#They don't pull this kind of crap on AO3

[wiseabsol]

Apparently Fanfiction.net automatically opts you in to not receiving ANY notifications from them after a three month period, so if you haven't seen anything from them in ages, that is why. You need to opt in to receiving alerts from them every three months.

[anticomedygarden]

hair

Annabeth had a complicated relationship with her hair.

also on ao3

-

"Ow!" Annabeth whined when Thalia pulled on another messy blonde tangle.

"Sorry," Thalia said, probably for the millionth time. The older girl was kneeling behind Annabeth on the floor of their current hideout and attempting to get the knots out of Annabeth's hair. None of them really knew the last time it had been brushed - probably not since she ran away. "I don't really know what I'm doing here."

"You just gotta unknot it!" Annabeth said. She didn't see why it was so hard; Thalia was 14 and should know how to untangle hair by now. Annabeth did.

Thalia laughed at her, but it sounded strained. "I don't even have a brush, Squirt. Plus, I've never had long hair."

Annabeth's mouth dropped open. "Really?" She thought all girls had long hair at some point.

"Yep."

"Why?"

"I don't really like it. I like yours, though." Annabeth beamed, at least until Thalia tugged again, and she whined.

Suddenly, there was another set of hands in her hair. "Let me help," Luke said.

Thalia put a hand against Annabeth's back, and the younger girl tried not to buck it off. She was independent! "You can try, but I don't know how much better it can get without a wash and a brush."

Luke sighed. "I can at least try."

(Annabeth had never particularly cared about her hair. It wasn't that she didn't like it or anything, she just really didn't have any strong feelings toward it. She liked that it's there, liked the comforting weight and extra warmth in winter, but she'd figured out at a young age that the yellow color did nothing but hinder her in her pursuits, so she didn't bother with it. She could deal with it, but she wouldn't put any extra effort into it.)

When Annabeth left the showers, Percy was waiting on the steps of her cabin, lurking awkwardly.

"What are you doing?" she asked. It was a surprise, to say the least. She would've expected him to be hanging out with Grover or training in the arena. Besides, she had just gotten out of the shower. A blush worked its way into her cheeks.

"I don't know, I thought we could hang out," he said. Then, he caught sight of her fingers tangled in her knotted hair. "What happened?"

Her blush deepened. "It hasn't recovered from the quest yet." And she hadn't had the patience to brush it out in the few days since they'd been back, compounding and compounding the knot until she couldn't get it out if she tried. "I might have to cut it."

"Oh." Percy looked at her funny and stood, then made a move like he was gonna touch her hair. She stepped back on instinct, and he raised his hands. "I can try and get it out."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?"

"I can work a brush." He almost sounded offended.

Normally, she would refuse, balking at the prospect of someone touching her hair, but after the quest, she found she didn't mind the thought as much as she thought she would. Plus, the knot was really bad, so he couldn't make it much worse, and it'd save her a lecture from Silena. She shrugged. "Fine."

Then, she went and got her hair brush from her bunk and went back out the door and sat on the step in front of him.

"Holy crap, what did you do to it?" he exclaimed.

She turned to give him a disbelieving look. "I went on a quest! When do you think I had time to untangle it?"

He didn't really look like he believed her, but he didn't say anything else.

"All right," he muttered. The first pull through had her jerking her head back and grabbing his hand behind her.

"Don't try and do it all at once, you'll just make it worse," she scolded. "Start from the bottom."

She felt him gently pull the lower half of her hair and start brushing it. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

After a minute, she relaxed, actually kind of enjoying the feeling. It was nice.

Finally, he finished and handed her back the brush. "I'm done."

"Wait, really?" She reached back to feel her hair and sure enough, it was back to its usual wavy strands, unknotted and flowing. "How'd you do that so fast?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. It probably helped that it's wet. Do you wanna spar?"

Mouth still open, she nodded. She'd have to keep that little affinity of his in mind.

(As she got older, she couldn't help but think that indifference was an asset. Quests certainly didn't provide any time or supplies for hair care. Plus, having Percy around made sure it was wet with dirty water half the time, so why try.)

"Remind me why we're out here, again?" Percy asked as they picked their way through the forest.

"Because Tyson said he smelled something funny," Annabeth answered. "And be quiet, you're gonna scare whatever it is away."

Percy stuck his tongue out at her but stopped talking, and they continued walking through the forest until they heard a sound from a ways away.

They froze. One look and they were heading off toward the noise.

It soon became apparent they were heading for nothing as the ground beneath their feet became squishier and squishier.

Then, there was another noise, and she stopped abruptly.

Too abruptly, apparently, because the next thing she knew, she was face down in muddy swamp water.

Groaning, she didn't stay down long and jumped up, knocking Percy over into the water. (He'd be fine.)

"What the Hades, Seaweed Brain?" she said.

He stood slowly. "Why'd you stop?"

"I heard something," she said, reaching up to get some of the gunk off her face. When she touched her hair, though, she paused. It was soaked through with the brackish water. The only thing that could clean it now was a good shower.

Well. It's not like she really cared all that much.

That was her only consolation as they trudged back to camp.

(She didn't think she'd ever want to chop it off; no, it was a part of her, a part she did kinda love on good days, even if it was a nuisance. And she loved having that connection to Percy, and Silena, in a way.)

"Damn, girl, what did I tell you?" Silena said from her spot behind Annabeth's chair. The older girl was attempting to rescue the blonde mass from its latest adventure, and Annabeth was afraid it wasn't looking too good.

"I was kidnapped by a titan, I couldn't exactly take care of it," Annabeth grumbled, wincing when Silena gave a particularly rough pull. She'd been sitting in this chair for years for the daughter of Aphrodite to cut her hair and just generally take care of it, and she still couldn't stand watching herself in the vanity mirror. She looked away.

"Well, I'm afraid I may have to cut it."

"That's fine," she said. It wouldn't be the first time. She looked at herself one final time to mourn the current length and caught sight of the grey streak. "Wait!"

"What?" Silena said, sounding surprised. "What's wrong?"

"Are you sure you can't untangle it?" she asked.

Silena sighed and picked up the knot of hair again. "I can try, but it'll take a while."

"That's fine," Annabeth said definitively. Hair grew at approximately half an inch per month, but Annabeth wasn't sure how the stress from holding the sky would affect the growth rate or the return to its normal color. However, she wasn't going to hurry the process along, at least, not as long as Percy still had his.

Not that she would ever tell anyone that.

So she sat as patiently as she ever had while Silena untangled her hair.

(Probably the longest Annabeth ever went without brushing her hair was when Percy was missing. Without his fingers to run through it or Silena to pester her about it, she just didn't think of it. Or want to think of it.)

"Okay, no. Come here."

Annabeth looked up from the map she was staring at on a table in Bunker 9 to see Piper walking towards her. "What?"

Leo glanced over from whatever project he was working on with a similar expression of bewilderment on his face. Clearly, he didn't know what Piper was talking about, either.

"Annabeth, your hair. When was the last time you brushed your hair?" Piper asked exasperatedly, steering Annabeth to sit down in a chair.

"I was in the middle of something," Annabeth protested.

"You can go back to staring at that map after I fix this rat's nest," said Piper. "Seriously, I know you have a brush. When was the last time you used it?"

Accepting her fate, Annabeth just shrugged. Her hair was rarely, if ever, on the front of her mind.

When Piper attempted to drag a brush through it, they both winced. "Oh my gods, there's a ponytail in here? How long has that been there? And how long has it been since you washed it?"

Once again, Annabeth shrugged. She honestly had no idea, though, come to think of it, it had been pretty itchy lately.

"Okay, well, that ends now." With that, Piper went to work on the knot, attacking it with the brush. "I'm gonna have to cut the ponytail out."

Annabeth startled. "Wait - the hair or the rubber band?"

"The rubber band," Piper said, causing Annabeth to breathe a sigh of relief. She knew it was stupid, but she didn't want there to be any risk of Percy not recognizing her when they found Camp Jupiter. "Your hair is completely wrapped around it."

Without waiting for a response, she whipped out Katoptris and sliced the rubber band out. Annabeth's hair didn't move much.

"Good lord," Piper muttered. "Here we go." The daughter of Aphrodite then went at the knot with the same vigor as Annabeth going at a training dummy. It did not feel good.

Piper was far less gentle than her sister. Piper was far less gentle than Percy.

Annabeth didn't like that thought, didn't like thinking of the dead, and she really didn't like thinking of Percy as missing.

But when she squirmed to try and get away, Piper gripped her shoulder, keeping her from standing. "Piper, I-"

"Hold still."

"I can do it-"

"But you won't, will you?" Piper said, raising an eyebrow.

Even Annabeth had to admit that she was right, but that didn't make it any easier. "I promise I'll-"

"No," Piper said with finality. However, it was what she said next that rooted Annabeth in place. "Let me do this for you, please."

She paused. It had never occurred to her that Piper might be trying to help in whatever way she could, that she didn't have the mechanical skills to help build the ship or the memories to help try and pinpoint where exactly Camp Jupiter was. "Fine."

"Thank you."

So, she sat there while Piper untangled her hair and only winced every so often.

Finally, probably an hour later, she was done, and they both stood. "Now, you're going to go eat dinner, then you're gonna shower, and then you're gonna go to bed."

Annabeth blanched. "I still have so much work to do."

Piper put her hands on her hips. "And it will still be there in the morning."

They stared at each other, neither one willing to relent, until Leo giggled from across the bunker. "Someone's in trouble."

Piper snorted. "I don't know why you're laughing, Repair Boy, you're going, too."

Annabeth didn't have to see his face to know his mouth had hit the floor. "I never agreed to that!"

Piper's eyes narrowed, and she went to grab Leo from his work bench. "I don't care." She pointed at the door. "Now, both of you, dinner, shower, bed."

There was no way Annabeth would agree to that, not when there was still so much work to do on the ship, maps to study, star charts to examine - really, she didn't have time. "How about dinner and bed, then shower in the morning?"

Piper's eyes hardened from where she was dragging Leo by the collar over to the door, then she pushed Annabeth's back until the blonde was also standing outside the door. "Dinner, shower, bed." She turned around to lock Bunker 9 behind them. "And for the love of the gods, wash your hair. Yes, Leo, both of you."

(Annabeth needn't have worried about Percy recognizing her. She probably could have shaved her head and painted her face to look like Iron Man, and he would recognize her, even in the depths of Tartarus.)

"What do you think of me cutting my hair?" Annabeth asked.

Her and Percy were limping along the Phlegethon at the approximate rate of a Zamboni in a swamp. Pain and soreness had settled into every corner of her body, but Annabeth was somehow thinking of her hair tangled at the back of her neck and stuck to her face with sweat, and how the hell she would fix it if they made it back to the mortal world. (When. When they made it back to the mortal world.)

She barely felt Percy turn to look at her. "I think you should do whatever you want with it."

Aw. She probably should have predicted that. "Come on, tell me the truth."

He paused. "You know I love your hair."

When he didn't say anything else, she pressed her fingers against his waist. "But?"

"But," he started. "But it's your hair."

"I know that," she said with more force than she meant to.

If she could see anything in the dark, she would've seen his brows furrow. "Do you really wanna get rid of it?"

She bit her lip. "No." She couldn't bear to let go of everything it meant to her now, the memories it carried beyond just the grey streak: Thalia, Luke, Silena, Piper, Percy. It was hers to care for, hers to maintain, and she hated that it took Tartarus for her to realize that. "I just don't know how it's going to recover from this."

"Hey," he said, stopping them. "It's gonna be fine. It'll get through it." She gave him a disbelieving look, though she wasn't sure he could see it. "Do you know how I know?"

Her hands fiddled with the back of his shirt where they were wrapped around his waist. "How?"

"Because it's so bright that it's one of the only things I can see right now."

She pressed her face into his chest. "All right. If you say so."

He rested a cheek on her head. "I do."

(Then, of course, there were the practical purposes.)

"Okay, I think I'm finally getting this," Percy said above her.

"Thank the gods."

He had been messing with her hair for about two hours now trying to figure out how to do a French braid. Without technology, his only resource was a book he found at the library, and it wasn't like Annabeth knew how to do it.

Though she may want to learn soon for the same reason Percy was. He was gonna have a little sister, one that, for all intents and purposes, would probably grow up with Annabeth as an older sister figure which was absolutely insane for her to think about. She technically had plenty of experience as a counselor and an actual older sister (though that qualification was debatable), but it was a whole other thing when it was Percy's baby sister.

It was very hard not to think of Silena, and even harder not to think of Thalia. If she was half the older sister to the new little girl that Silena and Thalia were to her, she would have succeeded.

But for now, she could help Percy learn to be a big brother.

(So maybe she did love her hair. Just a little bit.)

[thespiritssaidso]

I Need You (To Shut Me the Fuck Up)

Summary: Shawn knows exactly how to make a certain detective shut up.

Notes: Short and sweet. Wrote this in like, an hour or so. Just thought it was cute and… yeah, here we are.

"Spencer, a word." Not waiting for any sign of approval, Lassiter grabbed the fake psychic by the arm and dragged him to the conference room. He closed the door and started pulling down all of the blinds.

"Oh yeah no problem, Lassie. Thanks for asking so nicely." Shawn joked.

“Cut the crap.” He reached out and grabbed Spencer’s collar in a tight fist. “Why the hell do you keep telling people I wanted snow globes?”

“Is that what all this is about? Lassie!” He had the audacity to laugh. “That was just my joke gift!”

He sputtered “Oh, so this is funny to you? It’s a joke?”

“Calm down! I promise you, your actual gift is a lot better.”

“I’m not sure I even want to guess what kind of horrible gift you’ve dreamed up for me-” and suddenly Spencer's lips were on his, effectively shutting him up.

His mind went blissfully empty for the first time in... gosh, it must have been years. He pushes against Shawn, deepening the kiss. Spencer gladly returned the favor. Lassiter pushed his tongue up to his lips, and felt as the other did the same.

Spencer roughly grabbed a fistful of Lassiter's hair, pulling him closer. The detective picked him up by the hips, effectively having Spencer stradle him, and unceremoniously dropped him on the table, not once breaking contact.

Lassiter started to mindlessly squeeze Spencer's thighs with one hand and holding the small of his back with the other as Shawn continued to thread his finger's through his hair, pulling and massaging it methodically.

And then as soon as it had started, it was over. Shawn — when did he start calling him that? — pulled away, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Merry Christmas, Lassie.” Without another word, he slipped off of the table and left the conference room.

Lassiter put a hand to his lips, vaguely hearing him going up to Guster and O'Hara and asking them, "What did I miss?"

————

"What was that all about, Shawn?" Juliet asked, leaning forward in her seat at her desk.

"Oh, Lassie was just angry about something. I'm sure he's feeling better now." He said with a sly grin.

She was more confused now, but Gus started to catch on. "Don't tell me you-"

The conference room door opened not with a bang, but not exactly quietly either. Lassiter emerged looking extremely unkempt, hair mussed up and shirt untucked. "Don't think our conversation is over, Spencer."

"Alright Lassiekins, just let me know when you're up for round two."

Lassiter turned a deep crimson before power walking away to his desk.

——————

yeah uh. yeah. first time writing something like this, in case you guys couldn't tell lololol.

ao3 link

Based on this conversation in the discord with @lassie-face and @starfish-spencer

[brbsoulnomming]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 8

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | AO3

-----

The next time he's got something of a breather, they're all building weapons in a field gathered around a stolen camper. He breaks from wrestling around with Dustin, comes to plop down next to Robin in the spot Steve recently vacated.

"Hey, uh. So how often does this happen?"

Robin shoots him a look, one eyebrow raised as if to say there's a whole lot of 'this' happening right now, dumbass, what part of it do you mean?

Eddie jerks his chin up, head swinging in the direction towards Steve and Dustin. "He just got munched on by a swarm of goddamn demon bats, and now he's out there prancing around and no one's looking at him like he should maybe sit down a minute? Like no one cares, this is just business as usual."

Her face crumbles, and Eddie feels like an asshole. He didn't mean to imply that she didn't care about her best friend being bat food.

"Every time," she says softly, before he can try to backtrack.

"Oh." What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? "Right, Jesus. Well. Harrington's a big boy, I'm sure he-"

"No," Robin cuts him off. "You don't understand. He does this every time, it's - you remember last year, when Steve and Billy Hargrove showed up to school looking like shit? Hargrove tried to go after Lucas, and Steve pulled him off. They beat the crap out of each other. Hargrove hit him over the head with a plate, so hard that Steve blacked out. And the little shits - they put him in a car and took him with them to go to these tunnels to the Upside Down, because we couldn't just leave him in the house, Robin, what if he choked on his own blood or Billy woke up first?"

She does a decent impression of Henderson, there, higher pitched and shrieking, but Eddie is too busy being more and more horrified to comment on it.

"Steve woke up, and what does that dipshit do? Grabs his fucking nailbat, makes sure he's the first one down there and the last one out. They see Steve, and they see-"

"A hero," Eddie says quietly.

"They see someone invincible," she replies, even quieter. "So it's not real when he gets hurt, you know, because they see him take hit after hit after hit for us, and he just comes back up swinging, just keeps going to make sure every one of us is safe."

Eddie thumbs over the spot on his hip, where the first I don't need to go to the hospital had appeared, and feels - he doesn't know. "For us?"

Robin pushes the heel of her hand into her eyes, rubbing away what he's going to pretend aren't tears. "Fourth of July, Starcourt Mall. We got captured. He made sure their attention was on him. They tortured him, barely touched me."

She wraps her arms around her stomach, hugging herself with her palms pressed against her sides, fingers splayed wide like she's holding something close. There's more there, it's obvious, but, well. It's just as obvious that she doesn't want to talk about it.

"Then he crashed a stolen car into Billy Hargrove's Camaro with me riding shotgun."

Eddie gapes at her. "What the fuck?"

She raises and lowers one shoulder. "Billy was going to hit Nancy and Jonathan and the kids. I mean, it might have been the drugs, but I was on board with the plan."

His mouth opens, then closes again. "This is so fucked. You know this, right? Tell me you know this."

Robin makes a face. "I wish I could say that and know for sure that it wouldn't be a lie. I mean, I've only been in on this for like nine months, but it kind of sucks you in."

"Jesus fucking Christ."

Her expression turns a little wry, a little wait and see, you're one of us now. "Yeah."

Eddie doesn't know what the fuck to do with that, so he settles for watching Steve. Steve, who was captured at Starcourt mall, who told Eddie that he'd been captured by Russians who didn't like his attitude and apparently wasn't lying, whose experience fits the words that are still etched on Eddie's skin. "….he got tortured?"

Robin doesn't say anything, so after a few moments, he turns to look at her again.

"What's that face you're doing?" she asks, which is rich when she's the one looking at him like he's a puzzle she's trying to figure out.

"It's just-" He gestures at Steve in a motion he hopes conveys the sheer fucked up everything. "He was tortured!"

Steve Harrington was tortured, and then he lied and said the others were hurt more, and Eddie didn't want him to be his soulmate because he was one of the popular crowd.

Robin's still staring at him, her brow furrowed, when Dustin's shriek echoes across the clearing.

"This is a stupid idea, Steve!"

Everyone turns to look at them, and Steve throws up his hands. "I would have thought you of all people would agree with me!"

"What, agree with you going to get yourself killed, and all of us with you?" Dustin demands.

Steve rolls his eyes. "A little credit, please? I survived demogorgons and demodogs and Russians and the Mind Flayer and, uh." He pauses. "What're we calling the creepy bats?"

"Demobats," Dustin says with authority, like Steve Harrington talking about demogorgons and the Mind Flayer is nothing out of the ordinary, even though it's definitely messing with Eddie's head.

"Right, demobats," Steve agrees, as though they weren't in the middle of a screaming argument, then promptly picks it back up. "I think I can manage an angry jock!"

Dustin snorts. "Right, like you managed Billy Hargrove?"

The silence that follows that is deafening.

"Dude," Steve says softly. "Too far."

Dustin's expression drops, looking somewhere between chastised and extremely guilty. "You're right, I know, I'm sorry."

Steve jerks his head towards Max and Lucas, an almost imperceptible movement, if Eddie wasn't watching him so closely.

Dustin looks over to them, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry," he calls. "Anger over Steve's stupidity blinded me and made me just as stupid."

There's a pause, then Lucas calls, "Even stupider!"

"Even stupider!" Dustin agrees.

Max rolls her eyes at them, but she doesn't look as stricken anymore. "You're both dumbasses."

Steve's watching her when Eddie turns back to look at him, but he must think that's as good as it's gonna get, because he focuses his attention back on Dustin.

"Anyway, Nancy agrees with me, so we're doing it. This was just a courtesy heads-up."

Eddie glances over at Robin, relieved when he sees her looking over at him in the same way. They share a look that he's pretty sure is mutual exasperation over whatever Steve's thought of that is apparently going to get him killed.

"Hey Dingus!" she calls. "You want to share that with the rest of the class?"

"We're going to talk to Carver and the team," Steve replies. "We can't fight Vecna and avoid them at the same time, not with how hard they're gunning for Eddie."

"What?" Eddie demands, scrambling to push himself to his feet. "No no no no, come on, Wheeler, I thought you agreed that was a terrible idea!"

"That was before we ran into them at War Zone," Nancy says. "Steve's right - Jason isn't going to stop. We have to get him and the others off our backs, or they could ruin the whole thing."

Reluctantly, they all gather in the camper again.

"All right," Steve says, clapping his hands like they're all in kindergarten and ignoring the unimpressed looks everyone gives him. "Game plan."

"We divide into two teams," Nancy picks up, just as serious business as she was when they were plotting to take down Vecna. "Team one stays with the RV and keeps making weapons. Team two heads into town to run surveillance-"

Erica gives an unimpressed huff. "Run surveillance, who needs to run surveillance when you've got me? I was at his last little inspirational production, and I know there's supposed to be another town hall meeting tonight. Two guesses who's going to be there to try to run it again?"

Steve and Nancy exchange a glance.

"All right, team two heads into town to make sure we're at the meeting before Jason gets there," Nancy says.

"So who's on team two?" Dustin asks.

"Me and Nance," Steve replies immediately.

"And me," Erica chimes in.

"And Erica," Steve agrees without hesitation, which makes Nancy give him a funny look.

"Steve is my bitch after our last 'operation' together, and he knows it," Erica says, complete with air quotes around operation.

Steve just shrugs, looking resigned, and - yeah, okay, with what Eddie knows of Erica Sinclair, he'd probably do the same thing.

"No one listened to me last time," Erica adds. "I'm gonna make damn sure they regret that."

Nancy raises her eyebrows, but doesn't protest.

"That's it," Steve finishes. "Maybe Robin or Lucas, if you one of you wants to, but no one else. Sorry guys, but it has to be people that no one would believe would be friends with Eddie."

Which - ouch, but yeah, Steve has a point. Still-

"Buckley?" he asks. Lucas he gets, because Jason and the others must have trusted him to let him in on the initial freak hunt, but Robin?

Robin shoots him a withering glare. "I've played soccer, and I'm in the marching band, did you forget? The band that goes to every one of the basketball team's games and plays for them, the band that you usually disparage in the same breath as the jocks when you do your little table speeches? You think I haven't commiserated with some of the soccer players and cheerleaders about perfectly good lunches crunched under your heels?"

Eddie - doesn't actually know what to say to that. A week ago, he would have jumped all over her for conforming to the school's expectations, pumping up the jocks and riding the coattails of popularity, but - but this isn't a week ago. Monsters are real, people are dying, Eddie's probably going to die, and these people are the only ones who know anything about how to stop it.

This is the party, and he's just been an NPC this whole time.

"Oh," is what he settles on, hating how stupid it makes him sound.

"Hey, those table speeches were cool!" Dustin protests.

"They were obnoxious," Robin says with a sniff.

"They're Eddie," Steve says, and Eddie turns sharply to look at him.

He's rolling his eyes, and he sounds just as fond as he does exasperated, the same tone he's heard him use on the kids when they're being little assholes, and it twists something in his gut at the same time as he makes him want to hide behind his hair.

"It's not a bad thing to rail against primitive social constructs such as popularity," Steve adds.

Eddie - stares at him, his brain screeching to a halt as he attempts to process what Steve Harrington just said to him.

He manages to catch Nancy looking at Steve in a way that's a little bit impressed before Dustin is shouting again.

"Hey!" he yells, slapping Steve on the arm. "I said that to you last summer, you can't just take credit for that!"

Steve slaps at Dustin's hand. "You said I needed to move on from them, you didn't say anything about railing against them!"

"It's the same thing!" Dustin protests.

"Can't you just be happy I listened to you?" Steve asks.

"Oh, for once." Dustin rolls his eyes. "When are you going to realize all of my advice is genius?"

"Again with the ego, man, come on-"

"Boys!" Robin shouts.

The two of them startle, looking over at her with twin expressions somewhere between sheepish and irritated.

Eddie valiantly rallies his brain back into working order. "I still say this plan is stupid. What do you really think's going to happen when you publicly align yourselves with the freak?"

"Oh, we're not going to publicly align ourselves with you," Nancy says.

"We're going to publicly tear Jason down," Steve adds, and there's a gleam in his eye that Eddie hasn't seen since he stalked the halls of Hawkins High with Hagan and Perkins at his side.

So the party splits again.

Nancy, Steve, and Erica head out on their side quest. Robin does end up going with them, though she makes it very clear that she's just there to sit in the back with her hand on the walkie in case things go to shit. Eddie stays with Dustin and Lucas and Max, and tries not to feel -

Well. There's a whole lot he wants to feel. Anger and bitter resentment and fear and self-hatred and outwardly directed hatred and a sick hope and confusing fondness, all tangled up into a messy ball that seem to cancel each other out.

So mostly he tries not to feel exhausted, and tries not to let it bounce too hard the other way into mania. It mostly ends up in him alternating between goofing around with Dustin and obsessively checking over his handy work on his shield.

Eventually, after far too long, the wandering half of the party returns - and even without saying anything, it's clear it was a success. The four of them are so damn pleased at something going right that it seems to be catching, both Dustin and Lucas crowding in and demanding details.

"Jason's a suspect now!" Robin says gleefully.

"He's a person of interest," Nancy corrects. "But it's enough that I don't think he's going to be rallying many people to his cause."

Eddie stares at them, aware his mouth is open and he probably looks flabbergasted, but he can't seem to make himself do anything about that.

"How did you guys manage that?" Dustin asks.

"I told you they were going to regret not listening to me," Erica says, tone just as smug as her face.

"Excuse me," Steve chimes in, in what's clearly supposed to be an imitation of Erica's voice. "But is anyone else going to get to speak at this one, or are the police and the mayor going to let a seventeen year old boy lead a town hall meeting again?"

"Again?" Robin straightens up, jumping on that with all of Nancy's fierce tenacity. "Can you clarify that for the press, Chief Powell? Is Jason Carver involved with the investigation into these murders?"

Nancy bats her eyelashes, lowering her voice and looking as dumb and concerned as possible. "Wait, wasn't Jason dating Chrissy? Now, I may have missed the last meeting, but I've watched every episode of Magnum PI and Miami Vice. Why is the victim's boyfriend leading the investigation? Isn't that, uh, a confliction of interests?"

"Watch what you're implying, Harrington," Erica growls out.

Steve raises both eyebrows. "You about busted in my door looking for my brother and his dumb friends. I just think we all have a right to be concerned about someone who shows violent tendencies to a child being involved like this."

"I saw what that freak did to Patrick!" Erica says, making her voice high and whiny.

"You were at the scene of the third crime?" Robin jumps in, still clearly Nancy. "Was anyone else there who can confirm your version of the events? No? So we only have your report of who was there?"

"Patrick McKinney?" Nancy asks, wrinkling her nose. "Bummer, man, the way people close to you keep dying. Glad I graduated already."

"I remember him when you came to my house," Steve as Erica says. "Wasn't he the one who said you guys were taking things too far? What a coincidence!"

Robin tilts her head, looking like she's trying to remember something. "Didn't Fred write that article about the basketball team and hazing rituals? If I remember right, Jason Carver was the only one he mentioned by name."

Nancy smiles, and it looks - strange, on her face. All haughty and smug, with too many teeth. "Hazing rituals, is that what's going on here? Couldn't hack it with the legacy Billy and I left for you, huh, Carver? Who's next? You're looking for Lucas Sinclair, right, you pissed that he's the one that scored the winning shot when you missed it?"

"And then Tiffany Callahan shouts Chrissy wasn't happy!, and half of the cheerleaders are talking about how she was upset and kept saying she didn't want to talk to Jason about it," Robin says. "Jason looked like he was a second away from lunging over and strangling her, and Tiffany's soulmate got up in his face."

They keep going, tossing pleased little comments back and forth, roping Lucas and Dustin and even Max in, crowing about how Eddie's out of the limelight and -

Part of him wants to stay, well aware that he's literally watching a campaign unfold in real life in front of him, that he could let himself be folded into this strange little party and bask in their jubilance at a quest completed. But the other part of him is just going too much, it's too much.

He steps back, quiet and unseen, until he can duck around the other side of the camper and crouch down. His forearms brace against his knees, head hanging down between them, as he tries to just - to just breathe, not let himself vibrate out of his own skin.

This is turning into the slowest of slowburns omg, but they will get there eventually!

----

Part 9

Taglist (hopefully I got everyone, and always happy to add more!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @affablevixen @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

[somewhatclear]

something that would always be around

logue & vesta | 2k words

Logue didn’t feel much of a grown-up, when he had spent all day making a doll of his own brother because he was lonely.

a while ago, the lovely nubstarion came up with the headcanon that logue was the one making the little stib doll you can see on staeve's character sheet, and this is me running with it.

hope you enjoy my take on this bit of backstory for the brimstone siblings (posted with @velnna's permission ♥ as always, thank you!)

Edit: according to word of god ™️the brothers are about 13 and 17 here Edit 2 electric boogaloo: you can read it on ao3 now

He'd been putting the last stitches in the back of his Little Big Brother’s neck, to better secure his head to his body, when Logue’s actual big brother’s voice piped up from nowhere, startling him half to death.

“What have you got there, chickie?”

Nita often scolded him for being loud and attracting too much attention, but Vesta could be very silent when he wanted to be. He just didn't care to. Their sister sometimes didn't see that, but Logue did. He saw everything.

Well, almost everything. He hadn’t seen Vesta creeping from the side, just then.

Logue’s hand slipped. The needle went through his fingertip, and a tiny drop of blood welled up to the surface of his skin. He quickly lifted it out of the way and into his mouth — it didn't hurt, but he didn't want it to stain Little Big Brother. Not after all the effort he'd put in making him.

“Oh, shit.” Vesta was quick to crouch in front of him and grab his wrist, to check the damage. “Are you hurt? Let me see.”

Logue shook his head. He’d pricked himself a million times, it was fine.

“Are you sure?” Vesta grinned. “Don’t you want me to kiss it better?”

Logue rolled his eyes. 

Vesta snickered, raised his hands in mock-defeat. “Alright, alright, I know you’re all grown-up and crap now.”

Hearing those words made Logue wince. He didn’t feel much of a grown-up, when he had spent all day making a doll of his own brother because he was lonely. Abruptly self-conscious, he shifted the his little project off his lap, hoping Vesta wouldn’t—

“So, what have you been up to? You've been hiding down here forever.”

Logue sighed. Better get it over with.

He pulled the doll back onto his knees, finished to stab the last couple stitches in the fabric, secured the thread with a double knot and severed the excess with his teeth. Then he shoved it at Vesta, making a show of tidying up his sewing supplies while he waited for his brother’s reaction with trepidation.

Vesta was silent for an eternity, turning the toy over in his hands. 

“This is really well made,” he praised, quiet and careful.

Despite the embarrassment, a warm bubble of pride swelled in Logue’s chest. It didn’t look like much, but it had taken him a lot of time to put the thing together, from stealing the right fabrics and thread, to figuring out how to piece the parts together. He was glad he could always trust his brother to recognize his efforts.

“The little fella looks kind of familiar,” Vesta pointed out, raising the doll next to his face. The resemblance wasn't particularly uncanny; that hadn't been the goal and Logue wasn't that skilled a toy maker. But the colours were right, and the little bits of silvery thread he'd embroidered on its pointy little ears were the same number as Vesta's new earrings.

It definitely was a Little Big Brother, right there.

“I don't see it,” Logue quipped, very seriously. “His shirt is clean. Doesn't have holes. And he's more handsome.”

“You little—”

Vesta jumped him. Logue snickered as he got pinned down and playfully roughed up, then let out an actual shriek of laughter when his brother’s hands found their cold way under the hem of his shirt. He tried to swat them away from his vulnerable sides but Vesta always was a cheating cheater who cheated, and kept blowing raspberries onto the ticklish spots on his neck. Fits of twitching giggles made Logue’s legs into jelly.

They weren’t little kids anymore. Logue should have gotten angry at Vesta for still treating him like a baby, but he didn’t. He couldn't.

He'd been so excited when Nita had sent him on a supply run—he’d been looking forward to it. Finally, they thought he could take care of himself. They thought he could be trusted with the important stuff. He'd done so well the first time, Nita actually said she regretted not giving him things to do much earlier, and Logue could swear he’d grown taller by a handspan out of sheer, smug vindication.

He had always known he could do it; but he hadn't expected how miserable a time he was going to have, out there. He always excelled at sneaking around, at not being seen, not being heard. That had been his job, when he'd tagged along Vesta.

As soon as he stepped out of the shadows, his tongue tied itself up, and people looked at him, and he wished his brother was there.

If wishes were horses.

“Stop!” Logue wheezed, pretending he couldn't easily knock Vesta over if he wanted to. “Mercy!”

“We'll see!” The effect of his angry scowl was ruined by the laughter spilling from his lips. “Who's more handsome?”

Logue freed one shoulder from under Vesta, and gave him an exaggerated shrug.

“You're on thin fucking ice there, chickie.”

Vesta untangled them from the messy pile of limbs they had fallen into, and offered Logue a hand to help him sit up. He also saved Little Big Brother from the neglected corner he’d been knocked to during their tussling, and brushed dust off his miniature shirt and pants with a careful hand.

His shoulder pressed against Logue’s shoulder.

“Who's he for?” Vesta ran his fingers through Little Big Brother's thread hair, poked at the little ink freckles on his cheeks, pulled at the tiny ears. “A secret admirer of mine I don't know about?

Logue snorted, and shook his head.

“Wow, alright, rude. Planning to make a pretty copper selling cursed effigies for my exes, then?” He let his head drop against Logue’s shoulder. The warmth seeping through Logue’s shirt felt comforting. Solid. Safe. “I'm not stopping you, to be clear. If you are making good money I want a cut, though.”

Logue shook his head again. Took a deep breath. “Me.”

Vesta, the big silly, gasped dramatically and turned on him with big, round eyes and a wobbly lip. “You want to curse me?”

“No!” Logue scrunched up his nose and shoved him, stealing the doll from him. “He's. For me. For. Because. It’s. He's —”

Vesta’s hand came up to the nape of his neck, gripping gently. 

“Easy, chickie. Deep breath. Start over.”

Logue swallowed thickly, closed his eyes. “I have the words. It's just stupid,” he snapped, and elbowed his arm away. He was angry that Vesta was babying him now.

He frowned down at Little Big Brother’s little doll face, and found that he couldn’t keep it up. He was kind of cute. Logue had managed to keep the stitches around his applique grey eyes small and tidy, and you could barely tell they were sewn on at all. He didn’t quite have an expression, but it was charming and funny. Just like Vesta.

Logue took a deep breath. He started over.

“He’s for me. Because I miss you.”

“Oh, Logue.” Vesta wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in a hug, crushing him against his side and rubbing his shoulder. “Chickie, I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know that. It's just. It's been hard. Out.”

“Out,” Vesta said, wonderingly. “On the supply runs?”

Logue nodded.

Vesta hummed. “Too many people?”

Logue shrugged one-shouldered again, but he was relieved. Vesta got it, because he knew him—Nita loved him and she cared as much as Vesta did, Logue knew that, but she didn’t understand.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured Vesta before he could say anything—because Logue also knew his brother, and he could almost hear his brain click around the problem, looking at it from different directions, pulling it apart and putting it back, searching for a solution. “I’ll be fine, I just need to. Adjust.”

His hand accidentally twitched around Little Big Brother.

Vesta’s eyes softened. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Logue squeezed the toy again, with more purpose.

They sat in silence for a while, then his brother shifted next to him.

“Do you remember—? Maybe not, we were pretty little,” Vesta started. “I don’t even know why we were out by ourselves, I think I sneaked out and you just followed me as usual… just like a baby chick.” 

He lifted his hand to pet and ruffle his hair, but Logue swatted him away with a half smile. Nuisance. Always touching. He gestured for him to continue.

“But anyway—we were out, and I figure I was trying to get us back home? I remember I took your hand and we started walking.” Vesta’s eyes went a little unfocused as he concentrated on the story. “You were perfectly content to just go wherever, until we got to the marketplace.” His cheek creased up with a fond smile. “You gave a look to the crowd and just. Stopped. You didn’t even make a scene or anything, you were just. Nope.” He stiffened and held his arms along his sides, mimicking him freezing up. “I had to pick you up and carry you the whole way back.”

“I remember you carrying me. When I was little.” Logue shook his head. “Not that one time, though.”

“Yeah, I started carrying you everywhere for a while, after that. I don’t think I ever let you touch the floor when you were four or five.” Vesta snorted, then his face went a little more serious. “I was terrified. I thought I had gotten you hurt, somehow.”

Logue frowned.

“You were perfectly fine, obviously. We were kids, I don’t know what I was thinking.” He shrugged, pushed his fringe back in a nervous gesture. “I don’t know why I’m thinking about this right now. I guess what I’m trying to say is — I’m so, so proud of you, you’ve grown so much. You’re at least a whole chicken, now.”

The only appropriate reply to that was shoving him again, really, so Logue did. But his face hurt with how hard he was scrunching it up to stop himself from crying. He ended up wrapping his arms around his brother’s waist, burying his face in his chest and letting him hold him. Vesta’s purring was always so loud.

“So,” Vesta asked when Logue finally let him go. “Does the little guy have a name, or…?”

“He’s you.” Logue didn’t want to admit that he’d been just thinking of him as Little Big Brother. “Little Vesta?”

“Little—” Vesta’s face twitched in the sort of expression he made when he was trying not to laugh. “Are you sure? Isn’t it a bit—?”

Logue grimaced. He did hate knowing his brother so well sometimes. “No.”

Vesta couldn’t keep himself from laughing. “Your face! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I promise I can be mature about it.” He made a show of wiping the mirth off his expression with a pass of his hand. “Proper introductions, then.”

He solemnly took Little Big Brother’s little arm between two fingers, and moved it up and down like he was doing a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Little Vesta.” He cracked up a little, but he recovered quickly. “Be nice to my little brother, he’s a good one. He deserves a good buddy. Are you up for the job?”

Little Big Brother, guided by Vesta’s grip again, made a little, solemn salute. Vesta nodded back, even more solemnly.

It was entirely silly, and maybe Logue should have been embarrassed by the fact that his older brother was taking the whole thing so seriously—but it was a silly serious. Just like Vesta. It worked. It made Logue’s chest a little lighter.

He tucked Little Big Brother against his stomach, and leaned against Vesta’s shoulder again. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, chickie.” Vesta pressed a kiss to his hair, and squeezed him back, purring back in full force. “You’re going to be just fine.”

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Five

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

Listen to the Take Care playlist!

A/N: I love a story when it gets MESSY don't you? We're officially over the 40k word mark! Huzzah!

Word count: 6.5k

Chapter Five

You considered yourself a punctual person, but this time you were late. After finishing the article, you collapsed as soon as you got home. You didn’t set an alarm for the next morning, nor did you expect to sleep for a staggering fourteen hours, but when you woke up less than an hour before the bus left Richmond for Liverpool, you almost had a heart attack. 

You ran to Nelson Road with wet hair, no make-up on and so much random crap in your bag that you genuinely didn’t even know if your wallet or keys were in there somewhere. As you rushed into the stadium car park, you let out an abrupt sigh of relief to see that the bus was still there. Everyone was on board, and you’d felt your phone buzz in your pocket several times during your rush, but you hadn’t stopped to look at the messages. 

Only when you stepped on board the bus and allowed yourself to breathe, did you let yourself smile and laugh at your idiocy. 

“Hey!” Ted was the first to erupt in greeting, but the rest of the guys followed suit immediately after. “Did someone miss their wake-up call?” he asked. 

You sighed deeply, stepping further onto the bus as the doors finally closed. “Don’t ask. All the missed sleep finally caught up with me.”

Ted nodded in understanding. “Well, you’re here now. Go cop a squat with the guys.” 

You smiled as you walked down the small bus corridor. The guys all greeted you in their own ways, and you were thankful that you’d decided to join them instead of sitting out. As you approached the back, a circular group of seats that reminded you of sitting at the back of the bus at school, you caught Roy’s eye. There was a spare seat beside him, which he gestured to for you. You dropped into the seat next to him, bashing your shoulder against his softly, before the bus started moving.

“We all thought you’d bailed,” Roy said. “You didn’t reply to my texts.”

“You texted me?” you asked, quickly grabbing your phone from your pocket. There were several texts from Ted and a few missed calls, and a few from Roy. You winced. “Sorry. I’ve only been awake for forty minutes, I passed the fuck out last night and forgot to set an alarm.”

Roy hummed, almost like it was his own version of I told you so. You shot him a playfully annoyed look, and he raised his eyebrows at you in response, a small smile curled onto his stoic face. You huffed to yourself, settling in for the journey up North. Despite sleeping for so long, you were still fucking exhausted. You’d thrown clothes and toiletries into a backpack before rushing out, and you couldn’t face looking at the mess that you’d created just yet. You were glad the game wasn’t until the next day, because you still had an awful lot of sleeping to do. 

As the bus lulled to a pleasant buzz, you found yourself sinking deeper into your seat. You brought your knees to your chest and curled yourself into a ball comfortably. Next to you, Roy had his earphones in and was listening to an audio book of some kind. You peered over him, gently resting your head on his shoulder for a moment, to take a look at the title. 

He peered down at you softly, before he plucked one of his earphones out. “It’s The Grapes of Wrath. Wanna listen?” he asked, and you quickly pulled away to meet his eye. 

You looked up at him tiredly. “That’ll definitely send me to fucking sleep.” 

Roy huffed, sending you a perked brow. “I thought you were a fucking writer?”

“I am. But even I have my reservations about the classics.”

“You’ve read it before?”

You nodded. “Three times. It made me cry every time, just to warn you.”

Roy digested your words for a moment, before he offered his opposite earphone to you. You took it gently from his fingers and slotted it into your ear. “I can take it,” Roy muttered to himself, as both of you sat back in your seats and got comfortable for the ride. 

After an hour, you’d dozed off heavily. Roy leaned all the way back in his chair, allowing you space to lean against his shoulder gently. As the bus bumped on the motorway, you shifted slightly, and fell into his chest. Roy peered down at you softly, letting out a gentle cough to clear his throat. He positioned himself to the right slightly, and let your head rest against his breast bone. You snoozed softly, almost silently, as he started playing the next chapter of the audio book. 

Opposite him, Colin Hughes and Isaac McAdoo saw the scene unfold before them. The gentle tilt of Roy’s body to accommodate your sleepy head, the almost imperceptible smile that lay on his lips, the shallow way he was breathing to stop his chest from moving too much. The look on his face was blunt and plain like normal, but with every stare that he sent down your way, the boys saw exactly what was happening. 

Colin elbowed Isaac silently, shooting a look at you and Roy. A smile upturned on Isaac’s face. Something boyish and playful that every man could recognise at one point or another. When he moved his gaze upwards, he was shocked to meet a steely stare from his Captain. Roy looked at Isaac and Colin in turn, and it was enough to make them both recoil and sink into their chairs awkwardly. 

Roy cleared his throat again painfully. He acted like nothing was happening. He pretended like he didn’t want to fall asleep beside you, all the way until you reached Liverpool. 

You slept like a baby that night. You hadn’t slept this much in your entire fucking life, but upon arriving you’d had about two hours of energy after your bus nap, before you had to retreat to your room and rest for the remainder of the evening. You missed out on team movie night– the guys watched Sleepless in Seattle– which was a fucking bummer, you knew, but you’d rather be alive for the game. 

You were at the end of the corridor to the guys, near the rooms of the Diamond Dogs. Ted’s room was next to yours, which you knew from your abrupt awakening– you could hear his over enthusiastic Southern drawl through the thin walls on the morning of the game. He woke you up after answering a call with What’s shaking, Kevin Bacon! 

You got yourself up and dressed, and joined everyone for breakfast at the hotel. It was utterly silent as everyone ate their meal. Even Roy looked more pissed off than usual as he cut into the golden yolk of a fried egg. Next to you, Ted happily sliced into another sausage. Gently, you leaned towards him. “Has someone fucking died or something?” You looked around at the glum faces of the guys. “Why does everyone look like they’ve been slapped?”

“Oh, well.” Ted started. “Richmond haven’t won an away game at Everton for six years–”

“Sixty,” Beard interrupted, correcting Ted. 

Your eyes widened. “Sixty?” you whispered harshly. “Sixty fucking years?”

Ted let out a hum. “Oh, yeah. That’s my mistake. It has been sixty years since they’ve won.” 

As you ate your breakfast, you understood why all the guys looked so fucking defeated already. Even on the way to the stadium they stayed the same way, silently contemplating and accepting another loss before the game had even begun. You tried to send them all reassuring smiles, but none of them matched your energy for more than a second at a time. It was fucking miserable. 

You jumped off the bus when you arrived and stood with Sam and Roy before splitting up. “Good luck, Sam. Bring the heat like you know you can, alright?” you said, before you gave Sam a tight hug.

He hugged you back fiercely, as if trying to inhale all of your good vibes. “Thank you. Having you in the crowd is good luck for us, you know?” he said, before pulling away. 

“What?” you let out softly, shooting him an amused look. 

“It’s true! I am not a superstitious person, but about this, I am. You bring good luck.” He beamed at you, and you huffed at him in subtle embarrassment. 

“Thanks, Sam,” you said, before he disappeared into the stadium with the others. 

Roy milled about a bit longer, making sure all the guys got off the bus safely. You stayed put next to him the entire time, trying to think up something smart to say that would ease his nerves. You didn’t know what any of them were feeling, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to understand them better. If you could put yourself into their shoes then you’d be able to cater for them in different ways. 

You peered up at Roy for a split second, ready to say some words of encouragement, but he cut you off before you could. “You sitting in the owner's box?” he asked, sending you a stoic look. You gulped back your prior words and nodded instead. Roy hummed. “See you on the other side.”

Roy left before you could say anything coherent. He strolled past the press with his mouth in a straight line, leaving you behind at the bus on your own. You watched him go until he entered the stadium, seeing the strong way he walked and the way his fingers were balled into fists. As much as you’d wanted to, not wishing Roy good luck was something he preferred. He felt the nerves, the anxiety, for himself and his teammates, and you knew that well. Wishes of good luck only ever seemed to make him madder. 

You sucked in a sharp breath and entered the stadium then, readying yourself to scream for your fucking life for your team– for Richmond. 

Needless to say, the atmosphere was second to none. You sat with Rebecca and Keeley in the owner’s box, on the away side, and didn’t calm down for ninety minutes. The guys played electrically, moving as a fierce unit like never before, and everytime they scored you went absolutely insane. You cheered and screamed bloody murder, jumped up and down on the spot, and didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. 

In the second half, near the end, the guys were slowing down. You took it upon yourself to sing their praises to oblivion, but not even you expected to be so into it. During the final goal, Roy assisted Sam to get it into the box. When you saw him, pumping his arms to hell before he tackled one of Everton’s boys and got the ball to Sam, you held your breath until everything exploded. 

During the eruption after their final, winning goal, you jumped up and leaned against the balcony edge of the owner’s box. You inhaled sharply, and realised it strongly, alongside a “Go on, Roy!”

It echoed throughout the stadium, reverberating off the walls and slanted ceiling loudly, until it hit the player’s ears. Roy was doubled over in exhaustion, but he lifted his head when he heard it. It took him no time at all to seek you out– he’d asked you where you were sitting beforehand, after all– and when his eyes hit yours, you couldn’t stop yourself from whooping and hollering in his favour. 

You didn’t care if it was embarrassing, you were overly proud of them. When they bound their way back to the locker room after the full time whistle, you practically jumped to follow them. Keeley laughed beside you triumphantly, and followed behind you as fast as she could in her tall heels. You slalomed through the press all the way to the away locker room, before you burst through the door. 

“You fucking thrashed them!” you screamed upon entry, and the guys matched your energy tenfold. 

Sam was the first to encase you in a hug, before you were overtaken by multiple sets of limbs. Isaac lifted you off the floor when he wrapped his arms around you, and you let out a much needed pent up sigh as you stepped back afterwards. You took in their pristine faces, and you thought that, perhaps, you’d never felt more like you belonged. This all started out as a slap in the face, but with everyday that passed, you felt more and more a part of this incredible family. You felt lucky, and that was saying something, when before you’d been so unlucky to step through the doors of the Dogtrack. 

You leaned against the cinder block wall for a moment, remembering the scene that played out before your very eyes. This would become a core memory in time, you decided, and you knew that when your year was up, these were the times you’d think back to. Their elated faces, their hugs of affection, their love bursting from every pore and crack and crevice that it was almost suffocating to withstand. 

“You can fucking yell,” Roy said, appearing on your left suddenly from the rabble. 

You breathed out. “Roy,” you greeted him softly, over the fucking moon. “Congratu-fucking-lations!”

“Sam was right,” he said, placing an abrupt but welcomed hand on your shoulder. He squeezed you affectionately. “You bring us good luck.” 

You rolled your eyes at him, but nevertheless felt your cheeks warm. He raised his eyebrows at you playfully, happily. You enjoyed every moment the stoic look on his face was replaced with something different, something soft and joyful. Now was one of those times. 

Suddenly, Roy hoisted himself onto one of the benches, and let out a loud “Oi! Listen up!” to his teammates. They all stopped celebrating to listen to their Captain. “None of you are going back to the hotel tonight! ‘Cause we did something today that no one thought we could do, including us! So we’re going out, we’re celebrating, and we’re gonna rub it in this city’s fucking face!” 

The locker room erupted once more, and before you could peer up at Roy, you were pulled into the mob of players as they started to chant– Richmond till we die! We’re Richmond till we die! We know we are, we’re sure we are, we’re Richmond till we die!

Keeley let you get ready in hers and Rebecca’s suite. It was huge, and kitted out with lavish decor and a fully stocked mini-bar. Keeley applied her lipliner in the bathroom, while you sat on one of the plush sofas and sipped from a glass of champagne. You felt content, you felt known. It had taken you half the fucking season, but you finally felt happy where you were. 

Despite the familiarity of going out with the team, you felt that today was different. Not just from the way the guys all loved you, but from the increasing tension that buzzed between you and Roy that you simply couldn’t ignore anymore. You wanted to tell him about the article tonight, wanted him to read it before you did anything rash, but there was a part of you that didn’t want him to think that was all you liked him for– your career, your assignments, your degree. Roy Kent was fast becoming someone that you simply enjoyed being around, more than anything. You didn’t want him to think of himself as less. 

“Babes?” Keeley called from the bathroom. 

You breathed in and left your jagged thoughts. “Hm?” you replied. 

Keeley shot her head around the frame of the bathroom door, lipstick finally applied. She took one glance at your back, slumped and in thought, and furrowed her brows. “You okay?” she asked, and you twisted yourself around to face her. 

You sent her a genuine smile. “Never been better,” you said, and you found yourself believing it. 

Keeley rushed towards you and jumped on the sofa. She picked up her glass of champagne and made a show of hovering it before yours. “Shall we toast?” she asked. 

You raised your glass next to hers. “Always, but to what? The team?”

“No,” she said. “To you, and your article.”

You scoffed. “Oh, please.”

“I’m being serious!” she exclaimed. “Only you could make Roy sound so… human. It was emotional, strategic, but above all– you made me care about Roy Kent as more than a footballer. You should be fucking proud.”

You felt bashful, but nevertheless smiled at her compliments. “Thanks, Keeley,” you said gently. 

She raised her glass higher. “To you becoming a writer, any fucking day now,” she said. 

You chuckled lightly, and clinked your glass with hers, before both of you downed the contents. Bubbles fizzed up your noses, almost being spat out as you spluttered with laughter, but the two of you held it together. It was a matter of time before things got crazy, and you knew you wouldn’t be prepared. As you left the suite with Keeley, a bag across your body and spring in your step, you told yourself to enjoy it– at least while it lasted, before all of this ended in a matter of months.

Thanks to Keeley brainwashing everyone, karaoke was definitely on the cards. The guys booked a private room for the whole team, and upon arrival you were all coerced into requesting songs for one another. You sat on the sofa with Keeley, chatting away with Rebecca and her friend Flo, aka Sassy. The guys were ecstatic, and you were happy to be part of it all. Even Roy had a permanent smile fixed on his face, next to a beer in his hand at all times. 

As the songs went on, you found yourself enjoying yourself more. You all settled into it, enjoying one another's company, joking around as the guys queued songs to embarrass someone, but you’d be lying if you hadn’t been overly aware of Roy’s presence all night. He never went out with the guys in London, never joined in for post-match pints or a night on the town, and you’d been waiting for a moment like this with him. Yet, you couldn’t move from where you were. You stayed back and let him be, all the while wondering if he was ever going to approach you himself. It was childish, and made you feel even more so like a schoolgirl who was crushing hard, but the thing you were worrying about the most was the bomb you were going to drop on him– you’d finished the article, and you wanted him to read it before you submitted it anywhere. That was the goal. 

After Bumbercatch had performed Sex on Fire, you went back to chatting with Keeley, but that was promptly interrupted by an abrupt “Oi!” from yours truly. You twisted yourself on the sofa to meet his gaze above. Roy peered down at you, empty beer glass in hand, and a small smile on his tipsy face. “Need a refill?” he asked, and you smiled immediately. 

“Yes, please,” you said, as you stood up and followed him to the bar. You slalomed through other people enjoying their night out, until you both ended up at the main bar. The music was loud, and the place was packed, but you felt at ease next to Roy. “I’ll get these!” you yelled over the noise, but if Roy heard you at all then he chose to ignore it.

He ordered two more pints and tapped his card against the machine without hesitation. You pouted as you zipped up your bag again, looking at him sternly as he passed you your pint. “One of these days you have to let me buy you a drink, Roy.”

He shrugged. “I don’t fucking mind. Not when it’s you.” 

You looked at him quizzically. “Why?”

“Because you don’t expect it. Everyone else does when you’re a footballer. They expect the drinks and food and the fucking bill sorted, but you never have,” he explained.

You scoffed. “Yeah, because my mother raised me with manners.”

“Good woman,” he said, before he clinked his full glass against yours. All you could do was laugh, as the two of you took generous sips of your drinks together. 

You took a moment to glance around the main room of the club. It was bustling to the brim. People danced and drank joyously, and a few managed to scramble onto a small stage and use the pole that was there. You hadn’t been out to a club like this in a long time, and it made you even happier to think about the people you were with. A stellar team, a kind group of guys. You couldn’t believe how much you’d lucked out with them all. 

Roy gently leaned to your ear, his beard skimming your cheek softly. “Need some air?” he asked, and as much as you wanted to say yes, you knew you had a song queued in the karaoke room. 

You leaned into his ear in return, savouring being close to him like this, even if it was brief. “Keeley queued a karaoke song for me!” you said, and the mischievous face that Roy sent you was one that you added to his expression bank in your mind. 

“Come on, then!” he yelled over the noise, before he offered you his arm. 

You took it as the two of you made your way back to the private room, but within the space of five minutes, the rest of the club was on the brink of bursting. As Roy took no prisoners and shoved people out of his way, you dealt with the opposite. You tried to stay glued to him, but it proved useless when you tried to cross a packed pathway. As Roy pushed himself forward, you were caught in the crossfire and pushed away. Your arm twisted out of his own, and you stumbled backwards abruptly. Your beer sloshed in its glass, and trickled down your fingers as you tried to compose yourself. You couldn’t see Roy anymore, just the bobbing heads of other club goers. 

“Oi!” Roy boomed from further in the club. It was then that the crowd parted, like Moses with the fucking Red Sea, and he stomped his way towards you sternly. When he reached you, he peered down at you strongly, before he snaked his hand around your waist for a moment. “You go first,” he said into your ear, and you walked forward with him right behind. His fingers gently bobbed upon your lower back, always near, just letting you know that he was close. 

“Are you Roy fucking Kent?” one of the club goers yelled out, and Roy abruptly turned to the person in question. He looked no older than a university student, and had a very distinct Scouse accent. 

“Yeah. What of it?” Roy replied, and the kid before him all but backed down. 

“N-nothing,” the kid stuttered out. “Nice playing today.”

The crowd around the kid erupted suddenly, questioning his loyalty to their local team. You didn’t stick around, though, as Roy gently pushed you forward and towards the karaoke room once more. When the crowd died down more, he moved himself to your side, but kept his fingers on your back, just grazing there, in case he needed to step in again. 

An attendee pulled open the curtain to the private room for you both, and you finally let out a sigh of relief. “Jesus fucking Christ, thanks for that,” you let out, and Roy nodded at you.

“I have no patience for little fuckers that get in the way,” he said. 

You scoffed, and took a sip of your beer. “It’s a wonder why you have so much patience for me, then.”

Roy furrowed his brows at you, amused. “Don’t fucking push it,” he joked. 

You shot him a beaming smile, one that had your cheeks hurting as soon as it encased your face. At the front of the room, Keeley snatched the microphone from the previous performer. She tapped it once, alerting everyone to the stage. “Hey!” she spoke through it, her voice booming through the room. You and Roy turned to her immediately, and she caught your eye. She smiled. “Come on! You’re up!”

“Oh, fuck,” you muttered under your breath, and took a few large gulps of beer before you headed to the stage. Roy gently grabbed your drink before you could leave, and propped them both down on a table as the guys went crazy. 

They cheered and screamed as Keeley passed you the microphone, and you tried to keep it together. You’d done karaoke before, just not when you were this sober and coherent. You didn’t even know what song you were fucking singing, until the large TV for lyrics flashed the title– Womanizer by Britney Spears. 

As the song started, Roy watched on from the crowd. Over his dead body would anyone sign him up for something like this, but seeing you fumble through the initial nerves was endearing to witness. Keeley, Rebecca and Sassy egged you on to oblivion, alongside the chants from Ted and Beard, as well as the members of your fan club– Sam, Colin and Isaac to be exact. It was impossible not to smile as you performed, getting more confident as the song went on. 

Roy crossed his legs where he sat, right opposite the stage, as you towered above the rest of the team. Tonight was a good night. He was surrounded by his teammates, his bosses, you, after a win that no one had been expecting. The only thing that could possibly make it better was the opportunity to talk more with you, in a different setting, socially. There was no doubt in Roy’s mind that you were the life and soul of any party, especially from the upbeat way you sang and laughed at yourself on stage. When he thought about it, about you, he often found it hard to find anything to criticise. He couldn’t even rightfully say that you were pushy anymore, not after he’d jumped at the idea of your article before. 

It was then that he realised, while watching you fail to hit high notes from laughing too hard– Roy couldn’t fucking say no to you. Even when he wanted to, even when he needed to, probably, he couldn’t fucking do it. 

When the song finished, you thanked your lucky stars that it was fucking over. You breathed heavily as applause broke out everywhere, and when you jumped off the stage you found that your legs had turned to jelly. You stumbled as you made your way back through the crowds, and dropped yourself down next to Roy as if you’d been close to collapsing. 

He huffed as he handed you your beer, and you downed half the glass as fast as you could. When you finished, you met Roy’s overly amused face. “How did I do?” you breathed out. 

“Well, no one’s ears are bleeding. I call that a win,” he replied. 

You scoffed, embarrassed, but nevertheless embraced your shit performance. “Fan-fucking-tastic,” you let out, and Roy chuckled beside you warmly. You leaned back on the sofa only to realise that Roy’s arm was draped behind you. Neither of you moved. You were comfortable this way. 

As Beard got up to perform Lady Gaga, Roy leaned closer to you. You could smell his cologne when he did, as you gently leaned forward to let him find your ear. “Need some air now?” he asked, and you smiled to yourself, before you gently nodded at him in agreement. 

The two of you shuffled out of the room again, and headed to the smoking area out the front, missing the crowd of drunk people inside. As he emerged into the cold outside, Roy gently looked back for you. You caught his eye with a smile, before the two of you found a secluded area to perch upon outside. You both sipped at your drinks in silence, thankful for the space and quiet for once. As much as you were enjoying yourself, you’d been dying to get out for some breathing room. 

You sighed, content. Roy copied you, as your white breath surrounded one another before disappearing into thin air. “I can’t believe we fucking won,” Roy said first, and you turned to him gently. 

“You all played amazingly,” you added, and Roy peered down at you softly. “Seriously, and I obviously know what I’m talking about.”

Roy raised his brows at you. “What’s the offside rule?” he asked. 

You waved him off playfully. “Don’t go making new rules up, that’s just not fair,” you said sarcastically, and when a small chuckle burst from Roy’s lips you felt validated. You felt it whenever someone laughed at your jokes, but with Roy it felt extra special. 

Roy shuffled on his spot, and his shoulder gently bumped into yours. You were struggling to balance the nerves in your gut, made even worse by the fact he was so close to you. There was that feeling, one that told you, if you lingered on each other for just a second too long, that you would wind up kissing. You sucked in a sharp breath, before you swilled your beer around in its glass, just to do something with all your pent up anxiety. 

Innately, you knew that now was as good a time as any to bring up the article. You’d have to do it sooner or later, or risk not submitting it at all. You thought back to Rebecca’s words, about how she’d been too quick to assume that Roy wouldn’t give a shit, but you still wanted to try. If he was indifferent, it was still OK to actually submit it, surely?

You cleared your throat gently. “I finished the article,” you said, and Roy’s face hardened slightly, but he was still listening. “I know that you hate this kind of thing.”

Roy growled, but when you turned and caught his eye, you knew it wasn’t a full blown pissed off growl. It was more like a growl in agreement. You smiled at him, genuinely, flicking your eyes over the features of his face softly. “Yeah, I do,” he said abruptly. Your smile disappeared slowly. “But, if it helps you do something great, that’s a good fucking thing.” When he peered down at you, you felt immediately at ease. 

You huffed affectionately. “Really?” you asked, just to double check. This was what he did– made you feel special, made you feel heard. “That’s great, Roy, really.” You sighed in relief. “I was so nervous you wouldn’t like it at all, and when you get around to reading it I can make changes to anything you really don’t like–”

You were cut off by Roy laughing suddenly. It wasn’t a sound you’d heard often, but nevertheless it was something you welcomed. What he was laughing about, however, had you confused. 

“What?” you asked, smiling. 

Roy took a sip of beer before he met your gaze. “I’m not gonna fucking read it.”

Your heart dropped into your gut suddenly. “What?” you let out again, as butterflies tore their way through your internal organs. 

Roy breathed out. “I was never going to fucking read it. But, I did the interview and everything you wanted, right? That’s enough, isn’t it?”

You struggled to compute his words, and instead let out a chuckle instead of coherent words. You placed your glass down and took a few stumbling steps away from him, trying to figure out why the fuck he let you interview him, write about him, all of it, if he was never going to fucking read it in the end. This wasn’t how you rolled. You didn’t want people to do things like this for you if they didn’t want to, and Roy definitely fit in that box– even more so. The last thing you wanted to do was piss him off. 

“I– I’m just confused with this,” you said, trying not to lace too much annoyance within your words. “Why would you agree to this, if you were never going to read it when I was done?” Roy shrugged, but the pained look on his face revealed that there was more there. You stepped forward. “Why, Roy?”

“Because! I– fucking hell,” he exclaimed. He put down his drink as he found his words, and let out a sigh before he spoke. There was an exposed look on his face, one that you recognised as when someone was about to admit to something. “I struggle… saying no to you.”

Your blood boiled. It was a miracle you didn’t erupt on the spot, but you were too busy trying to stop your legs from turning to jelly, and your fingers, and your limbs. You peered up at Roy with wide eyes and the strangest urge to fucking bury yourself beneath the ground you stood on. If there was one thing you never wanted to be, it was an annoyance. Yet, with those six words, Roy had just admitted to how he’d never wanted to do the article in the fucking first place, but placed himself in that situation from not being able to deny you. 

It made you feel stupid. It made you feel mortified. How had you not noticed that he’d been utterly against it from the start?

“Oh my god,” you muttered, gobsmacked. “I’m an idiot.” Roy reached out for your arm, but you abruptly slalomed out of the way. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“How is that a bad thing? It meant you could still fucking write it, right?” Roy said, but he didn’t get it. He didn’t get how it felt when you realised you were nothing more than a blight on someone who didn’t actually give a shit. Someone stuck to his side, following him around, asking for things that he didn’t deny, just to appease you.

“How is that a bad thing?” you repeated him, raising your voice. “You never wanted to fucking do this in the first place, Roy, but you made me think that it was okay! Oh my god.” You smacked your hand over your mouth abruptly. “I stayed at your house for six fucking hours!”

You felt embarrassed. You felt like a nagging, boring uni student. 

“I don’t see why this is such a fucking issue,” Roy said, matching your anger.

“I never wanted to put you in an uncomfortable position, I wanted to write something good-”

“You did all that, so why do you need me to fucking read it?”

“Because I wrote it for you, Roy!” you exclaimed, and Roy’s mouth shut instantly. “I wrote this for you. I wanted to write something about you that you’d actually like reading.” You frowned at him, your eyes glassy. You weren’t expecting this to blow up in this, nor were you expecting Roy to completely ignore what you’d actually written. 

You desperately wished he’d read it and told you he hated it, instead of this outcome. 

You remembered what it had been like before. His attempts to avoid you, so that you wouldn’t bug him. His easiness at telling you to leave him the fuck alone. His aversion to being around you. All of this could have been fixed if he’d set up boundaries with you– boundaires to back the fuck off, ones that you would always uphold if you knew they’d been in place. 

“I don’t think anyone will be able to write something about me that I actually like,” Roy let out, and it only made your heart sink more. “That’s not on you. That’s on me.” He took a step towards you, but you only backed up when he did. 

“I won’t submit it,” you said suddenly. 

Roy furrowed his brows. “Why the fuck not?”

“I was never going to submit it without getting your approval first, Roy,” you said lowly. 

“I fucking approve!” he let out. 

You were shaking your head before he was even done talking. “I’ve made up my mind,” you said, before you forced yourself to look at him. You felt tearful, you felt childish, but most of all– you felt embarrassed of yourself. “I’m so sorry I roped you into this to begin with.”

“Hey,” he said strongly, and finally reached out to grab your forearm. “This isn’t a big deal.” You inhaled sharply when he got in close, trying and failing to make you believe anything different. He’d said how he felt so clearly that nothing was going to make you change your mind, and all you wanted to do now was give him space. 

“I beat myself up about asking you to do this,” you started. “I spoke to Keeley about it and everything, and she reassured me that it would be okay, that you’d say no if it was something you didn’t want to do. For fucks sake, Roy– this is a big deal,” you pleaded with him. “I stayed up all night to write it, I pored over old news stories about you, I fucking worked hard to make this something you’d like, was so excited about it, just for you to tell me you’d never planned on reading it from the beginning. Do you understand why I’m upset now?”

Roy’s expression softened. He hadn’t thought about it that way, hadn’t thought about the impact it would have on you when he spilled his true intentions.

“If you’d told me the truth from the start then it would have saved all of this from happening,” you added, and you gently tugged your arm out of his grasp. 

You sniffed, and let out an abrupt laugh from a lack of what else to fucking say. You felt gutted, worse than you’d feel if he’d read it and laughed about it being shit– that you could have taken on board and worked with, but this was a different ball park altogether. This was Roy not respecting his own boundaries to try and make you happy, only to have all your work, time and effort mean nothing at the end of the day. It felt like a slap in the face. 

You rationalised your feelings then, as quick as you could. You couldn’t deny the hurt you felt at Roy’s blatant dismissal of your work, but you also understood that he didn’t have any intention to hurt you. With that in mind, you turned back to him and softened your expression. You tried not to show how upset you were, you didn’t want to make him feel any fucking worse. 

“Next time, just let me know if you don’t want to do something, okay?” you said, but the wobble in your voice was noticeable. It hit Roy in the chest harshly, and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. 

You shuffled back to where your glass was and picked it up. You downed the rest of your beer, ignoring the painful bubbles in your chest, before you looked back at Roy and forced yourself to smile. “I need a refill. I’ll head back inside,” you said, and you didn’t give Roy a chance to respond before you entered, through the main door, back into the club. 

CHAPTER SIX

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes @20th-centu-fairy-girl@royalestrellas@weakmoony-stuff @ironmanmagnetfridge @lemonpiegurll @hellomagicalsouls @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld @old-enough-to-know-better73 @djarindroid @afraidofshrimp @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses @sogoodtoheritsvicious @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke @onceuponaoneshot @jamieolivia27 @dadbodfanatic-x @kelp-dreaming @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum @cha0sdreaming @toomany24s @kashee-h @infinetlyforgotten @secretnook @cluelesslilsharkie @callmecasey81 @deepdarkvelvet @twiceinabluemoon 

[jinmukangwrites]

prompt 20 with damian and jason (batfam)?

20: Blanket

Hey don't cry, AO3 still down drabble prompts

-o-o-o-o-

Jason heard scuffling at the other side of the bedroom wall. He frowned, pushing himself up to his elbows so he could check his phone for any break-in alerts. Nothing. Which meant someone used the code to get in, which meant it was a bat.

Tonight, he wasn't staying at one of his own safe houses, but at one of Bruce's. He got his ankle twisted and this one happened to be closer than his own houses, and he, at the time, really didn't want to stay on the ankle longer than he had to. He had called it an early night too, so when he looked at the time and saw it was nearing 3am, he wasn't too surprised to hear someone else moving around, especially considering he could hear the sound of a growing thunderstorm outside.

Moving carefully off the bed so the mattress didn't creak, he got to his feet and padded silently to the door. He creaked it open and squinted into the light of the combination living room, kitchen, and dining area. It wasn't a large safehouse, meant for one person really unless someone else wanted to sleep on the single couch.

Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw none other than a sopping wet Damian glaring at the open linen closet, wearing most of his Robin suit sans the mask. Jason wondered why the pipsqueak would be looking so upset at the closet, like it had killed his cat, but then he glanced back at his bed and realized he took all the blankets on the lower shelves.

He grinned, looking back at Damian as the boy considered his options. He studied the shelves, even placing a hand on a shelf, then thinking better of it and looking back at the kitchen for a chair to stand on.

Jason decided he'd save the kid from the embarrassment by offering a different kind of embarrassment. "Need help, squirt?"

Damian nearly jumped out of his skin, giving a small shout and pulling out one of his swords. His eyes landed on Jason quickly, and his defensive shock turned into a classic scowl.

"Jason. I was not aware you were here."

Jason stepped out of the door and leaned against the wall near the linen closet, smiling. "Sorry, next time I'll let you know."

Damian scowled harder, and Jason sent a smug look at the linen closet. "Need a hand?"

Damian's mouth thinned, looking like he would love nothing more than to argue, but Jason didn't give him a chance to. He shooed Damian out of the way and reached up in the closet, grabbing a blanket, but handing over a couple towels first. "Dry off, shrimp. Couch may be plastic lined but the blanket sure ain't. Besides, your lips are blue."

Damian huffed, snatching the towels and stomping to the bathroom. Jason smiled and grabbed a second blanket, walking to the couch and laying the first one down and tucking it between the practically vacuum sealed cushions. It was standard protocol for Batman safehouses; the couches are plastic lined and the beds have removable protective mats. Made it easier to get blood off if the only form of warmth you had was a crap ton of random blankets you could pull from the closet.

He looked at the second blanket in his hands, then stopped in distant surprise. He recognized this blanket. Dick gave it to him for his eleventh birthday. It was a simple one, two squares of plush fleece with unfinished edges, the blanket held together instead by inch wide cuts along the perimeter tied together with beads. Red, green, yellow.

At the time, Jason thought it was the coolest blanket. Now, he can see the imperfections of the most certainly handmade gift. He didn't know Bruce kept it, let alone if he even knew it was Jason's.

He ran his fingers along the fleece, some of the edges beginning to pill from use he never gave it.

He didn't have time to think about how he felt about that before Damian stomped back out of the bathroom, shoving the towels into a nearby hamper and snatching the blanket out of Jason's hands, plopping down onto the couch. He hadn't changed out of his Robin suit even though Jason knew there were several stored changes in the bathroom.

"Hmm, acceptable blanket, Jason. I like this one," Damian said, and Jason felt a genuine smile tug at his lips, something warm in his gut.

"I like that one too," was all he said before he ruffled his damp hair. Damian hissed and slapped his hand away, but he wasn't aggravated. He knew he was being teased, and he wasn't genuinely upset about it. "Make sure you're done shivering before you go back out," he continued.

"I know how to take care of myself," Damian huffed. "But... thank you."

Jason nodded, turning and waving a lazy finger-gun at the kid. "Night."

"... Goodnight, Jason."

[frankenjoly]

for the flirty threats: soukoku + "I don't think you realize how angry you make me." "Aw, I have that much of an effect on you?" 👀

“I don’t think you realize how angry you make me.” Chûya said, despite being more than well aware of the truth; Dazai did, and that was why he kept doing it. Pushing his buttons might easily be one of the bitch’s favorite hobbies at that point.

“Aw, I have that much of an effect on you?” Those words were accompanied by a fake innocent expression, with eyelashes fluttering and all that jazz.

Of course it did, god-fucking-damnit!! Chûya took pride in being quite the level-headed person most of the time, it was Dazai who mainly managed to throw that away. And holy shit, was he an expert at it. So much sometimes people had admitted they had thought of him as more prone to anger than he actually was, until realizing that wasn’t the case when his personal pain in the ass wasn’t around.

“If I say ‘yes’, will you cut the crap? At least for today?” He wasn’t such a fool to think calm could last more than twenty-four hours when it came to that guy, and honestly… It was a very annoying constant in his life, but one he had grown fond of, more or less. There was no way Chûya would admit that to him, at least not in the near future, but the absence of it those four years had been kind of boring.

“For you, maybe…” Dazai sing-songed, and he sighed. That could do, after all.

Chûya raised his hand, motioning toward him to seal the deal in a somewhat formal way. And it wasn’t until their hands were on each other’s when he proceeded to uphold his part of it.

“Yeah, you do have that much of an effect on me. For better or worse. Happy?”

Taking advantage of how their hands were still linked, Dazai pulled him closer, engulfing Chûya in a hug. He didn’t offer any resistance, but was ready to complain depending on what came next.

“Very much, can’t you see?”

(Also on ao3.)

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

BuckTommyWhumpWeek, Day 5 Concussion

All the Pain, Chapter 5 | Read on AO3 | In this chapter (CW): Tommy has a concussion, and all is not it seems to be. Hallucinations, vomiting. | @bucktommywhumpweek

(-> Chapter 1) (-> Chapter 2) (-> Chapter 3) (-> Chapter 4)

Later, Tommy won't be able to remember how he staggered out of the house.

Or what's left of it. There is still something left, but he doesn't know that yet. The darkness is no longer quite so oppressive because he can see a few stars above him. The house, however, is surrounded by a cloud of smoke and dust. It's surreal, like in a dream. Tommy takes a few steps, looks back, staggers on and looks back again, but none of it seems to become any more real. 

His eyes hurt. Perhaps these are, poetically speaking, unshed tears. It's probably more the smoke and all the dust that's on his retinas, but perhaps it's appropriate to mourn this house. It was nothing special, but it was his. And Evan liked it. Evan, he remembers, who is now lying under the rubble of Tommy's bathroom and who desperately needs help. It's time to look away from the debris, to look ahead for rescue. Tommy knows that's an euphemism. It's hard to organize his thoughts or concentrate on anything.

One last look. He can't see any fire, but where there's smoke, there's fire, pretty sure; you don't have to be a firefighter to know that. Something seems to be lying at the back of the house, on or near the garage, as if something had fallen from the sky and chosen his house, of all places, to rest upon. Was it an earthquake after all? A storm that blew something over from the neighborhood? The weather forecast didn't say anything. Tommy doesn't really recognize what’s lying there, either. For a moment, the impulse to turn back to the ruins of his house is very strong. Because he doesn't recognize it from here, which is kind of strange, after all, as a pilot he needs a flawless vision. There's just something in his eyes, and when he strokes them, his fingers are wet. Maybe he has shed a tear over all this crap after all. Or maybe it's blood. Didn't Evan say he was bleeding?

Evan. The thought strikes him like a bolt of lightning, which is somewhat ironic. Tommy will have to tell him about it later, when everything is all right again. There's a joke in this, isn't there? Something-something about a lighting strike. As he trots on, the thought is lost.

It’s only at the edge of the forest, the first sparse foothills of vegetation, that Tommy turns around once more. It's actually strange, he thinks as he looks at the smoking remains of his house, that he has settled at the edge of the woods. A firefighter playing with fire, so to speak – forest fires are a real danger in California, especially in the summer months. For a moment, he stands there no longer knowing why he’s here. He feels a little dizzy and stretches out his hand to hold on to a tree. The bark is crumbling under his palm, it has been dry recently. 

The house. He needs to get help for Evan.

Tommy shakes his head, as if to organize his thoughts, but it hurts, and it doesn't help one bit. It's all a bit confusing, and it's all a bit much. He's lost a lot back there, and if he doesn't hurry, he'll lose the most important thing in his life too. Why did he walk so far? What did he want here? 

Tommy fumbles for the phone, it's still in his pocket. He pulls it out and stares at it as if he doesn't even know what it's for anymore. Then he remembers. He had no signal in the house (in the ruins). But out here... Tommy presses the buttons, but nothing happens. He shakes the phone as if it would do any good and stares at it in disbelief. Is it broken? 

“Hey,” someone shouts, “hey, Sir! Please help me!”

Tommy slowly turns towards the forest. Someone is coming from there, limping forward, it's a bit of a blur. Tommy wipes his eyes again, he still seems to be bleeding, but he doesn't even know why anymore. 

“What's going on?” he asks.

That is a complex question, but not for the man stumbling out of the forest. The guy is limping and bleeding from his forehead. He looks kind of familiar to Tommy, but it's still pretty dark, and Tommy somehow just can't see properly. This is becoming increasingly frustrating.

“A fire,” says the stranger. “Do you have a signal?”

“No,” Tommy replies regretfully, waving the phone in his hand. “But I'm a firefighter. Where's the fire?”

The man stops, leans forward and rests his hands on his knees to catch his breath. A good-looking guy, apart from the fact that his forehead and legs are bleeding, and he’s quite tall and beefy. The type of guy you should expect to handle with an emergency by himself. Instead, he ran away to get help, which is probably the more reasonable way, especially if there’s a fire.

“Fireman, huh?” says the guy, ”great, but without tools... Isn't there a house back there? We could ask for help.”

“There used to be a house. I need help myself,” says Tommy, as if he's just now remembering. “My boyfriend, he's trapped...”

“Well, mine is too. A friend, I mean, not my boyfriend. Guess I’m straight.”

The man lets out a strange laugh, and Tommy feels a cold shiver creep down his spine. Something is odd here, a heartbeat off track. But he can’t put his finger on it. All he knows is that someone needs help. Now it seems to be two people already, and he's in the middle, it seems to be a kind of stalemate.

“Where's the fire?” he asks, more urgently.

“Back there, by the road,” says the stranger, pointing vaguely behind him. “He's trapped in a car.”

There really is a street back there, Tommy knows that much, the main road. He lives close to a feeder road.

“You could have stopped another car. Or call the fire department,” Tommy points out. 

“I've tried everything. It's the middle of the night, damn it. Are you coming now?”

Tommy feels his legs start to move, although the movement doesn't reach his brain until a moment later. He’s on autopilot now, because there’s been an accident, there’s a fire and someone’s trapped. Evan is trapped, too, but he can’t help him, he needs a working phone. Maybe the main road is his best chance, there will be cars, right? Even if that guy – what even is his name? – says he couldn’t stop one, that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Tommy is sure he can’t save the guy’s friend. If he’s trapped in a burning car, there’s not much he can do, he’s probably already dead. It’s a weirdly disconnected thought, but Tommy knows why. Because Evan is still alive, and he can still help him. 

“So, a boyfriend, eh?” says the man, almost in a conversational tone, as they wander through the dark forest. “Been together for long?”

“Only a couple of months,” Tommy returns.

“That's longer than I've ever been with a woman. Which probably says something about me. And… is he worth it?”

That’s a weird question from a stranger, a stranger he’s walking through the woods with. But that's exactly the point, isn't it? The question of whether something is worth the risk. Tommy knows his way around here, he would probably find the road in his sleep, and although his head hurts and he has trouble looking straight ahead, he knows that there must be a reason why he didn't walk in the other direction. Or it is simply coincidence. But now it's too late, because now he's met this guy, and Tommy is a first responder, he would never dodge a call for help.

“He is,” he replies, because it's true. It was selfish thoughts as he pondered about whether this man's friend could still be saved and that he was actually just running to the road to get help for Evan. More selfish than perhaps ever before in his life. 

��I think I can see the road.”

The stranger points ahead, and sure enough, the trees thin out again. The blackness of the night has given way to a flat gray. The road must be behind the trees, it's close.

“I don't see any fire,” says Tommy.

“I see it,” goes the guy, and suddenly, he pushes Tommy forward. “Hurry up.”

“All right,” says Tommy, confused. “Just give me a minute, I feel kind of sick.”

He leans on a tree, more clinging to it. His stomach revolts, there’s bile in his mouth. 

“It'll be fine,” says the man. “Go on.”

Somehow, Tommy does indeed keep walking. If he doesn't, he knows he's going to puke, and then what? Who's going to help this guy, who's going to help Evan if he doesn't pull himself together? Tommy stumbles out of the woods and is suddenly standing on the main road. He takes a step back, he can hardly believe it himself, but there’s solid asphalt beneath him again. Just the road, right and left, empty and gray like the sky that announces the morning. 

“Where's the car?” he asks as he turns around. 

The guy is no longer behind him. Where did he go? As if he were sleepwalking, Tommy steps into the middle of the road. Maybe it is a dream after all. 

“Just keep walking.”

Tommy turns around again, but there's no one there. Was there ever? Is anything real? Fear creeps up inside him, leaves his skin clammy. Maybe he’s going insane. 

“There’s the car,” says the invisible voice, and Tommy hears a sound, almost a sob. It’s himself, because what is he to do if he’s imagining things? What is happening?

He looks ahead. A last, sane thought in his brain tells him that the cars are heading towards the city from there. It is early morning. It's a commuter road, isn't it? And those… those are spotlights. There’s a car on the road, and it’s coming towards him. The lights blind him, and his eyes hurt so much, but Tommy is rowing his arms. He thinks he's calling something too, and maybe the next sound is squealing tires. There's someone there, someone is talking, aren’t they? Tommy can barely hear it. He's choking, everything is on fire now, and he's puking his guts out on the middle of the road. 

Maybe there is a fire, and it's consuming him from the inside. It's not quite right, but it's not quite wrong either. Because it’s true. Whatever’s going on, Tommy’s world is on fire somehow. For whatever reason, he's suddenly on his back, and there are stars above him; stars, slowly fading into the pale grey of the morning. There's no road beneath him, there's only soil.

He's alone. This feels wrong. Because if there really is a fire somewhere, then he has to do something about it. Evan is still there. He can't lose him. There's still so much... so much he needs to tell him.

It's the last thing on Tommy's mind before the sky suddenly decides that it's nightfall after all, and the darkness engulfs him.

[silvergolddraco28]

He’s Mine- Ch 2- Shadow’s Prize

FYI this is crossposted on AO3 and as such i’ll be leaving out the more ‘spicy’ parts on the Tumblr version so some chapters might be shorted on Tumblr because i had to cut out some of the lemon and spice.

Anyway please give a hand or limb to my partner in crime as we give this Sun and Moon pair a twisted wonderland of love!

@Sanityisinthemusic

_————_

Returning to consciousness was a grueling experience as they fought against the pain coursing through their body, forcing their eyes to open. They were laid out on a large and soft bed with thick bandages around their bare chest while some sort of splint was around their left leg. On their right leg was a glowing purple shackle and chain firmly attached to the foot of the large bed. ‘Crap…’ they mentally cursed, raising a hand to the black choker around their throat and feeling an embossing of a crescent moon with a familiar name ‘Liuer Mihou’ along the enchanted material. “…fuck…” the golden furred being cursed.

A dark-coated humanoid male monkey perked up with a wide smirk as he quietly closed the book he had been reading while keeping an eye on the other. He was sitting comfortably in a plush armchair in the corner of the room. "Nice to see you're finally awake Wukong." He stood from his spot and approached the golden monkey, placing the book on the nightstand by the bed, next to a cup of water and a little bowl of fruit he'd brought in while the king was sleeping. "How ya feeling bud? You were in pretty bad shape when I got to you two. Had to be if those thugs were causing you enough trouble to finally get in touch." The words were as curious as they were mocking as he watched the other.

The golden monkey, Wukong, gave a rather weak glare in return. “I didn't have much of a choice while being chased for over a month all over the city with guns. Bad enough with this damn collar restricting everything.” Wukong replied the words flowing without much of a filter with the collar around his throat humming with a strong compulsion to give answers to its ‘Master’.

The black monkey chuckled. "I don't know, I kind of like it. It suits you." He purred, reaching down to finger the collar, pulling it ever so slightly. He particularly liked the label that he'd noticed had appeared on it while he was cleaning the other up. He never had thought he'd see him wear anything with his name on it, but he was enjoying the sight. "What is it anyway? How'd they even get it on you? Oh wait, they used the kid right?"

Wukong pulled away. “It's an enslavement collar. The group that cornered us invoked an old arcane demon law the ‘Right of Mating Conquest’ in other words a ‘Demon Mate Hunt’. The collar is meant to mark the being that the law has been activated on and reduce any powers they have to nearly ten percent before shocking them with divine energy if they go over the ‘allowance’. The name and crest of the demon that manages to ‘capture’ the one the demon law has marked appears on the collar in response. The collar can't be removed until after a century or an heir is produced.” Wukong rattled off wincing as he tried to stop but the collar simply hummed and pulsed pulling more words out to the questions the dark monkey had asked. “The second aspect was that if the one marked has already claimed an heir be it by blood or by magic then the heir is reduced in age until they are young enough to imprint on a new ‘parent’.”

"Huh. So that's why the kid shrunk." He muttered, a smile falling away as he took all of that in. Wukong was his mate. He was bound to him for a century. And he was so incredibly, tantalizingly weak right now. His tail flicked behind him as he drew his head back. "Also explains why you haven't already broken your restraint." He glances down at the shackle that had, much to his surprise, not been broken the moment the other awoke. Thinking about it, that also explained why he wasn't healing the way he usually would. He couldn't stop himself from grinning if he tried as he sat next to the king who was his mate now apparently. "Thousands of years of life, and you finally got caught up in something like this. It's kind of hard to believe. And to think, you'd choose to let me be your mate. I'm honored." He reached out and poked the sage in the nose, just to annoy him a little bit more. This was all way too much for Mihou.

The poke did much more than just annoy the golden monkey as slivers of golden cracks spread making the golden monkey’s eyes shrink. ‘The glamors!’ He thought in shock as the thick illusions shattered like glass. Crystallized red sclera with molten gold irises was revealed first while just above the demonic eyes was a familiar golden crown battered with age while snuggly set in a notable dent along his head. He knew his body was littered with scars both from battle and with missing patches of fur from either being skinned off or burned to a degree that fur refused to grow there for a couple of decades. He also knew that his actual fur was rather matted and hadn't been given proper grooming in centuries given how he always wore clothes that covered all of his body just in case he was in battle and had to save power by dropping sections of his glamor.

Mihou froze, eyes wide as he took in what happened. The injuries and that collar were taking more out of Wukong than he thought. He hadn't seen him unarmored in... how long had it even been? Probably since the mountain. His eyes slowly roved over the monkey, taking in the spots he could see. The matting was new, but it's not like he would be much better if he dropped his glamor, with no good way to groom the hard-to-reach spots with nobody around to help. He wondered briefly how the mountain monkeys had let him get this bad but focused back on his ‘mate’. Those eyes, he remembered them. Unlike his former golden, unburned eyes, those red eyes only seemed to know how to glare at him. Until today, at least. He honestly kind of liked them when they weren't trying to burn a hole through his skull, but he'd never tell Wukong that. Those weren't the things that grabbed his attention though. A sharp laugh ripped its way out of him, sounding nearly hysterical as he wrapped his arms around his stomach. "They- they left that- they left that damn thing on?" He gasped for breath through the laughter, fighting it back so he could talk. "You've got to be fucking kidding me! After all of that," the laughter died down, but the disbelieving smile stayed in place, "after you broke off nearly every connection you had, after you killed me, after everything you did, they left that damn crown on you!" He shook his head, still grinning. "What a waste. You really should've just let me kill the stupid monk and been done with the whole thing."

“It wasn't my choice! Heaven deemed it necessary after I killed you the Celestial Monkey of Wind and my direct elemental opposite.” Wukong snapped back before the collar caused his throat to lock up with an intense shock of lightning like every arcing through his body coupled with the golden crown around his head giving a squeeze in response to the divine energy coursing through it and causing it to activate.

Mihou blinked, brows furrowing in confusion for a moment. He frowned when he noticed the crown activate. He couldn't stand that thing. Heaven using his death as an excuse to leave it on his head was appalling. "I didn't want that left on you in the first place Wukong. Don't go snapping at me because the Jade Emperor used me as an excuse. "

The ‘order’ caused the collar to glow around Wukong's throat as the next words were forced out by the collar. “Yes, Master Macaque."

Macaque's eyes grew round, mouth hanging open as he stared at the other. "I might hate the circlet but I think I like that collar more by the minute," he muttered.

Wukong glared at the black monkey before tearing his eyes away, looking around for Mk. Now rendered mute he couldn't speak at all unless it was to Macaque’s direct questions or orders. ‘Gods I hate this thing!’ Wukong mentally thought to himself half wondering if Macaque was going to abuse the power the collar now gave him.

Macaque grinned again, surprised but amused at the lack of response. He wondered if that was a thing with the collar too. He placed one of his elbows on his knee, bent under him on the bed to better face the king, so he could rest his head in one hand. "Whatcha looking for Peaches?"

The collar glowed as Wukong ‘answered’ the question. “I'm looking for Qi Xiaotain, Master.”

"Gods that's funny, but I don't know how much I like the constant subservient thing. You can just talk Wukong." He said, still grinning. It was so fun and he could probably just make him go back to this any time he wanted, but there was no fun in the Monkey King not being able to respond to his jabs at all. "And Qi Xiaotian is fine." He held out his arms and a shadow portal appeared above them. Out popped a tiny little boy in orange pjs (that he'd just stolen through a shadow portal from somewhere but Wukong didn't need to know that) with a red ribbon tied around his forehead. He caught the child, dozing at the moment just like he'd been when he last checked on him. "See? He's fine."

Wukong rolled his head as the collar ‘unlocked’ his voice as he plucked the sleeping child from Macaque’s arms, a rumbling monkey purr of contentment came from his chest at seeing Mk wasn't harmed at all and was instantly snuggling into Wukong. A sleepy baby monkey chirp escaped the child, making Wukong almost freeze in fear. ‘Crap! Macaque doesn't know about that!’ He remembered how protective Macaque was over Cubs back in their younger years, far more when Wukong was near them or directly taking care of an orphaned cub.

Macaque did not attempt to stop Wukong from taking the kid, their kid now apparently, away from him. He liked that thought. And then he heard it. His smile froze, eyes widening slightly as seemed to focus in on the little boy in Wukong's arms. "Wukong. Wukong did Xiaotian just...?" He looked back up into the other's eyes. That... changed some things.

“He gave a chirp. He’s been around the mountain for nearly two years he was going to pick up things from the troop.” Wukong replied not exactly lying even though he knew the truth about why Mk chirped like a baby monkey.

Macaque eyed the other, frowning. His eyes drifted back to the tiny Xiaotian, humming. "Chirp to him," he ordered.

Wukong gave a chirp in accordance to the order instantly getting a sleepy response from Mk that seemed to rouse the child from his dozed state.

"You're such a liar." He leaned forward, gently running his claws through Xiaotian's hair- no, he supposed it was fur on top of his head, very lightly scratching. "Is this a result of him being the heir, or was he always a monkey cub?"

“He was always a Cub as Nuwa designed… a stone monkey without flaws,” Wukong answered while mentally cursing out the collar around his throat.

His tail flicked behind him in interest, eyes staying on the little one clinging so happily to his former mentor-turned-parent. "Did he even know that, or did you forget to mention it like you do most things?"

“Nuwa did not want him growing under my care after he hatched nor did she want him knowing he wasn't even human. I sealed away his power and took him to the place Nuwa told me he was to be raised until the day he took up my staff and broke the seal.” Wukong responded to the inquiry as the truth came out.

"Guess Nuwa's plan didn't quite work out the way she'd hoped." He pulled his hand back from the cub, looking up at Wukong. "It's no wonder he was able to adapt so well to your powers." This also explained why taking what he had been fairly sure were Wukong's powers had done him no good. "Looks like you'll be raising him after all. Looking forward to it?" He smiled now, in what could be seen as a soft way. His tail waved behind him, the only true hint of the seeming excitement he felt over this new information.

“Yes.” Wukong softly responded as he looked down at the child in his arms who finally woke up looking about with wonder before looking up at Wukong.

“Mama!” the child grinned, Wukong’s eyes went wide in response with a scarlet blush on his cheeks.

‘I have enough of that from the orphaned cubs! Now my cub is calling me mama?!?’

Macaque chuckled fondly. "You always did get pinned as the maternal type with the cubs, huh? Not that surprising when you dote on them so much."

The child turned his head to the dark monkey tilting his head curiously before he spoke with just as happy a tone as he had with Wukong. “Baba!"

The smile only grew on Macaque's face as he plucked the child from his King's arms, grinning. "Hey there bud. Have a nice nap?" He asked, holding the child to his chest now, one arm supporting him and the other hand pressing against his back. His tail curled around the child possessively.

The child nodded, snuggling his face into Macaque’s chest imprinting upon Macaque’s scent and heartbeat. Mk gave a little chirp to Macaque, one that called for a cub’s parents.

Macaque immediately chirped back, soothing and assuring the cub that he was here, and all was safe. His tail tip twitched back and forth, enjoying this moment more than he ever would have even thought possible. He dropped the glamor over his ears, letting himself hear the little one's heartbeat as he gently rocked back and forth.

“Pretty,” Mk commented on the softly glowing lotus petal ears with wonder in his eyes.

Macaque paused briefly, before tilting his head slightly and making his ears twitch. "Thanks."

Mk giggled while Wukong just watched the entire interaction with dread in his stomach. ‘How am I supposed to get away with Mk now that Macaque has gotten attached?! Damn it! What am I going to do once Macaque starts showing his twisted nature from the Diyu?’ Wukong mentally worried for Mk’s safety and the young one’s now impressionable mind as he felt the seal on the child keeping his form human getting chipped away by Macaque’s power overruling the old seal.

A soft glow of golden light grew over the boy making Mk sneeze causing dark chocolate brown fur to spread along the child’s body with twin tails swaying behind the child the left dipped in gold and the right dipped in a dark purple while a pale red flame mask decorated Mk’s little face with peach colored dots under his eyes mimicking freckles while fluttering on the sides of his head were six cute lotus ears that started a bright gold before fading to a deep purple with specks of white looking like the between sunset and moon rise with the first stars of the night. His eyes had also changed to both irises were a mixed shade of gold but his left sclera was a light red while the right sclera was a rich purple.

Macaque's eyes widened for a moment before a loud, deep purr caused his chest to rumble under the child. He lowered his head and nuzzled his nose into his little cub, closing his eyes for a moment as the pleasure of everything took over, breathing in the smells of peaches and rain, a wonderful combination of their unique scents. He opened his eyes and glanced at Wukong through his laches, paying little attention to the frown on the other's face. "He even looks like our cub, Gem," he whispered. "He's so beautiful."

“That's not how he looked when he was hatched…” Wukong softly muttered as Mk rubbed against the nose giggling at the affection as his twin tails coiled around Macaque’s arm like a typical young monkey’s tail would.

Macaque chuckled again at his cub's antics. "Oh, and what did he look like before?" He asked, pressing a kiss to his and Wukong's little one's head.

“Light brown fur, a single tail, a pair of monkey ears, and a very light heart-shaped pink mask…” Wukong trailed off in contemplation. “Could his core have changed…?” Wukong mused knowing he didn't exactly have the spare power to check at the moment.

"It's possible I suppose. Maybe it's a reaction to the collar's magic?" He mused aloud, lifting his head from the squirming cub, unable to stop himself from focusing on those wonderful six ears of his. "A response to my victory and you becoming my mate?" He shifted the hand on his child's back up to his shoulders and used his thumb to ever so gently pet one set of those delicate ears.

Mk instantly seemed to go boneless as his ears were petted giving purrs and chirps of bliss leaning into the hand for more.

His tail tip flicked again, before drifting from where it had been around the little one safe in his arms and bumping Wukong's tail. He slid the tail underneath the tail of the golden monkey and wrapped his tail around the other's as he continued to pet the little one's ears, knowing from experience exactly how to treat such delicate appendages.

Wukong suppressed a flinch at the contact as well as forcing his tail to stay still. He did not want to make Macaque upset with him nor did he want to find out exactly what Macaque would do if Wukong did something the shadow monkey did not like at all. ‘Typical demons punish those that anger or disappoint them. I rather not find out how extreme that would turn out to be with Macaque.’ Wukong thought in mild fear.

Mihou hummed. He couldn't help the satisfaction of seeing his King submit to his loyal warrior. He glanced at the nightstand before looking back at the other. "How painful is moving right now?"

“A five on a ten scale,” Wukong replied.

"Got enough strength to hold a glass of water or sit up?" Mihou asked next.

“I can hold a Cub. A glass of water should be fine.” Wukogn replied as he forced himself to sit up before reaching over for the glass of water, easily holding it in his grip and bringing it to his lips to down in a few gulps.

"Then the glass of water on the nightstand is yours." He nodded toward the nightstand, not quite up to even taking a hand off of the cub despite knowing that the child probably had a good enough grip by now to stay where he was if he let his free hand. "So is the big bowl of fruit. There's a peach or two in there I think, I just grabbed some at random."

“Not very hungry,” Wukong replied. Having forgone the effort to eat in case of any drugs in any of his food for the past month he didn't feel safe enough just yet to eat he did make sure to feed Mk though even if it had been a very embarrassing thing he had to do.

He hummed. "You need to make sure to take care of yourself for the cub. You sure you don't want it?" Macaque raised an eyebrow at the other.

The collar glowed softly along his throat. “I am hungry but I don't feel safe enough to eat.” the words were pulled from Wukong’s throat.

Mihou hummed at that. He should probably be offended, but he can't blame his King for being uncomfortable after all he'd had to go through in this last month. And the pathetic lowlives that must have been desperate enough to use the kid against him to get that collar on him? The bastards he'd slaughtered for daring to try to touch his sunshine? He could see them resorting to all sorts of nasty tricks to win that little game of cat and mouse they were playing with the great sage. The reminder of that annoyed him greatly, that anyone would dare touch his king . He looked down at the little one again and stopped petting his ear, smiling down at the pout that earned him. "Xiaotian, you want to go back to Mama? Baba needs to do something," he told the little one.

“Okay! Hungry Mama!” Mk cheerfully stated as he was handed over to Wukong who gave a faint blush looking away from Macaque as the cub began to breastfeed from the golden monkey a trait the golden monkey was a bit embarrassed about along with the fact of his duel gender most didn't even know about.

Macaque chuckled. "Nothing new to me peaches. It's nice to see you getting in touch with your feminine side." His tail swayed in amusement as it released the other's lighter tail. Scooting forward, Macaque grabbed the bowl of fruit. He set it securely in his lap and pulled out the peach that was sitting near the top of the little pile. Holding out one hand, shadows gathered and condensed, shifting and solidifying into a wickedly sharp blade. He sliced out a wedge. Letting the knife disappear, he gently pried the soft fruit away from the stone hidden beneath. He showed this to Wukong before taking a small bite of the wedge, going through the process of chewing and swallowing it before he leaned forward. He placed the peach in front of the other's lips. "There, see, it's safe. Eat."

Wukong didn't have much of a choice as he bit into the peach held against his lips. He was being hand-fed while Mk watched them as the cub ‘ate’ his meal.

"Good boy. That wasn't too hard was it." Mihou's tail flicked behind him in amusement as he smirked at the king. "I'm going to take good care of you two, so you've got to let me, okay? And that includes needing to eat so you can heal up."

Wukong only nodded once in understanding. ‘I forgot how sharp Macaque could create his shadows when he wanted to go ‘hunting’.’ Wukong thought. He was very much aware that Macaque had trained as an assassin before he became Wukong’s Shadow General and his closest adviser until the fallout with Heaven.

"Good." Mihou continued feeding the king slices of peach, having him finish the entire thing before he stopped, dropping the pit through a shadow portal. He sat back, leaning on his hands after putting the bowl back on the nightstand. 'I wonder if I'll ever get bored of any of this. Not likely.' The King was bound to him now, and they had a cub. He doubted Wukong would stay this submissive once he was healed, but he was looking forward to that. "So, what are the limitations of that collar? Do you know that? I have a hard time believing it can restrain someone as stubborn as you that thoroughly. Not at full health surely?"

“There aren't any. This collar was made specifically for powerful demons. Even at the start of all this when I was completely fine the moment this collar appeared my power was cut into and diverted to power the collar’s enchantments while leaving a ten percent ‘allowance’ for daily use. I’m not even sure if there are limitations and if there are they were never leaked by any that had been under its influence.” Wukong replied with a grimace as Mk snuggled into his side sleeping off his ‘meal’.

"If it's feeding off of your magic, it's indestructible," Macaque mused. He leaned forward and placed his hand on the side of Wukong's neck, running his thumb over the engraving on his name. "I doubt there's anyone in the three realms that could remove it." He smiled again, tail swaying happily behind him as he said that. "Man, talk about a role reversal."

Wukong lightly shuttered under the touch. ‘Damn, my touch-starved body…’ Mihou paused briefly, watching the other's face contemplatively. He was tense, but he'd been tense the entire time. He didn't notice any signs of fear. That smile came back to his face as the other possibility crossed his mind.

"Oh wow, someone's sensitive." He chuckled, raising the hand experimentally to rub lightly against his cheek. “And here I thought by this point the kid would have gotten you pretty used to physical affection." He glanced briefly toward the dozing cub before looking back into those gold and scarlet eyes.

Wukong couldn't help it as his eyes slipped closed and he nuzzled into the hand, his tail lightly wagging at the contact. He might have been used to the kid touching him and his monkeys but that was as far as he aloud other than in battle and even then he was high on adrenaline to focus on how touch-starved he was.

Macaque smirked. He was sensitive. He couldn't believe he'd missed this, but they'd barely had a chance to touch at all outside of combat. He wasn't any better if he were, to be honest, he might be worse. But Wukong didn't need to know that. "My poor king must have been so neglected in my absence." He purred lowly, shifting his body and allowing himself to sit closer to the king. He knelt on the bed, before twisting and letting himself half lay next to his king, wrapping his tail around his leg and nuzzling the king's shoulder before rubbing his cheek against the other, spreading his scent onto the king. "We'll have to work on that, won't we?" Macaque let his arm wrap around Wukong's waist, rubbing his side gently as his other hand carded through the fur on the yellow monkey's head.

Wukong couldn't help the low purrs that escaped him as he was physically soothed into melting into the other’s warmth and touch while true sleep tugged at his mind reminding him he hadn't slept in over five days.

Mihou's tail wrapped around the other's again, purring back at the king as he continued to nuzzle him, encouraging him to relax more into his warrior's hold.

Soon enough Wukong nodded off using Macaque’s shoulder as a pillow as he slept with deep and steady breaths completely relaxed into the other’s touch like clay.

Mihou looked down at the sleeping pair, fingers still buried deeply in Wukong's fur. His eyes lingered on the baby monkey snoozing soundly against Wukong's other side. He'd move the child between them if he wasn't worried about disturbing the two. He'd protect them. Wukong was going to be practically defenseless for a long time now, and who knew when Xiaotian would start growing or even maybe being able to fight? There was some time before that would be possible. So he'd protect them, keep them under his watchful eye, and never let anyone harm them again. Without anywhere to go without disturbing the king, he closed his eyes and purred contentedly, knowing that his king and his son would be safely next to him when he awoke, exactly should always be.

[five-rivers]

Memorandum

*Banging pots and pans together* GEN REX FANS COME GET YOUR FOOD.

AO3

.

Skwydd woke suddenly.  

After years living on the street, he'd become a light sleeper.  Being able to spring into action at a moment's notice was a life skill.  Or, you know, trauma.  But it was easier to think of it as a cool trick.

That being said, he didn't always know what it was that woke him.  Which was… not great for his nerves.  

This time, though…

He sat up slowly and turned his head scanning the apartment.  People didn’t usually realize it, but one of his EVO adaptations was low-light vision, It was why he was usually the lookout.  Not that he needed it this time.  The light was on in the ‘kitchenette,’ which wasn’t really a kitchenette at all, but the doorless cubby they’d stuffed their microwave and hot plates into.  It was big enough for two people to squeeze in at a time, if they weren’t particularly big on personal space.

It wasn’t really the kind of place an intruder would be hanging out in, so Skwydd got up to look without making all that much of an effort to be sneaky.  Inside, bent double over the shelf they used as a counter, was Tuck.  

“What are you doing?” asked Skwydd.  

Tuck startled, hitting his head on the shelf above, and jostling several metal scraps to the floor.  “Ow!”

Skwydd ignored him, staring at the scraps.  “Is that Rex’s journal?” he asked.    

“Yeah,” said Tuck, picking up the scattered pieces.  “So what?”

“So, what are you doing with it?”

“I’m trying to fix it.”

Skwydd crossed his arms and leaned against the corner where the cubby let out into the rest of the room.  “Why?”  

Tuck turned and frowned at it, the inhuman lines of his face making the expression difficult to read, even for him.  “You know, before Quarry pulled this thing out, I never would have thought Rex would have sold us out.”

“Just let it rest.”  Skwydd and Cricket certainly wanted to, if for different reasons.  “It’s like he said, he’s basically a different person now.”

“That’s not what I meant.  I mean, why did we believe it after?”

“What d’you mean?”

“We’re not wearing tattoos for the fashion statement,” said Tuck.  “And, think about it.  Rex gives up his journal to Quarry, and Quarry just… keeps it handy?  For three years?  When he didn’t think Rex was ever going to come back?”

“Yeah, so he could play mind games with us.”

“Mind games he waited three years for?  Come on, like, we knew Rex.  And we know him now, sort of.  And then there’s this.  One of these things doesn’t fit.”

“We thought we knew him.”

“How many kids did he cure when he was with us?  He didn’t double cross any of them, far as I know.  And he freaking cried when he couldn’t cure someone.”

“Okay, and what’s your theory?  John Scarecrow?  Some kind of deepfake?  It sounded just like Rex.”

“Yeah,” said Tuck, picking up a screwdriver and playing with it.  “Just like him.  Hey, d’you remember what Rex sounded like back then?  Before he disappeared?  Or do you just know what he sounds like now?  ‘Cause, I can’t be sure I do.”

“Yeah, yeah, and what’s your theory?”  There was some movement behind him, and Skwydd was aware he was being maybe a little loud.  Cricket had still been sleeping.  "Remember, Rex said he had a- a memory flash or whatever of taking Quarry's offer."

“I don't know.  But Rex, he could be a jerk sometimes, but our Rex– the only way I can think of that our Rex would have willingly given this up – and freaking unlocked it for Quarry to snoop – is if he got his memory back or if he had no idea what it was."

"Holy crap," whispered Cricket behind Skwydd.  "Do you really think that's what happened?  Rex lost his memory and Quarry scammed him into leaving?"

"Honest?"  Tuck laughed humorlessly.  "I dunno that this's even Rex's journal."  He dropped the screwdriver on the shelf.  "I thought maybe if I get this put back together, it'd be blank except the one video or something, or if it was the real one, then there’d be something about Quarry one way or the other, but I'm not Rex.  I can't talk to machines, and even he didn't think he could get anything out of this one." 

"But if it isn't," said Cricket, "then where's the real one?"

"Who freaking knows.”  It wasn’t a question, more an exclamation of defeat.  “It’s been years.”

“Do you think we should talk to Rex about this?” asked Crickey, audibly trying to keep herself calm.  “Like, if we really think it wasn’t him in the recording…”

“But we don’t know,” said Tuck.  “We don’t know.  And even if we did know, we still believed…”  He covered his mouth with his hand, elbow firmly set on the shelf.  Almost like he was grinding it in, trying to make it hurt.  

He was going to break that if he wasn’t careful.  The shelf wasn’t that stable.  

“Would it do any good, either way?” Skwydd found himself asking out loud.  “Would it do more harm than good?  Since we don’t know…  Maybe he did do it.  We can’t tell.”

“Yeah, exactly.”  Tuck’s voice was muffled by his hand, barely understandable.

“What,” said Cricket, looking back and forth between them.  “You can’t be serious.  You just had this whole big thing about how it wouldn’t make sense for him to do it.  Like, it’s completely out of character, right?  That’s what you said.”

“Yeah, well, the world doesn’t make sense, did you ever think of that?”  Tuck got up and roughly pushed past Skwydd, the ribbons that made up his body briefly unknotting and brushing by him.  

“Hey!” said Cricket.  “Hey!  Why are you so mad?  You’re the one that brought it up!

Tuck spared Cricket a withering glare and otherwise only stopped long enough on the way out of the apartment to grab his hoodie and throw it over his head, so he wouldn’t be instantly pegged as an EVO.  

“What gives!?”  she started to go after him, but Skwydd caught her arm.  

“He needs time to cool off,” he said.  “Just let him be.”

Cricket glared at him and shook him off, but went back to her cot.  

“I don’t get it,” said Cricket.  “If we don’t think he actually sold us out, isn’t letting him think he did kind of a crappy thing to do?”

“Maybe, if we had proof one way or another,” said Skwydd.  “But we don’t.”  He stepped into the kitchenette and picked up a piece of the PDA, examining the sharp edge where Rex had cut it with his giant sword.

“Just, he’s our friend, isn’t he?  He helped us.”

Skwydd shrugged, trying not to show how much this was affecting him.  “It’s like he said.  He’s a different person now.”  He let the piece fall back to the table with a clatter.  “In the end, he didn’t want to know about the past, either.”

He turned off the kitchenette light and went back to bed.  He pretended not to hear Cricket when she asked, “Isn’t that just because he thought we were more important?”

[caranfindel]

Fic: Go on and kiss the girl

genre: het | length: about 3800 words | rating: pg 13? r? i dunno; sex happens but nothing explicit | characters: dean winchester, sam winchester, ofc

Synopsis: A few years ago, several of us plotted out an entire alternate season 12, which would take place on a boat. Go take a look, it is marvelous. (Oh, all those missing friends; it makes me sad.) Anyway. I wrote one of the stories I pitched, though I changed it due to the original idea being a little too noncon. So here's Sam and Dean and a mysterious woman they find at sea...

also on ao3

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

Sam's the one who spots her. They're sitting on the deck drinking beer, and Dean's not necessarily watching the sun set over the ocean, because he's not that kind of person, even after a month of aimlessly drifting around the Gulf of Mexico on a borrowed boat. But he's not exactly ignoring it either. Sam, on the other hand, seems totally into this gazing-into-the-sunset business, until he suddenly stands up, thrusts his bottle into Dean's hand, and walks to the edge of the deck.

"You see that?"

"See what?"

"Shit!" Sam grabs the top of the rail and vaults right off the boat, swimming with long, even strokes toward something floating in the water. Crap, it's a person. A woman. Sam hooks an arm around her and hauls her back to the boat, where Dean lifts her onto the small sunbathing deck.

She's unconscious. And completely naked. She's young, mid-twenties maybe, lean and muscled like a swimmer. At first glance it looks like she has seaweed entangled in her long platinum blonde hair, but it's actually her hair itself, with highlights of green and purple twisting through that give it an iridescent mother-of-pearl sheen. Peeking through her hair is the soft pink shell of her ear, decorated with a quartet of small pearl earrings. Another pearl nestles in her navel. A pastel tattoo climbs up the outside of one pale leg, the barely-noticeable undulating pattern inked in ghostly shades of lavender and aquamarine.

Sam pulls himself onto the sunbathing deck and kneels over her, saltwater dripping from his hair onto her fair skin. He presses his fingertips against her throat. "She's breathing. Strong heartbeat."

"Where did she come from?"

"I don't know," Sam says, frowning in confusion. "She was just floating out there." He stands up and scans the horizon. "I didn't see any debris, or a lifeboat, or anything. Just her." He bends down to gather her in his arms. "Let's get her inside somewhere."

Sam's cabin is the one with a single queen-size bed (stupid rock-paper-scissors), so that's where they take her, lowering her gently onto the mattress. Dean lifts her slightly so Sam can slip one of his t-shirts over her head. Her skin is cool and silky against his fingers. Sam digs out a pair of clean swim trunks, hesitates self-consciously, then covers her with a blanket and places the trunks on the bed next to her. He stows the few things he'd actually unpacked back into his duffel. There doesn't seem to be anything else they can do for her, so they quietly close the door and Sam drops his bag on the second twin bed in Dean's cabin (seriously, stupid fucking rock-paper-scissors; never again).

"What now?" Dean asks.

Sam contemplates the door of his former cabin. "Leave her for now, I guess. It'll be completely dark soon, and neither of us is experienced enough to sail this thing at night, so we should stay put. We can head back to shore in the morning."

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

Dean wakes just before dawn, silently climbing out of bed and slipping out of the cabin without waking Sam. He opens the door to the larger cabin, just a crack. Their mystery girl has changed positions and is curled on her side, looking more asleep than unconscious. That's a good sign. He gently closes the door with a quiet snick and slips into the small galley. A few minutes later he's sipping coffee on the deck, watching the horizon slowly turn fiery shades of pink and orange.

The faint click of a door opening and closing announces that Sam is up. Dean refills his own coffee and pours one for Sam, setting it by his chair. But by the time he finishes his second cup, his brother hasn't made an appearance. And it's not necessarily anything to worry about, but, well. Dean is Dean, so he's going to investigate. He opens the door of their tiny cabin and stops, stunned, his senses assaulted by an eyeful of naked back half-covered with a spill of mother-of-pearl hair, perfect heart-shaped ass, and a quick flash of a tramp stamp that looks like a… no, that can't possibly be right. And suddenly the tattoo is framed by a pair of huge hands gripping a narrow waist and oh, Christ, it's Sam's hands, she's riding Sam cowgirl-style, and Dean has never noped back out of a door so quickly in his life.

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

The sun is fully up by the time Sam makes his way above deck. Without a word, he plops into the chair next to Dean's and takes a swallow of lukewarm coffee.

"Sleep well?" Dean asks.

Sam stares at the horizon. "Yep."

"Wake well?"

"Yeah." Sam smiles into his mug, not meeting Dean's eyes. "Yeah, I did."

"And I take it Aqua Woman is feeling better."

"Seems to be." Sam's lip twitches and he does not have the courtesy to look even the tiniest bit ashamed.

"Exactly how good does she feel, Sam?"

Sam grins. Big. "Pretty damn good, actually."

They're interrupted when Aqua Woman herself appears on the steps. She's wearing Sam's t-shirt, and maybe his swim trunks underneath — it’s impossible to tell, because the shirt is huge on her, slipping off her shoulder and reaching almost to her knees. She walks gracefully toward Dean, and the longer he soaks up her full lips, wide blue-green eyes, and thick dark lashes, the more he's convinced she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

"Hello," she smiles. "I'm Alana." She holds out a hand and it's cool and soft, like her voice.

"Dean. I see you've already met my brother Sam."

"Yes, I have." She turns to flash a blinding smile at Sam and then slips her hand from Dean's grasp, resting it on his shoulder. "Thank you both for rescuing me. I would have been lost without you."

"No problem, sweetheart." He gives her his most seductive grin. Just making sure she knows what a mistake she made by picking the wrong brother; not trying to lure her away from Sam or anything.

Although. There really is something about her. Something kinda perfect.

"It'll take us a couple of hours to get you back to shore so you can get checked out at a hospital," Sam says. "Are you feeling okay? Do you remember anything? How did you get out here?" Asking all the questions now, since apparently they weren't talking much earlier.

She bites her lip, and Dean desperately wants to feel those perfect white teeth nibbling on his own lip. And other parts of him as well. "Do we have to go back to shore?" she says. "I'm really fine. And there's nothing for me there. I'd rather stay here with you."

Sam meets Dean's eyes and he's all furrowed brow and tight lips and something's not right here, and Dean knows what he's going to say, but Alana steps over to him and lightly plants a kiss on his cheek. "Please let me stay here with you," she says softly.

Sam's face softens into a dopey grin and he says exactly what Dean is thinking. "Of course. You should stay here with us."

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

They spend the rest of the morning doing nothing. Alana doesn't explain how she ended up in the water, but it doesn't matter. She's safe on their boat now; everything's fine. Everything's fine. She sits on Sam's lap and drinks his coffee and plays with his hair while Dean tries not to imagine her soft nimble fingers running through his own hair, she leans over the railing to watch the fish gliding alongside the boat and it turns out she is wearing the swim trunks Sam left her, rolled up high on her legs and riding low on her hips, and finally Dean decides he needs to go below deck and take a not-particularly-warm shower.

Everything's fine.

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

When he comes back up, Sam's in the big fishing chair, facing away from him, and oh, for fuck's sake, they're at it again. Alana is straddling him, head thrown back, slender fingers twisted in his hair, moaning, and Dean desperately needs to step away but he's frozen to his spot - and then she opens those huge blue-green eyes and fucking winks at him.

Dean probably needs to hang out in his cabin for a while. Everything's fine.

Lying on his bed, it occurs to him that she never did answer the question of where she came from, or why she was in the middle of the ocean, unconscious. It didn't seem important enough to pursue at the time. But now it seems important. He should go up and ask her again. Yeah, he'll do that.

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

By the time Dean's brave enough to get above deck again, Sam's alone.

"Where's Aqua Woman?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Alana is sunbathing."

Damn. Topless, probably. If he stretches just a tiny bit, he can see the sunbathing deck and yep, there she is, lying on her stomach, completely nude. Dean swallows. And tries to think about what was bothering him so much earlier. Something about Alana… something Sam probably doesn't want to hear. He can't really remember. He's too distracted by something else he wants to talk about. And there really is no way to say your girl oughta be banging me instead without sounding kind of churlish.

"You know what you're getting into?"

Oooh. Sam's face suggests this wasn't a good opening. "Yeah, Dean, I think I can handle it."

"Not exactly your type, is she?"

"In what way?"

"Come on, dude, the bad girls are my type."

"Bad girl?"

"Yes, a bad girl. You go for librarians and I go for bad girls, and this one is a naughty girl, Sammy. I mean, she's got a 69 for a tramp stamp, for fuck's sake."

"Okay. One, have you forgotten Ruby?"

(Yeah, she was a very bad girl; Dean's got to give him that.)

"Two, don't call it a tramp stamp; that's douchey even for you. And three, it's not a 69, it's her zodiac symbol."

"You're telling me there's a sign of the zodiac that's symbolized by a 69?"

"It's not a 69; it's on its side. It's Cancer."

"All right, but I swear, she winked at me while you two were hunting for Moby Dick."

"I don't care."

"Hey, I'm just saying, she may be regretting her life choices at this point. Did she say anything about me?"

If Sam rolls his eyes any harder, they're going to roll right out of his head. "What, you mean, while she was having sex with me, did she mention you? Sure. Absolutely. She climbed on top of me and then said hey, I like your brother too; why don't you call him over here and we'll have a threesome."

"Seriously?"

"No, you idiot."

"Because if she did… you know… I would be… if she was interested…"

"Dean. No, she did not say that. And even if she was interested in a threesome with you and me, I'm not."

"Oh. Yeah." Dean rubs the back of his head. "Wasn't thinking about the you and me part of that."

"Obviously."

"So… did she say anything about me when she wasn't having sex with you?" But Sam's giving him the are you shitting me? face and maybe he's got a point. "Yeah, you're right. This is an awkward conversation."

"Yes, it is. Let's stop having it. Please." Sam turns and walks away, probably heading for the sunbathing deck, probably to sit next to her and rub sunscreen over all of that smooth sun-warmed naked skin and… dammit all to hell.

Dean stomps below deck again, and halfway down the stairs realizes he had a completely different conversation from the one he meant to have.

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

That afternoon he stands beside Sam at the railing and they watch Alana swim, if you can call it that. Because she doesn't just swim like a normal person. She's literally cavorting naked with dolphins, laughing and splashing with them like some kind of fairy tale creature.

"For someone who spends so much time naked in the sun," Dean says, "she sure is pale."

Beautiful pale Alana waves, then tumbles and twists out of sight, swimming to the other side of the boat. Sam’s forehead folds into puzzled creases as stares silently at the Alana-free waves.

"She doesn't have any body hair," he eventually says. True, Dean noticed the Brazilian when Sam dragged her out of the water, but he's kind of surprised his brother would consider that an appropriate topic of conversation. But before he can respond, Sam continues. "So maybe she's a competitive swimmer. Something long distance. Do swimmers shave their arms? Or wax, maybe? She'd be stubbly by now if she shaved her arms and legs," he muses. "Anyway. Maybe that's why she's out here."

"We should ask her about that. We should really, really ask her about that."

"Yeah… I just keep getting distracted."

"No shit."

Sam smiles. "You know, I didn't approach her. I just woke up and she was standing next to the bed."

"You complaining?" Dean asks, with a raised eyebrow.

"No. No, God no. It's… she's amazing. It's just…"

"Inexplicable?" Dean offers. "Inconceivable? Incomprehensible?"

Sam turns to him with a surprised frown. "Unexpected."

Dean shrugs. "Beautiful naked woman shows up out of nowhere and, of the two of us, latches onto you? I'm going with incomprehensible."

Sam can bitchface all he wants at that one; it's the God's honest truth. But he isn't bitchfacing. Alana is back in view, and he's staring at a flash of long leg and full breasts bobbing in the water, and there's that dreamy expression again, and oh, fuck this. Dean needs to go read a book or something. He turns on his heel and heads back to his cabin.

"And another thing," he calls over his shoulder as he heads below deck. "You two obviously don't need separate beds. I'm moving your shit back into your room."

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

Dean's alone in his cabin when he wakes up the next morning, but he doesn't have to wonder where Sam is. The walls on this boat are not particularly thick and he can hear murmurs next door. Laughter. Other things. And okay, maybe it's payback for all the times he brought a girl back to whatever shack they were hunkered down in, but Jesus. Sam always had the ability to at least take a walk and get away from it. All Dean can do is lie here and listen. Finally it occurs to him that this is a safe time to venture above deck, so he makes coffee and enjoys the breeze and the solitude.

When Sam and Alana emerge — him in swim trunks, her in another of Sam's t-shirts — Sam heads toward Dean. Alana pouts prettily and takes his hand. "Swim with me, Sam. You promised." He shrugs apologetically at Dean and lets her lead him to the sunbathing deck, where she pulls the t-shirt over her head and jumps naked into the water. Sam jumps in after her, still wearing his trunks, thank you baby Jesus.

Swimming was rarely a form of entertainment for Dean when they were young, not anything he normally did for fun or relaxation. Swimming was something he usually did with a monster in his sights and a blade clutched in his teeth. But Sam was always thrilled when there was a pool at their motel or crappy apartment complex, or a pond at their cabin or ancient farmhouse. He took to any body of water like a fish, dutifully swimming laps when Dad was around, playing like an otter when he wasn't, nose and shoulders constantly peeling from layer upon layer of sunburn. And now he's splashing with Alana like one of her goddamn dolphins and okay, he deserves this. It would be petty for Dean to resent it. It really would. He keeps repeating that to himself as he watches Sam and Alana frolic (there is no other word for it, they're fucking frolicking) in the water. And then as they climb onto the sunbathing deck and dangle their legs over the edge, with eyes only for each other. And as they come back onto the deck and Alana hops onto the rail, still as naked as the day she was born, shimmering in the sunlight.

Dean tries hard not to stare at her. She doesn't seem to care. She wears her nudity casually, as if a shirt were as optional as a hat or a necklace. But it still seems impolite, and Dean is nothing if not polite around beautiful naked women. He settles for grabbing quick glimpses when she's not looking. Which turns out to be pretty easy, since she spends most of her time staring at Sam. Right now she's pretending to be interested in whatever boring story he's telling her, something about almost falling overboard on their first day on the boat, whatever; it's hard to pay attention when she's right there, beautiful and wet and naked and happy, throwing her head back and laughing at Sam's stupid story.

"I remember that!" she says. "You were so funny. I was afraid I might have to come rescue you."

Sam stops, brow furrowed in confusion. "What? What do you mean, you remember?"

"Oh." Alana looks away and bites her pretty lip with her pretty teeth, then shrugs. "I have a confession to make. I've actually been watching you for a while."

Sam's alarm goes off first, because by the time Dean parses that conversation, his brother has stepped back from Alana and is already in hunter mode — narrowed eyes, defensive posture, a quick glance to confirm Dean's location.

"What are you?" he says.

Instead of answering, Alana strokes a finger down the faint tattoo on her leg and it darkens, deepening from lavender and aquamarine into purple and teal. The color spreads over her leg, then across both legs, and as Dean gapes in disbelief, her legs meld and extend into an iridescently-scaled tail. "Jesus Christ," he breathes. She's a goddamn mermaid? Suddenly, everything makes sense.

"Did you put a spell on him?" he yells, waving at Sam, who looks completely bewildered. "Is that why he can't think straight when you're around?"

"Of course not. I'm not a siren," she says, with a pretty little frown. "I don't take anybody against their will. I don't have to trick anyone into my bed." She turns to Sam and smiles warmly. "I'm just very enchanting. Difficult to resist. Sorry."

"Not complaining," Sam says.

"Good." She holds out a hand, beckoning him closer. "All I want is to make you happy. I've been watching you for weeks, Sam, ever since you arrived in my part of the sea, and I've grown to love you more every day." Sam's at her side now, holding her hand, looking at her like she's his everything. "And now we don't ever have to part."

"But I… this…" Sam stammers and falls silent, staring into her eyes.

"Come with me, Sam. Join me in my world. I know what your life is like, above the waves. I know it's cold and cruel and dangerous. You don't have to live that way any more. You can come live in peace, under the sea with me."

"Wait. No." Dean turns frantically to Sam, who isn't saying no. "Dude. You can't live underwater!" (Although what he really means is you can't abandon me. Please.)

"Of course he can." Alana doesn't look at Dean, her gaze still locked on Sam's dreamy smile. "Anyone who pledges their eternal troth to a mermaid can be granted the ability to breathe underwater, as we do. Will you, Sam? Will you come with me?"

Sam clasps Alana's tiny hand in both of his and her tail (her tail, she has a fucking tail) curls gently around his legs and oh, God, Dean can't watch, can't say goodbye, not like this. But he can't blame Sam for wanting to leave the pain of this life behind him, to escape to a world where he's not a hunter, to love someone again. He's not going to stop him. He's not.

But Dean goes weak-kneed in relief as Sam shakes his head. "I can't, Alana. This job we do, it's too important. I'm taking a break, but I have to get back to it. And I don't want to leave my brother behind."

Alana sighs a small, pretty little sigh. "I understand." She cups his face in her hands and pulls him down for a kiss. "I'll be here if you ever change your mind." Then, with a wink at Dean, she flips gracefully backward and plunges into the water. He gets one last glimpse of pale skin and iridescent tail, and then she dives out of sight.

The brothers stand at the rail in shock, staring at the empty surface, until Dean breaks the silence.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam sighs. He turns around to lean against the rail, facing away from the water. "I mean, she's great, she really is. But that whole thing, just. Not a long-term situation. No. I'm good."

"Good." The feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of Dean's stomach finally pulls up its anchor and drifts away. Everything's fine. Weird, but fine. Which is about as good as it gets for them.

"So, uh, I guess she was your type after all," he says. Sam frowns at him. "Because she's a —"

"I know what she is, Dean."

"Yeah. So. Cancer, huh?"

"Uh huh."

"I'd have guessed Pisces. I mean, Cancer, the crab, sure, that works too. Just seems like she'd be a Pisces. Because she's a — "

"I know."

"You're not gonna let me say it, are you?"

Sam rubs a hand down his face with a sigh. "Fine. Go ahead."

"Because she's a mermaid! Because you fucked a mermaid! Because Sam. Winchester. Fucked. A mermaid!"

Sam's glare suddenly turns into a grin. "And you're so jealous, you can hardly stand it."

Dean's thrown. "You're jealous." Dammit.

Sam laughs at Dean's lame attempt at a comeback, which is hardly fair. It's been a stressful day. "Got it out of your system?"

"Are you kidding? I am never, ever going to get the fact that you fucked a mermaid out of my system. I mean, you've had some inhuman girlfriends in your life, but this one's my absolute favorite."

"Well, save it." Sam turns and heads down the stairs. "I'm going to take a very long nap."

"I hope she didn't give you crabs, Prince Eric," Dean yells at Sam's retreating back.

Yeah, he's going to enjoy this for a while.

[fruityuncleskeletor]

Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game

seen on and snatched from @bunnakit

🎱 ⇢ post your AO3 total stats 

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?  I started writing my own stories about cartoon characters because the episodes on TV were too far apart

🌵 ⇢ share the link to a playlist you love

Chan's room episodes

🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that? a fucking solid 2, because the more I see my own fic, the more disgusted I grow with it and lose the will to post it. The 2 is because I do realise editing is necessary.

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

🥑 ⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help? I am calling @hardcandythinking but only to vent, I already know where to rent a woodchipper from

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love @ellieellieoxenfree

💌 ⇢ how many unread emails do you have right now?  in my business inbox, 51. In my personal account, 0

🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis@sparkly-butthole-on-ao3

🐇 ⇢ do you prefer writing original characters, reader inserts, or a mix of both?  I used to be really into writing the OG characters

🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before I have come to terms that I will always have an eating disorder, the difference now is that I've decided to profit from it.

🎲 ⇢ what stops you from writing more in your free time? I am fucking exhausted, fam. And the supreme lack of interest in my writing in this new fandom. Feeling unwanted and tired has managed to give me a writer's block that I have successfully dodged for 20+ years.

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

Here's two-

Geralt and Jaskier are so in love with each other, even platonically. They don't want to admit it, but they have a really warm and cozy love bubble around them and both are afraid that if they speak about it, it'll make them feel less giddy and elated and pull this bubble into reality, making it vulnerable to being popped by evil forces.

Jace's nonchalant attitude re: the people he bangs and his unflinching love for Alec always made me think he is an in denial asexual - he is obviously not sex-repulsed but he wields sex like a weapon or like a quick fix to avoid looking at deeper emotions affecting him. I fucking love Jace to death, he gets so little credit.

🧸 ⇢ what's the fastest way to become your mutual?

talk to me on tumblr

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

My cat's health is better

I am losing weight and gaining muscle, feeling fitter than in my 20s

I found a hairdresser I absolutely love going to

📚 ⇢ what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app? some Korean words for reference. In Korean.

  🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character Yennefer is a gigantic selfish asshole, with only moments of emotional clarity and kindness and she treats Geralt like absolute crap most of the time.

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project? yeah not gonna make the FBI man's job easy. stay wondering, bro!

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

It's always better to assume people are assholes by default and then let yourself be pleasantly surprised when they are decent than the other way around. Saves you a world of disappointment.

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

I can't pick rn.

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

The only way around it is through it. It helps to do various other creative things, it will recharge your creativity in the realm you feel it's low in. Like if you have writer's block, make some art. Draw some shit, splash some colours, bake and decorate a birthday cake, go outside and photograph some flowers.

🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh "My butthole! I blew out my butthole!"

  🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work? When someone picks their favourite parts of the chapter or fic, and details their thoughts on it for my enjoyment.

🍦 ⇢ name three good things about a character you hate Alec is a good leader, perseverent and insightful.

🥝 ⇢ do you lie a lot? what's the most recent lie you told? God I used to lie more often than I breathed when I was a kid and a teen. Lately I just lie to get out of having to socialise.

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately 

I find stanning a K-Pop group to be 20% fun and 80% disheartening if you're older because you definitely feel like you can't sit with the cool kids and everything is just a really good, hi-def illusion set up to make you bust your wallet wide open, so every moment of genuine relatability and connection is invalidated by the feeling that these people are part of a marketing strategy. It's kind of like going to see strippers and even if you like one, you know that even if you fell in love with them, you're not allowed to get to know them because for them it's just work and you are only worth the cash you pay in their eyes. The closeness is an illusion that leaves you feeling even lonelier and sadder than you were before.

🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing?  There are a lot of them but my core reference is Anne Rice's writing. Now I am writing something that was inspired by the portrayal of Jack Reacher in the "Reacher" series on Amazon.

🍅 ⇢ give yourself some constructive criticism on your own writing It would be nice if I could write stuff that's relatable to others, not just to me. But that would mean biiiiiiiig consciousness shift and I'm extremely pussilanimous when it comes to this.

🐚 ⇢ do you like or dislike surprises? I think the delivery matters a lot - a surprise is being told something that you don't know yet, and if the person breaking the news makes it seem like a heart attack from shock is the adequate response, then better don't tell me, just show me.

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

Hyunjin had made himself comfortable on his bed, with his legs propped up on the headboard, leaving just his shirt and his socks on. He intended to drag it out as much as he could and get the most out of those pics.

Magazine in one hand, dick in the other - that’s how Changbin had found him, walking in to ask a very pressing question. (65 words bc just the 50 didn't make sense alone.)

☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username? Thinking about my love-hate relationship with writing.

🐝 ⇢ tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them

@hardcandythinking is my bestie and my number 1 fan. She's the real MVP.

🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them

🎨 ⇢ link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐀 🌻 STAYTIST (@kerimaix)

This is so surreal - Chan is a human with two sets of ears and the rest of the members are tiny wee animals - and the love, goofiness and fun are so well captured. This artist also depicts Chan as shy and cute, and I prefer this to the hard dom or arrogant inaccessible guy takes I see more often. Like I get it's appealing to others but I like a squeaky, shy guy better than any alpha dude character.

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

poor characterization on a macro level

crass and goofy consistent misspelling like "nobbing" instead of "nodding", "viscous" instead of "vicious", "colon" instead of "cologne"

offputting descriptions like "chubby little cock" or "fat mushroom" (used for dick tips). I would lose my erection if someone talked to me like that irl

[cosette141]

It's the Thought that Counts (Leverage Fanfic) | Thanksgiving Story

Fandom: Leverage Author: cosette141 Words: 1631

Summary: When Eliot gets hurt and can't cook Thanksgiving dinner, the team gives cooking a try. It's the thought that counts, right? Happy Thanksgiving!

AO3

a/n: takes place during OG Leverage season 3

(story under the cut!)

Everyone stood in Nate's kitchen, looking toward a prone Eliot on Nate's couch.

It was Thanksgiving Day.

The plan had been simple: finish up the job they were working on in the morning, then reconvene at Nate's apartment where Eliot would cook them Thanksgiving dinner, as he'd been doing the past two years.

But… as usual, things didn't quite go as planned.

The con was completed successfully, but not without a hiccup; Eliot had gotten into a fight with a very well-trained security guard, who ended up pushing Eliot down a flight of stairs.

The stairs ended up causing Eliot a concussion and dislocated shoulder, which was set back into place that morning and now resided in a sling over his chest.

Just a handful of minutes ago they got home and Eliot had passed out on the couch.

Looking away from the hitter, the rest of the team looked back at each other.

It was Parker who broke the silence. "We should make dinner."

Three shocked eyes turn to her. "Uh," said Hardison. "What?"

"We should make dinner," repeated Parker simply. "Eliot can't cook with one arm." A blink. "We should make dinner."

"Parker," began Nate.

"One of us has to know how to cook," said Parker with a scrunched nose.

All heads turn toward Sophie.

Her brows shot up. "Me?" When they only kept staring, she leveled them with an annoyed glare. "What? Just because I'm a woman, you think I know how to cook a meal like that?"

From their stares, yes they did.

"Well, I don't," she said firmly, crossing her arms. "I grew up with people who cooked for us, and grifted everyone else in my life into either cooking or buying me a meal. I don't cook."

Parker deflated a little.

"What about you?" asked Hardison to Nate. "You weren't really a stay-at-home dad," at the worddadNate shifted a little, and the three of them tried not to notice. Gently, Hardison tried, "Did you pick anything up from Maggie?"

Nate laughed a little. "Maggie? No. She wasn't much of a cook herself. I mean, I can make grilled cheese and French toast like no tomorrow.. those were Sam's favorites." His eyes clouded a little and the others fidgeted where they stood. Nate shook it away. "But, ah… no. You put a turkey in front of me, I don't know what I'd do with it."

"We could order a thanksgiving meal from a restaurant," said Hardison, reaching for his phone.

"No!" said Parker firmly. Hardison stopped. "Eliot says that's not Thanksgiving. He told me Thanksgiving is about showing your appreciation for people through food." She leveled a strong gaze with the hacker. "Not restaurants."

The four of them stood for a moment, letting the fact that Eliot Spencer appreciates them sink in until Hardison pulled out his phone. He typed a little on it and said, "Ya know what? It's fine. None of us can cook. But here…" He flipped around his phone to show a screen of a YouTube video titled: Thanksgiving Dinner For Dummies. He grinned. "And this is why this is the age of the geek, baby."

Eliot's head pounded.

At first, he thought it was the remnants of his concussion headache. He knew it wasn't a bad concussion, only minor, but this didn't feel like that kind of a headache. This felt like—

"Aw, crap, what'd I just do—"

Yup, that was it.

A Hardison headache.

The hacker's voice floated in, along with the clatter of something to a counter. More sounds mixed in, actually—an electric mixer itself—crinkling bags and boxes, beeps and creaks of un-oiled hinges, and the cross of chatter—no, make that bickering—between Hardison and Sophie.

But as bad as the voices were for his headache, it was nothing compared to the smell.

Something was burning. Actually, several things, by how pungent it was. There was the distinct smell of burning plastic in there as well, among burning of meat, potatoes—a horrible burning smell—and cranberries.

Eliot finally wrenched open his eyes, finding himself staring at the back of Nate's couch.

His eyes stung a little and he coughed, both from the waft of smoke coming from the kitchen and the distinct cutting-onions thing going on in the air.

Not able to take any of it any longer, he levered himself up on the arm he could move and propped himself up on it, looking over the back of the couch.

Eliot Spencer has seen many terrifying, horrendous things in his life.

But nothing was quite as bad as the scene before him.

Nate's kitchen was a mess.

Pots and pans littered every counter, some overturned, and for whatever reason, one's contents were lightly on fire.

The stove was covered with pans and the oven was open, and both Sophie and Hardison were leaning over it. A thin trail of gray smoke trailed into their faces and they were arguing about something.

Parker was stirring something in a pot with the mixer, so close to the metal of it that it made a loud clanging sound that made Eliot wince for both his ears and for the safety of Nate's nonstick pan, especially when Parker looked toward Hardison and Sophie and said, "I think the mashed potatoes are done! They're finally blue."

And over at his dining room table, Nate was sitting in a chair, a drink in one hand and using the other to rub at his temples.

Eliot blinked.

"What the hell is goin' on?" demanded Eliot, loud enough to be heard over the mixer and Hardison and Sophie's bickering.

The noise silenced and each head looked over toward him.

Parker was the only one whose face lit up. "Eliot!" She put down the pan and skipped over to him. "We're making Thanksgiving dinner!"

Eliot blinked.

He slowly took in the mess of Nate's kitchen, and could pull out faint scents (minus the scorching) of traditional thanksgiving dishes. Even Nate's dining room table was all set up with five plates, napkins and silverware. The oven door closed and Eliot looked back over to see Hardison and Sophie handling a very-black turkey on a cookie sheet.

Two sheepish grins, one amused grin, and one bright and proud grin were shot his way.

Eliot worked to find his voice. "You guys…cooked?"

"Well," said Hardison, as he and Sophie put the "turkey" down on the counter. "With your arm all messed up it woulda been really hard for you to cook for us this year. And you were really tired and we didn't wanna wake you…"

Parker smiled wide. "And you deserve it!"

Not in any of the years since he's left home has someone cooked him a meal. Well, outside of the sludge they served in the prisons and dungeons from his darker days. Even on dates,hewas the one who cooked, and those relationships never lasted long to begin with. But Thanksgiving dinner? Meeting the team had been the first time he's ever cooked one, using the old recipes he learned from watching his mama as a kid.

After meeting the team, he'd cooked for them because they needed someone to feed them something better than the crap they ate. And he'd been heartbroken to hear that Parker had never celebrated Thanksgiving, Hardison and Sophie hadn't since they'd left home as kids, and that Nate hadn't since his son died.

So when he got hurt, he was more upset about not being able to cook than any of the physical pain. But this was something that happened once a year, and it was one of the only traditions he really cared about.

Seeing the four of them, surrounded by—what would probably be a very inedible—dinner, that they made forhim… was something that really warmed his heart.

It may have simply been the onions or the smoke still lingering in the air, but Eliot felt his eyes burn the smallest bit with tears.

"Dinner's almost ready!" said Parker brightly. "I made your favorite dessert too!" She picked up a dish that looked like a pile of tan goo. It took all of Eliot's self-control not to react badly.

"Uh," he swallowed. "What...what is it?"

Parker looked at him weird. "Duh! It's apple pie." As Eliot tried to hide the shock from his face, she looked back down at the… "pie."

"Oh!" she said, laughing. "It'll probably look more like a pie after it's done boiling."

He was thankful she turned her back then because he wasn't quite sure he could hide the utter horror from his face.

Though, Nate caught it, and Eliot watched his lips twitch into an amused grin.

"How the hell…"

Eliot looked over to see Hardison stabbing a knife into the center of the turkey, and it getting stuck. He tried yanking it out.

"Hardison!" yelled Eliot. "What the hell are you doing?"

Hardison looked up. "What? I'm carving the turkey."

"That's not—" Eliot shut his eyes. He got himself off the couch, making his way over to Hardison. "Who taught you how to hold a knife? What are you—give me that!"

"No, man—you only have one arm! I got it!"

"My one arm is more capable of doing this than both of yours now give me the knife!"

"No!"

Nate watched from his seat at the table. A normal man might worry at watching the two boys wrestle over a rather large knife, but he wasn't a normal man. And this wasn't a normal family.

But it was a family.

His family.

And for that, even as he later had to actually eat the questionable dinner his family made…

He couldn't have been more thankful to have them.

[ronniescribbles]

Force-A-Chaos 

Scout x Little!Reader

1,205 Words

You can read it on AO3 here!

Spy is forced to leave Scout in charge of watching you when he's dragged on a business trip. Chaos ensues. 

A/N: Ah, Scout, my beloved himbo bean. I honestly headcanon him as a big brother type caregiver, and I think his silliness is something to be adored. :) I hope you guys enjoy it as well! 

An exasperated Spy rubbed his aching temples. Leaving for an assignment in Paris was stressful enough, but having to put Scout in charge of babysitting little you made things tremendously worse. It's not that Scout was a bad guy, he was just a bit too reckless for Spy's taste. That made leaving a delicate, impressionable little such as yourself to his care daunting, to say the least. 

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

"Non, she cannot use the oven." 

"Ey, why not? You're a big kid, aren'tcha, darling?" Scout nudged your arm with a grin, eliciting a happy squeal from you. 

Spy exhaled through his nose, his eyes momentarily closing in an attempt to relieve some of the strain on his intelligence. He turned to look at you, reaching out to hold your hands. "I will call if I can, alright, cherié? Please be on your best behavior for Papá." 

"Mhm, I will, Papá." You give him a nod as extra reassurance. 

"That's mon petite chou fleur," Spy pulled you in for a strong hug. Something felt out of place by how clingy he was being; despite him usually possessing protective caregiver tendencies, he never seemed to be overly weary of handing you over until now. It could've been the fact that Scout had never babysat you before, you thought to yourself, slowly trying to piece together the puzzle. Spy never seemed to get along with the airhead anyway, so it made sense that he was a bit too worried about you. 

Leaving a little with someone as reckless as him wasn't the best idea, but Scout wasn't that bad, was he? When you were big, Scout was pretty respectful of you, especially in comparison to how he treated others around him. Sure, he had a tendency to get on everyone's nerves around the base, but at the end of the day, you saw that he really cared about his team. 

Spy pressed a final kiss into your hand as he turned away to grab his coat. He muttered something to Scout that you didn't quite catch. 

Clearing his throat, Spy recounted, "Remember to read ze list I left! I will be back as soon as I can," he flashed you a warm smile before he turned and strode through the doorway. 

"Aw, crap. I forgot he even wrote that stupid list. Hold on, short-stop," he grumbled, voice thick with his signature Boston accent. Scout fished for a crumpled up piece of paper in his pocket. He tried to smooth it out on his thigh before holding it up to read it. 

"Always keep a lookout on them when small, no sweets after 8 o'clock, bedtime's at 10:30.. blah blah blah..." Scout tossed the list behind him without a second thought. "Yeah, I don't think we're gonna need all'a 'dat, sweetheart. By 'da way, you thirsty? I got some Bonk in the fridge if you want." 

A mischievous smile crept onto your face. Spy absolutely despised soda of any kind, nonetheless Bonk. In his words, it was an "over carbonated sugar water," and you were not advised to consume it. Even Spy was clueless as to how Scout could function after chugging a whole can of it… but your sippy cup couldn't hold a full can of it anyway, so what was the harm? 

"Otay! I's go get my sippy, it's in mh room-" 

Scout was quick to cut you off. "Nah, I got it. Spy gave me a box of all this stuff you like to use, y'know, just so I had it all here." He gestured with his thumb to a box on the kitchen table overflowing with bright toys, decorated pacifiers, and of course, your favorite sippy. "Plus, you're like small and stuff, right? Let me take care of ya, I know what I'm doin'." 

You giggled in amusement, your eyes following the jumpy young man as he confidently bounced over to the table and grabbed your sippy. You waddled over to meet him in the kitchen as he poured your cup full of soda. 

"Now, shortstop, I really ain't suppose 'ta give you this stuff, but I'm quiet if you're quiet, alright?" He screwed the lid shut and placed the bottle in your hands. 

"Mm, tanku Jermy!" That might've been the easiest deal you'd made yet, honestly.

"Aw, no problem, kiddo." You felt his fingers ruffling your hair back. "And you should call me dat more often, cutie." He flashed you a cheesy wink. 

Another squeal escaped your parched lips. Scout sure knew how to keep you entertained! Plus, he didn't mind giving you soda, which was a win-win in your books. You liked that - his ability to relax, to not be so uptight about everything. It felt refreshing, like a cold soda on a hot day.

You drew the bottle to your lips and had a few sips. The sugar instantly hit you, causing the sort of bounce-off-the-walls energy that Spy's no soda rule tried to prevent. You rocked from side to side in a very little-appropriate way to curb the sugar rush. 

Scout obviously noticed how hard the carbonated drink had hit you. "Yeah, when I had Bonk for the first time, I had to run like a mile and a half through the neighborhood, just to burn it off!" 

Your cheeks glowed pink with giddiness. Scout made you feel warm, like a sort of sugary sweetness bubbling to the surface inside you. For a tiny like you, the excitement was almost too much to bear! But, alas, you skipped back over to the bucket, setting your sippy cup down to fish inside for a toy to tide you over. 

Suddenly, you felt Scout's hands latch onto your sides as he attempted to lift you up. He teetered from side to side, but still managed to hold you steady enough for you to peek inside and grab a plush ball. 

Seemingly as soon as you'd been picked up, your feet touched concrete again. "Looked like ya needed a hand, short-stop, seein' as you were on your tippy toes and all." 

You shook your head in defiance. "M not short! Can reach, can reach!" 

You squeezed your eyes shut as Scout's hand landed on the top of your head, gently patting in reassurance. "Yeah, sure thing, kiddo. I'm sure you can reach anything you want, huh?" 

The weight of the ball left your grasp. "Even this, babydoll?" 

Confused, you opened your eyes, only to see Scout lifting the round object way above your head. Despite your futile attempts to reach it, he was tall enough to lift it out of reach. His toothy grin practically glistened at you. 

"Alright, alright, sweetheart. No need to get all pouty on me, y'know I ain't got a need for this thing anyway." He placed his empty hand on his hip, offering the ball on a flat palm. "Unless you wanted to play some catch? Y'know, I'm really good at playin' ball. Not even Sniper can beat me!" 

Your pout evaporates into a beaming smile, watching Scout's chest stick out with pride. "Ahuh, catch, catch! Gonna win!" 

His laugh follows yours. "Alright, but I ain't goin' easy on ya, sweetcheeks~!" 

This was going to be the best weekend ever!

[xxghost-zombie-jesus]

"If you touch her, I will not hesitate to break every bone in your hand."

A/N: I decided that I'll be doing prompt fills/writing requests in between my longer fics! If you have any prompts or requests you'd like to see, shoot me an ask with the prompt, character(s) and/or ship you'd like! They'll probably be between 3k-5k but with my track record, who knows.

Anyway, onto the fic!

Prompt: "If you touch her, I will not hesitate to break every bone in your hand." Requester: @beetlejuicebrainrot Warnings: Predatory behavior (some schmuck), mild violence Word Count: 1,786 Read on AO3

The mall was crowded, which wasn't surprising for 1 PM on a Saturday. Beetlejuice chattered excitedly beside Lydia as they headed towards the food court, his arms heavy-laden with bags from the various stores they had stopped at. Most of it were things that Lydia had picked out, some clothes, a couple of games, and some other crap, though Beetlejuice had gotten a few things as well.

They were saving Hot Topic and Spencer's for last, knowing they'd blow the majority of their budget on the two stores. Beetlejuice liked the band shirts and the barely-safe anime girl shirts, as well as any striped shit either store had, whereas Lydia went for the box dies, anything with belts and ripped tights and the anime she liked to watch.

She really needed to convince Beej to pierce his ears. At Claire's. It wasn't the same if you didn't get a wicked infection from their shitty-ass gun. She was still working on the argument she'd use, but she already had about a dozen earrings picked out for him to wear.

Other than the budget issue, the other reason the two stores were last was because they had a little game every time they went to the mall. Whoever could steal the most buttons without getting caught won. Beej had Spencer's, and Lydia had Hot Topic. The other would distract the workers and pay for the non-button items. Fuck capitalism.

Dropping their shit at one of the cleaner, empty tables, Lydia sat down, pulling out her phone to see if anyone had messaged her while she had been distracted. The only text she had was from Delia, saying to call her when they were ready to be picked up, though she did have a few Discord notifications from her friends.

"Hey, what'd'ya want from the Homophobic Chicken Place?" Beetlejuice asked, leaning half-way across the table to get her attention. When she didn't look up quick enough he plucked her phone from her hand and pretended to eat it.

"Hey!" she snatched it back and slapped him on the shoulder, only making him laugh loud enough that the tables around them shot them dirty looks. Shove off, they were in a public spot, if they wanted to be loud they would. "Why do you always want that? Aren't you, you know, being a class traitor?"

Beetlejuice snorted and flashed her a toothy grin. "Like that matters to me, plus, 's not like it's our money. If anything, it's your dad and Delia who're the traitors. And, I mean, their chicken's the best, way better than that Popeye's shit. And c'mon, waffle fries? You can't go wrong with waffle fries. So, what do ya want? Or starve, I don't give a shit."

"Get me some nugs, and a milkshake," she shoved his face away until he was off the table and began to go through one of the bags to show her friends what she got. "Don't forget the sauces." She knew he wouldn't, he liked to combine and drink the leftover sauces like some kind of middle-schooler, but better remind him just in case.

"Alright, I'll get all the sauce for you, every single one they have," he sing-songed as he grabbed her wallet and headed towards the ever-growing line. 

Lydia found what she was looking for and pulled it out, taking a quick picture to send in her different servers. As she was typing out a good message to go along with it, she saw someone sit across from her. Assuming it was Beetlejuice, she quirked an eyebrow without looking up. "What did you forget, dumbass? Your brain?"

"Well, looking at ya makes me forget my own name, doll, does that count?"

That… wasn't Beej. Lydia put her phone down and took in the person sitting across from her. Some skinny dude in an ahegao shirt, and the beginnings of a neckbeard stared back at her with a smug smile. Lydia curled her lip at him, which only made him grin harder.

"Can I help you?" she asked, not bothering to hide her disgust

"Maybe you can. See, I've been watching you for a little bit, and my buddies bet I'd be too chicken-shit to ask you out."

"Creepy," she muttered, fiddling with her phone. She debated texting Beej, but a glance at the line showed he was ordering and she didn't want to bother him. She was old enough to handle creepy dudes herself, she could do this. "Dude, I'm 15."

"And I'm only 22," he shrugged, missing the point completely. "We could be in the same school, if I had gotten held back a few years. So, what do you say?"

"Ugh, yeahh, I don't think so. Can you leave?" She narrowed her eyes at him, but his expression didn't change. "I don't even know who you are, creep."

"Oh, I am so sorry! I forgot to introduce myself!" The guy got out of the chair and onto a knee, grabbing her hand tight enough she couldn't pull away. He brought it up to his lips and kissed it, ignoring her grossed out protests, and winked. "I'm Johnathon Giles, at your service. And, I could really be of service."

She kicked him in the knee, and he winced. "Ohh, feisty, I like that."

"What the hell is wrong with you, douchebag? Leave me alone," She ripped her hand out of his, wiping it on her leggings and aiming another kick at him. He stood up and shimmied behind her. "Fuck off."

"Come on, babe, I'll-" He started, hand curling around her shoulder. His words were cut off by a pained whimper and Lydia craned her head around to see Beetlejuice had the man's arm twisted behind his back.

"If you touch her, I will not hesitate to break every bone in your hand," Beetlejuice warned coldly, releasing him and shoving him away a few steps. He stood at Lydia's side and she was sure if it weren't for the glamor he had on, and the beanie covering his hair, his anger would be extremely evident. 

"Who's this guy? Your boyfriend? You sure know how to pick 'em, girl," the man rubbed his shoulder before grinning down at Beetlejuice. He was taller than Beej by quite a bit, but Beej had several pounds on the twig. "Hey, I'm up for a threesome."

"Listen, I'm a very sexual being," Beetlejuice grinned, though it lacked any humor. Even pretending to be human, there was suddenly something dangerous about him, a sharp warning. Lydia always forgot how scary Beetlejuice could be when he wanted. "And I do love a good threesome, but not with creepy guys who pick on little girls. And especially not with fuckers who can't take a no."

Johnathon stood up fully and his face finally changed from the overly friendly smile he had plastered on into a glare. "She didn't say no."

"She told you to fuck off, I'm pretty sure me and the rest of the fuckin' mall heard it," Beetlejuice tilted his head slightly to the side as he took in the man before him.

Johnathon scoffed and turned back to Lydia. "What do you say we ditch your fatass boyfriend and go have some real fun, sweety." He made the mistake of touching one of her hands that she had curled over her phone and Beetlejuice stepped forward menacingly.

"I warned ya," he growled, eyes narrowed into slits. In a movement that was impressively quick, he had the guy in a headlock, arm twisted so hard behind his back Lydia heard an audible pop as it dislocated. Johnathon made an alarmed, pained noise, but something kept him from screaming. "You're lucky I'm not allowed to kill ya," he hissed, twisting his arm further until Johnathon was begging for mercy. "Because no one messes with my little sister."

"S-s-s-she's your sister?" the guy yelped, squeaking sharply as his arm was wrenched further behind him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll go, I'll go!! Ow, ow, ow, you're going to break my arm!"

"Get the fuck outta here, before I really do break it." He let go of the guy and Johnathon stumbled forward only to be stopped by Beetlejuice grabbing him by the uninjured shoulder. He whirled around and Beetlejuice kneed him in the junk, making him bite out a pained, cut-off shriek as he doubled over. "That's for being a fucking creep."

"Fuck you," the guy spat, glaring up at Beetlejuice with watering eyes. Beetlejuice just raised an eyebrow and stepped forward, cracking his knuckles, and the guy balked and ran back to his friends who all immediately started laying into him.

Turning back to Lydia, he tilted his head, all anger gone and replaced by worry. "He didn't hurt'cha did he?"

"No, he just grossed me out a little. You wouldn't happen to have any hand sanitizer on you?" She regretted not wearing a pair of gloves today, she could still feel his lips against her hand. Beetlejuice dug around in his pockets before his eyes lit up and he pulled out a travel-sized, fruity-scented bottle of sanitizer.

"Was gonna drink this but here ya go," he offered it to her and she snagged it from his hands before opening it.

"You're weird. Why not just drink a soda?"

"Doesn't burn the same," he shrugged, accepting it back and shoving it back into his pocket for later. She raised her eyebrows as she rubbed her hands together and he grinned. "What?"

"You're weird. Hey, what about the food?"

He gestured to two bags and two drinks on the table, the opposite side from where everything had happened. "I got it to go. Wanna bounce or?"

She thought about it. She could still feel the dude's eyes glaring at her from across the food court, well, at Beetlejuice really. But she had a feeling he wouldn't be a problem, and plus they still had to end with their game! It wouldn't be a trip to the mall without it!

"Mmm, nah, we still have to go to the best stores here," she decided, grabbing the closest bag and opening it. "Also I totally had that under control. I always carry a knife and mace on me."

Beetlejuice took the seat across from her and grinned, knowing she was right. "Yeah, but what kind of bro would I be if I let someone pick on ya? A bad one, that's what. Plus, I'd never hear the end of it from Chuck 'n Adam, y'know? And…" Lydia tossed him his stupid sandwich and he thankfully ripped the paper open instead of taking a bite through it. "I like beating up people sometimes."

"You need help, dude."

"Ha!"