your deceit hung heavy over your heads as you’d sat, waiting for the other to move first. The weight became more than you’d been able to bear and you groped blindly for the door handle, practically throwing yourself out of the car.

You’d controlled yourself enough that you’d made it inside without running. Once inside, you’d headed straight for the bathroom, sliding the lock into place before cranking the shower as hot and you could stand it without your skin melting off. The mirror fogged almost instantly as you began stripping off the tarnished articles of clothing and standing underneath its steaming spray. Maybe if you could’ve just stood there long enough, the guilt would‘ve washed away, disappearing into the drain, never to be seen again. If only it could have been that easy. But it wasn’t.

Dean never came back inside that night. In a way you’d been glad for that, although you hadn’t been able to sleep worrying about him. Had he chosen to sleep in the car, favoring the familiar discomfort Baby’s bench seats had to offer over having to face you? You’d prayed he had; the idea of him finding solace in the arms of a random town girl had made your blood boil.

You should have hated yourself for what you’d done. You should’ve been wallowing in your shame until the guilt was too much to bear and burdened, restless sleep overtook you. Instead you’d lain awake, seething jealousy coursing through your veins at the thought of Dean with another woman. What the hell was wrong with you? It wasn’t enough to betray Sam by fucking his brother in the bathroom of a dive bar. No, add ‘having feelings for said brother’ to the list. It was like you’d been competing with yourself to see just how shitty of a person you could be.

The door to the hotel swung open just as the first rays of morning sun had begun filtering through the curtains. You blinked, apparently having finally fallen asleep at some point through the night. When you’d looked up, you found Dean moving silently through the room collecting his things and jamming them into a duffle bag. Quickly closing your eyes just enough to feign sleep, you’d still been able to peek out through the small slits you’d left. Dean zipped his bag shut, threw it on the bed across from you and sat down. His features were drawn and his eyes were sad as he sat, watching you sleep. You’d been surprised when he scrubbed a hand across his face and sniffed. Had he been crying? That had been more than you could handle.

You blinked and sat up, trying to make it look as though you hadn’t just been spying on him. You’d watched as his eyes grew wide with surprise and he’d shifted uncomfortably as though he would stand.

“Dean, please don’t go.” Your voice was ragged and broken sounding. He froze and his eyes met yours. Whatever he’d found there was enough and he settled back in.

The two of you had sat looking at each other for a long time, almost willing the other to speak first.

“Y/n…” Dean’s tone was pleading as he’d trailed off, not sure what he was even asking for. He looked away, unwilling to meet your gaze.

“You never came back in last night.” You’d been surprised to find you sounded disappointed. This had apparently caught Dean’s attention too and he looked at you, studying your face.

“I just figured it was for the best.”

“Where did you go?” You’d made a conscious effort to not let the jealousy that had consumed you most of the previous night show. It hadn’t worked, you noted as Dean’s eyes narrowed at you, confusion dancing across his face.

“Why would you care?”

His sharp tone may have worked on someone else, but you’d known this man well enough to read it for what it was. It was a mask. Dean had always had a way of hiding his emotions behind a stern look and a shit ton of bravado. Most of the time it worked. Today, you didn’t even flinch.

“I don’t know Dean, but apparently I do.” You sounded tired. “I should have felt so guilty for what we did last night, but instead the only thing that I could seem to focus on was where you were and who you might be with.” You laughed humorlessly. “I am the worst person in the world.”

“Hey, don’t do that. It wasn’t your fault. What happened back there...I should feel bad about it. I should hate myself for what we did. But I don’t.”

Dean’s gaze was intense and unwavering. A flush of heat pulsed through your body and you made yourself look away, afraid of what you might do next.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same way, y/n. Say the word and I will back off. But I had a lot of time to think last night, and if there is even the slightest chance that you feel the same way I do…” Dean trailed off again before licking his lips and looking down at his feet.

“What about Sam? It’s not fair to him. And it’s not fair to you. I just can’t Dean. I can’t sit around hurting the two men I lo…” you’d caught yourself mid-thought and you’d tried to play it off, but it was obvious he’d drawn his own conclusions by the way his pupils dilated and his chest swelled. “The two most important men in my life.”

Dean stayed so still you’d thought he’d fallen asleep. When he stood abruptly, you’d jumped and your heart had raced. He’d spun around deftly before planting himself on the edge of your bed. He reached to sweep a stray strand of hair from your eyes before brushing his knuckles across your cheek. You’d leaned into his touch and a small voice in your head chastised you, but it had been drowned out by the trail of goosebumps that his knuckles left in their wake.

“I know. You're right. But I can't get you out of my head.” You gulped as Dean lowered his face closer to yours. “You are so beautiful, y/n.”

Then his lips had been on yours and you’d hesitated, but only for a moment before you’d molded your body against his and opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

In that moment, as you’d poured yourself into that kiss, a switch had flipped in your mind. You’d made a decision that you hadn't even realized at the time and one that would change your life forever; a choice that you would hate yourself for later. You’d decided not to choose.

-----

It has been over a month since you got back from hunting with Dean. As far as you can tell, Sam doesn't suspect anything, but the guilt has been eating you up inside. This is it, you think, gathering up all the resolve you can muster.

You round the last corner and the thin line of light emanating from underneath Dean's door is partially obstructed just before the door cracks open. You slip quietly into his room, closing it behind you.

You turn around and before you can react, Dean’s hands are on you. His mouth covers yours as he backs you up toward his bed and the backs of your legs hit the mattress. You press your palms against his chest, pushing him back. He looks at you, confused.

“What's the matter, sweetheart?” He runs his fingertips up and down your arms.

“Dean, I just...I just don't know that I can do this anymore.” You collapse on the bed as you struggle to push back the tears threatening to break free. Dean kneels in front of you, his green eyes are wide with an emotion you can't quite name. He takes your hands in his, his thumbs rubbing small circles against your skin.

“What's wrong?”

“What's wrong?!” You gape at him as anger grips you. “What's wrong?! What about this isn't wrong, Dean? Your brother is asleep just down the hall. Remember him? My boyfriend? Sam?”

Dean stands, dropping your hands as though he'd been burnt. He's hurt. You can see it on his face and you regret snapping at him, but part of you wonders if it is for the best. Maybe if he gets angry enough…

“I love you, y/n.” Dean blurts out. You look up at him, shocked. His gaze is fixed on you and you can't handle the intensity so you look away again.

Neither of you had used that word. It was always there, waiting to be spoken; it lurked around like a lion stalking its prey, waiting to devour whatever this thing was between the two of you. You’d known that once it was said it would change everything. And now in the charged silence that filled the room, you know you were right.

There had been times when you'd lain, curled into Dean's side, pretending for a brief moment that what you'd just done wasn’t wicked or shameful. You would lay there silently relishing his nearness while he stroked your bare arm and you would let your mind wander. You would think about what your life would be like if things had gone differently so long ago; if you’d stayed with Dean and never fallen for Sam. What would it feel like to hear Dean utter those three tiny words to you?

It feels like a slap in the face. Something that should be so pure and so good should make your heart soar; it shouldn't make you feel like you want to throat punch the person saying it. Yet here you are, crying and angry as hell.

“Seriously, Dean?”

“What?” He looks confused and that only makes you more mad.

“How can you say that to me? Why now?” You stand, wanting to scream but afraid to wake Sam up. You march over to him, poking your finger in his chest. “I tell you I can't do this and you decide now is the time to say that to me? As if I don't feel guilty enough as it is.”

“What do you want from me?” He grabs your wrist, removing your finger from his chest, his face inches from yours. His emerald eyes search yours, anger vibrating through both of you. Between his scent, the feel of his fingers wrapped around your wrist and his closeness, your senses are overwhelmed and you lunge for him.

His mouth is on yours in a hard press of flesh before his tongue pushes past your lips and into your mouth. He releases your wrist and grabs your hips roughly. His hands knead the their way down your ass before gripping your thighs and lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist as he catches your bottom lip between his teeth. He takes a few steps before dropping you on his bed.

He rips his shirt off and pushes his pants down his hips before crawling on the bed and settling between your legs.You scratch and claw at his bare skin as his lips and teeth dance across the sensitive skin at your neck. His hard length presses against your clothed mound and you shift your hips desperate for friction, drawing a growl from his chest.

Dean lifts off of you enough so you can shimmy out of your pajama pants and panties, discarding them and your socks at the foot of the bed.

He settles on top of you again and you gasp as he brushes against your bare core. He kisses a path down your neck as he plunges two fingers into you, scissoring them before gliding out and pushing in again. He sets a fevered pace, knowing exactly what to do to make your body pulse. His thumb circles your clit a few times and you come undone under his touch, biting his shoulder to muffle your cries.

You have barely come down from your high when he is gliding himself through your slick and slamming into you, roughly. He pauses briefly, allowing you to adjust slightly before withdrawing and driving in again. His hips snap with every thrust and you lift your hips to match his rhythm. You slip a hand between your bodies, rubbing furiously at your sensitive clit. You feel his thighs shake and soon you are both falling over the edge together, as your walls clench around him and his hips still, emptying himself inside you.

He collapses on top of you, your breaths ragged. This is not how tonight was supposed to go. Something inside of you knew that it would always end up like this, although you'd hoped it would be different this time.

You shove at his shoulder, scrambling to get off the bed. Dean doesn't say anything as you get dressed. You make the mistake of looking at him before you open the door; his cheeks are tear stained and his eyes are full of pain. A lump rises in your throat and you force yourself to look away.

You turn the door knob, throwing yourself into the hall and straight into a solid wall of muscle. Your eyes roll up to find a pair of concerned hazel ones staring back at you as Sam’s large hands grip your shoulders.

“Y/n?”

Read Part 5 here

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here. Thanks for reading! :)

My Forever Tags (I love you guys - stay weird!):

@wheresthekillswitch​ @arryn-nyxx​ @emilywritesaboutdean​ @fandommaniacx​ @cookie-dough-lova​ @spnfanficpond​ @impandagrl​ @maddieburcham1​ @trexrambling​ @27bmm​ @beachballsizeladyballs​ @hannahindie​ @rosie-winchester​ @winchesterprincessbride​ @that-writer-one​ @amionthetumbler​ @abbessolute @melissaj616​ @fandomismyspiritanimal​ @angelsandwinchesters​ @cfordwrites​ @zenia3​ @charliebradbury1104​ @9769997118​ @mogaruke​ @luulaachops​ @supernaturaldean67​  @barbedwireandbubblegum​ @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son​ @muliermalefici

Don’t Speak Tags:

@kathaswings​ @flirtswithdanger​ @smalltowndivaj @alexastacio​

SPN Fanfic Pond Tags (Sam):

@manawhaat @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​ @purgatoan​ @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid​ @blushingsamgirl @notnaturalanahi​ @bkwrm523 @roxy-davenport​ @impala-dreamer​ @samsgoddess​ @frenchybell @scorpiongirl1​ @for-the-love-of-dean​ @mysupernaturalfics @spn-fan-girl-173​ @deandoesthingstome @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @fiveleaf​ @deansleather​ @curliesallovertheplace​ @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname​ @waywardjoy​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @captain-princess-rose​ @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious​ @kayteonline​ @supernatural-jackles​ @wevegotworktodo​ @ilovedean-spn2 @babypieandwhiskey​ @wi-deangirl77 @deantbh​ @supermoonpanda​ @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki​ @deanwinchesterforpromqueen​ @chaos-and-the-calm67​ @memariana91​ @teamfreewill-imagine​ @chelsea-winchester​ @fandommaniacx​ @revwinchester​ @ageekchiclife​ @your-average-distracted-waffle @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @castieltrash1​ @supernaturalyobessed​ @mysaintsasinner @ohwritever @ruined-by-destiel​ @winchester-writes​ @deals-with-demons​ @maraisabellegrey  @faith-in-dean​ @winchestersmolder​ @bohowitch @clueless-gold @melbelle45​ @winchester-family-business​ @writingbeautifulmen​

SPN Fanfic Pond Tags (Dean):

@aprofoundboundwithdean @nichelle-my-belle​ @salvachester @quiddy-writes​ @plaidstiel-wormstache​ @bennyyh​ @deanwinchesterxreader​