#also can i just say i love how lazy her tongue stick out pose is

[new-haven-psych-ward]

beroba as junko sprites because the brainrot is simmering, ig

[thdorkmagnet]

Light of the Sun and Stars Chapter 45: Quest for Love (and a Sandwich) (Preview)

Summary: His whole life Marco Diaz has been raised by monsters, living under the cruel rule of their leader, Toffee. But one day Marco escapes into Mewni where he meets a magical princess and Mewman like himself, who begins teaching him all about her world. Together they will learn about life, love, and the lights within each of them, as they change their world forever.

Chapter Synopsis: The time has finally come for Tom to confess his feelings to Janna! But when he struggles to form words around her, he asks Marco for help and the solution they come up with is... less than expected. Let’s just say it involves a sandwich. 

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Index

“Finally, after all this time, I can reveal my greatest dish,” Kelly whispered dramatically. She had given the entire worthless kitchen staff the day off so she could work in peace and not have to worry about greedy chefs trying to steal her secret recipe out from underneath her. She had only been working at the castle for a few weeks and had already learned how many of them had the same strive and ambition she did, just too inexperienced and lazy to pull it off. She had already started to whip them into shape though, they had stopped crying every time she yelled at them at least. So that was decent progress.  

“Are you sure?” Marco asked, staring down at the boiling pot in awe, the lid covering the contents inside, the hooded teen beginning to doubt if he was ready to face what lay within. “What if it’s too soon?” 

Kelly shook her head, her brow furrowed in concentration. “No. This is it, Marco. But I need you to be ready in case something goes wrong. Can I count on you to be my sous chef?” She turned to him with a grim look, waiting to hear his response. 

The boy nodded vigorously, putting on his best game face. “Yeah. I’m ready, Kelly.” 

“Good,” the green-haired girl responded, slipping on an oven mitt and placing it firmly on the handle of the lid. “Then, here we go!”

Both her and Marco simultaneously slipped on large metal masks to help shield their sensitive faces. Kelly also placed a smaller one over her snoozing boyfriend Tad, who was asleep in her hair as usual. She made sure the mask was down over his face so she wouldn’t have to worry about him catching fire. The two teens then shared a masked look with each other an unspoken trust passing between them before Kelly ripping the lid off the boiling pan. 

A layer of hot steam rose off of the boiling mess inside: red, hot mist that formed a skull in the air before fading. Marco flinched and positioned himself behind Kelly, his protective instincts making his body move against his will. The Woolett girl showed no fear however, even making the fool-hardy choice to lean over the boiling mess of liquid so she could examine it closer. Her expert eyes slowly skimmed over her own concoction to make sure it was finished. 

“Is it… done?” Marco asked, his voice shaking fearfully. Kelly had already briefed him multiple times how her super secret recipe could possibly explode if not made properly and he would really prefer not to burn alive if he could help it, he had plans later that day. 

“Looks like it,” Kelly replied thoughtfully. She whipped out a spoon from her apron, holding it just an inch over the bubbling soup. “But there’s only one way to know for sure.”

“Hold on a second,” Marco said, stopping her just before she could scoop up a bite. He reached down under the table and hefted a heavy fire extinguisher onto the counter, making sure it was ready in case something went horribly wrong. “Okay, go.”

Marco frowned seriously as he watched the spoon of questionable contents rise to his friend’s lips, Kelly lifting up the fire shield so she could sip her creation. The hooded teen studied the Woolett anxiously as she smacked her lips a few times, clearly considering the taste carefully. He relaxed a bit when she didn’t burst into flames but still felt the need to ask, “Well?”

Kelly nodded before saying, “Not bad.”  

“Yes!” Marco exclaimed cheerfully, ready to celebrate with all the intensity and vibrancy his friend deserved in this moment of triumph. “You did it, Kelly! I knew you could! Your super secret recipe is a success!” 

“Whoa, whoa, Marco,” Kelly said, trying to call her friend down a bit. “I know this is a big moment and all but now is not the time to start freaking out. I mean I’m the only one who’s even tried it yet, I have no idea if it’s that good.”

“I know, I know,” Marco said quickly, his tone apologetic for just an instance before returning to his peppy brightness. “I’m just so happy for you, Kelly! I mean it’s taken you months to make this stuff! You should be proud of yourself for sticking with it for so long!”

Kelly nodded, all humbleness leaving her at the praise, feeling her ego only grow with every word. “Well, it wasn’t exactly easy to make the hottest, most delicious stew of all time. But I did it.” She absentmindedly started to stir the red hot stew, talking out loud as she worked. “I mean just finding the right ingredients for the stew was a challenge in itself. Most people said volcano peppers couldn’t even be heated without them exploding but then I’m not most people, am I?” 

“And no one but you would’ve figured out the trick to cooking them," Marco admired, hoping to boost his friend’s confidence even more with the praise. The trick had been simple in the end, just keep it at a constant simmer for three months straight. Only Kelly could have cracked that code.

“Well after working with Roy for long enough, I learned a few tricks to avoid exploding food.” The Woolett shuddered at the multiple memories of her previous place of employment. But she perked up as she continued to brag to her friend in a mischievous tone, “And now this stuff is gonna make pain pepper tacos taste like ice cream in comparison.” 

Marco cringed as he remembered the feeling of his tongue melting, asking hesitantly, “Isn’t that kind of unsafe?”

Kelly shrugged. “Relax, Marco. I’m not Roy. I would never make something that could endanger someone’s life.”

The Woolett was cut off as a burst of flame shot up from the pan, the two teens screaming and jumping back to avoid being burned alive. The fire continued to crackle for a few seconds before it slowly died down till it was just hot steam rising off the now-ruined stew. Marco and Kelly blinked in disbelief, the hooded teen about to voice his shock when they heard a familiar person call out. “Marco! Marco, are you there?!” 

“Tom?” Marco looked around in surprise for any sign of his friend. “Where are you?” he asked when he failed to spot him right away.

“Look in the pan,” came his answer and both teens hesitantly approached the boiling stew. Only now the surface of the liquid had a familiar face on it. “TOM! What are you doing in Kelly’s secret stew?!”

“Ruining everything,” Kelly mumbled in annoyance, shooting the demon boy a hated glare.

“It’s an old demon trick,” Tom explained quickly, only for his tone to turn panicked and dire, “But nevermind that, I need your help!”

“Why didn’t you just call him?” Kelly snapped. 

“No time! It’s an emergency!” Tom shouted, his voice shaking with worry. 

Marco gasped. “Don’t worry, Tom-” The hooded teen struck a dramatic pose before proclaiming, “I’m on my way!”

“Uh, what about my stew?” Kelly crossed her arms, sending chilling glares to both boys. 

Marco locked eyes with the Tom image before saying, “Uhh, I’ll help you remake it later.”

Kelly groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “Fine, whatever, just go.” 

“Thanks Kelly, I owe you one,” Marco said running from the room. The Woolett looked sadly over at her ruined creation, Tom’s face now gone but her once-delicious stew now a burnt and inedible mess, grieving for all the hard work that had been wasted thanks to one friend’s mistake. She let out a heavy sigh, leaning against the counter so she could stare sadly into the bubbling pot. 

Marco poked his head back into the kitchen, giving the girl a sheepish expression, before asking, “Uhh Kelly, one more favor?”

Kelly raised her head and slowly looked in his direction, her eyes full of anger and death. “What?!” she snapped to him in annoyance. 

Marco gave his friend the most apologetic look he had, his fingers tapping nervously on the doorframe as he asked softly, “Um, can I please borrow your dimensional scissors?” 

The Woolett glared at him for a few more seconds, the boy giving her a puppy dog look back. The intense staring contest continued for a few seconds before Kelly gave in, throwing her head back and letting out an annoyed groan. “Fine, you win! You're lucky I can’t stay mad at you!” She stomped over to the teen and practically shoved her scissors into his hands. “Here, take it.” 

“Thanks Kelly,” Marco shouted gleefully, giving her a quick hug before running from the kitchen, yelling over his shoulder, “I promise I’ll make it up to you later!” 

Kelly just sighed and went back to work, disposing of her ruined batch of secret stew and cleaning up her messy kitchen, grumbling the whole time about how inconsiderate Tom was and how she couldn't believe she considered him a friend and how no one appreciated a royal chef, somehow her boyfriend Tad sleeping blissfully on.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Kiro’s Dessert Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Acquaintance Collection: Gavin // Lucien // Victor

Kiro once told me that when Savin shuts the door while holding a weighing scale, a great tragedy is about to occur.

Savin: Kiro, it’s time to measure your weight.

Savin takes out a small book and flips to the page featuring a record of Kiro’s weight.

With a firm look in his eyes, Kiro steps onto the electronic scale. After the numbers stop blinking, he has an expression of relief.

Savin: Mm. Not bad.

Kiro turns to look at me, making a small triumphant pose.

Savin: However… even if you maintain your current weight, there will be a dessert-themed photoshoot soon. To achieve best results, your body fat percentage still needs to go down a little. Maintain your exercise regimen and watch your diet.

Kiro casts a glance at the tidbit shelf and releases a small sigh, his shoulders slumping.

Kiro: Mm, I understand.

Savin pats his shoulder, opens the door and leaves.

MC: So strict…

Kiro: It can’t be helped. Celebrities need to manage their bodies strictly. You can’t blindly lose weight nor let yourself go. This isn’t just to maintain our image, but also to set a good example to the fans.

Kiro explains seriously. Suddenly thinking of something, he shoots me a cheeky grin.

Kiro: Miss Chips, why don’t we… train together?

MC: Eh?

Kiro: We enjoy eating tidbits together. Isn’t it time to suffer together as well?

MC: …

Kiro: Whether it’s exercising or eating, having two people supervising each other will make it more effective. Am I right?

MC: It does make sense if you put it that way…

Kiro: Didn’t Miss Chips say that she wanted to get fit? Isn’t this the best opportunity?

As he speaks, he blinks his eyes towards me. I can’t find a reason to reject him.

MC: Since you’re so persuasive, I shall “lay down my life”!

I exaggeratedly raise a fist and swing it in the air. Kiro smiles as he lifts his hand gently meeting my knuckles.

Kiro: Deal! Let’s take care of each other over the next duration, Miss Chips.

~

MC: This… this is almost the end right? I can’t do it anymore…

I ask while panting, struggling to remain on the treadmill.

On this weekend evening, I am with Kiro in the fitness room to train instead of staying at home.

Kiro: Keep going for a while more. After this run, we can rest.

Kiro’s breathing is much steadier than mine. He even turns his head to smile at me, cheering me on.

MC: How is your… stamina… this good… huff…

I do my best to control my breathing in order to say these words.

Kiro: Stamina is something necessary on stage. During concerts, you still need to maintain the quality of the singing while dancing, right? In order to have consistent breathing and to ensure that I wouldn’t get fatigued during the concert, I have to train for a very long time. Even though I’m not that muscular, don’t underestimate my stamina!

He smiles and points to himself. I can sense that those easy words hide a lot of sweat and effort behind them.

Kiro: Keep going, Miss Chips. It’s the final thirty seconds. I’ll do a countdown for you!

I clench my fists, getting through the final few seconds. Each second feels like a year.

MC: Huff… huff… I can’t continue…

Kiro ends his countdown, and I slide off the treadmill.

MC: I feel like… my legs no longer belong to me… huff…

Kiro: This is for you - it’s salt water. It’s important to restore water and salt content in the body after exercising. Miss Chips is amazing! You’ve successfully ran with me for an hour.

I take the water bottle and follow Kiro’s instructions, drinking the water in sips.

MC: Do you always exercise like this?

Kiro: Yeah, this regimen is nothing to me!

Even though I’m supposedly exercising with Kiro, I know that my regimen is much more relaxed than his.

Thinking of my hard work and fatigue over the past few days which can’t be compared to his daily work, I feel a sense of respect for him.

MC: Kiro, do you ever feel very tired, or feel like you can’t go on?

Kiro: Of course.

Kiro answers in an instant.

Kiro: Mm, but these emotions will only stay for a while. When I think of all my fans and how I decided to take this path, I will keep persevering no matter what. And I have to do it. Being able to see my fans enjoy the concert, or any other performance, is worth much more than anything else.

They finish chatting, and continue with training.

~

Kiro invites her to the actual photoshoot.

In front of me, there are several big plush bears. There are also soft pink cushions. It looks like a scene from a fairytale.

A few cakes and desserts have been prepared, probably due to “sweets” being the theme of the photoshoot. Even the air has a whiff of sweet cream.

MC: Is this photoshoot going down the sweet and cute route?

Right after hearing my question, I see Kiro looking at me a little slyly, followed by a “shh” posture.

Kiro: Just wait and see.

Photographer: Kiro, can we start the photoshoot?

Kiro: Anytime. I’m all prepared.

Kiro’s voice changes to a serious and confident one.

Photographer: Let’s try a few shots first. We’ll follow the style and feel as mentioned before.

Kiro nods, walks next to the plush bear and sits down, leaning onto it.

In the blink of an eye and a few simple movements, the expression in his eyes changes. That sunshine boy gives off a lazy aura, and even carries with him an aggressive charm.

It’s technically still Kiro, but he has changed completely.

Photographer: The aura is just right!

Kiro lifts a knee, holding up a slice of cake.

Photographer: Very good! Could you be… slightly sexier?

Kiro nods, lying down a little more. The originally loose shirt follows his movements and gets pulled up even more, revealing his sculpted abdominal muscles.

Photographer: Perfect!

Kiro looks at the cake in his hands and lifts the corner of his lips slightly.

He maintains his earlier pose, bringing the cake to his lips. He opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue slightly, and bites into the cake.

For the sake of the cameras, his action of eating the cake is deliberately slow.

Every movement and every bob of his Adam’s apple is captured by the camera.

The pink decorations in the background and furry plush toys surprisingly enhance his look of aggressiveness.

Those blue eyes look straight into the camera - shimmering, as though encompassing the sky and the sea.

Kiro: How does it look? Are there any adjustments to be made?

Kiro enters a serious discussion with the photographer, checking every aspect. He seeks perfection in everything - from the lighting, to the actions, to the composition and to the aperture.

Sensing my eyes on him, Kiro shoots me a grin, then continues communicating with the staff. They begin the next round of photoshoots.

~

Kiro: Thanks for all of your hard work today!

After the photoshoot, Kiro stretches and moves his body. Noticing that he has some cream at the side of his lips, I point to my own lips to signal to him.

He reacts quickly, wiping off the cream on his mouth.

Kiro: Is it still there?

MC: There’s still a little bit, let me get you a tissue…

Kiro: No need to trouble yourself.

Before I open my bag, Kiro has already stuck out his tongue, licking the cream off.

MC: [blushes]…

Kiro: Why is Miss Chips’ face a little red?

MC: N-nothing… since today’s shoot is over, are you allowed to relax and eat your favourite foods now?

Kiro: Mm, I’ve already prepared a list in my head. The first thing I want to eat is…

Interviewer: Hello Mr Kiro, I’m a reporter from TV. I’ve spoken to your agency… sorry, am I interrupting something?

Kiro: Hello, I’ve heard about it from the agency. I’ll go through with the interview.

Kiro signals MC to wait for him.

Interviewer: In the shoot, you were able to merge both an atmosphere of maturity and sweetness. May I ask what was going through your mind during the shoot which enabled you to exude such a look of addiction in your eyes?

Kiro: Mm, well… I was actually doing my best to express my love for desserts and tidbits!

Kiro smiles, and for a moment, no one is able to tell how serious his words are, or whether he is just kidding.

Reporter: Could I get you to elaborate further?

The reporter pauses before laughing, and then probes further.

Kiro: In order to do this photoshoot, I had live without tidbits for a long duration. I had a strict diet to comply to, and also went through a tougher training regimen to ensure the photoshoot would have best results. When I think about all these things that I love but cannot eat, I’d naturally have a look of desire.

Photographer: So that’s what happened. That’s truly unique.

The interview goes on, so MC offers to help out with tidying the place.

Kiro: So you’re here.

I turn around at the sound of Kiro’s voice behind me.

Kiro: Where did you run off to just now? You were gone in a blink of an eye.

MC: I saw how busy the staff members were. Since I’m here, I might as well lend a hand. Are you done with your interview?

Kiro: Mm, the interview went very smoothly. The article should be published in a few days. You have to look at it when it comes out!

Seeing me pulling on the plush toy prop, Kiro naturally lends a hand to lift it up, and carries it with me.

Kiro: What does Miss Chips think of this photoshoot?

MC: It’s very cool, as expected of Kiro.

Kiro: [laughing] Haha, what kind of an answer is that! I even thought you’d give me some feedback.

MC: In short, it’s very cool! Every single fan of yours will be captivated for sure.

Kiro: Every single fan?

He asks me seriously, his eyes bright.

MC: Of course…

After I speak, I realise that I once said that I was his fan as well. I suddenly feel slightly embarrassed.

MC: Anyway… you asked me to wait for you. Is there something you want to tell me?

Kiro: Mm, it’s a very important thing…

Kiro walks to the side, takes the prop cake, and puts it on a small table in front of me.

Kiro: Want to have this cake with me? I tried it just now – it’s not just visually appealing, but it tastes really good. It’s appropriate as a prize!

Looking at my inaction, he takes my hand, and hands me a big slice of cake.

Kiro: Try it? You’ve been following the strict training regimen as well.

Looking into his clear eyes, I can’t help but take a bite.

MC: Delicious!

Kiro: Right!

My tastebuds are very sensitive, probably because it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten something sweet. As such, I’m able to differentiate the creamy mellow and dense taste.

MC: Mm! Extremely delicious!

Kiro: Let’s split the remaining cake between the two of us.

I watch as Kiro takes up a slice of cake, and I can’t help but smile.

Thinking back to the past few days of interaction, I feel like I’m understanding him a little better.

[valkyrieofsmut]

Captive Love   5

UF!Sans x Reader (or Frisk if you wanna)

Summary: (Y/n)'s day at the skelebro's house, Sans' day out.

A/N: So, in this chapter, we find out that (Y/n)'s soul trait is integrity; honesty and strong morals. The only problem with having integrity as a main soul trate is that, because you're so honest, even if you don't want to trust people, you can have the tendency to believe people easier, because you expect others to mean what they say as much as you do. Even extremely smart beings with the trait can second guess their instincts or have them overwritten because the person lying is someone they (want to) trust or have positive feelings about/ for. Based on the note... can you guess what's going to happen in this chapter... lol Also, sorry, guys! I kept trying to get this to post all day, but I guess that tumblr hates long posts...? Or me... Might just be me... lol.

Masterlist      Series Masterlist

Story

Little lies never hurt anyone.

Sans leaned on the counter of the odd and ends shop, though it should rightfully be called a thrift shop, since most of its contents had come from other people and not “sources” like a normal store. 

“You got a friend you’re buyin’ all this stuff for?” The bunny on the other side asked suggestively. 

Sans gave her a smirk. “what’d make ya think that?” 

“Well, you haven’t flirted with me once since you walked in the door,” she hinted. 

“ah, sorry, doll. jus’ a lil distracted fer a sec, thinkin’ a comin’ in... did ya want ta hop on th’ sans express an’ ride it ta th’ bone zone?” He asked with a heavy handed lewdness. 

Honestly, he’d rather spend the time with his sweetheart, but he had to keep up appearances so that no one got suspicious. 

Plus, awkward sexual tension filled innuendos were easier to deal in than talking about feelings and shit.

The bunny gave a giggle and continued to lean over the counter toward him instead of going to get his requested items. “Still as charming as ever, I see.” 

Sans flashed his smirk again. “so, can i get my stuff?” 

The bunny giggled again and with a wiggle of tail asked, “so, does that mean that you’re thinking of getting a pet? Going to go out and take one?” 

He let out an annoyed sound. “can i jus’ get my fuckin' stuff?” 

She looked a little startled by the suddenness of the change, but took it in stride as it wasn’t really so strange for the former Underground citizens to be testy, and turned to go to the back. 

"So," the bunny’s brother asked as he brought the requested items out a moment later, "you gonna wear these, then?" 

Sans sneered at him. "you wish ya freak." 

"A little too much denial…?" The bunny suggested with a smirk. 

Sans gave a disgusted face. "go fuck yerself." He turned, flicking his fingers and letting his magic tug on the piles of stuff on the shelves above the bunny's head. "get dunked on, ya ass hat," he called back over his shoulder.

.

“aww, ya ain’t seen nothin’ at all?” Sans asked with a suggestive grin to the small cluster of spider ladies selling their baked goods in the corner of the bar. "'s a human, hard ta miss..."

“Ooooh, no,” one hummed.

“No, not anything… Do you wanna buy a croissant, Sans? It tastes soooo good with mustard…” another tempted. 

“heh. ‘d rather have somethin' a lil sweeter on my tongue,” he insinuated, thinking of (Y/n) at home, spread across his bed, his tongue tasting all sorts of things… 

Drool was slowly pooling between his sharp teeth, and he quickly wiped it, giving an internal groan at how fast his cock had risen to attention at the thought. 

He needed to get with his sweetheart quick, even just enough to curb the appetite growing inside of him. 

The spider girls giggling brought him back to the present. He flashed a grin and went to the bar, getting a mustard to drink as he continued around, checking everyone for info. 

After the rest of his rounds, he headed to his last few information gathering contacts. The ones he knew couldn't keep their mouths shut. 

.

(Y/n) didn’t know what to do. She was stuck in this house, not able to leave, not much to do, nowhere to go.��

Sans’ room was messy, her clothes were dirty, it wasn’t even lunch time… 

First, she went to the bathroom and washed her clothes in the tub the best she could, cleaning herself as much as possible in the process, hanging them to dry so she could have something clean to go home in. 

Then, she went back to Sans’ room, looking around. She couldn’t read any of the books on the shelf, seeing that the words were all written in a strange sort of glyph, and remembered that Sans had told her he couldn't read human language, but as she put all the books on the shelves, she saw the covers had various strange pictures, outerspace, numbers, shapes, most of them looked like school books, but, like they’d be for some advanced courses. She flipped through the pages of a few of them and saw all sorts of charts and formulas that looked reminiscent of something she’d seen on a tv show with Neil deGrasse Tyson as the host. Very smart… and science-y… 

(Y/n) put them on the shelves, trying to keep them together as best she could. Some of the books were obviously not… string theory… or whatever the hell the others were… but, novels or something, a few of them she had only a vague idea, having to make a guess that one with a simple cover of a monster laughing at a casket and a crowd laughing at the two was either a black comedy novel, or a book of dark jokes. 

She leaned toward the dark jokes. 

Under his desk, she found a folded up paper and opened it, trying to see if it was important, though she'd really have no idea, and saw that it looked like some sort of congratulatory certificate. High school diploma, maybe? 

After she got everything sorted, she tried to put it with other things that looked the same. 

She went out into the rest of the house and found a garbage can under the extra tall sink cabinet, and took it up Sans' room, only throwing away things that were obviously trash; food wrappers, crumpled up bits of paper, other strange little things that might have been dried lava, or eternally frozen snow… any way, they were things that looked like they had fallen from his shoes. 

When she took the garbage can back down, she found something that looked like it might be a vacuum, and she looked at it, turning it around and pressing the buttons to see how they worked without any power, before sticking it back in the closet and pulling out the broom and dust pan. 

Sweeping was better than nothing… and also better than blowing up the house. 

The next task (Y/n) tackled was sorting out the laundry, though she couldn’t find any washer or dryer to clean them in. Maybe they made laundromat trips? 

After that she figured it was about lunch time, so she dug through the fridge and ate a small portion of the lasagna from the night before. It wasn’t the worst she’d ever had, but it was far from the best. Maybe if she hid some of the spices he’d used that should have stayed out of the mix, like sage, paprika, cinnamon, nutmeg… really, she thought maybe he’d just put some of everything in the spice rack in there. 

She tried turning on the tv and entertaining herself, but the only channels they seemed to get all had the same robotic actor on them, overdramatically giving monologues, "hosting" or cooking things- awful things… that’s probably where Sans’ brother had gotten the recipe for the lasagna… 

She turned it back off, and decided to look through the windows to try to get an idea of the area she was in. Knowing that she was at least supposedly in danger, and most likely truly could be, she only peeped from the edges of the window for the first few minutes, but after noticing that there didn't seem to be anyone or anything outside but tall grass and flowers, she just looked through it normally. 

I thought they said we were in monster territory…? 

(Y/n) put a hand over her face. What if they were all the way on the other side of the monster territory? She certainly couldn't find any landmarks that looked familiar, and the tall buildings usually on the horizon seemed to be missing. 

Only more support for her 'Sans is actually a nice, though perverted, guy' theory… 

She sighed and decided to go look out the windows in Sans' room, thinking that maybe she'd see something familiar from higher up. 

(Y/n) was standing at the window, wondering what kind of flowers were in the field, when the door opened. She, of course, expected it to be Sans, this being his room and all, but the blood drained from her face was she saw the tall skeleton in the doorway. 

"HUMAN, I THOUGHT YOU WOULD PROBABLY GET HUNGRY, AND I DIDN'T THINK YOU'D BE ABLE TO FEND FOR YOURSELF," he shouted, sounding extremely put upon. "AND I KNEW SANS WOULD BE TOO LAZY TO REMEMBER TO FEED YOU, SO I- WHAT ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE?" He asked suspiciously, cutting himself off before getting to his point about how much of a hassle it would be if she died from starvation.  

Her color had gotten paler when she'd seen him, and her eyes had started darting around the room, as though taking stock of what she could use as a weapon. Papyrus automatically did a check and found that not only did she have a blue soul, denoting her strong integrity, but it seemed to have a bit of a purple glow around the edges showing her perseverance, looking a bit like blue velvet; blue, but purple in the shadows caused by the texture, and she had an extremely low LOVE, around that of a child's, and was surprised that her desire to find a weapon went so against her stats. 

It must be a survival tactic, then. Probably to defend against any oncoming attacks.

She posed no threat to him, but he applauded her instinct to be ready to fight if necessary. 

She swallowed harshly and managed to rasp out a broken whisper. "Loo-n-  ou-si-." She pointed out the window to try to help him understand what she was saying. 

He seemed to have dismissed her, though, looking around the room. "OH MY GOD!!" 

She jumped at his exclamation. Did she do something wrong by cleaning? 

"THIS IS THE CLEANEST I'VE SEEN MY LAZY BROTHER'S ROOM SINCE WE MOVED IN!! BUT, WHY DIDN'T YOU DO THE LAUNDRY? IT'S JUST SITTING HERE IN PILES." 

"C-ou-... cou-n't fi-d," she rasped, shaking her head nervously apologetic. Her hand went to her throat, and the way she winced showed how hard on her throat just getting that much out was. 

Papyrus hummed, his fingers lifting to his chin. It would make sense that she wouldn't wash them if she couldn't find anything to do it with. "FEAR NOT, HUMAN! I, THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS, WILL SHOW YOU WHERE THE WASHING MACHINE IS! AND HOW TO USE IT!!" 

(Y/n) opened her mouth to object that she did know how a washer worked, but it didn't matter, because he had just turned and started out the door with, "COME, HUMAN, AND BRING A PILE OF LAUNDRY!!" 

After having the instructions on how to use the machine yelled at her, for no particular reason, she was glad that it had been Sans that had found her, and that Papyrus had only come to check on her and would be leaving soon. She didn’t know how long she’d be able to stay in his presence without constantly being on the edge of a panic attack. 

When she came back into the front room from where the laundry room was, behind a hidden door in the kitchen, Papyrus was standing a little awkwardly near the door. 

"W-WELL… I CAN'T SPEND ALL DAY MAKING SURE THAT YOU DON'T DIE! I HAVE TO GO! …" He stood silently for another moment, then announced, "I'M GOING." 

(Y/n) gave a smile and waved, the most she could do without hurting her throat further or risking offending him, and had to hold back a laugh as the start of a red glow touched his cheeks and he looked flustered for a millisecond before he gave a tug to straighten his outfit before he turned and walked out through the door. 

After Papyrus left, (Y/n) mostly just hung around and did laundry, looking through things, but not finding much for her to do until she found a deck of cards, then she sat on the floor and played solitaire, pausing only when the laundry was done, to fold it and put it on the desk chair, not wanting to dig around in Sans’ drawers. 

He was a guy… guys had… stuff … that she’d rather not stumble across… especially due to the strange things that had apparently turned him on before. Also, being a skeleton monster made him different from every other guy she'd known, and the thought of finding super weird fetish stuff that she'd inevitably be morbidly curious about gave her pause. 

She wasn't a "freak" but… curiosity was something that had gotten the better of her before, and some things in life, you just didn't need to know. 

.

(Y/n) had finished the few loads of laundry, folded them, and turned to just playing card games by herself on Sans’ bed by the time the door opened and Sans walked in, looking tired and sweating a weird sort of translucent, but red tinged, perspiration. 

He stepped in and closed the door behind him before looking up, but then froze in place and swept his shocked and slightly horrified gaze around the room. 

For the second time that day, she wondered if she'd done something wrong by cleaning Sans' room. 

He stiffly walked to the chair and pushed the laundry off onto the floor. 

(Y/n) made an indignant noise from the bed, but heard him mutter, "too clean…" 

Ahh, so he's one of those people who need a little disorder to feel comfortable , she noted, feeling the anxiety leaving her as he tossed his coat on the chair and turned to her. 

He smiled and lifted a bag onto the bed. "i, uh- i uh- gotcha some stuff…" His expression shifted to that angry sort of flustered look he'd had before, paying close attention to how his other hand was fiddling with the edge of his red sweater. "somethin' ta wear, s-so ya don't have ta keep wearin' dirty clothes…" 

Sans glanced over at her and felt another pang in his chest at the beautiful smile she was giving him. 

fuck-! so adorable! an'... why d'i feel disappointed that she's not wearing my clothes, now?  

(Y/n) smiled at him, mouthing thank you . She hesitated before nervousness seemed to grow over her a little and her gaze focused on the bed. 

“wassup, sweetheart?” He asks, feeling a bit nervous about what was on her mind. 

She gestured, asking, can I go home? She immediately winced and glanced up at him then back to the bed, as though she were worried he was going to hit her. 

Sans felt his soul throb painfully at the thought of her leaving, and his hand automatically went to it. He realized what he was doing, and changed the movement to scratching his sternum through his sweater. Luckily, he had a reason for her to stay. He move the bag onto the floor, then sat on the mattress and laid back with his shoulders about even with her, making himself comfortable as he told her, “i talked ta alla my contacts, an’ it sounds like no one knows ‘xactly where ya are, but they definitely know that there’s a human on monster turf.” 

Her brow dipped in confusion and she asked, how?  

Sans shrugged as he put his arms behind his head, his fingers running over a crack on the back of his skull. “dunno fer sure-” ok, it might have been from his asking so blatantly if anyone had seen a human around- “but i hadda getcha here somehow. coulda jus’ been spotted on th’ way. tough luck, but, should be good in two or three days. ‘f we wait fer three, they’ll most likely ferget ta be lookin’ fer ya.” 

(Y/n) eyed him, and he was glad that he’d already been sweating so that she hopefully didn’t notice the fresh round of perspiration beading on his skull. Finally, she seemed to accept it, and he let out an internal sigh of relief. 

“so, you, uh, ya have an ok day?” She gave a half nod half shrug. “noticed ya cleaned up ‘round here… an’ i appreciate th’ thought behind it, sweetheart, ‘s real sweet a ya, but, i gotta ask ya; please don’t. kinda wigs me out when ‘s too clean. like it’s a fake fuckin’ storybook,” he muttered. 

She put a hand on his arm, and it felt like Sans’ soul tumbled around his rib cage. He looked up to see the apologetic look on her face. Sorry...

Apologies? Yeah… Those were something that never happened in the Underground. 

In a kill or be killed world, any sign of niceness was seen as a form of weakness, so niceties had been dropped long ago. 

The way his sweetheart was so nice, showing kindness and caring was definitely something he liked about her, but… it also made him uncomfortable. 

Sans would never turn away from her for her weakness, he wanted to protect her, keep her with him and safe. But… he didn't know how to react to this kindness. So he again took it to a place he was more comfortable with. 

“ah, dollface, don’t worry ‘bout it…” He turned and his thumb went out to run down her cheek, trying not to let the tiny flinch get to him. “if it’d make ya feel better, i know somthin’ ya could do ta make it up ta me…” He gave her a smirky grin and took his hand back, putting a fingertip on his cheek. “how ‘bouta kiss?” He watched her gaze turn wary, her body stiffening like she was getting ready to bolt. 

False, flirty affection and innuendo was so much easier to handle than real affection, even if he wanted her affection like a starving man wanted food. It seemed, though, that she knew how to take flirting about as well as he knew how to take a compliment, so he again changed directions.

 “kiddin’- ‘m kiddin’, doll,” he assured quickly, feeling a prick of pain in his soul. He was not kidding. He'd probably do anything to get her to willingly kiss him again. “heya, knock knock.”

She looked at him uncertainly, but lifted a brow and tilted her head. Who’s there?  

“sherlock,” he told her, watching as she puzzled over it. 

Sherlock who…? Seemed to be what she asked with her confused expression after a moment. 

“ sherlock yer door tight, sweetheart,” he told her, watching as her eyes closed as she took it in, then her posture changed as she silently chuckled. 

Sans’ smile widened in satisfaction that she enjoyed his joke. “knock knock, doll.”

She lifted her brow to ask who's there, but it was the cute little smile on her face that made his soul throb. 

“mustache,” he told her, watching her expression contort in confusion. 

Mustache? Can skeleton monsters even grow mustaches? What the hell? She thought and tilted her head inquiringly.

“ mustache ya a question, but i’ll shave it fer later,” he told her with a blow off expression, watching her giggle as squeaks and huffs left her. 

There… that adorable expression on her face was a much better look than her being worried that he was going to do something unpleasant to her. Even if the worry was justifiable, given his track record concerning her… 

He just watched her giggling for a moment, red spreading over the bridge of his nose. 

She tapped her hand to his arm and managed to ask, you know a lot of knock knock jokes?  

“knock knock,” he told her in answer, and she lifted a brow immediately in question. “rhino,” he told her. 

Oh, this one had to be good. She tilted her head and lifted her brow again. 

“ rhino every knock knock joke there is,” he told her, his grin getting a bit goofier at her reaction. Stars she was cute! “so, what else d’ja do?”

(Y/n) wondered if it was something normal for monsters to talk so comfortably with someone they’d only really just met the day before. It really seemed like some ideal relationship situation from some rom-com; he got home from work, told her about his day, asked about hers… The only thing missing was an actual relationship…

She masked the feelings her internal musings brought up with the ease of practice and gestured around the room. She was good at ‘don’t rock the boat.’ 

“jus’ this, huh?” He asked and she nodded before pointing at the cards, indicating that she'd also played cards. “sounds like a  good day ta me, but maybe ‘m jus’ lazy,” he said as he closed his eye sockets. A contented smile tilting his normal grin up. “‘m gonna try ta get a nap in before dinner. feel like joinin’ me?”

(Y/n) shook her head to answer him, knowing he could see her though his slightly open socket. 

“suit yerself, sweetheart,” he told her, shifting his shoulders as he got comfortable.

He seemed to almost immediately fall asleep, soft snores coming from him, and not even reacting when she’d waved her hand in front of his face. 

She went back to her card game, the weird feeling of being so comfortable around a strange man (one that had pushed her against the wall and basically rubbed against her, no less!) struck her as wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to be truly uncomfortable. 

Uneasy and worried from his actions sometimes? 

For sure. 

Uncomfortable? 

Nope. 

Something brushed against and down her back, laying against her butt. 

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder, seeing Sans' arm laid out behind her. She watched him closely, not wanting to miss any tell in his expression, but other than slightly rolling toward her, he still seemed asleep. 

She gave a doubtful glance, but it fell to the back of her mind as she continued her game. 

After a few minutes, she felt Sans rolling toward her more, his hand sliding over the bed, snaking over her thigh, wrapping around her waist and burying his face against her thigh. 

Oh, yeah. He's asleep, my ass, she mentally grumbled. 

She rolled her eyes and went back to her game, not entirely comfortable with this extent of touching, but she knew that some good friends got touchy and cuddled, so it wasn't some insanely strange concept to her, even if they weren't that close. 

Halfway through the next round of her game, (Y/n) felt Sans' arms tighten around her, and she looked down to see him rolling over onto his stomach, putting him on the cards and into her lap, his head awkwardly pressing against her. 

She tried to shift around to get rid of the discomfort of his skull pressing against her hip, and the weird kink he'd put in his neck vertebrae to do so. 

Of course, with all of her edging around his head, and their shifting around, she ended up laying back with him in her lap, his skull laying on her stomach. How could this end any other possible way with her luck?

Honestly, though, with all the terrible things he could possibly do to her, that she knew of and worried about, laying with his head on her stomach hadn't even made the list. 

She gave a shattered, huffing sigh that made her cough a little, but it cleared quickly. 

She kept herself ready in case she was going to have to defend herself from the skeleton, but folded her arms over her chest to feel like she had at least a little cover, and resigned herself to laying there until either he "woke up," or she had to convince him to move so she could use the bathroom. 

Sans tightened his arms around his sweetheart as she coughed, hating that he didn't have green magic to try and fix it instantly, but, thankfully, it quickly ended. 

He tried to be subtle, not wanting to give away that he was awake, but it was so hard when all he wanted to do was nuzzle into the soft squishiness of her belly. Especially when some of her squishiest bits were against his clavicle and were tempting him to rub against them… and give them a sniff…  

fuck- ya smell so fuckin' good, sweetheart… He mentally groaned to himself. 

(Y/n) shifted under him, but he didn't let it disturb him; he was an expert at pretending to sleep. 

"SANS-" 

The skeleton on her belly jumped at the loud voice, giving a grunt of surprise. 

"YOU BETTER BE DOWN HERE IN FIVE MINUTES TO EAT DINNER!!"

"paps, you fuckin' sonuvabitch," he grumbled to himself, not quite audible to (Y/n). 

"welp. dinner time, doll. you joinin' us downstairs 'gain t'night?" He asked as he sat up, not leaving the bed, or her pile of cards, but off of her. 

She gave him a nervous look, not wanting to be afraid, but also very afraid of the tall, loud skeleton downstairs. 

"aww, c'mon sweetheart, he ain't that bad. i mean, don't get me wrong, 'e's bad, but not that kind a bad." 

As strange as it was for her to trust anyone so quickly, his words kind of made her feel better about being in the same room as the taller skeleton.  

She followed him downstairs, deciding that she was misreading the look on his face and posture as content and proud, as though she trusted him to be her knight in a red sweater; it was probably just self confidence. 

God knew she'd never felt that much of it to know. 

Sans pulled out a chair for her, but instead of waiting to push her in, he sat in the chair next to it and shifted the seat, pulling it closer to him when she sat. 

(Y/n) would protest, but she really did feel safer being closer to him, and farther away from the other skeleton. 

He served her a small slice of lasagna, and she knew that it was because he knew it was going to taste awful, and he didn't want to stick her with too much to eat instead of a plot to starve her. 

It was a quiet dinner, much the same as the night before, with the toe of Sans' sneaker hitting the leg of her chair he was so close, and Papyrus giving her not at all hidden suspicious glares, as though he didn't think it was safe to hold a conversation in front of her. 

(Y/n) took another bite of the lasagna and hid her wince. 

She really should have hidden those spices earlier… 

A/N: Oh Sans... there's a difference between telling Paps that he's an amazing cook and telling (Y/n) she has to stay there because there's no possible way she can get home. Also, I recently got a message from someone who had made fanart of another story I wrote and asked if I wanted to see it- uh, fuck yeah, I do! You kidding?! You were inspired by something I wrote?! I'm gonna fangirl... I love it even more because I can't draw... I guess what I'm saying is that if you do anything inspired from something I've written (art, stories, drabbles), you don't have to ask, there's a 100% chance I want to see it. And that I'll squeal.

[hadestownmodern]

Carnival

   Hello this is Demeter and Theo’s time, thank you all for coming. I have some soft Orphydice on deck but you all know how I feel about our dear young Demeter

-Danielle

--------------        

    Theo sees her before he can hear her; Demeter, all wild curls and overalls, comes bounding over to his little honey stand waving a piece of paper in her hand. When she makes it across the market her smile consumes her, and she can barely manage greeting him with a hug before shoving the paper in his line of sight.

              “Look at this!” She gasps, “Are you going? Do you want to go together? Please?” If he had planned on saying no to her, he isn’t sure he would have been able to. The excitement illuminates her, catches in the air around her in a way that would infect anybody in her path. She’s holding the flyer out still and she grabs his hand, puts it inside and closes his knuckles around it.

              The flyer advertises a fair-one that comes to town every year, one that he and his family hadn’t been to in a long while. The hype of it all hadn’t seemed necessary; the same rides, food, games…he’d become occupied with other things, had been busy throughout these years helping his family turn their business around. He’d been so busy growing up that he’d forgotten the love of something that had always been such a staple of living in such a small community; things like this brought the world together, gave them a reason to celebrate.

              “Have you been before?”

              “No, I never got to. Nana tried-she tried a lot. But my mom always used to say things about dirt and germs and money being spent on pretty things that help you ‘show yourself’ which…explains private school perfectly.” Demeter shrugs, kicking her sandals off and sitting herself on her usual perch atop Theo’s cooler. He finds it hard to believe that the wild-natured girl had once been so spoiled, raised so intently on the value of placement in society.

              “I wish you’d have gotten to see it as a kid. Some of my best memories are from this fair.”

              “Which is why we have to go! Are you really going to deprive me of some of the best memories of your life?” the way she articulates her words, pushing her syllables out with emphasis on every other word, has Theo teasingly rolling his eyes at her. He holds his answer purposefully, watching as she impatiently taps her feet against the cooler.

              “I don’t know, I’m pretty busy.”

              “Ah, I see.”

              “Yeah, I’ve just got a ton of work, I don’t know how I could ever get out of it.” Theo fails at his attempt to hide his smiling-Demeter tilts her head, watches as he awkwardly shrugs at her. He maneuvers around his little stand under the pretense of suddenly being very busy, shifting the crates of returned jars and adjusting his sign. While Demeter watches, he turns each jar on his table so the label is facing out, continuing a rant about how business is booming lately and his grandfather needs help with something she can’t quite understand. She hops up from her perch on the cooler and follows along behind him, sneakily turning the labels any which way. When he notices her he narrows his eyes, unable to stop a laughter that mirrors hers.

              “I have a lot to do!”

              “Okay.”

              “I do!”

              “Sure.” She raises an eyebrow at him, taps her fingers on the counter before swiping a bottle of honey from the back of his stock. She twists it open with a snap, dips her finger in and pops it in her mouth with a satisfying hum. “You’re really busy, and I had the best childhood ever. Come on, bee man, we have to go!”

              “Only if you promise to buy me some cotton candy.”

              “I’ll buy you twenty.”

              “Deal.”

              Demeter pumps her fist in success, freckled cheeks lifting with a wide grin as she brings one arm lazily around his waist in thanks. She’s a flurry of energy as she gathers her things; a soft, slightly flimsy blanket, a water bottle, and sandals she sticks in a worn canvas bag. She turns to leave but immediately whirls around, snatching the open bottle of honey from the counter.

              “You’re stealing!” She throws her hands up in the air, looking at Theo from over her shoulder, airy and light.

              “You’ll have to catch me if you want this bottle back!”

              He watches her go, barefoot and waving at every person she passes, and tucks the flyer into the pocket of his apron.

              They meet on a Mondy night; the rush of the Sunday farmer’s market is over, the clean-up, count, and re-stock typically taking a good portion of the day. Theo had finished even quicker in anticipation, washing and drying jars, stacking them on shelves.

              “Where are you off in such a rush to?” His grandfather had smiled at him from his place at the sink, peeling potatoes and watching Theo check tasks off a list with ease. His grandson had never been lazy-not since the day he’d been born-but he’d also never been prone to working so quickly through his jobs.

              “My friend and I are going to the fair, and I promised I’d meet her at her house in an hour.”

              “Oh?” He picks his head up from his work, his grandfather. Years of working had brought thin lines to his features; across his forehead, in the space next to his eyes, and near the cheeks that bore the trademark dimples he’d passed down to Theo along with his name. They make his expressions sharper, more pronounced. Theo ducks his head as he watches the lines spread upward in question, unamused. “New friend?”

              “Yeah, kind of. We’ve been friends for a little while now. She moved into the old farmhouse past the Clancy’s, where that sweet old woman used to take in all the cows that weren’t needing milking anymore.”

              “I know the house. And you think this is a good idea?”

              “Let him have his fun, Theodore.” It’s his grandmother’s sweet voice that comes around the corner, and Theo looks away instinctively from her pitying eyes. His grandmother’s hands, tiny and shrunken like her stature, reach as high as they can toward his cheeks, before falling on his hands instead. She clicks her tongue, waits for him to meet her gaze. She takes him in, all six and a half feet of him, and nods her head.

              “You have fun tonight, Teddy.” She brings his big hands to her lips, kisses them softly. “And you be safe!”

---

              She’s ready when he gets to the little farmhouse, visible through the window as he pulls into her graveled driveway. When she sees him coming she hops up, disappears for a moment before flinging open the door, waving. He hasn’t even gotten out of the car before she’s gotten in, throwing her house key in the cupholder.

              “Let’s go, bee man!” She pumps her fist, exuberant as he backs out of her driveway, Theo shakes his head as she sings loudly to the radio, bops along to the familiar chords of an acoustic guitar. The ride only lasts for three songs, all of which are belted with the feeling of a performance. He drums lightly on the steering wheel and Demeter sings into her fist, stopping only to pretend to strum a guitar with careful passion.

              When they park she hops out of the car, runs to his side and waits impatiently for him to unbuckle. She’s dancing, this time to the muted sounds of the band that’s set up halfway across the fairground. Demeter’s grinning from ear to ear, still singing, grabbing hold of his hand only to reach up on her toes, pushing his side to spin him around. He isn’t much of a mover built so tall and muscular, but he shuffles his body along with hers with about as much grace as he can muster. She wraps both arms around one of his when the song ends and moves quickly toward the entrance.

              It’s a lot to take in, the lights and the crowd of people, and Demeter stops for a moment to let her wide eyes soak everything up. Her lips are parted in the beginnings of a soft gasp, completely entranced by the rickety rides and the smell of fresh buttered popcorn from a nearby stand. Then, she’s gone; he follows her rapid footsteps just as she’s fished a stack of dollar bills from her bag, placing them on the counter and giving the cashier a bright, slightly mischievous smile.

              “So, here’s the thing.” She leans effortlessly against the counter, gaze cast at the gigantic cotton candy machine. “My best friend here-you probably know him, he knows everybody around here-said that he’d come here with me if I bought him twenty cotton candy’s. The thing is, I don’t think we could eat twenty all in one night and there’s also popcorn that needs to be eaten. So I was hoping that maybe, if you’re up for a challenge, you could try something for me.”

              She looks back at Theo before leaning closer to the cashier, speaking low and intelligible. He takes only a moment to think, then shrugs and puts her money in the register. Demeter bounces on her toes as she watches the man get to work, masterfully twirling the large paper cone in the wide, circular machine. When he’s finished, she’s handed a wad of cotton candy bigger than her head.

              “Better than twenty?” She takes a big bite, puffy candy hanging from her lips before dissolving. She holds the cone out to him with a sideways nod of her head. He takes his bite and Demeter bops the cone of candy against his nose.

              “Better than twenty.”

              “I’ve never had this before.” She rips off another piece, stopping mid-air as Theo’s jaw drops.

              “You’ve never had cotton candy?”

              “Nope.”

              “Ever?”

              “Never.” Demeter shrugs, holding the cone out to him once more. “The upper crust of society frowns upon cotton candy and fun, especially fairs.”

              “Do they also frown upon wearing your own clothes?” He teases. Demeter sticks her tongue out, backs up from where they’re walking to strike a dramatic pose. She’s modeling one of his sweaters, a burnt sort of orange color that falls just above her knees. She’s paired it with slightly worn brown boots; simple, yet bold on the girl who spins lightheartedly in front of him.

              “You left it at my house!” Her argument is just as teasing as his call-out, a shrug and a brush of her hair from her face. There’s a catalogue of his things there now, shirts and socks and even a blanket. “I can give it back.”

              “That’s okay,” He holds out his hand again, gestures to a row of carnival games. “I don’t need it.”

              They play for a while, Demeter’s competitive side showing as they take turns at knocking over a pile of neatly arranged cans, a stuffed elephant the sole focus of their attention. They aren’t sure who chose it first, the white animal decorated with primary colors, but once it’s been decided the pair hangs around the carnival game without so much as another thought.

              They egg each other on, taking turns swiveling between trash talk and cheering as they attempt to knock every bottle down. As they win smaller prizes, candy and smaller toys, Theo wheels around and hands them to a group of children that had come to watch. They cheer, too-whether it’s for their win or a loss that will bring them more toys is debatable. Demeter’s in the middle of a long string of tongue-in-cheek mocking when Theo hits the center of the pile, causing all the cans to topple over. She jumps, waves her hands and lets her smile double uncontrollably as Theo holds the head-sized elephant out to her.

              “First prize for the baby.” He says. He’s so proud, so enraptured by the moment that all she can do is smile back convincingly, unable to find her focus as he leads her to the ferris wheel. She holds the toy on her lap, nodding to the inflections in his voice. As the ride begins to move, he quiets.

              “Something’s wrong.” It’s not a question; he’s known her long enough now to see the sudden change in her demeanor, the way some of the light has disappeared from her eyes.

              “It was negative again…I meant to tell you Sunday, but….”

              “Are you okay?”

              “I just…thought having a baby would be easier. That’s what they teach you in private school-that’s all they teach you. But I think I’m making it harder on myself. I know it’ll happen, I can see it. It hasn’t even been that long…I just need to relax a little bit.”

              “Words I thought I’d never hear you say.” She wrinkles her nose, pushes her side against his in defiance. The wheel whirs upward and the pair watches the ground move away from their feet. Demeter turns, watches as he stares at the lights that light the sky around them, whirring in their multicolored show. He seems lost, in a way, and she wonders if he can feel the disappointment she tries so desperately to shake from her veins. The wheel stops right as their carriage hits the top, and they lean against the railing.

              The fairgrounds aren’t as sprawling as he’d remembered, their magic having disappeared with time and familiarity. What once had felt like crowds of thousands had dissipated; from this vantage point he can see where they’d danced-where Demeter had stopped in the middle of the crowd and looked up at the lights just turning on to illuminate the places that dusk had begun to darken. He can see where she’d pulled him by the hand, asked to go on the tilt-a-whirl immediately after their feast of cotton candy. He can see where the sugar high had led them to stand apart, tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths.

              The seemingly worn-out experiences had been renewed with his company, who leans over the safety bar, pointing and narrating, unable to take in the whole scene at once. The slight breeze rustles her hair, brushes her nose and cheeks with a pink that matches the softness of her features. She hides her hands in the sleeves of his sweater, already a monstrous thing on her small frame. It’s a picture all in itself, the way she brings things to life with her wide eyes and exuberant narration. When the ride starts whirring again she settles herself back against the seat, and he softens at the feeling of her head on his shoulder. It takes Demeter a moment to collect herself, bringing her knees to her chest and her body pressed against his side.

              “Hey, at least we’re here, right? I might not have a baby yet, but I’ve still got you.” She sighs, content, and the wheel begins to make another ascent.

[turquoisephoenix]

Perfect Chemistry

A Skylanders one shot

Dr. Krankcase/Mags. All it takes is a slip of a tongue and before you know it you're accidentally admitting that you have romantic feelings for your best friend from Inventor's School.

The sun was already setting in the cloud-filled horizon of Skylands, distant clouds on the western horizon glowing like fresh coals in a burning furnace.

Just this morning, Skylanders Academy - beacon of hope, symbol of virtue and peace in a turbulent magical world littered with monsters and villains - held a giant celebration to welcome four new Skylanders into the fold. While it was common for someone courageous enough to be made a Skylander (Master Eon was never considered very picky about who he granted the title, provided the recipient had proven themselves worthy of the title) was what made this day special was that it heralded the end of an evil chapter. The end of a nightmarish era.

Four of The Doom Raiders have given up crime.

After several years performing community service and training under the watchful eye of Master Eon and his most loyal followers, Wolfgang, The Golden Queen, the Chompy Mage, and Dr. Krankcase were now all considered fit to rejoin society and were all awarded new jobs as both Skylanders and teachers at the Academy. The Doom Raiders as a villainous organization had now ceased to be.

Some of the members of the Academy wished that it was all of the awful criminals - Chef Pepper Jack, Dreamcatcher, and The Gulper were all considered to be at large and major threats to the peace that the Skylanders upheld - but this was still considered a major victory to celebrate. It proved that evil could change, even if it took several years of sorting through books at a library to do so.

And with their newly awarded freedom - and their declaration that they would never use their powers for evil ever again unless they want a life sentence in Cloudcracker Prison - the Academy threw a party in their honor.

And boy, what a party it was. Even as the sun was setting and the hours were winding on, the party showed no signs of slowing down and looked to be rising to a fever pitch, with everybody in the Academy taking advantage of the excuse to eat as much food as they could, dance until their feet felt ready to fall off, and talk to the new members of the Academy staff while under the influence of caffeine and various snack products. The enchilada sauce flowed freely, as did the music from several local bands. The kitchen fires burned around the clock just to supply enough refreshments to everyone who showed up.

One ex-Doom Raider, however, wanted a break from the celebrations. Dr. Krankcase, tray of party favors still in one hand, kept glancing out the window and at the setting sun as if searching for an exit. That isn't to say he had fun today, of course not, but while his former partners in crime were still taking the center stage, either through queenly proclamations that they declare their powers to be a rightful force that will make all the bad guys tremble or through unprompted guitar solos that shook the dust off of the Academy's foundations, Dr. Krankcase was now just hanging back near the back of the party with Mags and her friends. Mags was the only non-Doom Raider he knew at the party, after all.

Mags had noticed that Dr. Krankcase was giving subtle hints that he no longer wanted to be there anymore, even if he refused to say so out loud. She had known him for so long that she was able to pick up on the tiny cues that he gave when it was obvious that he was no longer having fun at a social gathering, especially one that was filled with questions from future coworkers. His jokes became just a little more forced, his body language became tight and more hesitant, his eyes kept searching for possible escape routes, and his smile had turned from something bright and cheerful to something that had the grimace of a caged animal.

He seemed too afraid to leave on his own, possibly in fear that someone would somehow find it suspicious and immediately take away his recent accolades and throw him back in Cloudcracker Prison (anxiety was funny like that) so when Mags suggested they head over to her workshop, he practically jumped at the opportunity.

That's what friends were for, right?

"Man, thanks for saving me back there, Mags. I'm not used to so much festivity and merriment thrown in my direction." Dr. Krankcase said as he entered Mags' workshop, breathing a sigh of relief as his legs clicked noisily across the floor.

When the ex-Doom Raider had last visited her workplace, there was so much stuff on the floor - wrenches, half-finished blueprints, cans of oil, that sort of thing - that he had such a hard time getting around and instead stood awkwardly in a corner. Now, there was a clear path cutting through the place, the organized chaos instead being pushed off to the sides where they couldn't get caught on his spider legs. He appreciated the gesture. With how well his cybernetic wooden legs worked, a lot of people forgot that they were still considered mobility aids and that he couldn't stand in places that people with two legs could.

"Aww, it's no big deal!" she said, hanging her silly stovepipe hat on a stand near the door. "Although personally I think ya were doing a great job with all them questions and-" Mags stopped herself the moment she saw her partner follow her lead and also remove his hat. "...Cranberry, are you wearing a toupee?"

The mad scientist looked up, radiating a similar aura of a dog caught with a stolen bagel in its mouth, and smiled sheepishly. There was an unfortunate blue hairpiece perched on her froggy companion, several shades darker than the actual hair sticking out on the sides of his head. His face began to turn pink as he looked away from her.

"Well...you know, I wanted to be prepared in case some accident knocked my hat off during the party! You know how it goes. I didn't want my new coworkers to see my massive bald spot, and...well..."

He trailed off, realized how lame he sounded, and ripped the hair piece from his head as he immediately gave up. His massive bald spot, normally hidden by one of his many tall hats of choice, now glistened in the workshop's lighting.

"So yes, yes, I'm wearing a very bad toupee," he held it away from him between two pinched fingers in disgust. "A very damp one at that!"

Mags put a hand against her mouth to stifle a giggle as he unceremoniously chucked the hell toupee in a wastebin. "Ya wanna relax while I get yer gift ready? It'll take a couple minutes to get it set up and ya look like death there, buddy."

Thankful for the invitation, Krankcase flopped on a dusty old couch that Mags kept in her workplace, his legs curled up like a dead spider as some of the legs pierced the worn out arm rest. His modified body shape was good for standing but not so much for more leisurely poses; couches were now the preferred method of relaxation over a chair. He stretched, his back and neck audibly cracking, as a lazy smile spread on his face. "Don't need to tell me twice, Mags."

He listened to her leave into the next room and allowed himself to gaze around the area. He loved that Mags' workshop was like an extension of herself. Most of the space in her workshop was dedicated to her profession, with wrenches and blowtorches and screwdrivers hanging on the walls, but on occasion he'd spot something like a kitten poster or a little ceramic puppy hanging out alongside cans of oil or belt sanders.

There were almost no hints that Mags had originated from the Underlands - a place where vampires, werewolves, and zombies lurked in dusty ol' crypts and mansions - except for one aging photograph that showed her standing next to her parents and five other siblings. Even in the photograph, her parents looked like they were glaring in disapproval at the legless amphibian laying on their daughter's sofa.

But then, as he was left to his thoughts and as he studied Mags' knickknacks and workshop decorations, the butterflies in his stomach returned anew, this time bringing forth the bubbling feelings he kept suppressed. His smile slowly morphed into an uneasy frown as he began to fiddle with one of his bottom tusks. Ah yes, that was a problem. He wasn't sure what caused it - what made his brain flip the switch and change his thoughts into something more potent - but lately he's been having feelings for his best friend. Somehow it almost felt criminal.

'No, don't make it awkward...' he told himself, dragging a hand across his face. He couldn't say it out loud, but he loved Mags. He loved everything about her, her bubbly, positive personality, her immense knowledge in everything science. He loved her accent, the way she would crack a silly joke even in the face of danger. He loved how excited and loud she would get when she was getting close to a breakthrough in an experiment. He loved the way she smiled, the way she still was friends with him even after all the awful, evil things he's done in the past. He even loved her stupid hat, even if he thought his taste in headwear was far superior.

And he was absolutely afraid of ruining all that by saying the wrong thing. What if his tongue betrayed him in the worst possible moment and he said what he was really thinking? Would she hate him? Would he lose his best friend over some stupid emotions?

"Here it is!" Mags cried suddenly, jolting him from his thoughts. Almost guiltily, Dr. Krankcase scrambled to his feet.

Nothing could prepare him for what he saw.

"Mags..."

Standing before him, next to a very excited Mags, was an exact double of the wooden legs that were holding him upright. He slowly walked over to it, his arm outstretched like a sleepwalker, until his fingers grazed the top of it. It was made from the same wood and everything, and all the bolts and joints were at the exact same size. She got the measurements down exactly, when he didn't even build a working blueprint for his wooden spider legs.

"You...you built a replica of my legs?" he asked, leaning forward to examine it even more closely. He lifted a leg up and started testing the joints, then he moved one of his own legs next to Mags' gift and eyeballed the two inventions together, admiring Mags' handicraft. There was absolutely no difference, beyond the fact that only one pair of legs had a Dr. Krankcase sitting in them. It was unbelievable.

"They're not functional, before ya ask. You're still the only one who can bring this type of wood to life. But this has been a little pet project o' mine that I've been fiddling with over the months. I'm slowly learning how yer legs work so that, if something...you know...were to happen while you're out on a mission doing heroic, dangerous things, I could help repair them. It just seems like something to ease your mind just in case something terrible happened."

Krankcase was speechless. After spending an entire day keeping up appearances and trying to play it cool, he lost his composure.

"Mags..." he paused to take a deep breath. Words were suddenly catching in his chest. He ran a hand down his face as tears caught in his eyes. "No one's ever offered to help me like this before."

Mags elbowed him playfully, grinning from ear to ear.

"Aww, it's such a small gesture for the man I love."

Time seemed to stop for both of them. It was the tiniest slip of the tongue - something that Dr. Krankcase thought he misheard - but, like the wrong ingredient thrown into an alchemist's pot, there was an immediate explosive response and suddenly everything in the recipe changed.

"I MEAN-" Mags began, her face instantly turning beet red. She began to gesture wildly with her hands, emotions suddenly flaring up. "Aw shoot, I meant that in a platonic way! I didn't mean it like as in LOVE love, that would be real awkward ta just spring that on ya just now, aw diddly-di-darn, I mean, some things just slip out, boy howdy, I've been working so late and I'm tired andand-"

"Mags! It's okay!" he shouted. Inwardly, as he watched her fidget nervously, he noticed that Mags' accent got even thicker when she was flustered. It was adorable to him, one of the many quirks that made her beautiful in his eyes, and something about it made the ex-Doom Raider feel bold.

He was a Skylander now, after all. Skylanders were supposed to be flexible and adapt to any situation.

"To be quite honest, I love you too."

It was a shot in the dark, one that made his mind scream out in anguish for letting such an important secret out, but it had the perfect effect. Mags didn't tell him that their friendship was now over, she didn't react in disgust at such a display of utter pigheadedness from some frog with a doctorate degree. Instead she froze in place and stared at him blankly like a newborn fawn.

"Wait, you...you do?"

He nodded.

"...Really?"

Her voice sounded so small, so fragile, so unlike the Mags he's known for so long. That's when it hit him. Gears spinning in his head, his eyes fell back on the replica of his own mechanical legs, the result of months of studying his own handiwork just so he would never have to worry about an injury making him unable to repair his legs himself. He wasn't the only one hiding secret affections for a best friend, too afraid to speak up in fear that it'd just alienate the other person and their long-term friendship would be ruined forever.

Dr. Krankcase and Mags were the two smartest scientists in all of Skylands, capable of bending the very fabric of reality with their inventions, and yet both of them were unable to see what was developing between them.

Without thinking, he wrapped her in his arms and pressed her close, burying his face in her bright purple hair. He felt her flinch, but then her hesitation vanished and she relaxed in his embrace and put her arms around his waist.

"Really." He replied back, trying to imitate the dashing hero in a romance novel. His attempt at being suave failed instantly however as his bottled-up emotions overwhelmed him. His voice ended up trembling and the tears he was holding back began to fall on her head. A weak sob escaped his lips and his body shook. He wasn't sure if this was real or not.

"I just didn't think..." he paused as words were getting harder to use. "-you'd want someone like me."

Mags didn't respond as she rested her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat flutter anxiously. She didn't have to ask what he meant. She had frequently checked up on him while he was doing community service and on occasion he'd tell her that he was afraid that them continuing to be friends would tarnish her reputation. After all, she was a hero of Skylands while he was a disgraced criminal. She helped people, he hurt people. She saved the world from destruction, and he once built a doomsday device. Their friendship persisted, but lately, he was voicing his doubts more and more.

'Because he was falling in love with me,' she realized as she remained pressed up against him, breathing in the wood chip and hint of acid smell that lingered on his clothes. Dr. Krankcase's hug lingered; he was so touch-starved that he was almost afraid of letting go, in fear that this golden opportunity would slip through his fingers.

He was always like that, she mused to herself. Doubting himself and his ability to live up to her achievements despite looking outwardly prideful. Even when they were alumni at the most prestigious inventor's school, Krankcase was afraid that becoming friends with her would reflect badly on Magdalena Sibylla-Bronwen Soulstealer the II, daughter of one of the most famous vampires in the Underlands.

"Of course I want to be with you. I'd be fine living the rest of my life with you if I had to." she said softly, arms still around his waist.

She loved Dr. Krankcase, she could finally admit that to herself. She loved everything he was, every little piece of his maniacal personality, his talents and strengths as well as his flaws. She didn't mind at all that he had creepy spider legs. He was a cunning scientist just like her, a man of alchemy and engineering, and also a fearsome warrior. She almost felt a little guilty for admitting this, but she even loved his time as a villain, if only because it made his current achievements that much richer. He was once evil, but he also had the strength to realize what he did was wrong and pull himself out of his wicked mindset.

At those words, Krankcase's mind started to ponder the possibility of spending the rest of his life with her - would they get married? would they have kids? - and something about it activated his deep-seeded anxiety and his body went into fight-or-flight mode. He instantly pulled away from her, an action so swift that Mags nearly fell over, as he tried to slowly walk backwards out the front door. Everything was happening too fast.

"You know, Mags. I should...I should get going." he said, panic flooding his voice. "T-Thank you for the present, it was...I'll be real, it was the best thing I've ever received in my life-BUT I think I've stayed too long, I'm kinda making things awkward right now, I don't want anyone in the Academy to get any ideas and start talking-"

Mags approached him swiftly, her hands gently resting on his shoulders, stopping him from running away. They made eye contact and for a brief moment, neither of them spoke as they both gazed into each other eyes. Without realizing what he was doing, Krankcase leaned forward until both of them felt each other's breath on their face. Two of his spider legs adjusted themselves so that they were on opposite sides of her own, gently framing her with his own cybernetics.

Mags drew herself to her full height. Now it was her turn to be bold.

"Let them talk."

And with those words, she pulled his face towards her's, fingers caught in his fluffy blue hair, and gave him a kiss. It was clumsy, a sloppy first attempt from a scientist so inexperienced in romance that most of her experience - save for the time when she dated Cali for a brief couple of months - came from TV shows and crinkled paperbacks.

But like most of her science experiments, it had the desired result. He leaned into her kiss and they both melted into each other, savoring the moment. Dr. Krankcase put a hand behind her head, running his fingers in her purple hair. When they finally pulled away, both of them needed some time to catch their breath.

"Wow..." was his only reply. It snapped him back to his senses; the panic was gone and he was back to his charming self.

Then, his mouth curled into a wide grin, his bottom tusks framing his lovely set of fangs.

"Well? Did it work? Did I turn into a prince?"

It was a dumb joke, but it also broke all of the tension that was hanging in the room. Mags immediately started cackling like a hyena like it was the funniest joke she's heard in her life, leaning her head against Krankcase's chest as he too started laughing.

"Sorry! Sorry! It was the perfect moment-" he tried to explain, but he was cut off when Mags jokingly punched him in the arm.

"You're such a dork!" Mags shot back.

Krankcase quietly embraced her again, leaning his chin on her shoulder. Even without his face visible, Mags could feel the grin that was spreading across his face. She smiled back. To both scientists, everything outside of the workshop was now forgotten. The party was forgotten. All fears of gossip were forgotten. All that existed now was their beautiful romance blossoming between the two of them like the most wonderful result of an experiment.

"Yes but I'm your dork."

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Sixty

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

May 10th, 2020

Patton swung on the swing with a giant laugh, leaping from the seat and sticking the landing in the park, taking a bow. Roman laughed and Logan clapped, and Patton happily twirled in his new skirt that he had gotten for the upcoming summer. “I’m so excited!” Patton exclaimed. “I get to do all sorts of things in a skirt because of extra legroom!”

Logan chuckled. “I was never one for skirts, myself, but you make it work, Patton.”

Patton stuck a pose and exclaimed, “Duh!” before Virgil and Dee called his name from the top of the slide. “Gotta go, sounds like my other brothers need me!”

He ran up the playset, admiring his skirt swish all the way. This summer was gonna be great!

February 7th, 2021

It was a lazy Sunday morning, and Logan and Patton were crammed together on Logan’s bed, Logan explaining everything he knew about astronomy to Patton. Patton had heard some of it before, but a lot of it was new, and he loved getting to see Logan so excited about something as simple as the stars in the sky.

...Well, no. The stars and galaxies and stuff were all very complicated, and that was what Logan was explaining to Patton. But the fact remained that Patton loved seeing Logan come alive.

After some time, Logan pulled Patton closer to him. “We don’t do this often enough,” he told Patton.

“Yeah, we need to do it more often,” Patton agreed. “I love getting to hear you talk about anything when you’re excited.”

“Thanks, I think?” Logan said with a laugh.

“It’s a good thing,” Patton said. “You come to life and it’s super super cool!”

“As opposed to me being, what, lifeless the rest of the time?” Logan asked, tilting his head toward Patton with a frown.

“No, like...you’re always a little alive, but you get really excited and animated when you talk about space. It’s super cool to see you get really happy, because I don’t always see you get to be super happy,” Patton explained. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Logan said. “It still seems weird, but I guess you can’t see in my head, so you can’t always see when I feel emotions but can’t express them properly.”

“Yeah,” Patton agreed. “I’m not a mind reader, no matter how much Virgil insists I am. Just because I can notice when he’s anxious doesn’t make me a mind reader.”

“No, it just means that you can read his body language,” Logan agreed. “He’s not super obvious when he’s anxious, but I can pick up on a couple ticks of his, too.”

Patton hummed. “Do you think we could talk more about gender stuff?”

“Sure, if you want,” Logan said. “Is there anything you want to know in particular?”

“Yeah,” Patton said, playing with his hands as he sat up and put them in his lap. “I was hoping we could look up stuff on being cassgender?”

Logan blinked. “Sure. You haven’t brought that up in a while, though. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Patton said, shrugging. “I don’t mind being called a brother or you guys using he/him for me, but...being called a boy feels...off, when I know I’m not really a boy.”

Logan nodded. “I know the feeling,” he said. “Do you think your label might be changing?”

“I don’t know,” Patton said helplessly. “I just...I don’t want to be he all the time, you know? Being Pat is fine, and so’s Patton, too, I guess, and I think it would be funny if you guys called me Patricia sometimes just to mess with people. I don’t think I’m...uh...whatever that gender is where you switch around. I just think that being called a boy is getting on my nerves.”

“You’re feeling dysphoric,” Logan filled in. “And the gender you were talking about is genderfluid.”

“Oh. Okay,” Patton said. He knew what dysphoric meant, because Logan had explained it before, but something about it confused him. “How can I be dysphoric if I don’t care about my gender?”

“Well, your gender might not be that of a boy,” Logan offered with a shrug. “You could be nonbinary, or even a girl, and just not care but ‘he’ feels wrong. Or ‘he’ could just feel wrong because that’s all that’s ever used on you and you want to experiment with other pronouns or ways of expression that aren’t traditionally masculine.”

Patton hummed. That made sense. He didn’t care about his gender, and never really had. That’s why being called a boy had been so jarring. He didn’t know why it decided to be jarring recently, but he supposed he might have just gotten sick of playing pretend being a boy at school. “Do you think you could call me ‘she’ for a while?” Patton requested. “I’m just so tired of hearing ‘he’ and ‘him’ and ‘his’ all week. I think I need a break from it.”

“Sure, Pat,” Logan said. “Should I call you Patricia, or Pat, or does Patton still work?”

Patton shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t really care about that as much.”

Logan laughed. “Okay, that’s fair. But of course I’ll use ‘she’ pronouns if you want me to, even if it’s only for a day.”

Patton beamed wide and she tackled Logan in a hug. “Thank you!” she exclaimed, words muffled by the material of Logan’s shirt.

Logan laughed and hugged her back. “It’s no problem, Pat. Do you want to tell the others about this?”

“Not just yet,” Patton said, leaning back. “I wanna keep hanging out with you.”

“Me?” Logan asked, ears turning pink. “Why?”

“Well, you’re super cool, Logan!” she exclaimed, hands making wide, sweeping motions to emphasize her point. “It’s really nice to get to talk to just you, and we almost never ever do it!”

Logan still looked shocked, but also a little pleased. “Well thank you, Patton. That’s very kind of you to say.”

Patton grinned. “Hey, do you think Dad and Ami would let me try makeup?” she asked. “That could be super fun to play around with!”

“Well, you’re almost ten, you could always ask about getting some lipstick or something for your birthday,” Logan said with a shrug. “No guarantee that you’d get actual makeup, but at the very least I know they’d let you get lip gloss rather than a chapstick or two.”

Patton’s eyes lit up and she bounced where she sat. “Really?! That’s so cool!”

Logan nodded, smiling a little. “I will admit, I never had much of an interest in makeup, but I’m sure Roman could help you. He knows about stage makeup, at the very least, so it might not look natural at first, but with a little practice I’m sure the two of you would do a lovely job.”

Patton squirmed happily. “I wanna go put on a skirt now,” she said.

“Hey, go ahead, no one’s stopping you,” Logan said, waving her off. “You can come back as soon as you’re done if you want to keep hanging out with me.”

Patton squealed and dashed to her room, going to her dresser and immediately rummaging through it until she found her favorite skirt, the pastel blue one with suspender straps. Oh, she adored this one! She put it on and dashed back to Logan’s room, jumping onto his bed and laughing. “Very cute,” Logan complimented. “Come spring, you’ll be the belle of the ball, if you want to be, of course.”

Patton put her hands in her lap and laughed. “I’d love to be the belle of the ball! That’d be so cool!”

Logan grinned and opened his phone. “If you want, I’m sure I could look through people’s makeup pictures and see if we can figure out a style that you like?”

“Blue! I want it to be blue! Or at least pretty pastels!” Patton exclaimed.

“Wow, I never would have seen that coming,” Logan laughed. “Come on, let’s take a look anyway. You might find that your style changes as you look at different pictures.”

No sooner had Logan started the search for makeup than Patton saw something that made her heart skip a beat. She pointed at it and said, “That one! I like that one!”

Logan clicked on it and snorted. “Pastel goth. Of course. It’s you and Virgil combined.”

Patton stuck her tongue out playfully at Logan. “Whatever. I think it’s cool, and you can’t change my mind!”

“I don’t want to change your mind, I was just pointing out that pastel goth is you and Virgil combined. You being the pastel, and him being the goth,” Logan said with a shrug.

“I’m not goth!” a new voice cried indignantly from the doorway.

Patton and Logan turned to find Virgil standing there, arms crossed and his frown etched deep in his face. “I’m not goth. I’m emo. There’s a difference,” he informed Logan.

Logan put a hand to his mouth, and Patton could see he was trying to stifle giggles. “Yeah, okay, whatever, Virgil. My mistake. The two types of people who despair over the world, wear all black, and wallow in their own misery are completely different.”

“Goths are over-the-top and extra, like Roman,” Virgil said. “Emos don’t really try that hard. That’s why I’m emo.”

“That...actually makes sense,” Patton said.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Virgil scoffed, before jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Dad and Ami were wanting to talk to the two of you. Their spidey-senses were tingling.”

“Oh,” Patton said, feeling dread bloom in her gut. Either something was really wrong, or they knew that she wanted to change her pronouns somehow. And no one in this house was a mindreader, so she doubted it was the pronouns.

“We’ll be right down,” Logan said. “I want a word with Patton, first. She looks a little nervous.”

Virgil blinked once, staring at Patton, who was bright red and hoping that Virgil wouldn’t comment. “Okay, I’ll let them know. Should I, uh...use ‘she’ pronouns?”

“Patton?” Logan asked, turning to her.

She squirmed. “I mean, I don’t mind being the one to tell them, but you can tell them too. It’s just for the day, to see how it feels.”

“Oh, okay,” Virgil said. “For a second I was wondering if you thought you were a girl and trying to figure out how to come out. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing! But it would make stuff hard on you at school whenever you came out, and you know how my anxiety works. I will freak out over things months in the future.”

“You’ve been good at not catastrophizing recently, Virgil, cut yourself a little slack,” Logan said with a smile. “Go ahead and tell Dad and Ami we’ll be right there.”

Virgil nodded and left and Patton started to shake. Logan gave Patton a hug. “Hey, we’ll be okay, Pat. Odds are they just wanted to ask us something about whatever they overheard this time. No big deal, right?”

Patton nodded. “That isn’t,” he said softly. “But what if someone got hurt? Granny could have fallen again, or Grandma and Granddad could be in trouble, or...or...there’s too many options!”

“All of them ‘what if’s, Patton,” Logan said softly, kissing Patton’s hair. “You’ll be okay. Even if what they want to talk to us about stuff which hurts, we’ll be okay in the end.”

Patton took a breath and nodded slowly. Together, they walked out of the room and downstairs, to the living room, where Dad and Ami were talking. “...But she? I didn’t really see that coming,” Ami said.

Dad was quick to respond, as Patton’s ears turned pink, “It’s just what she feels comfortable with, Rem. You knew this day might come, right? We talked about it.”

“I know. I just worry about...her,” Ami said, turning and doing a double-take looking at Logan and Patton in the doorway. “Speak of the devil, and he shall appear! Hi, kids.”

Dad turned with a smile. “Hey, we were just talking about you.”

“I heard,” Patton mumbled, scuffing the floor with his toes.

“Not in a bad way!” Dad exclaimed. “We were calling you both down here to talk about gender stuff even before Virgil revealed the pronoun experiment.”

“Okay...?” Logan asked.

“Well, you two are the ones in the house who identify as transgender to some degree,” Ami said. “So we thought we could use your advice on something.”

“Okay...but...on what?” Patton asked.

“Well, there’s someone we know who has had feelings of femininity and being a woman for years, but he was convinced he was just somewhat feminine until recently when someone mentioned being genderfluid in passing. Usually the feeling might last for about a week, he says, but sometimes he feels like a woman, sometimes a man, and other times just a person or a mix of...something,” Dad explained. “What do you two think about that?”

Logan cleared his throat. “Well, obviously, it is up to the individual in question, but that sounds like a classic case of genderfluidity.”

“Sounds pretty cool!” Patton exclaimed. “I sometimes feel feminine, but I don’t feel like a girl. There’s a difference. Girls can be masculine, you know? So I guess they’d have to feel like a girl in their soul, not just their style? If that makes sense?”

Dad gave Ami a smug smile. “I told you so, honey.”

Ami rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “All right, all right, you’ve made your point, Emile. I’ll go out and buy the white flowy dress! I’ll be your wife some days! You’re bisexual, it works out!”

“Pronouns?” Logan asked after the initial silent shock.

“Will change, probably,” Ami said. “But I’ll let you kids know when they do. For now, uh...I guess she and her?”

“Pronoun buddies!” Patton exclaimed excitedly, holding up a hand for Ami to high-five. Hesitantly, she did so. “This is gonna be so cool! And you’re gonna be the prettiest, Ami, I can already tell!”

Ami’s smile at that declaration made Patton’s whole day just that much better.

[enbycupcake]

fluff to practice writing the trio. a sleepover where riku confesses his feelings to sora and kairi

[ here ] on ao3 if you prefer

Laughing, Sora leans against Riku. Kairi’d killed Riku again in whatever fighting game they’re playing (he tries to tell them apart, but most of them look the same to him), and she’s shooting the both of them with finger guns. She’s the reigning champion, much to Riku’s chagrin. Her character flaunts her catchphrase and victory pose while Riku lets out a groan.

“Better luck next time, Ri,” Kairi says, her finger coming to flick his forehead. “If you’re brave enough to face me again.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“If you think that you’ll put up one.”

Sora snorts. “So I’m out.”

“I still don’t understand how you’re so bad at videogames.” 

Kairi nudges him with her shoulder, and Sora settles his head into Riku’s while he shrugs – the best thing about his friend being taller and wider than him is that Sora can basically use him as his personal body pillow. Kairi takes advantage of it, too. 

“You should see him with a computer. It’s a miracle he can play at all.”

Sora halfheartedly swipes back at Riku. “Hey!”

“Tron was laughing at you the whole time you were there, I’m sure of it.”

Sticking his tongue out, Sora flops over onto Kairi instead. “Riku’s being mean.”

“Riku, be nice,” she says sweetly, dramatically wrapping her arms around Sora’s front and then pulling up so her hands cover his ears. “The baby is sensitive.”

“Stop!!”

“Aw, should we put him down for a nap?”

“I think we should.”

Squealing, Sora struggles as Kairi uses her body weight to pull them from sitting to lying down. Riku follows them down, his fingers descending onto Sora’s sides in a tickle attack as he hovers above them. Sora is trapped between them, no way to fight without crushing Kairi. Kicking out his feet one time, he settles for gripping at Riku and trying breathe through his laughter. 

He elbows Kairi at some point, her breath that he can barely make out sucking in. Riku stops his assault to check on her, and Sora launches at him. Kairi can recover easily from an elbow, and hopefully she’ll flip to his side instead. 

Sora, however, realizes he shouldn’t have even entertained that thought. Kairi, the cheater, grabs him by the pants to pull him back, and Riku maneuvers to shove him face first into the pillows. Kairi’s fingers ghost onto his neck while she settles on his upper back to pin him, and Riku once again digs into his sides. Sora, attacked on all his ticklish spots, can’t breathe through his tears and laughter.

Once the onslaught stops, Riku flopping beside him and Kairi falling onto Riku, Sora turns his head to face them, taking deep breathes. Kairi’s lips are upturned in his favorite smile, the one where he can see her slight overbite, and Riku has a small one on his face, the one he only lets him and Kairi see. Heart beating, Sora feels his own lips pull up. He loves being like this, with them. 

“Did we wear you out?” Kairi asks.

Sora scrunches up his face playfully. “If I say no, are you two gonna tickle me again?”

“Yep.”

“Then you definitely wore me out?”

Riku laughs. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes!!! Shut up.”

Kairi shifts, Riku grunting under her, probably knocked by Kairi’s knee. “Why am I your guys’ personal pillow?”

“It’s the muscles, Riku.” Sora pats his bicep. “Nice, solid pillows.”

“Maybe if you worked out you’d get muscles, too.”

Both Kairi and Sora groan.

“The both of you are just lazy.”

Kairi blows him a raspberry. “Why would we need muscles when we’ve got you?”

“Yeah!” Sora agrees, beaming. He watches as Riku tries to roll his eyes, but he can tell Riku’s pleased; his smile is soft, and he melts a little into the mattress. Kairi wiggles on top of him, basically plastering herself to him everywhere she can reach. Sora brings his hand from Riku’s bicep to grab at Kairi’s hand. She readily lets him slip his fingers between hers. 

Sora’s content to let the moment rest, just looking at Kairi and Riku. He’s still so grateful to have them here with him, that they’ve all made it through everything in one peace. And he’s grateful that now their sleepovers are a lot more comfortable; the first few were rough, Kairi’s dad forbidding them from staying in her bed, and his and Riku’s mattresses from childhood not replaced yet. 

“What’re you thinking about, you sap?” comes Kairi’s voice. “Your face is doing the thing.”

Sora sticks out his tongue. “My face doesn’t do a thing. ‘m just thinking about our first few sleepovers.”

“Sap,” Riku says, fond. 

“Remember my dad’s face when he saw you two the first time? He looked like his vein was gonna pop out of his head.”

Sora jerks their hands as he snickers. “He was so upset! It’s like Riku and I were strangers.” Putting on a voice, he continues, “Rascals in my daughter’s bed? This is preposterous!” 

“And he–” laughter interrupts Kairi’s sentence, “he couldn’t believe it, like I somehow snuck you two in? Sorry I want to have a sleepover with Riku and Sora, who happen to be boys.”

Sora’s laughing makes him shake as he remembers just how upset Kairi’s dad was. It’s as ridiculous now as it was scary at the time. If he and Riku were girls, there wouldn’t have even been a second look at them. Selphie, Sora knows, cuddles as of her friends. Giggling, Sora opens his eyes again, having closed them to vividly picture the scene. 

Riku’s taking a calming breath, and that immediately stops any further giggles in their tracks. Kairi, above Riku and feeling the change, also stops laughing while sitting up. 

“Ri?”

He shakes his head, his eyes pulling to Sora’s and Kairi’s hands, no longer locked together. “It’s nothing serious.”

Sora thinks that’s wrong, but he doesn’t say anything. Riku always underplays things. Kairi, knowing the same, raises her eyebrow for a moment. Riku huffs at them.

“I’m not about to confess I murdered someone, guys.”

Rolling his eyes, Sora swats at him while Kairi takes her turn to huff. “As if you could get away with it without us already knowing. The population is nothing.”

“...that’s scary, Kairi.”

She shrugs. “And you thinking we’d jump to something that bad is stupid.”

“I guess.” He blinks at them for a moment before he grabs their hands, one in each of his. “Sora, Kairi,” he looks at them as he says their names, “I love you.”

“That’s it?” That...was underwhelming, Sora thinks. He knows Riku loves them. Riku literally went to the darkness to save Kairi, and he gave up his body for him. Riku loving them is a constant. Looking at Kairi, however, Sora thinks he missed something; her mouth is parted, lips a soft ‘o’. 

Riku shrugs, his fingers rubbing on their hands. “Yeah.”

“Not, ‘yeah.’“ Kairi says, recovered. She shoots Sora a disappointed look. “We love you, too. You should have said something.”

“I just did; keep up.”

Kairi pokes him hard in the stomach. “You know what I meant, Ri. We could’ve been scandalizing my dad this whole time.”

“Why does Riku loving us mean scandalizing your dad?”

Riku laughs at him, deep and happy. Sora feels his fingers tighten with it. “Kairi’s saying I should’ve been kissing you two this whole time, been the rascals in her bed.”

“Oh! OH!” Sora blushes. “That’s...new.” 

“We don’t have to, obviously.” Riku shrugs at him, lifting their hands. “I’m not exactly wanting.”

Sora takes his turn to poke Riku in the stomach. Kissing...it sounds nice. It makes sense; he’s been wanting to kiss Kairi this whole, and Riku’s...Riku. They all love each other.  “Maybe I’d like to kiss you! Just because I hadn’t thought about it–”

“I get first dibs on any kissing here, mister.”

Pouting, Sora turns to look at Kairi. “That’s not fair.”

“Why? I’m the one who knew what Riku was even trying to confess.”

“How was I supposed to know! ‘I love you’? I’d hope he loved me after the past few years we’ve had.”

“How about you two stop arguing over who gets to kiss me and tell me if I’m your boyfriend or not?”

Kairi plops back down onto him, earning a grunt, and Sora follows her, cuddling into Riku’s side. “Boyfriend,” they both croon at him.

“Yeah?”

Sora tangles their legs together while Kairi answers, “Of course! We’ve basically been dating anyway.”

“We have not. Riku hasn’t bought me anything like Selphie’s boyfriend does.” Sora looks Riku in the eye. “It’s romantic.”

“I literally buy you lunch every day. You eat half of mine.” 

“Yeah, but we’ve been doing that since we were five.”

Kairi giggles. “Work that out tomorrow. It’s kissing Riku time now. To make it official.”

“Sora’s mom is gonna murder us in the morning when we tell her.”

“Yep! Now pick which one of us gets first kiss!”

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 2 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 3,330

Logan is careful to leave an extra large tip for the barista this time (we’re talking plural twenties) as he takes his cup with a nod and smile. Gods above knows they’ve more than earned it by now, having seen more than their fair share of spats between Virgil and himself. Technically any number of spats higher than zero is more than their fair share, but still. He feels bad. So he tips extra.

There’s also the small matter of what, exactly, he plans to discuss today. No amount of tips in the world could prepare them (or Logan, frankly) for what kind of retaliation Virgil might unwittingly have in store. Well, a solid hundred might be a good start, but still. Logan is nervous.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t told him,” Roman hisses, watching Logan sink into his usual seat by the window. “It’s been ages, Lo. You see your literal husband every single day. How could it have just not come up?”

“It just didn’t, okay?” Logan stares into his ceramic mug, his reflection murky and distorted by the ripples in the inky blackness. “Why do you think I asked you to come?”

“To act as a buffer and a witness for when Virgil literally tries to murder you?”

“Ha.” It’s the driest laugh Logan can manage as he takes a sip of his coffee, the bitterness drenching his tongue in a scalding liquid flame.

“Really though, I can’t believe you’ve waited this long. How has Virgil not, like, noticed you being at work for way more hours? The training hasn’t exactly been light—I mean, I can’t think of a single day I’ve seen you not be the last one out of the office. Training facility days and literal scuba diving prep excluded, obviously, but still. Wouldn’t that sort of thing come up eventually, be a point of contention, not seeing each other?”

“Maybe, if Virgil would bother to notice my being gone.” Logan scowls out the window, hoping to look cool and broody despite it being a vain and obvious attempt to ignore Roman glaring at him. “What? It’s not like it would’ve ever come up naturally! ‘Hey, Virgil, love of my life, light of my soul, I’m leaving you behind on this spinning hunk of rock to go study the secrets of the universe because one planet is too small for me? Don’t worry, though, I’m just going through a wormhole that’s literally only been theoretical outside of my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s office up until recently, and it’s only been tested in extremely controlled settings that don’t involve squishy organic matter?’ Yeah, that’d go over real well. Thanks for the tip, Roman, I’ll be sure to take it into consideration moving forward.”

“That’s not how I meant it and you know it.”

“Do I?” Logan reaches for the miniature lazy susan of coffee fixins and rips open a few sugar packets, pouring them into his cup and slugging it back before they have a chance to dissolve. “Then tell me, dearest, darlingest colleague and friend of mine. How would I go about sharing that news with my husband? I am open to suggestions.”

Roman pulls the lazy susan closer and snatches some of the creamers, starting up a shaky little tower. “Well, for one, you should’ve been smart like me and told him the day you found out it was even a possibility.”

“It wasn’t set in stone then.”

“And now, nearly a year later, it’s still not set in stone, and you still haven’t said anything. You’re still waiting for the go-ahead on the last round of necessary clearances, not to mention that the literal entire rest of the world still thinks you’re going to the moon.”

“And that’s their fault for assuming we’d needlessly fly more spaceships to the moon. Humanity’s already conquered that point of view, yeah? Not to mention that in doing so, we’ve proved exactly how inconsequential we as a species are in the grand scheme of things, and people assuming we don’t want to expand our reach only have themselves to blame when we exceed their wildest expectations.”

“You can wax poetic all you want about how little it all matters and how much we’ve yet to grow, but I sincerely doubt Virgil is going to care about all that when you tell him where you’ll be once this final request goes through.”

“Oh, like Virgil would’ve had any say in this to begin with. He’d tell me to stay home and stay safe and not expand humanity’s knowledge by any stretch of the imagination, because the least dangerous path in seeking meaning in life is to accept that there is none.”

Roman’s tower, now about seven creamers tall, comes rattling down to the table in an avalanche of white plastic. Logan scoots his cup out of the way in time to avoid it catching any projectiles.

“You want to run that last part by me one more time?” Roman finally asks, gathering the creamers back into a neat little pile. He doesn’t look at Logan as he poses the question.

“What, the meaninglessness of it all?”

“Or lack thereof, mister ‘I’m too wrapped up in my own pity party for my stagnating relationship to bother caring about the other person involved in the damn thing.’ I bet you’ve exchanged more words with me here and now than you have in the past year with Virgil.”

“Even if that were true, it’d be because I’ve been training for a mission, which you might understand if you’d accepted your spot on the crew.”

“What, and leave Patton? And Morgan and Ariel? And Virgil? With you gone, I’d hardly expect them to muddle through on their own. Shockingly enough, I have people who need me down here, and so do you. Not that you thought about that, of course, when you decided pretty much immediately after being asked that you wanted to go on a space death mission, even when I told you you should think on it.”

“We’ve been over this, okay? It’s not a death mission, and it’s nothing short of derivative for you to keep calling it that.”

“And what should I call it instead? A rocket careening through a tiny impossibility in the hopes of not dying on the other side of the solar system? Hell, the other side of the galaxy, for all we know. We’ve never seen anything organic go through a wormhole. We’ve hardly even seen inorganic matter pass through one!”

“Because we haven’t tried. Maybe just call it something like a space life mission if you want to be that dense, I don’t know. The whole point is that we’re advancing the limits of what we know, and pushing our preconceived ideas of our own limits to get there. This is what we need to know if we want to improve.”

“Right, right, because you’re absolutely one to talk about how meaningful life is, when you’re throwing yours away for the possibility of some cool space rocks.”

“That is not fair.”

“Then tell me what you think, yeah? What’s the value of life to a man who wants to risk it all for a maybe?”

“Meaningless, okay? It’s all meaningless, is that what you wanted to hear? Life is inherently meaningless, and it’s nothing more than a flaw of the human psyche for people to fool themselves into thinking otherwise.”

A silence falls, not only over the table but over the whole cafe, and Logan is suddenly very relieved that he remembered to leave a hefty tip. When Roman opens his mouth, Logan physically flinches away from his words.

“Life may be inherently meaningless, sure, but it’s a damned triumph of the human spirit to dare to think otherwise, so you can fuck right off with your little defeatist mentality, because I don’t want to hear it.”

With that, Roman shoves his chair back from the table and storms out of the cafe, leaving Logan alone at a table for four. He sinks lower in his seat, almost sitting on his back as he cranes his neck toward the ceiling, the chair backing digging into his spine. The consistent pattern of square tiles over his head would almost be reassuring, were it not for the discordant cracks and stains interrupting the flow. He closes his eyes in response to a light pounding that surfaces near his temples.

“Wow, weird day all around, huh?” Logan jerks up at the sound of Patton’s voice, accompanied by Virgil’s familiar footfalls. “Logan’s sleeping in the cafe, Roman’s pacing around outside, and Ariel’s professor moves up her exam? Maybe it’s a full moon.”

“It’s not a full moon,” Logan mumbles, straightening out his spine. He forces a smile onto his face as he sees Morgan peek out from behind Patton’s legs. “Hey, Morgs. How’s, um—” He hesitates, looking to Patton, who holds up three fingers. “How’s third grade treating you?”

Her face splits into a smile and she scrambles onto Roman’s vacated seat, sitting up on her knees and planting her hands on Logan’s shoulder for balance. “We just started learning division fact families with the triangle flashcards and the difference between a thundredth and a housandth—”

“Hundredth and thousandth,” Patton corrects gently.

Morgan nods, her pigtails whapping at her ears. “And the difference between a hundredth and a thousandth—one decimal place! Betcha didn’t know that, didja?”

“I had no idea,” Logan says solemnly. Morgan sticks her tongue out at him before getting distracted by Roman’s abandoned creamers, which she begins stacking.

“So, um, what’s Roman’s deal?” Virgil finally asks. “Looked pretty pissed outside. What, did you break the surprise news to him before us? Not go over too hot?”

“Oh, so Logan’s the one with the surprise news.” Patton flashes a bright grin, completely out of sync with his conspiratorial tone.

“As if I could come up with a surprise,” Virgil says, rolling his eyes and pushing Patton up against the window. “Patton, we’re two cis gay men. We can’t exactly surprise you with news of a pregnancy.”

“There’s always adoption,” Patton replies. He watches Morgan’s tower fall, the child not hesitating for a moment to start again. His face drips fondness and love, and Logan wonders whether he’s unknowingly worn that same expression himself. “Okay, so the news, then. Out with it.”

“Wait, hold up,” Virgil says. He patters his hands on the table like a drum roll, nudging Patton for him to join. Morgan only pouts for a moment at her crumbling towers before she adds her own rhythmless pounding. Once he’s seemingly satisfied with the build up, Virgil nods at Logan. “Okay, go ahead.”

It’s weird, to tell the truth. In the movies and the tv shows and the books and the stories and, well, in everything , the person sharing a secret always seems to struggle with it. They fumble their words, they say things out of order, they run it all together until it’s an unintelligible mess, they do everything in their power to keep a secret a secret. Logan almost wishes that were the case for him, rather than what actually happens.

“I’ve been accepted for a mission to Neptune that, on the surface, will present as a mission to the moon. Through the use of a wormhole, the logistics of which we’re still working out, a multi-decade journey could happen in a matter of months. That’s the news.”

A weird quiet falls, and there’s that word again, weird. It’s all weird, a weird mess of weirdness that Logan can’t really explain, because (again, weirdly ), this whole meetup feels like just another day in a coffeeshop with casual discussions about usual happenings. Everything is perfectly and profoundly ordinary, and it’s weird, and Logan doesn’t like it.

Also weird is Morgan, who’s still gleefully drumming away at the table. Patton gives her a look and she stops, smiling sheepishly.

“Oh,” Virgil finally says. Oh. That’s it. Just ‘oh.’ Oh. Not ‘wow,’ not ‘why didn’t you tell me sooner,’ not ‘what the hell is wrong with you, you flaming pile of absolute human garbage?’ Just oh.

Oh.

“Sorry,” Logan whispers, feeling something weird needling at the back of his eyes. He furrows his brow and shakes his head, trying to get rid of the sensation. It works, sort of. A few tears leak out, splattering against the table, but at least the needling stops.

Oh.

“Morgan,” Patton says carefully—too careful, too gentle, too quiet, too weird. “Why don’t you go hang out with Uncle Roman? I bet he’d love to hear about decimals. Bet he doesn’t know about the thousandth place.” Morgan, clearly unaware of the veil of weird that’s descended, sweeps an arm over her tower and books it for the door. The bell is still ringing as the creamers hit the floor, a few popping open and dripping puddles across the linoleum.

Oh.

“Oh.”

“I, um—I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” It’s all Logan can do at this point to apologize, all he knows how to do. ‘Harder to ask permission than beg forgiveness,’ isn’t that the saying? Whoever came up with that apparently never took into account how damn hard the begging part would be. “Sorry.”

“Oh.”

Patton looks at Virgil for a long moment, affording him the chance to say something, anything more to his husband that kept something so big from him for so long, but Virgil says nothing. Just ‘oh.’

Oh.

“Logan,” Patton exhales, more of a sigh than an actual word, an actual name of an actual person in this actual conversation. “How long have you known about this?”

Now it’s Logan’s turn to exhale, the truth coming out in a forced whoosh, choking him from the inside out. “Almost a year.”

Virgil slams his elbows down on the table and buries his head in his hands, laughing quietly. “A year. A fucking year. That’s rich. That’s great. That’s really, really great.” He keeps laughing, a hollow nothing, as if it’s the only thing that can possibly keep him breathing anymore. “A year .”

“Logan, you mean to tell me—” Patton cuts himself off, his jaw working furiously as an odd emotion seeps into his voice, the likes of which Logan never would’ve thought him capable before. Patton allows himself a few heavy breaths, louder than the faint music playing from the speakers along the ceiling, and lands his eyes somewhere around Logan’s chin. It somehow feels worse than if he would just make direct eye contact. “You’ve been keeping this from Virgil for over a year?”

“Almost a year,” Logan corrects meekly, feeling about as pathetic as a roach squashed under a brick. He wonders whether his heart shrinks to the same size.

“Now is hardly an appropriate time for your particulars.” Patton clenches his hands into fists on the table, and Logan briefly entertains the image of them flying full force into his face with all of the rage Virgil is undoubtedly holding beneath his simmering silence. “Is this—is that why Roman was so mad? Did he not know, either?”

“He, um, he’s known. The whole time, I mean. He kept it quiet for me. He was actually offered an original spot on the crew, too, back when it first—”

“Shut your damn mouth.” Patton takes another long breath, but this one doesn’t seem to steady him as much. “That’s what he was talking about? When he asked me if I would be comfortable with him launching off the planet for a breakout work mission? He knew back then and asked me about it and everything, and you didn’t think it was even worth mentioning to Virgil?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You think it matters two ticks whether you meant to? If you pull out of a gas station and slam into someone switching over from the far lane, sure you didn’t mean to, but you still did it. I just— mmnh.” Patton makes a low, miserable noise at the back of his throat and shakes his head, his fists clenching and unclenching. The perks of being a trained museum security guard—Logan is downright terrified of what those fists might do.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it?” Virgil whispers. It’s the quietest sound Logan’s ever heard, softer than footsteps on loose sand in the shallows of a barren lake, but it echoes as loud as a bag of potato chips at three in the morning in a sleeping house. It shatters Logan to his very core, split into more pieces than the crumbs at the bottom of that same chip bag.

Logan likes to ignore reality through the escapism of his thoughts.

“Over a year ago, when your director first had that meeting, you swore to me that you’d never make that kind of decision without talking to me first, not ever. You didn’t even entertain the chance that you might go, and you—you just—” Virgil shakes his head again, shoving his fingers past his face and burying them in the roots of his hair, now a light brown surfacing beneath the ever-fading purples. “When do you leave?”

“I don’t know yet, we haven’t gotten the—”

“Bullshit. When do you jump off the planet to certain death and leave me behind without a second thought because it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted in life is to leave?”

“Hey, it’s been decades since the last fatality related to a failed launch, so calling it certain death seems a little—”

“I don’t care how it seems, Logan! I care about how it is, and how it is is that you’ve kept this huge thing from me and Patton for a year now, and you think it’s the kind of information you can casually drop over a cup of coffee.”

“I—I don’t know what you want me to say, Virgil. I feel really bad about this, I do, but I—”

“And you damn well should feel bad!” Patton cuts in. “You should feel very bad about this! That’s exactly correct!”

Virgil ghosts a hand over Patton’s arm, stopping him from getting into a full-on shouting match with a shell-shocked Logan. “I don’t know what I want you to say, either.” Virgil drops his hand to the table with a thud, staring at his palms. Definitely not acknowledging Logan’s presence. “It’s great news, really, it is, but it sucks that you didn’t tell me sooner, and I really don’t think there’s anything you can say to me past that. This isn’t the kind of thing you can just talk your way out of. The time for talking was a year ago, and you missed your chance.”

Logan bites his lip and looks down at his mug, at his distorted reflection within. Patton slams a fist down on the table, destroying the facade of Logan’s face. “I’m gonna go talk to Roman. Maybe he’ll have something helpful to say about why he thought we didn’t deserve to hear about this sooner.”

And now it’s Logan alone with Virgil in an achingly quiet cafe, cheery pop songs pouring from the speakers. “I’m sorry,” Logan whispers. Well, tries to whisper. Nothing comes out, save for a broken squeak. He tries again, but the only sound he can manage is a defeated ‘oh.’

Oh.

Something shifts in Logan’s peripherals. He glances up to see Virgil’s hand resting on the table, palm up, midway across the table. Meeting Logan halfway. Logan stretches his own arm out, placing his fingers hesitantly around Virgil’s, feeling the cold metal of Virgil’s wedding band pressing into his palm. Hot tears bead up at the corners of Logan’s eyes again as he lifts them slowly, slowly, slowly to see Virgil staring blankly back. It’s an aching emptiness, all the absence of matter in the galaxies expanding out around them, two people as two planets orbiting around each other amidst a sky of fizzling stars and dwindling moons.

[thedeviljudges]

based on @codyrhodesofficial prompt so uh, this literally didn’t turn out how i think u wanted it but fjalskdfa i tried!!!

Steve curses under his breath, twisting the pencil around in his hand. The eraser flies across the page, sprinkles of excess rubber shavings leaving his desk a mess. It shouldn’t be this difficult to write, shouldn’t take him goddamn hours to make sense of a language he grew up speaking. But it is; the words don’t come to him so easily, knowing this is something akin to permanent. Sure, he can erase until he rips right through the paper, but it won’t change the fact that as soon as the lead touches the slip, his brain goes blank, and he feels a little too stupid to even bother trying.

“What’s that?”

Quickly, Steve covers his paper with his hand, a loud smack against the wood. He hadn’t known Billy was awake, hadn’t heard a noise from the bed until it was too late.

Steve bites his lip, wondering if it’d be too obvious to smush it into a ball and throwing it away. The paper is dull now, gray and white and unfamiliar from his original scribbles. He’s made a mess of the page, not good enough now for a submission, as if it was ever good enough to begin with.

“Something I’m working on,” he says and hopes that Billy will leave it at that. There are a lot of things Steve is self-conscious about, and there are a lot of things he isn’t. The former is what he feels this time, his lack of mental dexterity a sore spot he doesn’t want provoked. Steve knows he’s not been smart about a lot of things, struggled with some classes more than others, and he thinks that maybe it’s really his fault for not trying hard enough despite the numbers and letters mixing no matter how hard he’s willed it to stop.

“Something important?” Billy asks from the bed. Steve glances at him, mere inches away from the chair he sits in. There’s a mess of curls sticking out from under the covers, two eyes blinking back at him with laziness while his nose remains covered most likely due to the chilliness in the air.

“No, it’s-” He shrugs, not having the heart to lie but also too distraught to bring attention to his misgivings. The joke’s on him though because Billy reads him like a goddamn book – the irony – and it makes him even more uncomfortable under such scrutiny. “It’s really nothing. I thought I had some time to rewrite this.”

“For what?”

Steve’s lips thin, tongue flicking out to wet them. He’s reluctant, at a crossroads because what he has is a mess of a college application paper staring back at him, taunting him for all the things he isn’t and might never be. Steve’s always been good at being decently cool, knows his sports, and maybe it’s easier for him to figure out equations involving numbers.

But this is writing, and it’s the only thing that matters out in that big old world, particularly if he ever has any desire to get the fuck out of town. Sure, money might buy him a spot or two, but it taints his stomach with unease thinking how little he’d deserve that kind of reward if he hadn’t worked for it.

“College application,” he replies simply, can’t take his eyes off the desk and the torturous stationary that mocks every fiber of his being. “It’s a lost cause.”

Setting the pencil down, Steve picks up his words without any delicacy involved. With every intention to crumble it up, he pauses when Billy shuffles out from under the covers with a single grabby hand that makes Steve arch a brow. “You’re not looking at this.”

Billy’s eyes narrow reaching forward just a little more until he’s got Steve’s paper in between two fingers. “You’re sure?”

Steve sighs and lets go, lets a shirtless Billy fall back onto his bed like he owns the damn thing while he slouches in his chair. The two of them have been through enough not to be embarrassed of judgment from one another, but his toes curl against the cold floor, and maybe his heart picks up a little speed as Billy settles down to read the absolute trash that’s become the bane of Steve’s existence for the past several weeks.

“Listen,” he starts, fingers curling into the palm of his hands, nails digging into the flesh. “It’s not worth the read, really. I can’t- I’ve never-”

Billy only hums, and Steve rolls his eyes at the fact that he can’t speak now. So, he leaves it at that, let’s fate take its course while he suffers in silence, holding his breath on an exhale.

It takes all of five minutes before the staleness in the room dissipates, Billy pursing his lips in thought while Steve’s stomach twists into fucking knots. “Nancy said-”

Billy glances at him, eyebrows rising of their own accord. “Oh yeah?” he questions, the annoyance clear as day; he’s never been fond of the girl, especially not after Steve’d randomly let on how he’d has his heart broken after a few too many beers.

He’d also questioned Billy and asked him not to break his heart, too, but that’s neither here or there, and Steve doesn’t have the time nor patience to deal with the flush of his cheeks when he thinks about it. Curse his body’s lack of patience with alcohol, and curse his inability not to be a Chatty Cathy in the most inopportune moments.

“Yes, she said-”

Billy snorts, honest-to-god releases that sound in the midst of Steve’s feelings of inadequacy. “Good thing I don’t give a shit about what she says.”

And that’s certainly not what Steve was expecting.

Furrowing his brow, he stares at Billy, trying to gauge whether he’s really fucking with him or not. Sometimes it’s so hard to tell, what with those goddamn eyes and those lips and how eager Billy is to give him a smirk when he least expects it.

“She’s not wrong, though,” he counters because Nancy’s comments sure as shit didn’t help his confidence. And it’s not like he desperately needed the compliments and for her to lie to him about what he’d attempted, but it was still a let down knowing he tried and failed. What’s worse is that he still doesn’t know how to correct it.

“Did she tell you it was shit?” Billy turns in bed, lying on his side, paper still nestled between his fingers. He glances back and forth between Steve and what’s left of his writing before he gives up waiting for Steve to reply. “Because it is; your thoughts are all over the place.”

Steve lets out a frustrated growl and slouches even further into his chair. “Thank you, captain obvious. I know that, which is why I was trying to fix it.” Immediately, the anger deflates. Like Nancy, he can’t fault Billy either, and deep down, he knew he’d get an honest response. Though, Steve’s not sure if he prefers the way Nancy handled it or the bluntness that comes with Billy Hargrove.

“Look, you’re on the right track.”

“Don’t flatter me, asshole.”

Billy rolls his eyes, but he keeps Steve pinned with his gaze. “You just need some reorganization, make it more seamless.”

“I swear to god if you’re fucking with me-”

“I’m not,” Billy replies, voice rough as it lowers. It makes Steve blink and reevaluate whether he was raising his voice out of resentment of sorts, the apathy he has for this conversation overshadowing his real feelings of defeat.

But Billy looks as serious as he can be, playfulness set aside for something much more raw. It stirs familiarity in Steve’s chest, like an old memory playing on the backdrop of a warm summer night. It coddles him like a blanket, that look, full of genuine care, and rather than it startling Steve, he wraps himself up in Billy’s ability to graze the line between truthfulness and tenderness just when Steve needs it the most.

“If you want,” the other boy begins, gaze fluttering down to the floorboards, “I can help you.”

And now the tables have turned, so slowly and casually, Steve almost misses it. Billy looks just as nervous as Steve had felt, like his offer might not be well received nor appreciated. But Steve, god, does something inside his chest flip: most likely his heart, if he could guess. It dances in waves, like a soft breeze caressing the flowers. “Do you want to?” he poses because Steve has to know if Billy is really willing to take on a task like that, through the grievances and thoughts that encompass Steve’s inability to communicate. “I’m not very good at it; we might be here awhile.”

And well, that brings up another point of contention: for how long is Billy willing to stand his presence until he abandon’s all resolve and leaves Steve scrambling for some semblance of coherency.

“Steve,” he hears, tone falling to the depths of a warning. “Let me help you.”

Reluctantly, Steve nods, not willing to push this into an unproductive argument. Instead, he reaches for a random book, rolling the pencil he’d forgotten about in between his fingers. “Move over, then.”

Ungracefully, he clambers onto the bed, Billy huffing as an elbow and a knee knocks against his bones. Steve doesn’t settle until there’s a pillow behind his back, pressed against the wall while the rest of his body casually lounges across Billy’s lower half. “Okay there, princess?”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, refuses to acknowledge the heat crawling up his neck and onto his cheeks because he knows how distracting that gets; not just for Billy, himself included. “I’m good now. My ass wasn’t havin’ it much longer on that chair.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Billy says, slowly smiling like he’s got a secret or two to kill. He doesn’t say much else after, but he does reach for the book Steve has in his hand, using it as a solid source to write on. Reluctantly, Steve hands over the pencil, eraser pitiful in its shape.

Seconds later, Billy’s scribbling shit down, and as curious as Steve is, he doesn’t look. It’s hardly from wanting to keep the momentum of surprise and more so his lack of restraint when it comes to criticism on his end. “I didn’t know you liked writing,” he says curiously, not remembering whether Billy had previously shared a love of language with him or not; though Steve is certain he’d remember something quant like that, didn’t question Billy’s ability in school and whether he remained true to the stereotype that all the pretty ones were idiots.

No, that was Steve, and maybe somewhere deep down he’d be jealous if it wasn’t for the amount of appreciation curling along the length of his chest.

“I don’t,” is Billy’s reply, though. It’s quick from concentration, but still as sharp as a knife as if Steve’s stumbled upon a subject Billy isn’t interested in entertaining.

“Oh,” he breathes because well, if Billy is shit at this too, then he supposes this entire session is a lost cause. “You know what you’re doing, then?” But as soon as he asks it, Steve regrets it, winces at the sound of his own voice and the lack of assurance he should have in the one person who’d willingly offered their time and their help.

The pencil stops moving, and Steve suspects that maybe Billy will climb out of the comfort of his bed, leaving Steve the asshole and with a foot in his mouth.

Rather, Billy seems to space out for a second, like the paper and the book and Steve aren’t right in front of him, like they’re worlds away from Steve’s near empty house, to a place where Billy doesn’t know a Steve or the small town of Hawkins, Indiana. “I’m sorry,” he begins, wishing he could slap himself upside the head for being a dick.

But he doesn’t get much more out because Billy is countering his apology with a heavier statement that leaves Steve both breathless and in awe.

“My mother,” Billy says, almost randomly if Steve hadn’t known better, hadn’t understood the context underneath the tone. It drills so deep, the silence that follows, a standstill and confusing. Steve tries to read Billy as much as he can, particularly in such a moment when the boy beneath him is crossing the line of the unequivocal into uncharted territory.

So, Steve doesn’t know what to say, lost in both a detail left unclear and how Billy blinks away a new shine to his eyes. It’s like he expects Steve, so suddenly, to nag him until he cracks further, right down the middle until nothing is left but mushy innards that can’t be stitched back together with titillated words. Which, in all honesty, Steve does have that power, has a magical way of slithering under Billy’s skin without trying too hard. Those wounds reopening something fierce, debris breaking loose the point where it makes Billy re-exam parts of himself he’d long forgotten.

And Steve never means to pry like so, tends to wade in the water until Billy drags him farther in, down a rabbit hole filled with guilt and despair.

So this little revelation, a stumbling block Steve did not, and had never, anticipated is there for the taking. And he’s curious; god is he curious about every part of Billy he doesn’t know: the good, the bad, and everything in between, but some things are meant to be left alone. Steve may not be very good at reading between the lines, or reading in general really, but he knows Billy, and he knows the basis of what makes him tick.

“She loved literature,” Billy says softly under the dim glow of sunlight that filters through the blinds in Steve’s room. His fingers tap against the book beneath his hands, eyes not yet filled to the brim with tears, but glassy and distant like he’s in another time, another world far away from what his life has become.

Steve thinks he can picture it, maybe, a young boy too wild and hyped up on candy every Halloween, climbing trees in the woods near his house, accumulating scrapes and bruises his mother kissed away. A much gentler Billy takes over his mind, and he wonders if Billy misses that kid, if he misses that life and all the promises it held for him until it took away the one thing Billy cherished the most.

“What was her favorite?” he asks instead, would rather not reveal how deep his affection goes. It’s already vulnerable, and Steve partly regrets pulling out his paper to look it over now, not quiet sure if he made a mistake in unleashing memories of a happier time on Billy’s part.

Just slightly, Billy turns his head, finally glancing up from the parallel lines turned baby blue. Upset has never been a good look on Billy, and he’s grateful that that’s not what this is. It’s familiar, those occasions when Billy recalls the nuances he’d left behind in favor of anger and torment. Similar to a setting sun, the pinks and oranges mixing together with the blue from the ocean, designed for a snapshot and a brushstroke until Steve almost snorts at the simplicity. Doesn’t everyone believe that? Majestic as it is, humans have little ability to steer clear of what they already know, and this is no exception.

“I think-” is the voice that breaks through his thoughts, and when Steve studies Billy’s face, it’s all changed again; his demeanor, the depths of his eyes, the crease between his brows like he’s struggling to find something that just isn’t there. Distressed, Steve thinks, as he reaches forward, curling delicate fingers around Billy’s wrist because he knows that’ll get his attention.

It does, and Billy gives a soft smile, emotions fading by the second. “I don’t think I remember anymore,” he says.

Steve doesn’t miss the desolation, the acidity of what that statement means, what it’s dredged up. For the first time in quite awhile, Steve doesn’t know what to do and doesn’t know how to comfort a loss he’d never been apart of. There’d hardly been any rules between them to begin with, each moment a stepping stone together, building boundaries together, and Steve doesn’t have the heart to make that a thing they must do right now; it’s much too soon.

Alternatively, Steve finds the end of a curled piece of hair resting between Billy’s shoulder and neck, twirling it around his finger and letting it fall into a ringlet against his skin. “Will you read to me?” he proposes, wondering if this compromise will be enough for today. If Steve cannot have Billy’s memoir, then he will find another, bringing forth an interest he believes Billy might’ve forgotten he could care about.

“If you want me to.”

Steve nods and doesn’t say another word, lets Billy fall back into writing, erasing, and posing questions when he needs the answers. For now, it’s Steve’s turn to dwell on his misgivings, and it’s then that he realizes exactly why Billy refused to work on his.

There’s a time and a place for everything, and even in their shortcomings, everyone gets their turn. Today is for Steve and Steve alone, and if he thinks too much on it, he knows it’ll leave him breathless.

Instead, Steve thinks about how much he’d like to kiss Billy, leave him just as senseless as he feels. But he waits, he waits a few minutes in this moment where Billy’s voice cocoons him in encouragement and prompts him for details that expose the foundation of his very being.

And by the end of it, even if he may not have a full essay yet, Steve brings his own encouragement to the table, discarding the paper and falling into a natural ease that comes so easily when it’s just the two of them together.

[queercapwriting]

Also possibly a bit of NB!Alex? Maybe more of domestic Sanvers and Kara and Adrian interacting? Today's been a bit of a shit day in terms of feeling like I'm normal and valid and not being purposefully ignored and shot down.

It’s Sunday.

It’s Sunday, and – miraculously – they both have off.

It’s Sunday and they both have off and there’s not a Cadmusinvasion in sight.

It’s Sunday, and it’s noon, and they’ve refused to get outof bed – a combination of naked Sunday morning cuddles and lazy Sunday morningsex, and Maggie tracing, kissing, caressing the scars painted on Alex’s torso,and Alex whispering how much they love her in as many languages as they canspeak, traipsing their gentle fingers, their tongue, down Maggie’s throat, hercollarbone, her breasts.

It’s Sunday and Kara and Adrian don’t bother knocking, butthey probably should have.

“Whoa, guys, seriously? It’s noon! Did you forget about us?”Adrian squeals and turns around, covering his eyes even though his back is now tohis queer moms.

Kara does the same, groaning and furiously adjusting her glasses.

“Maggie, can you please get some clothes on my sibling?”

“And yourself, Mags, I mean let’s be real: both of your bodies are bangin, but I’m your kid and Kara’s your sister and we’re not trying to think about you like that.”

“Wait, Ade, does that make me your aunt? Oh Rao, that is just – ”

“Nope, nah, I take it back. Brother. I’m their little brother. We’re all siblings here. Except those two. Are you dressed yet?”

They both have to fight their instincts not to turn around when they hear a small crash, a string of curses from Alex’s lips, and giggles and dirty talk from Maggie’s, which Adrian might not be able to hear, but Kara sure can.

She hums loudly and sticks her fingers in her ears and turns to whisper-shout to Adrian.

“They still need a few minutes.”

“No we don’t you nerds, you can turn around now.”

They do, and Maggie’s in boxers and Alex’s flannel and Alex in flannel pajama pants and an oversized NCPD shirt.

“Well if that’s not the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Adrian dodges the pillows Alex and Maggie both launch at him, and Alex turns away, chuckling.

“I’m gonna shower. Babe, coffee please? Do you mind?”

“You got it, handsome,” Maggie kisses them softly, and Kara sighs happily.

“Awww, Maggie, they make you so happy. And, you know, more than a little bit whipped.”

He squeals as Maggie lunges to wrap her arms around his waist and tickle him senseless.

“He’s not wrong,” Kara chimes as she takes down four mugs.

“Sure, but he’s still fun to tickle. Lucky your binder gives you some shielding, kid.”

Adrian grins and preens. “You notice my arms are getting bigger?”

Maggie puts her hand on his bicep and kisses his cheek. “Oooh, look at you! Oh, I got that, Kid Danvers. You wanna go set chill on the couch? You had a long night last night, you don’t have to make the coffee.”

“Seems like you had a long night too,” Kara teases, her eyes on the complete disarray that is Alex’s bed.

“I swear you two are a bad influence on each other.”

Kara and Adrian beam and put their heads together like they’re posing for a picture.

Maggie chuckles and wonders when this family started happening. If – across the world and across the universe – it was always destined to happen.

It certainly feels that way.

By the time Alex comes out of the shower, their pajamas replaced by their glasses and the Star City University hoodie and sweats Adrian bought them during his first term, Maggie and Adrian have pancakes cooking and coffee brewing, and Kara – despite Maggie telling her to rest on the couch – is padding around the kitchen with them, sticking her fingers in the pancake batter and licking them clean at every opportunity.

“Hey pretty lady,” Alex kisses the back of Maggie’s neck, and Maggie melts into their arms.

“Mmm, you smell good.”

“I should hope so, they just showered!”

“You’re such a menace, Ade.”

“My straight mama raised me better than that, but queer mama raised me right.”

Alex fives him around Maggie’s body and Maggie heaves a mock groan.

“Maggie, can I flip the pancakes?” Kara wants to know, and Maggie normally doesn’t let anyone other than Adrian cook in her kitchen – and she does, now, consider Alex’s kitchen hers – but Kara’s eyes are wide and eager, and Alex’s arms are strong and warm, so she leans her head back into Alex’s shoulder and hums.

“Flip your heart out, Little Danvers.”

Kara and Adrian high five eagerly and giggle as they each grab a spatula and do battle over the pancakes.

Alex grabs two mugs of coffee and they pad over to the couch with Maggie, giving her the mug with no cream or sugar – gross – and giving her a space to sit, to snuggle, between their legs.

“I make you happy?” they ask after a few minutes of watching Kara and Adrian’s pancake wars.

Maggie turns to look up into Alex’s eyes, a grave expression on her face.

“Of course you do, Danvers. And I make you happy?”

Alex kisses her soft, smooth, permanent, in response, and when they pull back, Maggie’s eyes are shining and her dimples are on full display.

“I like when you answer things nonverbally.”

“Mmm, I bet you do.”

“Not to interrupt the continuance of Sunday morning sexy times, but breakfast is ready!”

“Breakfasssttttt,” Kara moans, reaching across Adrian to grab a pancake with her bare hands.

By the time the coffee is nothing but dregs and the pancakes are nothing but syrupy crumbs, Alex and Maggie are sprawled on the floor, intertwined in each other’s arms, and Kara and Adrian have claimed either side of the couch, his Supergirl socks occasionally doing battle with her fuzzy slipper socks.

They don’t say much as they nap and giggle their way through food coma, through the musical Kara’s put on in ths background, but they’re all thinking, feeling, the same thing:

Chosen family feels so, so, so good.

[ptiasims]

Ayyy a question thingy I was tagged in.

100 Questions No One Asks

I was tagged by my name twin @thedancingsim. <3 

The questions and answers are under the cut because wow lol that’s a lotta questions!

1. DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR CLOSET DOORS OPEN OR CLOSED?

When I had a door, I slept with it closed. Now I have a little doorway that leads into the kitchen, like a bachelor suite so it is open... as there is NO door. But I’m slowly getting used to it. 

2. DO YOU TAKE THE SHAMPOOS AND CONDITIONER BOTTLES FROM HOTELS?

If I stayed at hotels often, I would. The last time I stayed in one, I didn’t take anything, though. 

3. DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR SHEETS TUCKED IN OR OUT?

They stay tucked in, I rarely ever sleep with the little flat sheet. I used to when it was hot, because I can’t sleep without something covering me, but now that I live in a little basement suite, it’s always cold so i can use my blanket. 

4. HAVE YOU STOLEN A STREET SIGN BEFORE?

I can’t say that I have, no! 

5. DO YOU LIKE TO USE POST-IT NOTES?

I tell myself yes so I can justify buying them, but I never do.

Yes, same here. I wish I used them. 

6. DO YOU EVER CUT OUT COUPONS BUT NEVER USE THEM?

I haven’t cut out coupons yet, but I have a feeling I will eventually in the next few months haha. 

7. WOULD YOU RATHER BE ATTACKED BY A BIG BEAR OR A SWARM OF BEES?

Bees because I think I would have a chance of outrunning them or jumping into water.

I’m going to go ahead and agree with this as well. 

8. DO YOU HAVE FRECKLES?

They mostly start sprinkling my nose in the summer, uner the sun. 

9. DO YOU ALWAYS SMILE FOR PICTURES?

Generally, yes. 

10. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE?

Racist/homophobic/transphobic/etc. people who are unwilling to listen and understand how absolutely absurd their opinions on those matters are.

Tèa had such a great answer, that I’m going to leave it, because honestly I’m so laid back and in my own world that I rarely let things get to me for very long. 

11. DO YOU EVER COUNT YOUR STEPS WHEN YOU WALK?

Not my steps, but I have a habit of counting any stairs I’m on. Always. 

12. HAVE YOU EVER PEED IN THE WOODS?

Several times. One of my best friends likes to go walking in woods in the middle of the night, which is super great, especially when he purposely tells me about a ghost story just before we go into the woods, and I often end up peeing in the woods because I never go before I leave the house. 

13. HAVE YOU EVER POOPED IN THE WOODS?

No.

14. DO YOU EVER DANCE EVEN IF THERE’S NO MUSIC PLAYING?

There’s always music in my head, but yes I have done this. 

15. DO YOU CHEW YOUR PENS AND PENCILS?

Nah, I’m a writer, I respect the pens and pencils too much.

16. HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU SLEPT WITH THIS WEEK?

None, I like to be alone recently. 

17. WHAT IS THE SIZE OF YOUR BED?

It’s technically a twin right now, but once I get the second mattress, it will be a king size. It’s a daybed from IKEA. 

18. WHAT IS YOUR SONG OF THE WEEK?

I have been on a Hot Chelle Rae kick lately, so either Tonight Tonight, or Honestly. They are such a great summer band.  

19. IS IT OK FOR GUYS TO WEAR PINK?

It’s okay for anyone to wear whatever they want, what do I care? 

21. DO YOU STILL WATCH CARTOONS?

Not really! I watch animated Disney and Pixar, but that’s it. 

21. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE MOVIE?

Paranormal Activity. 

i’m also going to stick with Téa’s answer for this one, because another friend of mine likes to have wine night and watch horror movie night because apparently i’m HILARIOUS to scare the shit out of and this is one of the movies he enjoys making me watch. 

I should get better friends?? 

22. WHERE WOULD YOU BURY HIDDEN TREASURE IF YOU HAD SOME?

Omg I don’t even know, but I’d probably build something over it, too for extra safe keeping. 

23. WHAT DO YOU DRINK WITH DINNER?

Water or soda. 

24. WHAT DO YOU DIP A CHICKEN NUGGET IN?

Barbecue sauce 100% 

25. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOOD?

Ugh I don’t even know how to answer this. I love shrimp, Panda Express, tacos.. my mom made this wonderful crab bake and invited me over for dinner last night and it was so good. 

26. WHAT MOVIES COULD YOU WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND STILL LOVE?

Zathura, How to train Your Dragon (1&2), Harry Potter, Hunger Games (Except the first one)... honestly I rewatch a lot of movies. 

27. LAST PERSON, YOU KISSED/ KISSED YOU?

I made out with my boyfriend the other night at his friends’ house out on the balcony while he was loaded. Hi Joshua. 

28. WERE YOU EVER A BOY/GIRL SCOUT?

I was a girl scout, for probabl one season, but I did do a lot of boy scout stuff with my brother and my mom when my brother was in the scouts. 

29. WOULD YOU EVER STRIP OR POSE NUDE IN A MAGAZINE?

UNLIKELY. 

30. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE A LETTER TO SOMEONE ON PAPER?

I wrote something to my mom I want to say two years ago, but I never sent it. 

31. CAN YOU CHANGE THE OIL ON A CAR?

No, but I do get a discount for being a student. 

32.EVER GOTTEN A SPEEDING TICKET?

Two of them. And on the last one, my grandma told my mom that “your daughter needs to slow down!”  AND MY GRANDMA HAS PROBABLY TEN TIMES AS MANY TICKETS AS I DO she has a lead foot!!! 

33. EVER RAN OUT OF GAS?

Not yet, but I do lock my keys in my car a lot, so let’s not rule it out. 

34. WHATS YOUR FAVORITE KIND OF SANDWHICH?

TUNA WITH SPINACH AND CELERY 

35. BEST THING TO EAT FOR BREAKFAST?

Cereal or like eggs or a smoothie 

36. WHAT IS YOUR USUAL BEDTIME?

Lately, I’ve been crashing whenever I’m tired so that’s anywhere between 7pm-2am. 

36. ARE YOU LAZY?

Oh yes, absolutely. I’m filling this out rather than adding text to the next Remedy post ha my bad y’all. 

38. WHEN YOU WERE A KID, WHAT DID YOU DRESS UP AS FOR HALLOWEEN?

my mom actually used to make our costumes, like shit she was good. but idk, halloween was never really a big deal to me, but I remember being a witch several times, and i remember asking for this one cloak during halloween solely because i wanted to play dress up with it for the rest of the year, i had no interest in it for halloween. 

39. WHAT IS YOUR CHINESE ASTROLOGICAL SIGN?

I have no idea?? I googled it and it says dog?? i’ll take it. 

40. HOW MANY LANGUAGES CAN YOU SPEAK?

just the one, but i’d love to eventually learn spanish. my name is spanish for aunt, and i can apologize in spanish, so i’m getting there. 

41. DO YOU HAVE ANY MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTIONS?

Not a one. 

43. WHICH ARE BETTER: LEGOS OR LINCOLN LOGS?

EITHER as long as I can build a really big fort with it. that’s all i’ve ever wanted. 

43. ARE YOU STUBBORN?

NO. lol yes, completely bull-headed. 

44. WHO IS BETTER: LENO OR LETTERMAN?

I don’t care for either. 

45. EVER WATCH SOAP OPERAS?

Nope

46. ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS?

For like two seconds, and then I get over it. 

47. DO YOU SING IN THE CAR?

Only when I’m in the car. 

48. DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER?

Not so much anymore. 

49. DO YOU DANCE IN THE CAR?

Yes... always. 

50. EVER USED A GUN?

I’m originally from the states... it’s basically mandetory to shoot a gun. (It’s not, but I have used a gun, yes). 

51. LAST TIME YOU GOT A PORTRAIT TAKE BY A PHOTOGRAPHER?

Lol I think it was a family portrait when I was in grade school, so a good ten or so years ago. 

53. DO YOU THINK MUSICALS ARE CHEESY?

Some are, but some I love. It’s a hit or a miss. 

53. IS CHRISTMAS STRESSFUL?

Absolutely it is, but I love it. 

54. EVER EAT A PIEROGI?

Heck yes! 

55. FAVORITE TYPE OF FRUIT PIE?

I don’t like cooked fruit. 

56. OCCUPATIONS YOU WANTED TO BE WHEN YOU WERE A KID?

Actress, singer, and writer. So i’m really practical. 

57. DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS?

As much as I believe in breathing air. 

58. EVER HAVE A DEJA-VU FEELING?

All the time

59. DO YOU TAKE A VITAMIN DAILY?

Nah, but I should. 

60. DO YOU WEAR SLIPPERS?

I have fuzzy pig slippers that I adore. I rarely wear them because I want to keep them forever. 

61. DO YOU WEAR A BATH ROBE?

No, but I’ve been wanting to have one just to make me feel grown up. 

62. WHAT DO YOU WEAR TO BED?

Big shirt & panties, boxer shorts and a tank top, sometimes something... just depends. 

63. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CONCERT?

Britney Spears! And I got to meet her before the show. She had rened out my mom’s salon a few nights before hand so my mom went home to get me, take me back to work and I followed her around the store and told her DJ I wanted to sing when I grew up. I think I also cartwheeled around the store, but I didn’t even realize that it was her, I don’t thinkg, when I was following her around. 

64. WALMART, TARGET, OR KMART?

Target (I miss it in Canada, RIP) 

65. NIKE OR ADIDAS?

N...either. 

66. CHEETOS OR FRITOS?

Cheetos AND Fritos. 

67. PEANUTS OR SUNFLOWER SEEDS?

Neither. 

68. EVER HEAR OF THE GROUP TRES BIEN?

No

69. EVER TAKE DANCE LESSONS?

Yes, and I wish I still did. 

70. IS THERE A PROFESSION YOU PICTURE YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE DOING?

Whatever they want, idc as long as they’re happy. 

71. CAN YOU CURL YOUR TONGUE?

Sure can. 

72. EVER WON A SPELLING BEE?

No. 

73. HAVE YOU EVER CRIED BECAUSE YOU WERE SO HAPPY?

Only all the time. 

74. OWN ANY RECORD ALBUMS?

I do not. 

75. OWN A RECORD PLAYER?

I do not. 

76. DO YOU REGULARLY BURN INCENSE?

I burn candles, does that count? 

77. EVER BEEN IN LOVE?

I have! 

78. WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE IN CONCERT?

Ed Sheeran and Mumford and Sons again, and Maroon 5 again, Miley again... I don’t know about anyone else tb. 

79. WHAT WAS THE LAST CONCERT YOU SAW?

Awolnation with my ex ... NO WAIT, it was the last bit of July Talk which my ex was supposed to take me to, but I went with my friend instead. 

80. HOT TEA OR COLD TEA?

Hot

81. TEA OR COFFEE?

Tea for sure. 

82. SUGAR COOKIES OR SNICKERDOODLES?

Making me choose between two things I love is stressful. BOTH. 

83. CAN YOU SWIM WELL?

Yup! I used to take lessons lol 

84. CAN YOU HOLD YOUR BREATH WITHOUT HOLDING YOUR NOSE?

Yeah

85. ARE YOU PATIENT?

Most of the time. 

86. DJ OR BAND AT A WEDDING?

I like the idea of a band, but probably DJ for a better sound quality. 

87. EVER WON A CONTEST?

Yeah

88. HAVE YOU EVER HAD PLASTIC SURGERY?

No

89. WHICH ARE BETTER: BLACK OR GREEN OLIVES?

Neither, they’re both gross. 

90. CAN YOU KNIT OR CROCHET?

I can crochet in my sleep, but I’m just now learning how to knit. 

91. BEST ROOM FOR A FIREPLACE?

My room right now omg it’s so cold. 

92. DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED?

I’m not sure, tbh. Some days I do, some days I don’t. 

93. IF MARRIED, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN MARRIED?

Not even a minute. 

94. WHO WAS YOUR HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH?

Aww, his name was Jesse and he was a cutie for sure. 

95. DO YOU CRY AND THROW A FIT UNTIL YOU GET YOUR OWN WAY?

Not since I was like 3. Okay... maybe last week. Just kidding. 

96. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

I do not! But I have lovely niece’s and nephew’s whom I love so much. 

97. DO YOU WANT KIDS?

Only like three, or so. 

98. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?

Yellow

99. DO YOU MISS ANYONE RN?

Seger, the pup. 

100. WHO ARE YOU GOING TO TAG TO DO THIS TAG NEXT?

Oh man, I’m gonna go ahead and tag anyone who wants to do this! and also @malcolmlandgraab 

oh shit wait, i’m also going to tag @vodkasims for the name twin thing!! 

[ltleflrt]

Here’s that fic I wrote that I don’t like.  It’s untitled, but it’s inspired by the song Unanswered Prayers by Garth Brooks.

Even though the sun hasn't quite reached halfway to its zenith, the day is already hot enough that Dean is eyeing the pond on the far side of the park with serious consideration.  The fact that it's brown and muddy, and the surrounding land is torn up by ducks and geese and stinks of bird shit is only slightly off putting.  Which means he's either suffering from heat stroke, because gross, or it's time to head over to the lemonade stand for some cold liquid refreshment.

“Hey, babe?”  He calls over his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“I'm going to get a lemonade.  Want one?”

“Get me one with raspberries?”

Dean smiles.  “You bet.  Back in a few.”

Before he leaves the shade under the awning, he presses a kiss to a warm cheek.  He gets a distracted smile in response, but doesn't stick around for more.  He's caught in the siren song coming from the stand at the other end of the Farmer's Market that sells fresh squeezed lemonade.  His mouth is already watering at the thought.

It's even hotter outside the shade, and he can feel the sun's heat sinking into his shoulders and arms, making him glad he remembered sunscreen this week.  He'll probably still end up with a slew of new freckles, though.  At least there's a slight breeze cooling his skin where it's bared by his shorts and tank top.  He plucks at his shirt, encouraging a little air circulation under the sweat-damp material.  

The line at the lemonade stand isn't too long, at least.  He steps up behind the others waiting their turn, and hums under his breath, letting his mind wander over the latest notes he'd received from his editor.  It's a little frustrating that he's going to have to cut a scene he'd been planning for so long, but also a relief that Charlie agrees with his decision.  As usual he'd gotten caught up in writer's block due to being stubborn about the direction of the story, but after talking it out with her, his mind is already racing ahead to the next five scenes.

He's almost to the front of the line when a voice he hasn't heard in years breaks him from his musings.

“Dean?”

“Lisa?”  Dean grins as he turns to greet her.  “Holy shit, hi!”

It's as natural as breathing to accept the hug she offers him with outstretched arms.  Although there's the slightest twinge of oddness when he realizes she's not quite as tiny as he remembers her to be.

The hug is tight, but short and she steps back to look up at him, her dark eyes alight with happiness.  “Wow.  Dean Winchester.  I wasn't sure sure it was you at first.  How long has it been?”

He purses his lips as he digs through old memories.  The last one he can vaguely recall is a lazy Sunday spent fishing on a summer day just like this one.  “Man… I think it was the summer after graduation?  So seventeen… eighteen years?”

Lisa rolls her eyes with a groan.  “Oh god, has it really been that long?  Now I feel old.”

He chuckles at her distress.  “Well if it makes you feel better, you look great.”

And she does.  A quick glance reveals that she's still fit and trim.  Her hair is still glossy and thick, and her skin smooth.  Only the faint laugh lines around her eyes and the sharper edge of her cheekbones show her age at all.  When he was a kid, his eyes would have lingered on her body or her mouth, but while he still finds her beautiful, she no longer makes his heart race the way it did when he was in high school.

Her cheeks flush under the compliment.  “Well thank you.  You're looking good too.”  She circles her fingers in the direction of his eyes.  “The glasses are cute.”

Striking a dignified pose, he reaches up and pushes them up higher on the bridge of his nose.  “I've been told they make me look distinguished.”

Lisa laughs, light and melodious.  “I guess that's better than ‘nerdy’.”

He waves a dismissive hand.  “I'd take that as a compliment these days.”

She blinks at him, and he can tell she's surprised.  But before she can respond, the last person in line ahead of him leaves with their lemonade, and the young man running the stand calls for the next customer.

“You want something?” Dean asks Lisa, hooking a thumb towards the menu hanging next to the stall.  She nods, then immediately tries to talk him out of paying, but he won't hear it.  “It's just a lemonade, Lis’.”  The old nickname rolls of his tongue.  “It's not like I'm buying a fancy dinner.”

After a moment she relents, and Dean orders two large lemonades and a large raspberry lemonade.  When Lisa lifts a questioning brow at the third order, he grins.  “That one is for the ol’ ball and chain.”

Her eyebrows go up.  “You're married?”

“Yeah, going on ten years now.”  He accepts the first drink from the kid making them, and passes it over to Lisa.  She looks so flabbergasted that he laughs.  “What?  Didn't think anyone would want me?”

She accepts the cup, but gives him a stern look.  “It's not that.  I'm just surprised you finally settled down.”

With a wince and a nod, he accepts her explanation.  “Fair point.”  He accepts the other two drinks, and steps away from the stand to give the next customer room to order.  “Want to meet ‘em?  We have a booth over that way-” he gestures with his own drink, “-selling honey.”

She smiles brightly.  “I'd love to.”

He tilts his head in a motion to follow him and sets off across the market, weaving through the empty spots in the crowds.  Despite the heat, he’s not in a hurry.  The ice in his lemonade chills it enough that he’s worried about brain freeze if he sucks it down too fast, and now he’s able to actually enjoy the day.  As well as the company.

“So you sell honey now?” Lisa asks in between sips of her own drink.

“Yeah, we have a bunch of hives.  Although that’s just fun money.  I pay the bills with my books.”

Lisa almost misses a step, and she looks up at him with wide eyes.  “Your books?  Are you saying you’re a writer?”

“Published and everything.”  Okay, so he may be bragging a little bit, but he is kinda famous now.  

“What do you write?”

“Horror mostly.”  He grins down at her.  “It’s cathartic to turn all the noise in my head into bloody death and destruction on the pages.”

She pales slightly.  “Really?”

“Most of my stories have a happy ending.”  Not his first few books.  It took finding his his own happy ending - and beyond - to learn how to write them for his characters.  

“Huh.  Maybe I’ll have to check them out.”

He can tell from her tone that she’s not really interested.  It’s a little bit of a bummer, but he knows the horror genre isn’t for everyone.  Especially for someone as optimistic as Lisa.  So he decides to change the subject.  “What about you?  What’s been going on in your life and what brings you back to Lawrence?”

She visibly brightens.  “I’m moving back here to be closer to my family.  Plus I’m opening a yoga studio.”

“Oh yeah?  That’s pretty awesome.”  The crowds part and he can see the honey stand not too far away.  There’s a young couple sorting through the jars, pointing out different flavors to each other as they try to decide which one they want.  Dean always suggests the blackberry.  It’s his favorite.

“I’m excited for it,” she says.  Then her voice turns shy.  “I also… have a son.”

That grabs Dean’s attention, and he turns his head so he can focus on her again.  “Wow, really?  Tell me about him.”

“His name is Ben, and he’s thirteen.”  Lisa goes on to tell him about how Ben is a little flirt with the girls, and loves classic rock.  She laughs and points out how it’s funny that her son is turning out so much like the bad boy type that she’s always been into.  “His dad’s not around,” she says with a shrug and a grin, “So apparently I’m the bad influence.”

Dean scoffs.  “Sounds to me like you’re the best influence.”

She laughs.  “Thanks, I guess.”

They’re stopped just outside the stand now, and the couple picking through the honey has made their decision and are walking away with their purchase.  Dean leads Lisa into the empty space they leave behind.  He meets curious blue eyes over the table still half full of honey jars.  Ten years, and those eyes still make his pulse race as if he’s looking at his crush instead of his spouse.  “Hey, babe, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

With a nod, Castiel stashes the money he just made in the cash box and gently closes the lid.  As if it’s a delicate piece of crystal and not a clunky metal box.  Dean’s eyes follow the movements of his long, delicate fingers before turning to Lisa to gauge her reaction to his husband.  

She looks slightly confused, her smile not quite as full as it was before, and he bites his bottom lip to suppress a grin.  It used to be hard to come out to people.  But now, he enjoys the shock factor.  It’s almost as good as hearing fans talk about how scared shitless they are when they read his books.  And Lisa hadn’t been a part of his life for several years by the time he came to terms with his bisexuality, so she had no clue about the secret he’d been keeping from the world when they were in high school.

Castiel comes around the table and stands next to Dean.  He accepts the raspberry lemonade Dean hands him with a grateful smile, and then turns his attention to Lisa.  “Hello.”

“Lisa, this is my husband Castiel.”  Dean snakes an arm around Castiel’s waist and pulls him close.  The back of his shirt is even more damp than Dean’s despite the fact that he’s stayed in the shade the whole time they’ve been at the Market.  “Cas, this is Lisa.  We were a thing way back in highschool.”

Lisa looks back and forth between them for a moment, disbelief clear in her eyes.  But it fades quickly when she realizes Dean is serious.  “Hello, Cas.  It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s good to meet you as well,” Castiel says, all formality, because heaven forbid he shed his private schooled, silver-spoon-in-the-mouth, upbringing.  Not that Dean minds.  He thinks it’s sexy.  “Dean has talked about you, and I’m happy to put a face with the name.”

“Oh no!” Lisa laughs.  “That doesn’t sound good.”

Castiel’s smile is gentle, but his eyes shine with good humor.  “I’ve only heard good things, I promise.”

Lisa laughs again and expresses her disbelief, but Castiel is insistent.  Eventually their conversation turns to the honey sold at the stand, and Dean stands back and watches them interact while sipping his lemonade.  

It’s odd, seeing his past and his present standing side by side, talking about the pollination habits of bees.  Lisa had been his everything when they were kids.  Eighteen had seemed so grown up at the time, but looking back on it now from the comfort of his mid-thirties, he can only shake his head at how young they’d truly been.  It’s no wonder their relationship hadn’t worked out.  Despite wanting the apple pie dream of a marriage, kids, and little house with the white picket fence, Dean had the heart of a wanderer and hesitated to promise to plant roots.  Not to mention the fact that he still had a lot of growing up to do, although he hadn’t realized it at the time.  Lisa was ready to settle down, and kept turning Dean down when he asked her to hop in the car and go adventuring with him.  When they both realized that things between them weren’t going to go past a promise ring, they’d drifted apart.  

Dean had prayed every night for a long time that she’d change her mind.  But when he came back to Lawrence after a year on the road, he’d learned that she’d moved away.  With no way to find her he’d finally given up hope that they’d get back together and give life together a go.  And he’d gone back out on the road, looking for the happiness he longed for.

Eight years, thousands more miles on the Impala, and a couple published books later, Dean met Castiel.  He’d been out trolling for a one night stand, but he’d been hooked by Castiel’s dark messy hair, passionate blue eyes instead.  And he discovered a man to love under the thick layer of sexy.  One night turned into two, which turned into a week, and somehow it spread into the last ten years.  And hopefully their whole lives to come.

They had the marriage part of Dean’s childhood dreams, but instead of a house in a nice neighborhood they had a little farmhouse with a small orchard on the edge of town Dean had grown up in.  They weren’t sure yet if they wanted to expand their family past their siblings and nieces and nephews, but it wasn’t off the table yet.  In the meantime Dean had his books, Castiel had his bees, and most of all, they had each other.  Maybe it wasn’t “apple pie”, but since pecan is his favorite anyway, it worked out perfectly.

At eighteen he hadn’t known this kind of happiness could exist.

He wonders if he could have found it with Lisa.  Perhaps.  He’d definitely loved her.  But with almost two decades between their time together and now, he certainly can’t imagine what his life would have been like if he’d gotten what he’d prayed for back then.  He doesn’t even want to try.

“Well, I’d better get out of here,” Lisa says.  “It’s almost time for me to pick Ben up from baseball practice.”

Dean shakes away his thoughts, and focuses on her.  “You should bring him around some time.  I’d love to meet him.”

“I’d like that.”  And she looks like she genuinely means it.  Which is great.  Dean would love to rekindle their friendship.

Castiel and Lisa exchange goodbyes, and then Castiel leans into Dean’s side while they both watch her disappear into the crowd.  

“She seems very nice,” Castiel murmurs.

“Yeah, she’s cool.”

He feels Castiel’s eyes on the side of his face.  “Just cool?  Wasn’t she the girl you prayed to God you’d get to keep forever?”

Dean chuckles and turns to meet Castiel’s eyes.  His husband’s lips are just barely turned up at the corner, a sure tell that he’s teasing.  “I can’t believe you remember that.  We were both wasted when I told you about her.”

“You were wasted,” Castiel counters.  “My tolerance for alcohol is higher than yours.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t brag.”  Dean leans in and presses a kiss to Castiel’s lips.  

When they pull apart, Dean sighs.  He’s not sure it’s possible for him to ever get tired of Castiel’s kisses.

“I’m pretty thankfully actually,” Dean murmurs.  He traces shapes against Castiel’s chest through the soft fabric of his t-shirt.  His finger brushes over the little golden cross hidden under the shirt’s collar.  Castiel has rarely taken it off since Dean gave it to him on their five year anniversary.  Dean’s firmly settled into being an atheist, but Castiel still has his faith, yet it’s not something that’s ever come between them.  “For not getting an answer to that prayer.”

“Hmm... yes, I’m rather grateful to Him for that myself.”  Castiel pecks him on the lips again, and then pulls away.  His fingers curl in the hem of Dean’s shirt, and he pulls him around the table and back under the shade of their booth.  

They don’t have more than a minute to sip at their drinks together before another customer comes up to the stand.  Castiel sets his lemonade aside so that he can assist them, and Dean watches him fondly.

His relationship with God had always been tenuous, even before he decided he didn’t believe at all.  But right then and there, he sends up a prayer of thanks for all the good things in his life.  You know, just in case someone is listening.  He may not have gotten what he asked for, not exactly.  But he wouldn’t trade what he has now for anything else in the world.

[conorpmaynard]

All Started With a Song Part 10 // Conor Maynard

Word Count- 2221

Summary- Conor sees your cover and contacts you

A/n- (feel free to change the friends name I was just too lazy to write y/f/n that may times) here it is! this is way longer than i thought it would be and i didn't get to half the stuff i thought i would. so i re-planned everything. there will most likely be 13 parts now! i hope you enjoy. 

p.s. nothing crazy happens, this is mainly a filler chap. sorry if you were expecting drama!

~~

You guys headed to bed rather early that night. With all that happened and your plans for tomorrow, you guys needed the beauty sleep.

At 6 o’clock on Sunday morning, you three left the hotel and started your adventure. Alice had looked up a really nice café for you guys to have breakfast at. She got some pancakes, Olivia got an omelet and you settled for a bagel.

“So where are we headed to first?” you asked before taking a sip of your tea.

“I really really really want to go to the walk of fame.” Olivia pleaded. “Can we please go there?”

“Of course Liv!” you smiled. “We’ll head there right after we’re finished eating.”

She squealed and clapped her hands, causing Alice to snort.

“You are too awake,” she mumbles, taking a forkful of pancake.

“Hey, don’t judge me. I’m just excited,” Olivia frowned.

“Oh, you know I love you,” Alice laid her head on Olivia’s shoulder. You quickly opened the camera app and snapped a pic.

You posted it on your Instagram with that caption:

i have the cutest friends ever… btw expect lots of pic today and tomorrow #sorrynotsorry

“Awwww, Al look at what Y/n posted. She’s so cute!” Olivia gave Alice her phone.

“She’s so sweet, let’s post one of her.”

You laughed, “No, please don’t.”

“Aw c’mon. You’re adorable babe.”

“Fine, but I get to approve the picture and caption,” you emphasized the and.

“Deal! Make a pose!”

You rested your elbows on the table and your chin on your hands, flashing the camera a small smile.

After a few moments of intense typing Alice handed you her phone, “Is that okay?”

Cannot thank @y/i/n enough for this trip. Love you lots babe xx

“You’re so sweet Al,” you handed her phone back to her.

“Alright, here’s the bill. Are you ladies all finished up here?” the waiter asked as he handed you the receipt.

“Yep!” Olivia smiled.

“Do you think I could get a to-go cup for my tea?” you asked.

“Of course,” he turned to walk away when he stopped. “I’m sorry to bother you. But are you guys from the UK?”

You three started laughing, “Yes, we are,” Alice answered.

“Oh my gosh, really? Would you mind if I ask you a few questions?” he instantly took a seat next to you.

“Of course not, whatcha wanna know?” you smiled.

“Is it always rainy?”

This caused you three to erupt in laughter yet again, but stopped when he frowned.

“Oh love, we’re not making fun of you. It’s just cute,” Liv placed a hand on his and smiled.

“But to answer your question, no. Sometimes it’s really nice out. But most of the time yes, it’s rainy.”

“It’s not even always rainy, just really cold.” You added.

“I’ve always wanted to go to London,” he sighed. “Is it worth taking a trip to?”

“I can’t answer that without bias, but I think coming here was definitely worth the trip. If that helps.”

He stood up, “Well my name’s Clayton.” He pulled out a piece of paper and began scribbling. “If you girls need anything, here’s my number. I’m free whenever after noon.”

“Well thank you Clayton. That means a lot,” you smiled.

~~

After that cute little meet up you girls grabbed an Uber and went to the Hollywood Walk of Fame. It was so much fun. You girls had races to see who could find this person first or who could find a ‘James’ or ‘Amy’ first. You may have looked crazy to others but you three knew it was all in good fun.

You were only here once, why wouldn’t you make the most of it?

After the Walk of Fame you three headed to any and every shop that the London didn’t have; which was a lot. You hit lots of clothes shops, make up shops, and so so many candy shops.

You picked up something for Alex and a few gifts for your mom. Alice got something for Brandon, but insisted it was for her friend that ‘you don’t know that well’. And Olivia, of course, got something for Sean.

After what felt like a lifetime you guys finally found an In-N-Out. You all had been craving it ever since Sabrina took you guys to it your first day in LA.

While you three munched on your burgers, you just chatted about anything and everything.

“What time is it?” Alice asked.

“Just past 11,” you clicked your phone shut. “So what’s next?”

“Honestly? I want to go back to the hotel and take a power nap,” Alice sighed, Olivia vigorously shaking her head in agreement.

“Okay, I’m down for a nap. Then the beach?”

They both smiled signally they were okay with that.

~~

“Wake me up at two,” Olivia sighed, falling onto her bed. You laughed and watched as Alice copied her movements.

You walked out to the balcony and sat up against the wall. You were tired, but you didn’t want to sleep. You didn’t want to miss anything LA had to offer.

You knew you shouldn’t have, but you texted Anth. It was a low blow honestly. But you were bored and didn’t have any clue as to what to do. You opened SnapChat and clicked his name.

You sent a simple selfie with a caption:

any fun activates you know of in LA?

You scrolled through Instagram while waiting for a response. You noticed Conor posted a new picture.

You knew it would hurt, but you couldn’t not look.

It was of him sitting of the edge of a bench, it was nighttime. He was facing away from the camera.

He captioned it:

C’mon LA, you have yet to let me down. Please don’t change that.

There were hundreds of comments that ranged from ‘ARMS’ to ‘why are you sad :(’ to ‘i hate when he doesn’t tell us what’s going on’.

You were hesitant, but ended up liking the picture anyways.

SnapChat from anth.melo

He sent a picture of him in front of a mirror of what seemed like a gym. You could see Conor on the side, but it was only an arm. You cringed at the fact that you knew it was Conor simply by an arm.

His snap read:

sorry y/n, kinda busy rn.

You sent another selfie with a frown:

okay, but we NEED to hang out soon. i leave in two days :(

You closed your phone and went back inside. After sliding off your shoes and plugging in your phone, you slid into your shared bed with Alice.

A few minutes of shot eye wouldn’t hurt.

~~

“Y/n!!!!” you heard someone shout.

You shot up from the pillow, “What?!” you shouted back, not having opened your eyes yet.

“Its 4:30!” a voice, you recognized as Alice sighed. “You had one job. One bloody job!”

“Oh, sorry. I fell asleep and forgot to set an alarm.”

“It’s okay, we can still go to the beach!” Olivia piped up from her spot in front of the mirror.

“I guess,” Alice sighed.

“Haven’t you always wanted to see a sunset on the beach?” you asked, getting out of the bed.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Let me check when sunset is.”

You bent down and grabbed your shoes.

“It’s at 6:04, should we invite anyone?” Alice asked.

“Like who?”

“Clayton!” Olivia jumped up. “Please invite him!”

You smiled, “Okay, I’ll invite him. But i can’t promise anything.”

You sent him a text that read:

Heading down to the beach to watch the sunset. Care to join us?

You sat your phone down and began braiding your hair.

“Did he text back?” Alice asked.

“Check my phone, I’m kind of busy.”

She stood up and walked over to where your phone was sat on the bed.

“What’d he say?”

“Nothing, but Anth texted snapped you.”

“You can open it up if you want,” you said, closing your eyes to focus on the pattern.

After a few seconds you heard a gasp, “What’s wrong?”

“Look! “Alice shoved your phone into your face. On the screen was a selfie of him and Conor and it read:

Okay, we’re free tomorrow

He was smiling and Conor was sporting his signature ‘kissy face/pout face’ look.

You stared until it disappeared, then you let out a sigh.

“What’d he mean by that?”

“I asked him if he wanted to hang out,” you said, sticking out your tongue as Alice snapped a picture.

“Oh, well.” She smiled, helping you up. “Looks like we got plans for tomorrow!”

You three changed into your swimsuits and packed a bag. You were going to go to the beach no matter what, Clayton being there was just a plus.

Your phone dinged and the girls sat, eyes wide; waiting for a response.

Of course! Meet me here in 10 minutes.

The link sent you to your Map app. There was a blue line from the hotel to a beach about 5 minutes away. Due to it being so close, you three decided to walk. As you left the hotel you sent him a quick text back.

see ya soon xx

~~

As usual Anth and Conor stayed up late doing whatever they do. Most of it was just joking around. But part of it, a very small part, was very deep.

“Mate, I gotta ask,” Anth sighed.

“I can’t answer it. I know what you’re going to ask. And I honestly don’t know. I was jealous and upset. I just-” he sighed, looking at Anth. “I messed up.”

“Well do you like her?” Anth asked hesitantly.

“Of course I do! I liked her before I met her. But I overthought everything. I assumed she didn’t like me, so I wanted to make her feel how I felt.”

“Do you want to be with her?” Anth questioned again.

“That’s the thing. Like, I don’t know her. But I want to. And I want to see what it could become, but I don’t want to give us a chance and it be awful and I have to break her heart again.”

Anth remained silent as Conor poured his feelings.

“I’m just so angry. At myself. But also her. And I know I have no right to be mad at her. But she’s just so perfect. And I want to hate her and just forget about her. But I can’t, because whenever I see a girl, I notice that she isn’t Y/n. But I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. And I just want to punch myself, every time I remember what I did.”

Conor knew there was more to how he felt, he just wasn’t ready to admit it.

Anth stood up and put his hand on Conors shoulder, “Well, how about you sleep on it. And tomorrow we go to the gym; work out all the anger. Then afterwards, you can talk to Y/n.”

~~

Conor and Anth didn’t make it to the gym until a little before noon. Conor woke up to Jack spamming him. Jack lost the keys to his apartment so he begged Conor to tell him where his extra set was.

Conor really didn’t want Jack to be at his flat alone. Who knew what the kid would get up to? But after a few minutes of Jack begging (and almost crying, almost. it doesn’t count if the tear didn’t fall) Conor told him to message Alex.

After that, they were about to leave but then Anth realized he forgot that he planned to Skype his grandparents. Knowing he couldn’t let his friend not call them, Conor sat in the guest room while Anth chatted with his grandma and grandpa about various things.

After Anth’s grandma finally said goodbye, they headed to the gym. On their way they stopped to get juices.

“Mate, the Strawberry Mango is way better than the Green Machine,” Conor dragged on as he walked aside Anth.

“Stop playing dude, the Green Machine is the best!”

“You’re mad, y’know that right?”

“Nah man, you’re just stubborn.”

When they arrived at the gym, they both popped in their headphones and got to work on their preferred workout equipment.

Within the first thirty minutes, Anth could tell Conor was more upset than last night. He was lifting way more than his body could handle, but every time Anth would bring it up Conor would brush him off.

“Mate, your calves don’t need that much weight,” Anth chuckled, pulling out a headphone.

“Why come to the gym if you’re not going to push yourself?” Conor asked, standing up.

“If you say so,” Anth said, grabbing his phone to change the song. He scrolled through his notifications. He went to close it, but then he noticed your name. Why were you snapping him?

He walked over to Conor, opening the snap.

“Hey, look at this.”

Conor looked at the screen then turned around.

“So do you want to?” Anth followed him

“Not really,” he muttered.

“Okay,” was all Anth said. He sent a picture of him in front of the mirror.

A few seconds later Conor said, “I don’t know what to say yet. But tell her we’re free tomorrow.”

Anth just smiled. Conor was head over heels for you and him trying to hide it was so cute.

[misslunafreya]

For the questions, how about all of them?

I had a pretty terrible day at work (consisted of my precepting nurse calling me a failure, so sweet of her), so I need to do something fun! Thanks for the request, anon!Outlining more requests tonight, too!I apologize for the length! (I’m on mobile tonight and I’m HTML challenged hahaaa)

1: Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed? Closed. 100% of the time. Having them open is too eerie for me.

2: Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotel? It depends on how much I like how they smell lol.

3: Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out? Tucked in! They drive my craaaaaazy when they’re not tucked in.

4: Have you ever stolen a street sign before? What does this even mean? HAHA. I haven’t stolen anything though, so the answer would be no.

5: Do you like to use post-it notes? YES. My poor roommates. They’re everywhere.

6: Do you cut out coupons but then never use them? I’m not a coupon clipper. I forget I have them. I forget about gift cards too (unless it’s for Target let’s be real here).

7: Would you rather be attacked by a big bear or a swarm of a bees? Neither? I’d take the bear though because of a bee allergy, haha.

8: Do you have freckles? Just a few on my nose when I actually have time to go in the sun!9: Do you always smile for pictures? Yep!

10: What is your biggest pet peeve? WHEN SOMEONE WON’T STOP CLICKING THEIR PEN.

11: Do you ever count your steps when you walk? Pretty much always.

12: Have you ever peed in the woods? Nope.

13: What about pooped in the woods? Definitely not.

14: Do you ever dance even if theres no music playing? Duh.

15: Do you chew your pens and pencils? Always. My friends make fun of me for it.

16: How many people have you slept with this week? None.17: What size is your bed? At my parents’ house, a queen (ugh, I love my bed I miss it). At my apartment, a twin (I’m short though, so it works out fine).

18: What is your Song of the week? The entire new Ed Sheeran album. Love it!

19: Is it okay for guys to wear pink? They can do whatever they please.

20: Do you still watch cartoons? For sure! I watch some anime too, but nowhere near as much as before college/university.

21: Whats your least favorite movie? Oh goodness. This is just as bad as asking my favorite… hmm. The only one that comes to mind right now is “The Ones Below.”

22: Where would you bury hidden treasure if you had some? I’m not sure. It would end up being somewhere I would forget though.

23: If you’re a girl, bra size? If you’re a guy, pants size? Hello personal question, haha! 34D.

24: What do you dip a chicken nugget in? omg chicken nuggets yaaaas. and ranch dressing. and barbecue sauce. but never mixed together.

25: What is your favorite food? Anything sweet! I’m a sucker for donuts, cake, cookies… I love baking. Other than that… probably something sweet potatoes. And not in a hipster way. Like, I legit love sweet potatoes.

26: What movies could you watch over and over and still love? HARRY POTTER. YES. I also enjoy Inception and Shutter Island!

27: Last person you kissed/kissed you? My dog? haha! Never been kissed~

28: Were you ever a boy/girl scout? No, but I LOVE Girl Scout cookies.

29: Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine? Absolutely not.

30: When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper? Last week! I love writing letters of encouragement. We all can use some love!

31: Can you change the oil on a car? Who do you think I am, Superman? (Meaning no).

32: Ever gotten a speeding ticket? Not yet. Surprisingly. Your girl drives too fast.

33: Ever ran out of gas? No, but I always cut it really close lol.

34: Favorite kind of sandwich? I love a good turkey sandwich.

35: Best thing to eat for breakfast? Pancakes or waffles for suuure!

36: What is your usual bedtime? 4am I try to stick to 1:30am at the latest. Most school nights I’m in bed around 11pm or so, but yay insomnia. I’m a natural night owl.

37: Are you lazy? It depends on the situation. I’m usually pretty proactive and on top of things, but I’m awful about putting away clothes, haha.

38: When you were a kid, what did you dress up as for Halloween? Disney princesses! Snow White and Jasmine are the two that stand out the most to me!

39: What is your Chinese astrological sign? Boar. Yay pigs!

40: Are you horny? Honestly… no.

41: Do you have any magazine subscriptions? I’m a personal trainer, so I have some fitness magazine subscriptions.

42: Which are better legos or lincoln logs? Don’t make me choooose…. Lincoln Logs.

43: Are you stubborn? LOL YES.

44: Who is better…Leno or Letterman? Leno

45: Ever watch soap operas? Nope.

46: Are you afraid of heights? Yessss.

47: Do you sing in the car? OF COURSE.

48: Do you sing in the shower? Yep, even though my neighbors can definitely hear me.

49: Do you dance in the car? Again, OF COURSE. All the time. Avid dancing driver right here.

50: Ever used a gun? Nope.

51: Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer? Um… professional photo would be around 10 years?

52: Do you think musicals are cheesy? No because I flipping love musicals.

53: Is Christmas stressful? Only if you make it stressful!

54: Ever eat a pierogi? No.

55: Favorite type of fruit pie? Apple always hahaha.

56: Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid? Teacher. Then doctor or physical therapist.

57: Do you believe in ghosts? Tricky question because I can make this really deep really fast. I believe ghosts could be a form of demons and I definitely believe in demons.

58: Ever have a Deja-vu feeling? Say too often (because I’m always exhausted).59: Take a vitamin daily? Vitamin D and Iron. Anemia and nursing school keeping me out of the sun hahaaa.

60: Wear slippers? Nah. I’ll just wear socks if my feet are cold.

61: Wear a bath robe? Nope.

62: What do you wear to bed? T-shirt and sweatpants.

63: First concert? Backstreeg Boys, yaaaaaas

64: Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart? TAAAAARRRGEEEEEET (I love Target okay)

65: Nike or Adidas? Nike!

66: Cheetos Or Fritos? I like both, so it really depends on my mood. Right now, Fritos.

67: Peanuts or Sunflower seeds? Peanuts! And omg peanut butter.

68: Ever hear of the group Tres Bien? haha no I haven’t

69: Ever take dance lessons? A few! Ballet and ballroom. And I was a gymnast for a while if you count that. (definitely not athletic though)

70: Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing? Whatever he wants! My friends joke that I’m going to marry a super artsy person because I’m so logical, by we’ll see!

71: Can you curl your tongue? Yep!

72: Ever won a spelling bee? No. Way too shy to have even tried, haha.

73: Have you ever cried because you were so happy? Pretty much on the daily if we’re being honest here.

74: Own any record albums? Sadly, no.

75: Own a record player? Again, I sadly do not. I would love one someday.

76: Regularly burn incense? No, but I lift a lot of candles.

77: Ever been in love? No. But he’ll come around eventually, haha.

78: Who would you like to see in concert? OneRepublic yes please.

79: What was the last concert you saw? The Killers! My favorites. Love them so much!

80: Hot tea or cold tea? Hot tea. Love me some hot chamomile tea after a long day.

81: Tea or coffee? Those that know me know this question is obvious. Coffee. Hands down. 100%. Always and forever. My true love.

82: Sugar or snickerdoodles? Snickerdoodles!

83: Can you swim well? Well enough, haha.84: Can you hold your breath without holding your nose? Yep!

85: Are you patient? I have been told I have the patience of a saint.

86: DJ or band, at a wedding? Four string quartet pleeeeease.

87: Ever won a contest? I actually just won one for work and got a free, extremely comfortable sweatshirt.

88: Ever have plastic surgery? No.

89: Which are better black or green olives? Black for suuuure!

90: Can you knit or crochet? No. My sister tried teaching me how to knit, but I struggled, haha.

91: Best room for a fireplace? Family room. Some place you can curl up, drink coffee, and read a good book.

92: Do you want to get married? Definitely

93: If married, how long have you been married? Definitely not married.

94: Who was your HS crush? Do Andrew Garfield and Ryan Gosling count (even though I still think they’re fiiiiiiine however many years later)?

95: Do you cry and throw a fit until you get your own way? No! I believe in working hard to get what you want.

96: Do you have kids? I don’t.

97: Do you want kids? Someday!98: Whats your favorite color? Pink!

99: Do you miss anyone right now? Yep. Missing a lot of people right now. Too many, honestly.

[curlicuecal]

Black Sheep (2/?) (packstuck au)

In which Slick does not eat Dave and Jade only nibbles him a little.

<<ch 1

—

For the Psychic Wolves for Lupercalia event.

relationships: Jade/Dave, endgame is JadeDaveKat, but I figure I’ll wait until I actually get them all on the same page to tag that.  Also: Jade & Wolf!Slick

notes: fantasy au, demonstuck, demon trolls + dancestor wolves. also dave is hella davesprite-ish/bird-demony, but I don’t think you can really count a character as davesprite if they don’t have the ‘am I just the back up version’ issues.

Read on AO3

—-

The voices of the townsfolk still call in the distance, sounding indistinctly back and forth through the shallows of the woods in several directions as you pick your way back to where you left your hunting site.  “Can you tell what they’re saying?” you ask Slick, where he pads beside you, a rangy black shape.  

He sends you a fuzzy tangle of scents and colors–more a confused burst of sensory input than any kind of words.  But you have a lot of practice picking apart Slick’s way of communicating.  Right now, the answer is something like –( no//don’t care.)–

You tug the thick fur of his ruff, near his bandana.  “Wow, thanks.”

Slick slants one lupine eye up your way, a glint of gold in black.  He taps his tail very briefly, and the peppery mental flare of his amusement makes your nose itch in sympathy.  You roll your eyes at his tail as he lopes off ahead, vanishing deeper into the forest.

Vanishing to your eyes, anyway.  He’s always right there in your head, the familiar, alien pressure of his mind a comforting constant, like a low-level static charge.

You couldn’t feel that other wolf-demon or his troll at all.

Is that normal?  Maybe that’s normal.  You wish you’d thought to ask.  Damn it, you have so many questions, and you finally get someone who might be able to answer them in front of you and you hardly get any of them answered at all.

You picture the pair as you first stumbled onto them, shy and wild, demon-gold eyes so like Slick’s, wary upon you, the black that gold was set in just beginning to spark with some other color.  Slick’s eyes glow like bottled swamp gas when he’s upset, green and furious.  So maybe that’s a species emotional signal of some sort?  Social communication, like a blush or a frown.  And not just for the wolves–you’d seen that troll’s eyes flicker, too.

Blowing a stray hair out of your eyes and adjusting your gun, you try for positivity rather than either wistfulness or rabid, unsatisfied curiosity.  At least they had decided not to hate you in the end! You think.  And if you ever run into another troll or wolf-demon you will know much better how to start and what inter-cultural pitfalls to avoid!

Or maybe all the rest of them will want to take Slick away from you, too.

Nope, positive!

Think about how interesting that troll-demon was! With his wolf-eyes and his orange horns and his black floof of hair.  And those cute little point-tips to his ears with just the hint of fluff.  You’re just sad he didn’t have a tail.  In the stories, trolls have tails, like their wolves.

Oh, oh! Or proper wolf ears.  His had been much more human than you’d think, for all their points and the way they twitched about with his thoughts.

His face was surprisingly human, too–something a bit alien in the lines and the way his face sloped into his nose, but not at all like you’ve heard.  Well–you suppose he’d have had to be a bloodthirsty, slavering monster to really live up to some of the stories about trolls and their hellhounds, but you still hadn’t expected him to look quite so… ordinary in his extraordinariness.  

Approachable, maybe.  

Angry eyes gone vulnerable-uncertain in that all-too-human face; saw-edged teeth caught in dark, almost human lips; frown just fading into puzzlement.  Soft, all over grey velvet, pale against the dark of his hair, against the curve of his claws.

The pads of his fingers had been black and furless, startlingly warm when he touched you.

You catch up to Slick at your campsite.  He’s lounging beneath a tree, near your bedroll and camouflaged blind.  “Don’t go rolling all over my campsite.  If you get your scent everywhere nothing will come near and I’ll have to find another spot to stake out,” you tell him, as you make your way down the slope.  You might have to anyway–you haven’t had a scrap of luck catching the erstwhile sheep-thieves here.  

You’re nearly certain you’re looking at a wasp-demon attack–they’ve been unusually common enough in the area some of them might have hived up and started taking larger prey–but you haven’t been able to track any of them far enough to turn up a nest.  You’re still hoping you can find the right place to properly stake out their flight paths, but that might take nights yet.

Slick’s thought tangle is dismissive: the dusty smell of long-dried bones, the rumble of empty stomachs, boredom.

“Nothing to hunt doesn’t mean we’re not still hunting ,” you say marching up to him–and then eep and stumble backwards as something drops from the trees into directly into your path.

“There you are,” Dave says, brushing leaf litter from his palms as he rises from his landing crouch.

“There you are,” you say back to him, when you have decided not to have a heart attack.

–(The tasty bird-fluff is here,)– Slick indicates to you, mildly, in a sensory jumble that is nevertheless inescapably smug.  You can just smell the amusement rising off his thoughts like bright burnt metal.  

You can’t help but start laughing.   –You’re an ass,– you tell him, adding to Dave, “You scared the bejeepers out of me, geez.”

Dave looks briefly bewildered–and then his jaw sets in that flinchy, unhappy angle he gets when he realizes he’s done something a little too far outside human norms.  Something like drop out of a tree faster than his hunter-girlfriend can react.  Oops.  You pull him into a tight hug before he can think too hard.  

“How’re you feeling?  Better?  You look better.”

Dave raises his eyebrow at you from where you’re holding him at arm’s length for inspection.  “Yeah, it’s usually hard to top my extreme attractiveness, but luckily ‘poisoned by a fucking demon-scorp’ gives me a long way up to go.”  He lifts his cloth-wrapped right arm in demonstration.  “Last of the swelling went down last night.  Still itches like the devil’s own wooly underwear in a sandpit, but I guess this demon-touched feathery shit’s gotta be good for something.  These bandages are now officially 100% aesthetic only.”  He strikes a pose, arm swaddled dramatically to his chest, butt pushed out.  “Just some fine-ass Strider styles of the medi-fashion variety so the locals don’t wonder why I’m such a quick-healing hottie.  No big.”

Pfft.  You lean up to drop a kiss on the tip of his nose and grin when he goes pink.  “You’re a cutiepie all right.  You bring me breakfast?”

“Breakfast and news.”  Behind his shades, Dave’s face is unusually serious.

“The townsfolk?  I heard them out calling.”

“Eat first,” Dave says, and presses a paper wrapped packet into your hands.  You recognize the tavernkeeper’s baking.

“It’s that bad?”

“You just might not want to stop to eat after.”  He nudges the packet in your hands again until you finally settle against Slick, swinging your gun to one side but still in reach, and set about unwrapping your meal.  Dave makes a face at Slick and doesn’t join you on the ground.  He hovers over you instead, pacing and tapping his fingers and generally doing his best impression of a fluttery mother hen.  You stare him down over your meat pie, and then wiggle your eyebrows and grin at him as you take a very pointed bite.

That earns you a flash of a smile.  “Marni sends her best with the pies, by the way,” Dave says, finally dropping to squat opposite you. “She says I’m ‘not to let that nice hunter girl get away from me.’”

“Marni is very correct,” you say around a bite of food, and then pause to grin at him.  “Besides, you’d have to shake me off your trail first.”

“D’awww,” Dave says deadpan, like he’s joking, even though you can tell he really isn’t.  He produces another wax-paper packet from his pack, unwrapping it for Slick.  “Here, fur-face, a horrible pile of body parts from the butcher’s scrap bucket. Yum yum.”

Slick snaps at his retreating hand without any particular intent, his mind humming lazy pleasure and amusement.

“You boys play nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Dave says, tilting his head to flutter his eyelashes at you over the top of his shades.  When he thinks you’re not looking, he sticks his tongue out at Slick.  

You snicker and nearly inhale a chunk of onion.  When you’re done choking and otherwise reaffirming with your body which items go down which pipes, you lick gravy from your fingers and look up at Dave, one eyebrow raised.  “Okay, I’m eating.  What’s up?”

He sighs out a long breath.  Fiddles with the dirt by his feet.  “Bro says we need to get out of town.”

Oh.  “Another of his notes?”

“On the pillow this morning,” Dave agrees.  “I swear to fuck I closed the window; I don’t know how he got a bird in.  You think their little feet could work a latch?”

“I’d be more concerned with how a bird could move a window twenty times its weight.”

“Maybe you’d need twenty birds,” Dave says.  “Shit.  Now I’m picturing, like, stalker bird conga lines outside my window while I sleep.  I’m never gonna close my eyes again.”

“Ha.”  Your meat pie seems a lot less delicious than it did a few minutes ago.  You make yourself keep eating anyway.  “I guess he didn’t say why we needed to leave.”

Dave shrugs, working his shoulders like the baby-fine feathers hiding along his spine need help to settle.  That’s a sure sign he’s more unhappy than he’s letting on. But then, Dave always blames himself for these things.  Dave’s a big dummy.  “You know Bro.  Dude loves his cryptic messages.  It’s like, ‘I can monitor my baby bro all across hundreds of miles of countryside to know when there’s trouble coming his way, and I can painstakingly bird-courier a note across said hundreds of miles to let him know he ought to skip town, but do I have the time to jot down the five extra words that would tell him what the hell is going on?  No.  No I do not.’”

“Well!”  If it’s not all the way to cheerful, you at least manage brisk and firm.  But really, it’s not like this is bad news.  “We would have been moving along soon anyway.  I’d’ve preferred to track down the wasps or whatever’s been picking off the livestock first, but it’s not much sooner than what we were thinking.”  It’s a nice town.  The people here always seem happy to have a hunter visit, and remarkably tolerant of your group’s little collection of eccentricities–but there’s no point pressing your luck.  

Slick mutters a low tangle of anger and dissatisfaction and dismissal into your mind.  That makes you smile.  Slick is not a people person.

Spirits strangely brightened by his misanthropy, you shake the last crumbs of pie crust into your mouth, and gather up your and Slick’s wrappers, folding them neatly before passing them back to Slick.  He stretches, gets to his feet, and trots a little ways away to bury the trash in the dirt with a few negligent flicks of his paws.

Padding back your way, he wanders over to go snuff at Dave’s hair.  For his part, Dave pretends not to notice the giant black wolf invading his personal space.  You hide a smile as the pretend nonchalance turns into pretend-not-to-be-having-a-stealthy-shoving-match.  They do enjoy one-upping each other.  “Those hunters a few towns over are supposed to be heading this way any day now, aren’t they?” you ask.  “They could handle a wasp nest, or whatever else this is.”

“Runner said they might even make it in later this morning or afternoon.”  Dave’s looking tense again.  

You inspect him through the broad lenses of your glasses.  “Anyone we know?”

“Not that I heard.”

“You think that’s what your bro was warning us about?  These hunters?”  

Hunters are… well it’s hit or miss whether they’ll be substantially more tolerant of Dave and his demon-touched gifts, or less.  You both try not to bring Slick into the question at all.  Everybody knows you have some kind of high-content hybrid animal and you leave it at that. (Wow, though, the idea of wolf-demons breeding with actual wolves.  Ew?  You are pretty sure they would not be down for that.  They’re not some near-animal lesser demons–Slick’s as much a person as you or Dave.)  So, whatever. Let folks think you keep your “dog” mostly out of towns and out-of-sight because you don’t quite trust him with strangers.  It’s not like that’s a lie.

Dave shrugs a response to your question, frowning at his fingers where they lightly brace his perch in the dirt; picking absently at the hint of scales on his unwrapped wrist.  He doesn’t even seem to notice when Slick sets his teeth testingly in his shoulder–not until the bite grows hard enough for him to turn and swat reflexively at the wolf.  “Ow, lay off already, you overgrown dustbunny!”

Slick releases him without appearing to pay any mind to the batting hands.  His mind buzzes a staticky cloud of irritation.  –(Distracted,)– he pronounces.  He prowls over to sit next to you, eyeing Dave with a look you think might not be dissimilar to the intensifying scrutiny in your own green eyes.

“Daaaaave,” you say.  “I can see you thinking.  Tell me.”

“Nah, it’s nothing really,” Dave says, sounding entirely like it’s something.  “I’m just thinking–we really oughta clear out of here, shouldn’t we?”

Your lips purse further.  “Yeah, probably we should.  But there’s something else, isn’t there?  Something you’re not telling me.”   You narrow your eyes behind your glasses.  “Those townspeople didn’t get all riled up and go running around in the woods without a very good reason.  That’s not safe.  What happened?”

“I’m not saying we should stay…” Dave starts, reluctantly.

“Dave Strider.  I am about five ‘dot dot dots’ from dying of impatience over here, mister.  Just tell me already!”

His words come all in a rush.  “Shia Keeper’s youngest didn’t turn up for breakfast this morning.”

You blink.  You sit back heavily on your tush.  

Now that Dave’s started, he doesn’t seem to want to stop.  “It’s still too soon to tell, but they think he might have gone out to see the sheep.  He’d been talking about them, I guess.  Knew the adults were worried.  There’s no sign of a struggle or an attack anywhere–some kicked up leaves, maybe, in the pasture near the shallows, but who knows what that means.  None of the dogs picked up any trail.”

You blow out a long breath, thread your fingers into Slick’s fur beside you.  He’s an anchor, his mind a little more alert and interested, but otherwise unmoved.  “Outside the village ward circle?”

“Yeah,” Dave says.

Your fingers tighten further.  “Same details as the missing lambs.”

“Yeah,” Dave says again, and doesn’t say anything else.

“If it’s a wasp-demon nest he might still be alive.”  For a while.  Weeks even.  They like to paralyze prey to keep for their hatchlings.  You pet Slick’s fur, focusing on the texture of it.  “Her youngest,” you say after a little while, trying to sort faces in your head.  Maybe it will distract you from the sick churning in your gut.  “That would be… Odain?”

“Ossi.  He’s six.”

Nope, your gut is definitely still churning.  “Fuck,” you say, with feeling, and stop trying to pretend like you’re not upset.  Slick lays his head on your leg, fixes you with his cold golden eyes–not like he’s sympathizing, but still like he doesn’t want you to be distressed.  Maybe it’s not nice of you, but you’re grateful for that crisp, clear wind of pragmatic disinterest that is Slick’s thoughts.  Sometimes, maybe, you need a little ruthless selfishness to deal.  

…Sometimes, it would be nice not to care.

You give yourself just a very few minutes to regroup, pull yourself back into working order.  Life’s massively stupidly unfair sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to keep going.  Look at this situation head on.  Problem solve.  “All right,” you say with a little of that borrowed briskness.  “So he’s either dead or he’s stuck somewhere we can’t find.  Only one of those options is time sensitive.”

Dave nods, does that uncomfortable shoulder-shrug/feather-settling motion again.  “He still might just be wandered off somewhere,” he adds.  “It’s only been a few hours.  Kids do dumb shit.  Not like there’s any evidence something actually snatched him.”

“Could be.”  You don’t really believe it.  Dave doesn’t either.  You’ve both been out on the roads long enough to have a good idea both how nice and how not-nice the world can be.  “Either way, if he’s anywhere a little kid or normal predator or even a  lesser demon could have gotten to, the townsfolk’s search parties will turn him up.”

“That just leaves mids and up as the possible nasties they can’t deal with,” Dave says.

“Like the wasps.  And there’s more hunters due in town any minute.”  

The pair of you share a look, trying to convince each other and mostly failing.  Dave’s Bro’s warnings are sometimes cryptic, but they’ve never led you wrong.  You should let these other hunters handle the situation.  You should, but…

Your mind snags on another factor you hadn’t considered.  “Oh.”  Angry alien face under a dark tangle of hair, watchful eyes, fur and teeth.  …Demons.  “Um.  So.  Dave!  Did I mention Slick and I had an interesting encounter this morning?”

He must be a  little too familiar with that chirp in your voice, because Dave’s mouth goes instantly flat with suspicion.

“We, um.  Met another wolf-demon and his troll.  Actually, I think it went pretty well!”

Dave’s bland expression doesn’t twitch, but there’s a subtle movement along his scalp like a wind ruffling through.

“I mean, except for when Slick bit them, or when they got all snarly about me being with Slick, or when we kind of sort of may have lost our tempers a little bit.”

“Jade.”  Dave’s orange-blond hair still rises almost invisibly, fluffed by the feathers underneath.

“But it all worked out and nobody shot anybody and I think they probably even didn’t want to fight us anymore in the end!”

“Oh, god.”  Dave still sounds completely calm.  Also kind of low-key dramatic, but if he wasn’t he wouldn’t be Dave.  He presses his hands to his temples like he is trying to hold his head together.  “Jade.  Why.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time?”  

In your head, Slick is snickering evilly at both of you.  He lifts his head from your knee to gape his jaw in a toothy doggy grin.   “Slick started it,” you add, tossing him ruthlessly to Dave’s disapproval.  Slick internally rolls his eyes at you, a very human cloud of thought.  Dave is not distracted.

“Holy shit,” he mutters.  “It’s like I can’t leave you alone for even five minutes or you’ll be out petting the bugbears and trying to ride the dryads.  Must you constantly attempt to befriend the big scary monsters that want to eat you?”

“Hey,” you say, a flash of anger actually licking through your veins.  

“Present company excepted, of course,”  Dave corrects easily.  “Slick being a big scary monster that does not want to eat you.”

You purse your lips at him, but your anger’s already gone.  Slick’s not offended and you know Dave really doesn’t mean it. Also it’s a little bit accurate.  “They didn’t want to eat me either,” you say repressively.  “Honestly, Dave, it’s not like being a demon automatically determines your personality.  They were just curious and shy and…” –that last moment, when you were all hollowed out and heartsore, and the troll had crept towards you, brows furrowed, hand outstretched– “…kind of protective towards Slick.”

Dave sighs and bounces to his feet, standing to pace back and forth in front of you.  You draw your knees up to your chest and watch him. You do not point out that his steps have gone just a little too fluid–a series of rapid, focused movements like–well, like a long-legged bird stalking along the ground.  He scrubs his hands through his unsettled hair.

Finally, he paces out his thoughts.

With another sigh, Dave drops down beside you all at once.  He doesn’t even react when Slick lazily flashes his teeth just on principle, and then flops partway onto your lap.

“You okay?”  Dave asks you, voice quiet now.

You smile a bit, stroking Slick’s ear.  “I’m good.”

“You said you lost your temper.”

There is absolutely no judgment in his voice, just a careful, abiding concern.  Dave would throw himself on knives for you, and he’s never liked that there are some injuries he can’t take.  That’s all right.  You decided years and years ago that you’re not letting anything happen to Dave.  You’ve never forgotten that, no matter how crazy things get.  Anything else that goes wrong is just noise, stuff you can fix later.

“Almost,��� you confess.  You sigh and lean into him, settling your head into the curve of his neck and shoulder.  He smells like the trees he’s been travelling through and a little–you try not to let Slick’s thoughts color yours too much, but it can’t be denied–like something feathered and edible.  It’s nice, in a way that makes you want to burrow into him harder.

“We’re fine,” you tell him, and mean it.  “Slick and me.”

Dave huffs a breath that might be amusement or agreement or aggravation and turns his head in and down towards yours, face nuzzling automatically into your hair.  His hand around your shoulders starts preening out the ends of the locks, where it always tangles, a faint, pleasant tug against your scalp.  It’s familiar, reflexive kind of gesture, and you know it’s as much to comfort himself as you.  

You think it’s super cute when Dave does his bird-cuddle thing, but that is another point that you know he would prefer not to be reminded about.  Oh, well.  You’ll just have to remember it for him.  One of your arms is looped partway around Slick’s muzzle and neck in your lap, but you sneak your free hand out to pet at Dave’s shirt, straightening the collar, smoothing out the creases in it and the way it lies under the straps for his pack and katana.  Preening back.  You hum a little satisfied noise as he melts against you.  

“Was touch and go for a bit,” you tell him, “but we worked it out fine.  And they really didn’t mean it, Dave.  They were trying to look out for Slick.  They backed right off when they saw they’d upset us.”

“Hmf.  More like they backed off when they saw what a fuckin’ awesome bamf you were,” Dave mumbles into your hair, fond and amused.  “Nobody fucks with Harls and the Slick-meister.”

“Or you.”

“Damn straight,” he agrees.  “No fucking all around.  Between the three of us we’ve got the damn monopoly on unfuckability.”  You snort gracelessly and Dave huffs into your hair.  “That came out wrong.”

You can hear him smiling.

You snuggle further into his neck and nip lightly.  “Maybe a little fucking?”

His skin heats against your lips, but his voice remains deadpan.  “Gasp.  Madame, you offend my virtue.  My little heart, it is all a flutter.  To think that you would suggest such liberties with me, a delicate maiden–”

You’re outright laughing now, elbowing Dave in the stomach and curling over so your glasses go askew.  Slick makes an irritable noise where you’re bouncing his head in your lap.   –If you don’t like it, move,– you tell him, pulling a mental face at him, still giggling.  

Slick just hunkers down intractably.   –(No. Mine.)–

Ah-haha, these boys.  

“Jade,” Dave says, sobering up some.  His fingers still fiddle with your hair.  “I gotta ask.”

Oh, that does not sound promising.

“We’ve got a missing kid and some coincidental demons in the area…”  His words make your draw yourself up without even meaning to.  Dave’s arm tightens, holding you close.  “I’m not saying they did it!  I’m not saying anything.  Hell if I know, I never even met the dudes.  I am not the demon-whisperer, here.  My troll-demon knowledge file is sitting at a big oh oh, and my wolf-demon file is only one tick better.  Though extensive.  I just… gotta ask.”

You blow out your breath.  Roll back your head on his shoulder and frown up at the canopy and make yourself give the topic proper consideration.  It is, you know, a very fair question.  You’re not sure why just the suggestion of it bothers you so much.  You thread your fingers through dark black fur, mentally leaning in to the still mildly bored hum of Slick’s mind.  

Maybe it bothers you because it could so easily be asked about you and Slick.  (About you and Bec.)  

But Dave’s right.  You don’t really know them.  They might not be monsters, but they’re also not Slick.  “I got the impression they were trying to stay away from humans.  They said they were just passing through,” you say slowly, thinking aloud.  “With their pack, looking for territory.”

“There’s been sheep going missing for weeks,” Dave says.

“I think he was telling the truth when he said they hadn’t been in the area very long, but I can’t say for certain,” you confess.  “Still.  I could see the lambs, maybe. Heck, we’d probably poach a lamb if we were hungry enough and we couldn’t find any game.  But a kid?”

“It’s not a troll kid, though,” Dave points out, voice still mild, neutral; fingers soothing along your shoulder.  “Would they see a difference between a sheep and a human?”

Your first thought is of course, but your second thought is maybe.  That troll had spoken to you, snarked and bantered and asked questions of you… but he’d also clearly seen you as something automatically other, something different and potentially dangerous.  Something that couldn’t be trusted with Slick.

Would they think like a human about this topic?

You run the velvet of Slick’s ear through your fingers over and over again.  He’s watching you, golden eye tilted upward from your lap, as aware of your busy, uncomfortable thoughts as you are of the current serene simplicity of his own.

“What do you think?” you ask him, forming the words as mental question simultaneously.  It always takes a little extra effort to be sure complicated ideas get across clearly.  But Slick and you have been making your strange, static-y psychic connection work for years.  “Do you think a wolf-demon would eat a person?  A human kid?”

Slick blinks lazily at you.  His response is a tangled haze of disdainful negation. Not so much a ‘no’ as a general disapproval of the concept.   –(Why/stupid/pointless).–   You get another cloud of thoughts and pictures and smells.  Some of them remind you very much of his psychic name– of the smell of death, of the slipperiness of blood under paw, of the cold, and the dark.  Slick doesn’t remember exactly what happened to his pack for you to find him young, alone, a chained captive in a human merchant’s caravan.  But he doesn’t not remember, either.  

“He says you never meddle with the pups if you’re going to leave the parents alive,” you translate for Dave.  

“Charming,” Dave says, but the snark sounds mostly pro forma.  Dave has the same idea of what lies in Slick’s past as you.  Fighting is just how he and Slick bond.

“It’s a good point, though.  It would be a dumb thing for them to do.  They weren’t dumb, Dave.”

“And this conversation just continues to be a source of great comfort and reassurance to me.  The possibly hostile, possibly human-phobic, possibly mad-at-you pack of troll and wolf demons are not dumb.  Excellent.  How much of a powder keg do you think this situation will become if the townsfolk figure out that there’s a pack of high level demons passing through the area?”

Your stomach rolls uneasily.  

–(Much,)– Slick thinks with the first interest he’s shown in the conversation.

You hope, again, that your advice got those two safely out of the path of the human searchers.  Surely you’d have heard something by now if it hadn’t.  Wouldn’t you? “With any luck they’re long gone and it will never come up.”

“Bite your tongue,” Dave mutters.

You both fall silent, contemplating the current predicament and all the many ways this situation could spiral into a less-than-happy ending.  Well, you and Dave contemplate.  Slick seems content to doze peacefully on your knee.

“So,” Dave says after a while.  “That’s the thing.”

“That’s the thing,” you agree.

“We still need to leave,” he says.

“We really, really do.”

“We’re not going to, are we?”

You look up, and meet the reflection of your gaze in Dave’s shades.  It looks steely and determined.  His face has the slightest hint of a smile on it, like now that you’re both acknowledging the dumb thing you’re going to do, he already feels better.

You quirk a grin back at him.  “Nope, sure aren’t.”

“I’ll head up through the trees and scout around, see if I can spot anything,” Dave says.

“I’ll take Slick and see if we can pick up a scent trail somewhere.  Though with half the town out in the woods…”

“Thought you might say that.”  Dave pats his pack.  “Brought you two one more present.  Stopped by the Keepers’ place on the way out of town.  Special delivery, one wax-wrapped bundle of dirty nightclothes, full of stank.”

“Dave!  You always know just what I like.”

Slick has tuned fully in to the conversation, head picked up, ears alert.  His mind hums and pulses with anticipatory energy.  He might not care about the missing kid, but he does love a good hunt.

You give him anticipation and determination right back.  It’s a much, much better emotion than sitting here feeling distressed and helpless and sad about everything.  “If we can’t pick up the kid’s trail we’ll go back to staking out flight paths for the wasps.”

“Yeah, well whatever you do stay clear of the search parties,” Dave says. “Or at least make sure Slick keeps that bandana super apparent.” He reaches out to flick at the patchwork of brightly colored cloth tied around Slick’s neck, retrieving his hand before Slick can take a piece out of it. “People are twitchy as hell.  Don’t need either of you getting shot.”

“Oh?”  You turn around, sitting up on your knees to look him straight in the sunglasses.  “And what about you mister?”

“I’ll be careful,” Dave promises.

You raise a wry eyebrow at him.  “You’ll be flitting around in the trees making a target of yourself.”

“I’ll be a careful target,” Dave insists.

“Uh huh,” you say.  You eye him thoughtfully. “Maybe I should put a collar on you.”

Dave’s pokerface is even cuter when his ears turn pink.  “Promises, promises.”

“Dave.”  You place a hand on his chest, resting over the scar you know is there, under the fabric, right over his heart.  The one that reminds you exactly how lucky you are to have this.  The one that reminds you that you’re never going to let go, and you’ll fight anyone who says different.

Dave’s yours.  

(And you’re maybe still riding a little too close to Slick’s thoughts with his anticipation for the hunt, with his mine, mine, mine, that he drove like blades at that other wolf and his troll, but hey you can defensive-possessive him right back.  They’re both yours.)

You close your fingers in Dave’s shirt, pull him in, and kiss him like you want to eat him so he’ll be safe.  He hums and leans into you like he’d let you.

Slick’s head butts between you.  He doesn’t nip Dave, so he must be in a really good mood.  

You send him a wave of utter annoyance.

He sends you nothing but impatient anticipation back–the crisp smell of wind rustling the trees, of a lightning storm building in the air.  The scrabble of prey fleeing for their life.  Slick’s front feet pat the ground and his golden eyes stare at you unblinkingly.   –(Go/now/hunt.)–

“Nobody asked you,” Dave mutters, apparently entirely willing to hold a conversation he can only hear one side of.

You sigh.  Right.  Things to do.  And all of them life-or-death important.  You can’t quite make your hand release Dave’s shirt yet, but you lean back on your heels.  “We should go.”

“Yeah.”

“Be careful?”

“The carefulest.”

“Meet you for dinner?”

Dave curls his hand over yours on his chest, leans back in, smile hiding on his lips.  “If I don’t, you’ll come hunt me down.  Right?”

You smile and press your forehead against his.  “Always.”  

He smiles back, for real.

You let him go.

You turn to Slick.  And you go hunting.