#also if the fandom keeps growing at this rate there is gonna be some insane reporter interactions bc

[moonshynecybin]

truly fandom gatekeeping is stupid and the mindkiller but that doesn’t mean i can’t be ANNOYED !

[dreamingofep]

Forbidden Love Pt. 7 💔❣️

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Reuniting with Elvis was supposed to be the highlight of your summer, but with unresolved tensions between you two, things aren't what they seem. [Fem!reader]

TW: Cussing, angst, mentions of infertility, Elvis being ~very difficult~😠

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: Hi everyone! Posting in Elvis hours again hehe. This chapter is an emotional rollercoaster so be prepared! Forgive me for putting these two through the wringer🫣 I would recommend re-reading the first chapter again because I did leave some clues of what is going to be unveiled... Hope you enjoy! Elvis needs a hug and a slap on the wrist in this chapter🤭

July 5th, 1969

Tonight was another planned dinner and you couldn’t be more excited. This means you get to see Elvis with no other explanation and if you were lucky, you’d sneak away from everyone and kiss him like he’s your only supply of oxygen. Elvis coordinated this whole dinner. After five full days of rehearsing hours on end for his show, he wanted to have a little fun and invite some friends over. You liked how excited Elvis got over things lately. It was such a turn compared to a few weeks ago when he barely liked any company, especially yours. 

John was never thrilled about these dinners. He wouldn’t sit by you and would barely look in your direction so you and Elvis always sat next to each other. You’d joke and glance at each other with longing stares that made you feel aflame. His hand would brush your thigh and you couldn’t help but inch closer to him, longing for him to keep touching you. You loved those secret moments.

It was almost time to leave and you put on some glossy pink lipstick before rushing to get your heels on. You open the door and the phone rings as you’re about to leave the house. You run back in and grab the phone.

“Hello?” You say a bit winded.

“Hi baby when are you coming over?” Elvis asks smoothly. 

“I was just about to leave but here I am on the phone with you,” you tease him.

“Well, I’m glad I caught ya then. I want you to pack some things. I want you to stay the night,” he says matter-of-factly. You almost gasp at his request. He wouldn’t dare make it so obvious that you two were seeing each other. 

“No, absolutely not. Are you insane? We’d get caught and that would be the end of that,” you say shortly.

“No one’s gonna be home tonight. Dianne won’t be here, she’s got a flight later tonight to see some family,” he explains. You grew nervous, it was still too risky. This plan of his was going to blow up in smoke.

“And what about John? You need to deal with him. He expects me to be home with him. I don’t need him to start to grow suspicious of why I hang out at your house so late,” you say annoyed.

“Let me deal with him. Just bring your things, okay?” He says low and hangs up quickly.

You grunt frustrated, you hated that it had to be his way or no way at all. But you also didn’t have it in you to fight with him. You liked him taking the lead and having his way with you. You quickly go back to the bedroom and scour the closet for a duffle bag to pack some things for the night. It was a little nerve-wracking that you’d be there all night but you knew you’d love it. You race back to the front door and put the bag in your trunk, excited for tonight’s adventure. 

*

You pulled up to the house and the driveway was already packed with cars. Some of the guys were out there waiting to open the gate for you and you quickly parked the car, rushing to get inside. Walking up to the door, the murmur of voices behind it made you a bit nervous. Elvis better be on his best behavior. There were going to be too many eyes around tonight. You couldn’t get too close to him or disaster could strike.

There were a few people at the entrance of the house and they politely smiled at you and said hello. You do the same but your eyes frantically search for Elvis. You wanted to see him, as bad as it was, you needed to see what he was wearing tonight.

You round the corner and into the living room and you stop dead in your tracks. You found him and he was wearing all black and a blue scarf that made his eyes pop. He forgoes a shirt underneath his jacket and it shows off his tan chest. You loved his fashion choices lately and not wearing anything underneath his jackets with scarves or leaving his shirts unbuttoned scandalously low. He looked absolutely gorgeous and his eyes lit up when he saw you too.

Your smile begins to fade when you realize Dianne is sitting on his lap, wearing a short ruffled skirt and tank top, twirling his scarf around her finger. Your blood boiled, you hated seeing her on him. It was stupid honestly. She was only playing a part and so was Elvis. But this wasn’t a public event, there was no need for a dramatic display of affection from the two of them. You do everything in your power to force the fakest smile you’ve ever given. Elvis probably saw right through it as you stared at him blankly. 

“Hi y/n, it’s nice to see you again,” Jerry says on your right, snapping you out of your jealousy.

“Hi Jerry, always nice to see you,” you say to him and give him a hug. 

John was sitting next to Elvis and goes to hug you. It shocked you a little, he wasn’t the type to give affection so publicly. You smell the faintest scent of alcohol on him. I guess that answers why he’s so affectionate. You hug him anyway because you want Elvis to feel the same jealousy you felt when you looked at Dianne sitting on his lap. You grab John by the face and kiss him. You felt Elvis’ eyes burn into your skin. He hated what you were doing. You loved getting the reaction out of him though.

You pull away from him and act embarrassed, “Oh hi Dianne, so nice to see you again! Hi Elvis,” you say a bit flatly. Dianne quickly gets up and gives you a big hug.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here! I can use a girl’s company! Please sit down,” she says sitting back on Elvis’ lap and having you sit right next to him. There was a small space left on the couch and you squeezed beside him, placing your purse on the side of it and out of the way. His legs were spread open and your leg touched his. You try not to let it get to you but your body says otherwise.

“How have you been y/n? How was your day?” Dianne asks.

“Oh, it was fine. I just worked a shift at the diner and went home for a bit to relax before coming here,” you tell her.

“Oh, how nice. Do you like your job?” She asks as he continues to twirl Elvis’ scarf around her finger and rest her other hand on his bare chest. You tried to let it not distract you but you’re failing. It irked you the way he was letting her touch him. It was ridiculous of you, but it didn’t matter. You hated it and wished you were the one in his lap instead.

“No, not really, but it pays the bills in the meantime,” you joke.

“You’re an actress right?” Jerry butts in. Thank God for that, at least you don’t have to look directly at Dianne anymore.

“Yes, I am. I’m on a bit of a hiatus. Things have been a little tough and I’ve needed to take a break from it. I wasn’t getting as many jobs and it started to affect us,” you say a bit hurt.

You hated admitting that your dream wasn’t panning out the way you wanted it to. You didn’t quit the business, you were just falling on hard times and needed to make some quick money before going back out there. 

“Sorry you’ve had to take a break, you’ll get back on your feet in no time. I’ve seen some of your movies, you’re a natural,” Jerry says sweetly.

“Thanks,” you say sheepishly. It was nice to hear someone saw the potential you had. You look at John briefly and see he has this annoyed expression on his face when he’s listening to you talk about your career. It ticked you off even though you should be used to it by now.

“Maybe you can focus on other things in the meantime,” Dianne says cheerfully, “Maybe you can start a family,” she tells you.

You look at her blankly. You didn’t want to talk about this stuff with her around. She was the last person you wanted to talk about family stuff with.

“Umm, no, I don’t think that’ll be happening,” you try to deflect.

“Oh, why not?” She asks.

“It’s not the right time,” you try to shrug like it doesn’t bother you.

“Well, you never know. Blessings can happen when you least expect it,” she says as she wraps her arms around Elvis’ neck. It took everything in you to shove her off of him and get her to stop asking a million questions.

“Yeah, but we’re good. It’s not the right time to start a family,” you reiterate a bit sharply, hoping she’ll shut up.

“Oh but can you imagine, a little you running around? That would be the cutest,” she says excitedly looking at Elvis, “maybe we can try again?” She says looking at Elvis, leaning in to kiss him.

You felt like screaming at him, both of them for that matter but God that got under your skin and stayed there. Again?! What does she mean again?! You wanted to yell and scream your head off at him if he was actually having his way with both of you at the same time. You clench your fist closed and do everything in your power to swallow your pride and not say anything to him. Yet. He will get an earful from you later, you were going to make sure of that. 

“Well you have fun with that,” you say sarcastically, making sure to not look at Elvis.

“You two really would have the cutest kids!” Dianne continues to ramble.

“Yeah, that's not happening. We’d need a miracle to happen,” John mutters a bit too loudly as he takes a sip of his beer.

You feel every pair of eyes dart to you and you freeze. You stare at John in disbelief that he just said that. He looks at you as though he sees right through you. He looks at you like you’re such a disappointment. You glance at Elvis and see a look of concern. 

“What? What does he mean?” Dianne asks confused. You wanted this night to end right here and now. You were sick and tired of her incessant questions and angry at John’s drunken slip-up.

“It means I can’t have kids. It’ll never be the right time it seems and I can’t do anything about it but move on,” you say sharply and throw daggers at her. She grows quiet and looks away from you.

The room was extremely quiet and you felt everyone’s uncomfortableness as the rest of the house was loud and full of laughter. You tap your leg nervously, hating that the attention is on you and this topic. You debate whether you should just leave the room or pray to God someone changes the topic again. You were hoping Jerry would be that person again but sadly he didn’t get that memo.

“I’m so sorry y/n,” Elvis says softly, almost too low for you to even hear.

You look up at his puppy dog eyes and let your anger get the best of you. Looking at him made you more angry and hearing that he was sorry for you pushed you past your boiling point. You stare at him blankly, fire burning in your eyes as you don’t want to be around him anymore. 

You get up from the couch and try to put on a believable smile like none of this got to you.

“I’m going to grab a drink, does anyone want anything?” You ask cheerfully.

Everyone murmurs no and you see yourself out. Your smile instantly drops when your back faces everyone in the living room. You squeeze your way through the dining room where a lot of people are gathered and go to the kitchen. It's a bit quieter in here and you get to breathe and try to shake off everything that just happened. You hated how this was brought up, it made you feel shitty. You don’t know if Dianne brought this up on purpose or what but you like her even less now. 

You find champagne on the kitchen island and pour yourself a small glass. You sip the bubbly drink and try to calm yourself down before you go back out there. You suddenly feel a hand gently grab your arm and pull you to the side. You look up and see it's Elvis and he keeps walking to a side room off of the kitchen. You shrug out of his grasp and grunt frustrated.

“Elvis?! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You snap.

“I needed to talk to you,” he says.

“It can wait, let's get out there,” you say flatly, trying to push past him. 

He steps in front of the door and locks it.

“No, I’m not letting you out of here until we talk about this,” he says sternly.

“There’s nothing to talk about Elvis, let’s just go,” you grumble. 

“Yes there is,” he says as he pulls you in to hug you, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” he says gently. 

As much as you loved it when he held you in his arms, you didn’t want that kind of affection right now. You push away at his chest and feel the tears well in your eyes. 

“Elvis no. I can’t do this with you. I tried to tell you. I did, I tried. But you were too busy for me! That was the moment I realized we weren’t friends anymore. I told whoever answered the phone it was extremely important to talk to you and they said they’d go and get you but you didn’t answer the phone! I waited for hours for you, crying my eyes out hoping you’d talk to me but you didn’t. I needed you. I needed someone to go to and comfort me when I was going through this tough time and I had no one,” you say angrily. 

“God no,” he angrily mutters, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t remember-. When was this? Please help me understand,” he pleads with you. 

“A few years ago. ‘66 I believe. Everything went up in flames that year. I came to the realization I’ll never be able to have a family and things only got worse with me and John. I was losing traction with my career and not getting cast as much. It was all a mess and I had no one to talk to,” you weep turning away from him so he wouldn’t see you cry. 

“I’m sorry honey that’s awful. I wish I could have done something, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking…” he rambles. 

“Nothing. You were thinking about nothing and ignoring me like every other man in my life,” you grumble. 

There’s a heavy silence that fills the room as you can still hear the liveliness of the party going on out there. 

“He isn’t supportive about any of it? Not even empathetic?” Elvis asks gently. 

“No. And I know deep down, he hates me for it. We were having some minor problems before this happened and a naive part of me thought that if I gave him a baby, everything would be alright. But years went on and it never happened. I had to face the reality that something was wrong with me and had to move on. There’s nothing I can do about it,” you say defeated. 

“Honey I-,” he starts to say but you stop him. 

“No! Don’t honey me! You are not innocent here. What the fuck was that about in the living room? Dianne saying you guys should try again?” You say as anger boils through you. 

“Are you messing around with her and me at the same time?! You told me the whole relationship between you two was just a publicity stunt and nothing more,” you seethe. 

He sighs and takes a step back from you, “It’s more complicated than that…” he starts to say. 

“No it’s not!” You yell at him. 

“Shh, please lower your voice,” he growls. 

“No, you don’t get to tell me what to do! Yes or no, are you two screwing around or was she trying to make your little story more believable by saying that.” You snap. 

His face looks distraught and he looks like he can cry too. It was a horrible sight to see. You only wanted to see him happy and full of joy. You can see he’s searching for the right words but hesitates to say any of them. 

“Yes, years ago we did. I was very unhappy with my career and hated everything I was doing. A lot like you, I thought maybe I should get married or have a baby, maybe that would make me happier? But I realized that none of that was going to make me happy and I didn’t like Dianne that way. I would be miserable if I married her,” he explains. 

You felt bad for him too, how unhappy he was like you and had nowhere to go. Things should have been different between you two. If you had talked to each other about all of this, maybe you wouldn’t feel so alone and helpless. 

“But to answer your question, no, I’m not even touching her. I want nothing to do with her like that now,” he pauses and slowly gets closer to you, “I only want you baby, please you have to believe me.” He says sorrowful. 

You don’t respond to him. You were too hurt by all of this and don’t want to be here anymore. 

“We should go out there, they’re waiting on us,” you murmur not looking at his face. He doesn’t budge and pulls you into his arms once more. 

“Baby please look at me. I’m sorry about everything,” he purrs. 

You wanted to forgive him of course, it felt awful to be cross with him but you needed space. You still hold this grudge against him that he hasn’t been there for you when he said he always would be. You push past him and quickly get out of the room and into the kitchen. 

There were so many people around, that your absence wasn’t noticed where you had been for the last few minutes. You head back out to the living room with a drink in your head. You force another fake smile as you stand off to the side as you don’t want to sit by either Dianne or John. Fifteen minutes passed and Elvis still hadn’t joined you. You grew anxious as to what was taking him so long. It’s not like he’d just leave his own house and leave his party.

After an hour or so of dealing with insufferable conversation, it was time for dinner. An extra table was brought in so everyone could sit together. Elvis finally appears from the back of the house with a stark look on his face. As usual, he coordinated it so you had to sit next to him. This was the first night you did not want to be close to him by any means. Everything was ticking you off and everyone’s dumb jokes were annoying you more than anything. 

Elvis picked up on your mood instantly and he was quieter than usual. You could feel him looking at you through the whole dinner but you didn’t look his way once. You picked at your food, not really hungry after everything that has transpired. It was only ten but you wanted to get out of this house. You were no longer in the mood to stay over or be around Elvis at all. The longer you stayed here, the worse this night could get. 

You probably should have listened to your instincts and gotten up right now but you didn’t and disaster was about to strike. 

You tune back into everyone’s conversations and act like you’re interested in what they have to say. Some of the guys were talking about something that happened on a movie set a few years ago and were laughing about it. They brought up some girls they thought were pretty and how they didn’t give them the light of day when they asked them out on a date. 

Elvis would mess with them and tease that no girls were interested in them anyway. It was light-hearted banter and it did take your mind off of the uncomfortable situation you were in earlier. One of the guys turns their attention to you and it surprises you a bit. 

“You’ve worked with Nicole, haven’t you? You know who we’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah, I worked on a movie with her. She was so nice,” you recall the fond memory. 

“She liked you too. She hoped to work with you again. What are you working on now?” He asks. 

You don’t feel threatened by the question and brush it off, it was just an innocent inquiry. 

“Nothing right now. I’m hoping to get back out there soon though,” you say hopefully. 

“You are? SInce when?” John asks a bit annoyed from the other end of the table. You stare darkly at him and try to keep your cool. 

“Yes, I do. I miss being on set and everything. That’s where I was the most happy and had the most fun,” you say looking away from John and addressing anyone else that was listening to the conversation. 

“Oh, you should have been on the set for one of Elvis’ movies. We had some wild times,” one of the guys laughed. A lot more of them laugh, reminiscing about such memories and you giggle too, you can only imagine what kind of trouble they got into on set. 

“Oh I bet you guys have quite the stories,” you chuckle, “that almost happened though. I almost got the role of Elvis’ love interest in one of his movies in ‘66 but the producers went another direction at the last minute. It sucked but whatever,” you try to say nonchalantly.

“That’s right, I remember when Elvis found out you got cast. He freaked out,” he says laughing.

“Would you shut up,” Elvis says quickly, anger lacing his words.

You were confused by all of this. Why would Elvis be so freaked out about you getting cast in a movie? You thought it would be a nice reunion in a way. It was something you always wanted to happen.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, laughing slightly thinking he was just messing with you.

“Yeah, he saw your name on the cast list and called the director right away. You didn’t know? I thought he called you to explain,” He asks you confused. 

“He didn't call me for a whole decade,” you scowl. 

“That’s enough,” Elvis hissed. 

You were baffled at what was going on. None of this made sense. Why would he act like this when he found out you got cast in his movie? Your mind races and starts creating the worst possible scenarios. Did he actually have a hatred for you for whatever reason?

You slowly turn your body to face Elvis, a slow boiling rage is once again beginning to develop inside of you. 

“Why would you call the director about me?” You say sharply, holding your breath as you look at him like you could bite his head off. 

He looks back at you with the same intensity but you don’t waiver. 

“Answer me,” you say through your teeth. 

Everyone gets a bit uncomfortable, not looking directly at either of you.

You watch him swallow sharply, clearly not wanting to speak. 

“I-, I called him to tell him I had concerns..” he says gently. 

“Concerns about what?” You snap. 

“That maybe you weren’t the right fit…” he says timidly. 

You had enough and quickly got up and left the table. The screech of your chair moving back made everyone jump and not look at you in your state of fury. You walk back into the living room to grab your keys and your purse and head for the front door. No one moved an inch and watched you storm out of the house. You didn’t know whether you should scream or cry or do both at the same time. You couldn’t believe Elvis would ever do such a thing. Especially to you. 

You start to walk towards your car and you hear excited screams of a dozen fans waiting outside to see Elvis. A few flashing lights are going off from their cameras but are instantly disappointed that it’s just you. It was going to be hard getting out of here and you get frustrated, you needed to leave and get some space from all of this. You didn’t want to give Elvis any more time to fuck up anything else. 

“Y/n please wait,” you hear Elvis say behind you. You glance over your shoulder and see he’s trying to catch up to you. The backyard gate is on your left and that’s the only place you can go to hide from the screaming fans and everyone else at this party. You quickly open it and walk along the side of the house. Your heels make a loud echo on the concrete as you storm away from Elvis as fast as you can. 

“Y/n please,” Elvis begs and gently grabs your arm to stop you. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You seethe. He looks at you stunned, he’s never seen you so upset. “Why would you do this to me?!” You continue. 

“Honey I- I don’t know. I didn’t know what-, can you just let me explain,” he tells you. You could barely see straight you were so upset. 

“No, you listen to me! Do you know what you did?!” 

“I know it was wrong. I-I-I’m sorry baby I just thought-. The script was absolutely terrible and I was tryin’ to-,” he stammers.

“You were thinking about yourself that’s what was happening! How could you take something like this away from me,” you say as your voice cracks with emotion.

He grunts frustratedly and walks away from you, his hands on his hips with his head fallen down. 

“I was afraid… I couldn’t see you after all those years,” he mutters.

“What?”

He turns around slowly and his blue eyes are filled with tears.

“I knew I was being an awful person. I wasn’t writing you back, I wasn’t answering your phone calls, I didn’t even try to see you in person once I came back from the army, I knew you hated me for it all. And I couldn’t blame you. As time went on, I knew there was nothing that would have excused how I was acting. I panicked and couldn’t see you. I called the director and said I was nervous working with you. I explained there was a certain history we had and I couldn’t shake my nerves. Before I knew it, they had you recast. It wasn’t what I intended to happen. I was just hoping they would push the start date or something. I never wanted you off the movie, I just needed more time to figure out what I’d even say to you,” he admits.

“Why didn’t you say something like that then? Why didn’t you tell them you wanted me in the movie,” you ask.

“I just-, I was still afraid. I thought it was meant to be this way… to keep not seeing you,” he admits.

You sink to your knees and sit on the hard ground. You cover your face in your hands and let your tears fall. You couldn’t believe any of it. How could you be so dumb? All you wanted was to be close to Elvis again but he proved time and time again he didn’t want that.

He was afraid to see you? What did he possibly think when he agreed to hire John. Did he think that he could still ignore you? 

“That one role could have changed my life you know that? If I had on my resume that I worked with Elvis Presley, maybe the tide could have changed for me. Now I’ll never know if that could have been a possibility,” you sob.

“I know… I’m sorry…” he says softly. “And I didn’t know what you were dealing with personally which makes me feel even worse,” he says kneeling in front of you.

You both sit there motionless, not wanting to talk anymore. You felt your heart hurt, you never thought you could feel so broken. Just when you thought things were getting better, it came crashing down. You knew this whole thing was too good to be true. You just didn’t know how messy it would be.

You get up and smooth your dress out. Elvis quickly gets up too, looking at you with concern. 

“I’m sorry baby, please. I was an idiot I didn’t know what I was doing,” he pleads as he gently caresses your face. His touch burns your skin and makes you feel weak. You hate yourself for liking his hands on you so much. You sigh softly and lean against the wall. He presses his forehead against yours and his breathing hitches. You place your hand on his cheek and feel the wet drops of tears cover his face.

“Please, forgive me,” he begs, his voice quivering softly. You stay silent as he tilts your head up to look up at him through wet eyelashes. He places the softest kiss on your lips, making you feel weak. Both of you gasp, needing air over this small kiss. He places another kiss on your lips, this time with a bit more urgency. You squeeze at his arm, trying to fight his magnetic pull. It’s almost useless. His arms pull you closer to him and you both sigh exasperated. You tremble with emotion and he places another passionate kiss on you. 

“I’m sorry baby, please,” he whimpers. 

You feel on fire but the tears pouring down from your eyes are making you feel like you have a fractured soul now. You’ll never be whole again. You struggle for breath and try to get a hold of yourself. You push at his chest and blink through your tears to look at him. You had never seen him cry like this and it breaks you. 

“I can’t see you anymore. Whatever this was, it's done,” you sob.

Fear engulfs his eyes and he shakes his head. 

“No no please baby, don’t go. Stay, we can talk more,” he pleads. 

“There’s nothing else to say,” you whimper. You start to take a few steps away and he gently holds your hand. 

“Don’t leave. Please don’t leave me. I can’t be without you. I don’t know how to get by without you here. I need you,” he begs. Tears stream down your face and you feel like the air got sucked out of your lungs when you hear him confess this. It sounded too good to be true. These were words you always longed to hear coming from his lips. It’s too late though. 

“I have to go,” you sob. 

“Baby no,” he cries, slowly crumbling to his knees in front of you. 

You feel your heart break in two, this was a sight you never wanted to see. It felt awful to say but you needed to walk away. There was nothing else to fix this relationship. 

“Bye E,” you whimper and pull your hand away from his. It felt physically painful. 

You walk back out to the driveway and you see some of the guys waiting to open the gate for you. Putting the keys in the ignition, your radio blares and Elvis’ voice rings from the speakers. It was a song you didn’t recognize. It must have been off of his new album or something. You quickly shut the radio off and want to drive in silence instead. Backing out of the driveway, you see Elvis standing in the middle of it. He looked distraught, like he just witnessed a death. 

In a way, that’s what it felt like. This whole evening was ruined from the moment you walked into the house. Any possibility of what could have been with you and Elvis was washed away by a flood.

*

*

*

Tagging:

@loving-elvis @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis

@ccab @presleyenterprise @theresalwaysep

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates

@ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog

@myradiaz @tacozebra051

@thatbanditqueen

@18lkpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers

@idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy-

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog

@louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938

@50sexyshadestashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

@sloppiest-of-jos @thisis-theway @gatheraheart

@aphroditebabygirl @faeolwen

[ocassional-bnha-ficrecs]

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Status: Complete

Rating: G

Word Count: 8K

Summary: “I deeply hope this becomes known in the fandom as "that fic where Sero runs a peanut cartel at UA"

"Reading this felt like having an existential crisis" -my sister, 2018”

Sero sells peanuts and it just evolves from there. This is one of the funniest fics I’ve read in a while.

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Status: Incomplete (may be on hiatus/dead)

Rating: G

Word Count: 5K

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Aka all of the times class 1-A does something that shouldn't be possible.”

1A shenanigans. They’re insane and it’s fabulous.

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Status: Complete

Rating: G

Word Count: 10K

Summary: “Where Class 1-A finds itself in a time loop centered around their first year at UA. After getting over the usual angst, they decide that the best way to grow as heroes is by antagonizing dangerous villains for fun and amusement.”

1A is stuck in a time loop and no one else knows what to do with them.

Here we go Loopty Loo by Tired_College_Student_Writing

Status: In Progress

Rating: T

Word Count: 33K

Summary: “Graduation was supposed to signal the final time they all spent time together at UA, to show they have all grown into the Heros they dreamed of being.

It was supposed to be, but when has anything ever been easy for class 1-A?”

1A is stuck in a time loop and this is what they do. Pretty funny. Also reveals why they’re stuck in a time loop.

Shouta’s weirdly omniscient class. by Kail_lizuc

Status: Complete

Rating: G

Word Count: 4K

Summary: “When Aizawa Shouta walked into his new class and saw everybody calmly seated and chatting, as if they'd done this a million times already, he just knew this year was gonna be long.

Or, Shouta strongly wishes he had expelled his whole class on Day One, because figuring out what the hell is going on with them just feels well above his pay grade.”

Another loop fic! This one is also hilarious because unlike the others only the students of 1A know what’s going on. Many wonderful moments and jokes are made.

Happy Father’s day, Aizawa-sensei!! by lisanna44

Status: Complete

Ships: Aizawa/Yamada, Asui/Uraraka,

Rating: G

Word Count: ~3K

Summary: “To express their grateful to their homeroom teacher Class 2-A prepared a party in Father's day. They knew how risky it was, but nothing was more worth than seeing a slight upward lip of their stoic teacher. The whole preparation was 99,9% ready. All needed was their teacher glaring at them from the door. What they didn't expect was another figure behind Aizawa-sensei.

in which Class 2-A actually had a decent plan to make their teacher happy, Shinsou trying to save the day, and a big revelation.”

1A tries to do something nice for Aizawa. It kinda went wiring but everything ends up ok.

It Was Not Yamada’s Fault For Once by lisanna44

Status: Complete

Ships: Aizawa/Yamada,

Rating: G

Word Count: 1K

Summary: “Aizawa was tired, so damn tired. The tiredness might have seeped into his mind because he just did something stupid enough his whole class erupted into another mess. It's not like transforming them into a mess was that hard. He just tried not to trigger them.

Features : the always tired teacher, his loud mouth husband, the sly son who got what he deserved in this fic, and the whole class 1-A family (minus Mi****)”

Aizawa, more tired than usual, reveals some stuff that he maybe would’ve preferred to keep secret from his class. But still sweet.

Present Mimic by MintIceTea

Status: Complete

Ships: Aizawa/Yamada,

Rating: G

Word Count: 1K

Summary: “*wakes up in panic* but what if Mic could make that t-rex sound?

Which was immediately followed by the thought that Mic might be really good at mimicking noises. If his Quirk isn’t just volume - if he can “make crazy high sounds, and crazy low sounds” why can’t he make really freaking weird sounds?

Also for your entertainment: Hizashi getting on Shōta’s nerves by mimicking cat sounds.”

Yamada is scarily good at imitations and annoys Aizawa throughout their highschool experience.

(July 22, 2020)

[gotmeringinghellsbells]

Sing Little Song Bird

Fandom: Pokemon Sword and Sheild

Characters: Guzma, Piers

A/N: This is a tickle interrogation story, just a heads up. Inspired from this video. I love the crack ship idea of Guzma and Piers and I can not stop listening to the story. This is based on the aftermath of the fight, which from other audios hints towards Guzma being the victor (doesn't mean he will be). Also Piers's laugh is the cutest in this I can't even.

Description: After winning against the dark type gym leader, Guzma holds Piers to their little wager. Luckily for Piers, the Alolan gangster seems to have taken a liking to him.

_

A bet was a bet, but that didn't mean Piers couldn't be bitter about it's outcome. He sighed as he looked in the motel mirror, staring into his stress filled eyes. This guy was insane, the power he had behind him made him even more concerning.

Now he was stuck as a tour guide for Mr. Alola out there, being dragged around by an invisible leash. Thankfully Guzma hadn't taken him seriously when Piers added the part about actually being lead around by a leash to the steaks at risk. He seemed crazy, yet reasonable at the same time.

He wasn't out to humiliate the rock star it seemed, he truly wanted company for his travel; but Piers felt there was something more. Why go to him for help? Well, why force him to help is the real question. Just becuase he didn't Dynamax? Just becuase he was a gang leader too?

I mean that would make sense. This guy seems a bit broken, maybe he was looking for comfort in familiarity. Letting out another sigh, the black and white haired male shook his head before splashing more water on his face.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

"Yo, rock star, you done in there yet?" Piers jumped before sighing. Patting his face dry he opened the bathroom door, looking up at the taller. The guy still gave the dark type gym leader a bit of a chill after seeing Guzma's more wild side, but the bags under his eyes showed the other probably wasn't looking for a fight.

"All yours," he said cooly before strutting past the other. At least he had some personal space for the night. Sleeping in the same room as this weirdo made him uneasy, but at least he had his own bed.

As the bathroom door shut, Piers reached into his bag and retrieved a pokeball. The comforting company would be nice right now. "Come on out. He's gone," the leader of Team Yell whispered softly. A light appeared before vanishing to reveal an Obstagoon.

The pokemon looked around before back at it's trainer with a look of worry. "He won," Piers sighed. A look of shame and defeat came over Obstagoon's face before it sat, leaning into Piers. Piers sighed, brining a hand up to gently comfort the pokemon. "It's not your fault. Please, don't be upset."

The Galarian held his partner closer, trying to relax himself. His hair was still damp from his shower; brining a comforting smell to Obstagoon. It gently reached for the long, thick hair, and ran it's fingers through it. Piers shuddered before sighing a bit. "Probably should brush it out, huh?"

There was a nod before the only, dark type gym leader chuckled. He grabbed a small brush he had time to grab when Guzma permitted time to get supplies for their journey. He handed it to Obstagoon, before it moved so it was against the wall, sitting on the bed.

Piers moved, sitting infront of it as the pokemon started to brush out his insanely long and thick hair. "Thanks," the rock star sighed as he gave into the relaxing feeling from the brushing. It felt so nice, something the two had done since the beginning. It was just a comforting nostalgia.

Grabbing another small brush from the bag, he started to brush out the shorter hair that was eassier to reach. It didn't take long, and the source of destruction was still in the bathroom. Peirs hummed. He didn't mind showing weakness around Obstagoon, but like hell he was going to let that mad man see any sign of it from him.

Gently taking one of his feet, he began to massage it; wincing now and then from sharp pains shooing up his feet. He'd worn these shoes for months, but for some reason the constant walking was really taking a toll on him.

A noise came from behind him as the brushing stopped. Piers turned, his eyes growing a bit heavy. "Ah, I'm fine. Just a bit sore is all." The pokemon nodded before starting to brush the trainer's hair again, making Piers slowly fall more into a sleepy state. He hadn't noticed the bathroom door open as he switched feet; hell he didn't notice anything moving around until a familiar voice interrupted his tranquility.

"Anyone ever tell ya, ya got hair like a Mareanie?" Surprised, wide eyes glanced to the source of the voice before relaxing as the former gym leader let out a sigh. "No? How does my hair look like a Mareanie?" Guzma pointed to his own hair, pulling it about. "Your little spikes, Rapunzel." Little Rock Star, Rapunzel, what, Cookies and Cream next for nick names?

Piers rolled his eyes. "How old are you again," Piers asked just to know how many of these half hearted dad jokes he was going to have to deal with. "What, think I'm too old for you or something?" Piers scoffed with a laugh. "You think I'd be intrested in someone like you?"

Those were fighting words. "I was just wondering how many half hearted dad jokes I had coming." Guzma narrowed his eyes a bit before smirking. "Plenty my Little Rock Star." The Alolan gangster stood up before walking over to the side of the other bed and crouching down.

"And I'm sure after some time you'll see, you and I, could get along pretty well." Piers rolled his eyes. "Phat chance." Guzma shrugged. "Whatever sweet heart," he said before looking behind the trainer. "Glad to see your friend feels better." Obstagoon had been glaring at him since he came out of the bathroom.

It finally stopped brushing when Guzma squatted beside the bed. "What are you planning to do anyway," Piers finally asked, massaging his foot again. He felt confident enough with the other right now as to not worry about weakness. "Told ya cutie. I'm gonna tear apart the constitution this region stands on."

Piers glanced at the older, barely facing him. "But how do you plan to do that with challengers running around, various stronger gym leaders, and Leon?" Guzma leaned closer, a look of intrest on his face. Trump the gym leaders, take them out somehow, that was fine; challengers were another issue. But Leon? Who was Leon?

"Mind telling me about this Leon, and why he's not grouped in with the other two?" Guzma stood up, sitting on the bed. Piers looked a bit uneasy from the gesture. "He's the champion of Galar. Kept the title since he was ten." Guzma smirked.

He was able to get information in more than one way from people. Brute force on this cutie wasn't really something he was in the mood for. Gently taking the recently put down foot, he started to massage it.

"W-What are you doing?" Piers pulled gently at his foot. "Relax a bit. I'm not gonna hurt ya. I went easy on your Obstagoon, even let you heal it. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have hit where it would hurt the most." Marnie. Piers was hit with a sudden, horrifying realization.

"What are you... mmm... going to do with the challengers?" Guzma quirked a brow before slowly stopping. "Pretty focused on those kids, aren't ya? What's your intrest in them, then maybe I'll answer." Piers found the room to be quite awkward, his heart rate accelerating and pulls dilating.

"I just want to know what plan you have for them. They're kids. And the gym leaders, what about them?" He was a bit worried about Rahian. "Figure it out when we get there." Guzma went back to massaging the foot, moving to hold both feet in his lap.

"You... mmm... don't h-have a plan yet?" It felt good yet awful at the same time. Obstagoon was hugging Piers now, knowing it would get it's butt kicked if it tried to help him. If he couldn't save him, he'd comfort him. "Frankly, I wasn't sure how step one would go, so I didn't bother to plan past it."

Piers was shocked. "You came to conquer, yet had no confidence or plan?" He lost to this guy?! Guzma smirked, before gently running a finger up his guest's sole. Peirs squeaked in surprise, covering his mouth quickly. His eyes widened as he froze. Was.... was this guy trying to mess with him?

"Heh, well, now that I've got your attention, I still have questions to be answered. I have a few ways of getting what I want my Little Rock Star, and a boot on your cute little neck isn't my ideal; ya know? So, why don't you tell ya boy what he wants to know; otherwise, this little birdie is gonna be sining me some soft little tunes. I heard your laugh back at the fight, something I could really get used too."

Piers's face turned pink. This guy was nuts! "Get off me pervert," Piers huffed, trying to pull his feet free, but he had no luck. "Pervert," Guzma asked in surprise. "I'm not looking for anything lewd cutie, just your laugh. But then again, that's only if you refuse to comply." He glanced back at Obstagoon before smirking.

"And just to make sure all goes smoothly. Golisopod." A flash of light revealed the pokemon from before, one Piers would rather keep keep of sight. But he knew the other was taking precautions, much to his distaste.

"Now, let's start with the easiest first, huh? Who is this Leon?" Piers furrowed his brows. "The champion." Guzma tsked before rolling his eyes. "Besides that. I want to see into your mind, what do you know about him Little Rock Star.?" Piers made a face before sighing.

"Extremely obsessed with battling, finds too much pride in it, friends and family orientated, can't find his way anywhere for the life of him." He shrugged. "I'm not exactlly close to him, sorry." Guzma quirked a brow before gently dragging a finger up one of the hostaged soles again.

Piers covered his mouth slightly, toes curling. "What... what are you," Guzma cut him off. "Is it just a known fact the champion of Galar is a family man who can't handle directions?" Piers nodded. "Everyone knows t-that!" He turned his head, face heating up more.

Guzma smirked, gently scratching the foot. "Tell me more then. Family man, he married?" Peirs shook his head. "So family man how? He serves for the honor of his parents?" Another finger joined. "Thaha....haha!" Guzma smirked, the way Peirs's laugh would shift was absolutely adorable. High pitched, silent, deep laughter. Piers was cute on top of that too. "Come on little song bird. Sing it out."

Peirs nodded. He wasn't sure about the whole honor thing, but he wasn't going to through Hop's name out there. He knew Leon would protect his brother as Piers would his sister. "Hmmm.... so his weakness, his folks?" The tickling stopped breifly, allowing Peirs to breath a bit. "I.... I have no clue. I've never plotted like you before."

He was calling Guzma a coward, calling him out. The other wasn't as dense as he seemed. "Look pretty boy, I got my ways of handling things, you got yours. Now unless you want to really sing for me, I suggest you talk." Peirs huffed. "I don't know him, I don't know his weaknesses."

Guzma nodded before humming. "Siblings, partners, romantic other, friends?" Everyone knew Leon had a brother. If this jerk found out Piers was lying, he'd be in the dog house. "I don't keep up with celebrity gossip." Guzma smirked before looking to his partner. "Phone please."

He looked back to Piers with a disturbed grin. "Really? So who is this with you then?" He flashed the other the phone. Raihan and his social media obsession! It was a selfie of all three of them. "May not keep up with it, but they keep up with you my Little Rock Star. So, which is Leon?"

Piers sighed before pointing to the right side of the picture. "Purple hair." Guzma pulled the phone back with a nod. "Alright. Good boy. He really don't look like mich more than a billboard though. Pretty face, nice smile. A cape, really?" Guzma snorted before shaking his head. "So who's the other with you and Mr. Poster Boy?" It was hard to tell if he was testing him and knew the information or was trying to get information; or not. "Dragon gym leader." A few tickles to his foot had him giggling all over again. "Name sweet heart." "Eeehahahaha! Rhahahaihan!" Guzma smirked a bit. "You close with him cutie? He your boyfriend? The way he's got his arm around you, how close he's got you.... pretty loving."

Peirs shook his head, wiggling his feet. "You sure? He's got more photos of him hugging you. Ooh, even Obstagoon." Piers started hiccuping and snorting as fingers moved to his toes. "Eep! Nahahao, we're frheheheinds!" Guzma hummed, finger still playing with the toes softly. Piers fell back, limply into his partner as he squirmed around. "Sthahahaop!" Obstagoon frowned, holding Piers close as he glared between the other human and his pokemon.

"I don't know cutie. You got some nice laughs." He didn't keep the teasing for long, quickly letting up before smirking. "Now, back to Mr. Poster Boy here."

Piers quirked a brow between pants. "What do you mean?" Guzma passed the phone to the younger. Raihan had so many selfies, but compared to the other people on his pages Leon was there the most with him. "They an item?" Piers made a face before shrugging. "I really don't know." Guzma smirked. "You like to sing, don't ya?" Confussed by the question, the other made a face before squealing.

"Taha...haha! S-Sthahahop that! N-Nhahao!" The phone fell to the bed as Piers hunched forward, holding Obstagoon's arms that were wrapped around him. Guzma was tickling between his pinkie and ring toe, making him berserk.

"No? Maybe a new spot would be better?" Guzma started behind the ankles, earning almost silent giggles as Piers fell back into his partner again. This guy was a real life tickle monster. "Is he dating the dragon man?" Piers shook his head. "I...I don't know!" Guzma sighed.

"Alright, well, how about this. He showed the phone to Piers again, who was calming down. Hop, it was Raihan and Hop. "I ain't gonna hurt no kids, rest assured. I mean, look what I'm doing to you." Tickling was a rather soft form of torture and he wasn't bring that mean about it. He wasn't here to torture people, and he wouldn't if he could help it. Tickling was nothing, or at least the way he was doing it. It actually left Peirs with some attention to be desired.

"Leon's brother, " he said softly. Guzma nodded. "Noted. Here's the family orientated part, right? Baby bro wants to be the champion some day? Leon's protective?" Piers huffed. "You know, why ask?" The Alolan smirked. "I'm assuming. Your confirming for me. Now, last time, are Leon and dragon boy, an item?" It was better than going after the kid to hurt him.

Piers made a face before nodding slowly. "Good boy," Guzma chuckled. "Now, for a harder question. What do you think I should do with the gym leaders? Hide them away like your little groupies, or maybe have some fun with them? How would I make them just... leave the sport until it's too late."

Peirs blinked before shrugging. "How would I know that?" Guzma started behind the scrawny knees. Piers actually wheezed before snorting and giggling hysterically. "Gym leaders talk, I want the dirt on all of 'em later. Black mail. Got it?" Peirs nodded, gently kicking his legs.

Guzma smirked again. "Alright, now fianlly, why are you so concerned about the challengers?" Piers tensed. He furrowed his brows, pursing his lips tightly. "Oooo struck a nerve, huh? Well, tell me, that poster girl back at your sorry excuse for a gym.... she a challenger?" Piers wanted to lunge at him, to lay into him and scare him away; but it was pointless. Fun time was over.

"Not talking? Alright. Well given that age gap, if she ain't your little sister, she's like one, huh? If she's close with you, don't sweat it," Guzma moved to Piers's ear, "Cause as long as I got you, she shouldn't be an issue."

Both Piers and Obstagoon were frozen in place, neither knew how to take that. "I won't hurt your baby sis, even if she tries any heroic crap. Worst comes to worst, you'll be keeping a real close eye on her. Another party member to keep you company wouldn't be so bad, right?"

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 15

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 4,800 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Also on ff.net and AO3. ...I lied.  This is totally a harem story. *flees*

She held onto my coat that night, like a kid lost in her sleeves Oh we warmed the ground, we hushed our sound We slept on walking feet Oh Darlin’, pardon me Can you help me remember When we were all flying free

-Gregory Alan Isakov, “Living Proof”

————————–

After.

Barbara breathed out as she stood before the large, warehouse-like building, gazing anxiously up at its second floor (and watchful security cameras she knew were installed overhead). The reinforced structure still seemed relatively sound despite the recent disaster. The… original occupant certainly knew how to choose a hideout location and prepare for all potential outcomes. …Must've been a habit he picked up from his previous landlord.

With a wary hand, she buzzed the doorbell.

Sooner than she expected, the entry flew open to reveal an unfamiliar face: a young man with a short crop of mane spiked in the front like flames, similar in color to her own.

"Well hellooo there," he greeted with a wide grin, eyeing his guest up and down. "What can I do you for, miss?"

Barbara stared at him in surprise.

"Er, is Tim home? He… does still live here, right?"

The stranger licked his lips, resting toned muscle casually against the doorframe.

"Who cares about him? What say you and me get to know each other a bit first, as fellow redheads, hm?"

He loomed towards her, admiring her luscious saffron locks. Barbara grimaced, getting ready to give the kid a good taste of a police twist hold (if not taser) – when a voice she recognized interjected from behind.

"She's a cop, Roy. And she used to be Batgirl. I wouldn't try anything if I were you."

Tim emerged beside the other teen, regarding the two dully. Unfortunately the statement only seemed to fuel his friend's lust further.

"Hot damn. You here to arrest me, officer?" He waggled his brows. "Slap some cuffs on me and take me down to the station? I wouldn't mind that on the first date."

"Roy."

"Kidding, kidding. Jeeze, you really have no sense of humor now, do you?" He lowered his limb dejectedly. "Anyway, you didn't tell me you were acquainted with such a gorgeous babe. Ain't you gonna introduce us?"

Tim sighed.

"Roy, meet Officer Barbara Gordon, the Commissioner's daughter and former Batgirl. Babs, this is Roy Harper, a.k.a. Speedy, Green Arrow's ex-sidekick."

"Ex-partner," the other boy corrected. "And it's 'Arsenal' now."

"Whatever. Now could you please give us some privacy?"

"A'ight, I can take a hint to take a hike," Roy smirked with a suggestive wink. "I've got a 'date' myself anyway. I'll leave you two alone. Don't wait up~"

He whistled and growled as he passed by Barbara on the way out, who shot him a dirty look before resuming attention to Tim.

"I see you've been keeping company. Honestly, he's worse than the Flash." (What was it with all the male copperheads she met giving her ginger brand a bad name?)

"We know each other from the Titans," he replied in a dry tone. "He needed a place to stay after Queen kicked him out – again. Dick said it was okay."

Barbara paused.

"You talk to him recently?"

Tim shrugged as he moved aside to allow her in.

"We keep in touch. He calls every so often to check up on… things."

She studied his backside as they started heading upstairs to the loft.

"And? How are 'things'?

"Fine."

She glanced around the interior of the room as they approached the top; it looked pretty much the same as she remembered. There was the ornate wall of Asian-styled checkered windows overlooking the city, and the ninja sword rack hanging next to a decorative dragon panel (behind which she knew there was a concealed compartment that used to contain Nightwing's costume). Dick did always have a flair for the Orient.

Running her hand wistfully along the armrest to the sofa, she recalled how she and Dick used to sit and cuddle together on it, enjoying late-night Chinese takeout and talks, among… other things.

A frown settled on her face as she noticed something… "off" about the couch cushions.

"'Fine', you say. …Is that why you have 'this'?"

Tim's eyes immediately narrowed as she stretched behind the seat and unzipped the foam, removing a bag of greenish-purple powder from deep within.

"It's not mine."

He answered, a little too hasty.

"Whose is it then?"

"Roy's," he stated flatly, seeming nonchalant about selling out his flatmate.

"And you're telling me you've never used any?"

He hesitated, eyes slanting aside in silence. She scrutinized the stash, recognizing to her horror that it was likely the popular new drug that was being distributed in the streets amongst decadent youth; an isolated chemical strain similar to Joker toxin, but more mild. Not strong enough to cause permanent psychological damage (at least when taken in minor doses), but enough to mimic the euphoric high for hours on end.

"Have you been doing deals with Jokerz?"

"Like hell I would," he snapped.

She reached out to sternly grab his wrist, trying insistently to meet his eye.

"Tim. Be honest with me. Please."

He yanked his arm away, glaring fiercely in anger.

"What is this, some kind of bust? Fine, go ahead, book me. I don't care. Why don't you just charge me with murder while you're at it?"

"Tim…"

"You don't get it, Barb." He clutched at his sleeves, digging digits deep into his skin. "You don't know what it's like, living with fucking laughter inside your head all the time. At least when I'm laughing louder I can't hear him."

She swallowed, biting her lip. Gently, she set the plastic down on the table.

"I do understand," she whispered softly.

He blinked at her.

"Tim, the reason I came here, is because… Lately, I've been having these… visions." She sank down on the lounger, steepling fingers in front of her. "You remember the time Scarecrow gassed me and left me in a hallucinogenic nightmare state?"

He nodded.

"It's like that, only now, I get them when I'm awake as well, at complete random. Ever since the quake, I'll experience these abrupt panic attacks, and see all kinds of terrifying shit. Then, the flashbacks start, and there's one that's always recurring…" She closed her eyes, reflecting reluctantly. "All of a sudden I'll see myself back at Arkham, fighting against Harley. We go over the edge of the cliff, and I'm hanging on like before, and she starts to slip… Only this time, I fall with her. I – I die, just like that time in my dream."

She hunched in on herself further as she continued.

"It doesn't end there though. It keeps going, and I can still see everything else play out, like when I visualized my dad going after Bruce afterwards. I – I see him and Joker, and you – JJ – there with the gun – and – and… The shot hits Batman instead."

Her speech tapered off as she finished the sentence. Her audience was deathly quiet as she carried on in a tremulous hush.

"Then you and the Joker – he – he makes you do all these horrible things – so many deaths – including Dick's – and finally my dad's the only one left – and he has to take you both down by himself – and it ends with either him shooting you – or you shooting him – and either way everyone I love is… gone."

She looked at him, tears starring her eyes.

"I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear any of this. I – I just had to come see you…"

"To make sure I haven't gone on an insane murder spree?"

Barbara lowered her head in apology.

"I didn't mean it like that…"

Tim exhaled, unlinking his limbs as he leaned back against the table.

"For what it's worth, I don't think I've done anything recently that would land me a spot in Arkham. …Anyway, shouldn't you go see a doctor about this or something? Or someone else who can help, like…"

The weight of unspoken word hung heavy in the air. She shook her head.

"I'm scared. What if they can't treat it, say my condition's permanent? I'm no good to the force like this, I can't function out in the field. I'll have to give up my badge, after I worked so hard to finally get here..."

Tim rolled his eyes slightly.

"Gee, I wonder what that could possibly be like?"

Contriteness crossed her countenance again.

"…Sorry. That was dumb, I shouldn't have said that. I was being selfish, only thinking of myself. I shouldn't have bothered you with this. You've got enough to deal with, you don't deserve to have my issues dumped on you as well."

Tim held up his hand.

"Look, it's okay, Babs. …Is there anything I can do?"

She lifted timidly, chewing her lip.

"I – I was just hoping maybe we could… I don't know – talk for a bit?"

Tim remained mute, mulling for a moment, before turning and walking over to the mini-fridge. Opening it, he retrieved two chilled beer cans before revolving back.

"You want a drink?"

She boosted an eyebrow, but nevertheless gratefully accepted the offering of booze.

"I'm not even going to ask how you got these."

She muttered as she popped the tab and started to chug it down.

…

A nearly emptied six-pack later, they were both more than a bit tipsy, but Barbara especially so. Turns out she wasn't very good at holding her alcohol.

"I mean, who do those jerks think they are?" she slurred as she slammed her container down. "I'm not some little girl or someone's possession. I can date whoever I damn well please."

Tim perceived her lurch lopsidedly as she groped for another, growing concerned.

"Don't you think you've had one too many?"

"I'll be the judge of that," she hicced as she swatted his hand away. Tim persisted however, prying the prize firmly from her fingertips.

"That's it. I think you've had enough."

As he stood up to put the beverage back, he simultaneously fished out his phone and began dialing with his free hand.

"I'm calling your dad to come pick you up."

He felt a pressure on his lower waist, and he looked down to see Barbara clinging to the back of his shirt, burying her flushed forehead against his spine.

"Please," she mumbled into the fabric. "Just let me stay here a little longer."

He gulped, but submissively sat back down. She warmly nestled her head against his shoulder, causing his chest to beat rapidly in confusion.

"…What the hell happened to us, Tim? How did we end up like this? The four of us, hardly even speaking to each other? Dick would never return my phone calls, and Bruce – God, Bruce – I don't even know where to begin with him."

"To be fair, he was never much of a conversationalist to begin with," Tim griped bitterly. "Besides, don't you, uh, have a new boyfriend now?"

He cleared his throat, and Barbara sighed as she sat up, hugging her knees close to her for comfort instead.

"Sam's great. He understands, but… He doesn't really 'get' it, you know? What we've been through."

She traced a rim of condensation on the counter.

"Hey, you remember that time Bruce almost married a plant-woman? That was wild."

"Yeah? What about when Farmer Brown unleashed a bunch of giant mutant insects on Gotham? That's got to be the craziest adventure we ever had."

"Please. You weren't there when Baby Doll and Killer Croc teamed up and nearly nuked the city. I mean, can you imagine those two together? You can't compete with a weirder pair than that."

It was startlingly simple, to slip so smoothly back into nostalgia. Swapping stories, trying to one-up each other's exploits. Barbara would even fondly describe some of the times she worked with the original Dynamic Duo, back during the "good ol' days" – of colorful costumed villains, wacky crimes, and ridiculous motivations. Telling increasingly tall tales and amusing anecdotes that almost made Tim laugh. …Almost.

"So let me get this straight," she repeated, "You flew the Batplane all the way to outer space… to the Justice League Watchtower… by yourself?"

"Yup," Tim responded as he sedately cracked open the last metal vessel still in his lap and took a sip.

Barbara shook her head in disbelief.

"You always were a risk-taker. I still can't believe Bruce went missing and got brainwashed… again. How come I never knew about any of this? Why didn't you contact me?"

"You were off at grad school. I figured I could handle it."

Barbara propped her elbow on the plush, leaning her cheek thoughtfully against it as she tucked her legs underneath her.

"...It's good that you went to them for help."

Tim peered down, picking absently at the paper label, peeling off aluminum.

"Mr. Kent told me afterwards, that Bruce did call him in secret. The operating room's walls were lined with lead though, since they used to take X-Rays and brain scans there. Even the curtain and that stupid apron Joker wore had lead shielding. He had hench-spies stationed everywhere, in Metropolis as well, so he could render me unconscious as soon as Superman showed up and I wouldn't be able to scream. …He really was prepared for everything."

Barbara couldn't believe it. Just how long had that disgusting sicko been planning this?

"What about the Martian? He's a telepath, isn't he?"

Tim shook his head.

"Apparently the last time he attempted a city-wide psychic sweep to look for Luthor, he wasn't able to shut it off. The flood of thoughts nearly drove him mad afterwards. Bruce didn't want to risk it."

"That still doesn't excuse-"

"What's done is done," Tim curtly cut her off, crushing the canister in his grip to transfer his own resentful rage, before tossing it in the trash. "I've accepted the damage. There's no use in going back and flinging hindsight accusations at this point."

Barbara surveyed his sullen expression in overwhelming sympathy.

"…There's one thing Joker didn't count on."

"What?"

"You fighting him off in the end. You were stronger than him. You won."

Knuckles balled on Tim's kneecap.

"That wasn't a win. We lost the moment I confessed everything to him."

"That's not true, Tim."

He shook his head.

"I killed him, Barb. I did what none of us were ever supposed to do. And the worst part is, I – I was glad about it."

She extended her palm to wrap reassuringly around his wrist.

"So? You have every right to be, after what he did to you."

Tim's fist only tautened further as he avoided her eyes, ashamed of his own ugly sin.

"You know, it's ironic – Batman got gassed by Scarecrow once too. Only instead it took away all his fear. He was seriously out of control, to the point where he wasn't even afraid to kill criminals. I had to take him down myself. I… managed to keep him from making a big mistake."

He laughed then, though it sounded hollow. His eyes had such a pained look, moreso than anything physical could've caused him. The hurt was in his heart and soul. Barbara's own heart broke to see him like this. Her brain swam, swarming with remorse. Wishing there was something she could do to help heal him, convince him that he had a good heart, one that was still worthy and capable of loving others, and of being loved in return…

…

Slowly, she inclined forward – and kissed him.

…

For a second, all Tim could register was the flavor of liquor mixed with black licorice – lush and luscious on her lips – before panicking and pushing away.

"What are you doing?"

"I… don't know."

"…I think you're making a big mistake."

Barbara bristled.

"Who says?"

From their positions, she was practically on top of him. He grasped her shoulders, keeping determinedly at bay.

"You're drunk. And probably hallucinating."

"I'm not hallucinating."

He sighed, scraping a hand through his hair.

"I'm not Dick or Bruce, you know. …I'm nobody."

"You're not nobody."

Conflict clouded his eyes.

"Look, this is all kinds of wrong. What about Sam? Besides, your dad would probably kill me…"

The whites around her blue irises widened.

"Kill you…?"

…Shit.

"Babs, no, I didn't mean-"

She slid off, seizing arms around herself, impressing into her flesh.

"He'll kill you. You'll kill him. …Everyone's going to be killed. And it's all my fault."

Shit. Shit shit shit. He should've known better.

"No one's dying. We're all still alive." (…If what they had could be called "living".) "You're just imagining it."

Her claws only clamped tighter.

"Sam… What if he comes after Sam? I'm putting him in danger. Oh God." Her pupils contracted, zoning into the distance. "Sam, don't open the door – he's got a gun!"

This was not good. He was losing her. He tried to twist her around, get her to see him instead of… of… whatever it was she was trapped by.

"Babs? Hey, hey, look at me. Look at me. Whatever you're seeing right now, it's not real. You hear me? It's not real."

She stayed stiff as a board though, staring far off into vacant space.

"Dad. Oh my God, what's he doing to Dad? He's trying to turn him crazy too. No, no, make it stop!"

Worriedly, Tim shook her shoulders.

"Babs, hey, c'mon! Snap out of it!"

Her eyes were glazed, no longer glued to one spot but rolling everywhere else. Darting frantically to and fro. Features contorted, seemingly in some kind of phantom agony.

"My legs. I can't feel my legs. He took my legs."

Nails curled around her abdomen area, clenching cloth in anguish. Scrabbling, scratching, as if searching for something.

"Babs!"

"The baby," she sobbed. "I lost the baby. I couldn't protect him. Couldn't protect… im…"

The last part was muffled by a wounded choke, but… From the way she said it, it kinda sounded like…

His name.

Helpless, Tim looked on with an aching empathy as the normally tough, take-charge woman he always knew coiled into a fetal form, crying miserably. He mused if this was how he must've often looked to the others back then. He didn't know what to do, how to help her. He felt so utterly useless.

Running over options, his mind halted at one possibility. Something that used to help him deal with nightmares as a kid, before… everything. It was probably dumb and desperate, but it was worth a shot.

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

He dashed to the bedroom, opening up the nightstand drawer and fumbling around inside. Withdrawing the object from the far back, he considered it grimly for a beat, before gritting his teeth and resolutely taking it back to where Barbara was now rocking herself.

"Babs? Hey, look: Remember this?"

She ceased instantly when she saw the Batarang suspended in front of her.

"You always felt safe whenever Batman and Robin were around, right? Nothing… bad can happen to you as long as they're there."

Sentiment welled in her ducts as she reached out tentatively for the reminder, cradling it close to her breast.

"Just in case you run into trouble up there."

"Dick… Bruce…"

Tim drew her in towards him in a compassionate embrace, soothingly stroking her quivering back as if she were the child.

"It's okay, Babs. It's okay." He reiterated the phrase in her ear. "You're okay. I'm… okay. We're okay."

They stayed like that for a while, and eventually the shudders and sniffles subsided as she seemed to fall into a fitful sleep. While she still whimpered occasionally, holding the Batarang nearer did appear to help somewhat.

Just then, he heard the opening and closing of the front door as Roy returned from his "date", bounding up the steps and stopping short upon witnessing the scene before him.

"Whoahey, am I interrupting something?"

He grinned, and Tim scowled at the guy's terrible timing.

"This isn't what it looks like. Just hurry up and help me get her to the bed."

Roy was about to open his mouth to make another snide remark, but promptly shut it upon seeing the searing look Tim speared at him, and the sweat and tears on the moaning visitor's visage. Switching into serious mode, he lent a steady hand with supporting her to the mattress. He was still a hero himself, after all, always available to aid any damsels in distress.

As he agreed to take over looking after the patient for the time being, Tim thanked him and left the bedside temporarily, pulling out his cell again as he traveled downstairs. Inhaling deeply, he began to punch in another number he knew all too well, forever engraved in the back of his skull.

After a couple rings, the other end picked up with a gruff greeting.

"…Yes?"

The cold, almost impatient lack of pleasantry was all Tim needed to confirm he had indeed reached the right person.

"Bruce, it's me. …Barbara needs help."

…

When Barbara finally awoke, the first thing she spotted was Tim sitting on a reversed chair next to her, chin reposed idly on his forearms.

"Hey."

"…Hey."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, I guess. …How long was I out?"

"The whole night. You were tossing and turning a lot."

She elevated gradually, sensing a moist towel fall from her crown onto the sheets in the process. Had he been nursing her this whole time?

As she tracked its descent, she saw she was still adhering to the Batarang as well. She blushed a bit at how babyish she must have seemed, to have to rely on something like this to calm her down.

"Um, thanks. …You can have this back now."

He relieved her of the improvised crutch, and in exchange he handed her a small vial of medication.

"Here, take this. It's similar to what Dr. Thompkins used to give me, but more concentrated. It's not a permanent cure, but it should help with the terrors. It'll likely knock you totally out for a few more days, but you won't have to suffer nightmares during it. If it doesn't work or you're still experiencing symptoms afterwards, call her and she'll adjust the dosage."

"You got this from Leslie?"

"Bruce did."

She gaped in astonishment.

"You actually spoke to him?"

"He just told me what I needed to know, then hung up and sent Alfred over with the stuff. …Typical, huh?"

His jaw drooped a little further into folds, as did his tired-looking lids.

"You're not the first Scarecrow victim to undergo relapses like this. It's rare, but everyone responds to the fear serum differently. Yours is a more severe case."

Barbara thought about how many others had to live their lives in a compromised state (or lost them entirely) all because of some psychopath who kept breaking out of Arkham – no matter how many times they put him back in – if not released through the revolving door due to (hell, courtesy of) all the corruption in the system. How many lives were really spared, while others still suffered because of their incompetence? Inconsequence.

"You know, sometimes I wonder: If what we were doing was ever really the right thing? After what happened with the earthquake… God, I don't know. Maybe this city is beyond hope. …In the end, did we even make any difference? Was it worth it – any of it? We've saved a bunch of people, sure, but at what cost? I mean, just look at us… We're a mess."

Tim simply shrugged.

"At least Dick's still doing okay over in Blüdhaven. And Bruce seems to be handling things fine on his own. Besides, it's not like he ever really needed us anyway. Because he's Batman."

Barbara observed as Tim toyed with the Batarang in his hands, balancing the tip on the chair back. She dropped her view towards the blankets.

"…You're not him, you know," she pronounced harshly. "You'll never be him."

Her own fingers fumbled with the damp napkin, and bottle of medicine, before looking up again with a smile.

"But, that's not a bad thing."

As she said this, she extended out to pat his cheek, noting the dark bags under his eyes. Had he even slept at all, she wondered? …Then again, she was probably taking up his bed, she realized with sudden embarrassment.

Tim seemed even more embarrassed by the affectionate contact, turning away with a cough. The memory of what she had done surged back to her cheeks, and she hastily detached, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, which bloomed a matching humiliated hue.

"Listen, about what happened last night…"

Tim merely waved off whatever she was about to say in advance.

"We were both drunk. It doesn't count."

"…You're awfully quick to dismiss." Detecting his fidgeting, she gleamed in comprehension. "Ah, don't tell me – you've never kissed anyone before?"

A pure pink tinge faintly colored his complexion, corroborating her suspicion.

"Ehehe, did I steal your first kiss, Boy Virgin?"

"Sh- shut up."

His flush deepened further.

"It's not like I've exactly had much opportunity to try it," he murmured in his defense. "…Besides, if we're counting that kind of thing, technically my first time would've been with Dick."

"Oh."

He sniped a sulk at her reaction.

"I gave him CPR once. What were you thinking?"

"Nothing," she declared innocently, hand hovering over her mouth to obstruct a snicker. "I bet this time was a lot better though. I'm sure you must've thoroughly enjoyed it, if not to some extent."

Tim averted his eyes again as she winked at him.

"Wh- who knows."

"Oh please. Don't deny you were the least bit curious. You think I never noticed you sneaking peeks while we were getting changed?"

Tim burned burgundy as he shifted sight down to his toes.

"I was 13. What'd you expect?"

She nodded sagely.

"You are a boy, after all. It's only natural for these things to occur."

She giggled in entertainment at his expense. When the chuckles died down, she checked the time on the alarm clock by the pillow.

"…I guess I should get going now. I'll need to call in to the station to tell them I'm taking the next days off."

He helped see her out. Standing awkwardly in the entrance, he rubbed his neck before addressing encouragingly.

"You're a great cop, Barb. You're gonna do a lot of good things for this city. I know you'll make it a better place."

She beamed.

"Thank you, Tim. …I'll start by confiscating 'this'."

She held up the contraband, which Roy had taken the liberty of hiding again, but there was no way he could outsmart a Bat, even if she wore a different symbol now.

"And I better not catch you with anything like this again, or I will take you in. Got it?"

Tim winced at the strict lecture and slap on the wrist, but nodded. Barbara softened as she reached around to envelop in a broad hug.

"…Don't be a stranger, Tim. You're the only one I can still talk to about all this."

He wavered, but kindly reciprocated the gesture. As she withdrew, she raised an arm to lightly pet his hair, discerning he had finally hit that growth spurt; he was almost at her height now.

"Listen. Someday, you're gonna meet someone special, who loves you just the way you are. And she's gonna be so lucky to have you in her life."

Tim scoffed.

"Yeah, right. Like that's ever gonna happen."

She took his hands in hers. Hands that still twitched and trembled every once in a while, as if afraid to even be touched. Hands that had, in his opinion, committed the greatest act of transgression, taking another's soul and doomed toll on his own – but had also toiled all night to keep changing her cool kerchief, tending and tenderly wiping her temple in enduring devotion to charitable ideals. That had prostrated and prayed, begging for a favor from "God" for her sake, subjugating self in spite of whatever spiteful feelings he bore towards said sore subject. …That had rescued so many lives at the risk of his own, without asking for any reward other than to have a place to call "home", and a "family" who cared for him as much as he did for them. (And even that had been mostly taken from him too, something for which she regretfully shared the blame.)

"Don't give up hope. Things will change. It's gonna get better. I promise."

She stooped forward to peck his cheek, before letting go.

"Thank you, again, for everything. I'll see you around, Tim."

"Yeah. See ya."

She left with a wave, and he halfheartedly did the same as he watched her go.

…

About a week later, after she'd fully recovered and gone back to work as good as new, she received an urgent call from Roy at the hospital.

…

Tim had tried to kill himself.

————————–

That sky glowed all calico, like phosphor in the sea To the ground we fall, she owns us all Kings and boys and beast Kings and boys and beast

[thefandomsinhalor]

The Lucky Pairs of Christmas Underwear

An Advent Calendar fic by thefandomsinhalor 

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Rating: Not Rated (it is rated as such until I finish the fic, right now it’s leaning on Mature.)

Summary: Due to heavy workloads and conflicting schedules, Sam and Dean, living in different cities, are both disappointed when it appears that they won't be able to spend the holidays together—something they had always managed to do in the past.

This turn of events, however, offers them both the opportunity to seek someone else to share their respective holidays with, and when Dean's last year crush is paired up with him at the Gift Wrapping booth, and Sam keeps running into a charming new acquaintance, by helping each other, the brothers feel hopeful that Christmas time might not be ruined after all.

Read on AO3

---

Chapter One: A Holly Jolly Time

“Dean? Hello? Did you—are you still there?”

Sitting on a very uncomfortable chair at an overpriced café, for someone of his limited means anyway, Dean swallowed hard. Still holding the phone to his ear, he lowered his eyes as he felt his heart growing heavy at the news he had just heard.

“Dean?” repeated Sam at the other end of the line.

“Yeah. Still here. Sorry. Just—I didn’t expect that.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I feel awful. It’s just—work is crazy.”

“It’s okay, Sammy. I get it. Hell, I’m in the same situation. If not worse.”

“And this is why I’m really sorry. I had agreed to be the one to—”

“Sam, stop.” He cleared his throat. “I—it sucks, but like I said, I get it. We’ve been lucky so far, but I guess that this year…” he let out a deep sigh. He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“I promise I’ll do my best to change it, but right now, um, it doesn’t seem like I’ll be able to join you for Christmas,” Sam said in a desolate voice.

Dean nodded blankly. “Any other good news?”

Sam let out a deep sigh in turn.

“I—I just, Dean, I hate the idea that you’ll be alone for Christmas.”

“Me? I’ll be fine, Sam. What about you? What are you going to do?”

“I’ll be okay too. I’ll be at work.”

Dean lowered his phone and shook his head for a moment, and then he brought his phone back to his ear. “That’s what I mean, Sam. You, not being able to make it here because of work, deadlines and travelling schedule, that’s one thing. But to actually work on Christmas? I mean, I’m not even doing that and all I do is work.” 

“I don’t have a choice. And honestly, it’s just, you know, one day. For a few hours. Which is really annoying when said like this, but...Work will be a nice distraction. And we can still talk. And skype for the rest of the day if you want. It’s ridiculous, but we can do it. I was almost going to suggest that we postpone Christmas and meet up soon after, but….”

“Nah. I mean, even if I knew for a fact that we could do something in the following week, I feel like we would have missed it. It would still be cool, but you know.”

“That’s what I thought too,” agreed Sam. “But we should do something for New Year’s Eve. I’m definitely working on that.”

“All right. Work will still be nuts on my end, but it should have diminished a bit by then. Or maybe I could make it to your end this time.”

“Dean, no. I—unless you let me help you out with money—”

“No,” blurted out Dean.

“—but I know you won’t agree to it,” said Sam, sighing.

Biting his bottom lip, Dean pondered on Sam’s suggestion. “I’m not saying yes, but I’ll think about it,” he brought himself to say.

“You will?”

“Just because I haven’t seen your freaking face for far too long now. But still. Not a definite yes.”

“But you’ll consider it?”

“Yeah. But it’s still too early in the month to have a clue of what the situation’s going to be at that point. So, I’ll leave it to that for now.”

“All right. That’s great,” said Sam.

Dean could hear how happy Sam was at the idea, so he decided that he should make an effort to make it happen.

“And Dean, even if for whatever reason that doesn’t work out either, I promise I’ll visit you soon, okay?”

“All right, Sammy. But don’t worry. I’m—it’s disappointing, but I know you tried. It will be okay.”

“Thanks Dean. I—thanks for understanding.” There was a long pause, and then Sam asked, “So, besides that? Anything new?”

Welcoming the change to a less depressing topic, Dean said, “Not really.”

“What about work? Is the holiday frenzy rising?”

A slightly less depressing topic.

“The frenzy is settling in, all right,” he sighed.

“Is the music driving you nuts already?”

“It’s been driving me nuts for the last two weeks. I was actually freaking humming Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer yesterday and I didn’t even notice it. I only did when a customer mentioned it.”

Sam let out a laugh. “Sorry. A few more weeks and it will be all over. And it’s better than last year, right? Since you’re at the Chocolaterie this time. I thought you said it was a bit more shielded than the rest of the store now that they moved its location this year.”

“Yeah, well that was the plan, but not anymore.” Dean leaned back into his seat.

“What? I—what do you mean?”

“I was about to tell you earlier. I was transferred a couple days ago to another department. Sort of.”

“No! What? But why?”

Dean cleared his throat. “It just needed to be done.”

“Why? Dean, what does that mean?” asked Sam, nearly aggravated as though he already knew the answer.

Dean debated for a moment whether or not he should share the specifics with his brother, knowing that Sam would most undoubtedly be worried and annoyed at him.

Nor would he be shy to express his views about it.

And Dean had worked really hard to avoid this particular lecture.

But since Sam had been honest about his work situation, he concluded that he owed him the same courtesy.

So, Dean replied, “Because another position opened up at the last minute and it offered more hours. I gave my name and here we are.”

“Dean,” groaned Sam.

I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.

“It’s all right, Sam.”

“Is it? How many hours are we talking about now?”

Silence.

“Dean?”

“Twenty hours.”

Sam swore loudly. “On top of your full time job at the garage? And the gig that Jo got you with Pam?”

“I was hoping you forgot about that…”

“I didn’t. Dean, this is nuts. How are you even able to pull this off?”

Dean crossed one arm over his chest, lowering his eyes.

“Bobby is helping me out. I’m solid during the day at the garage throughout the week, so I can have my nights and the weekends to do the rest.”

“That’s not what I meant. Do you even have a day off? A night off?”

“You’re one to talk, Sam. And it’s just for December. Everything will be back to normal after that.”

“December starts tomorrow and it’s already insane. And answer the question.”

Dean sighed. “I work at the store on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights. And in the afternoon during the weekend. And then Saturday nights, I wait at Pam’s events, which is really not a big deal. I did it this summer. It’s good money.”

“You did it once, Dean. One wedding. Not four in a row on top of—”

“No weddings this time. Pam said it will be Christmas parties for companies. The first one is tonight. It’s gonna be fine.”

“That leaves you with what, though? For free time?”

“I still have my evenings Sunday through Tuesday.”

“If you’re not pulling extra hours at the garage, you mean? Which I’m guessing you’re already doing in the mornings during the weekends? Am I right?”

“Sam,” warned Dean.

Sam remained silent for a good minute, until he said, “Dean, I’m worried.”

“Don’t be. It’s all going to go in the piggy bank so I’ll be able to catch my breath during the harsh winter,” he joked.

Sam let out a deep sigh. “And what about the new position at the store? Shit, Dean. I—I know you were really happy about—you were actually looking forward to the Chocolaterie. Now, I feel even worse about not being able to go.”

“It’s not your fault. And anyway, it’s just a job for the holidays. No matter what it is, we both know the novelty would have worn off eventually.”

“Okay, hold on here. Because we both know the real reason you wanted to work in that department. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the job in question…”

Dean pursed his lips, lifting his head to look at the ceiling, annoyed.

“Ugh. Not this again, Sam. I told you, it was…it’s not important.”

“Bull. You’ve been whining about this guy for, like, literally a freaking year now. A year.”

“Well, whatever,” urged Dean. “Doesn’t change anything now as he’s not even here.”

“But you said that last year he hadn’t shown up until a week or so before Christmas.”

“I said I only noticed him at the end of the season. Nuance.”

“But you also said they had added employees as Christmas approached. So maybe he was one of them. And he will be this year too.”

Dean let out a sigh. “I don’t know, Sam. All I can do is wait and see.” And after a short pause, he added in an urgent manner, “If I cared. Which, I don’t. Not really.”

Sam snorted. “Right.”

“What about you, huh? Made any headway with your office crush?”

“I—there’s been progress.”

“Yeah? Asked her out yet?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

At the sound of Sam clearing his throat, Dean shook his head.

“Did you or did you not ask her out, Sam?”

“I…okay, I haven’t yet, but—”

“God, Sam,” said Dean, cutting him off. “What are you waiting for?”

“If you would let me finish, I was going to say I’m going to. I’m just waiting for the right opportunity.”

“And when’s that? On your wedding day?”

Sam huffed. “I’ll get to it. The timing and the setting have to be right.”

Dean was not impressed by this statement.

“Don’t wait too long.”

“I won’t.”

Not wanting to push it too far, Dean asked, “Got anything else planned for today?

“Not sure. Kevin texted me. He and some of his friends are going out tonight. He told me the address of the bar. He said he invited Bela too…”

“Perfect! You can make your move then. You’re going, right?”

“I don’t know. I have so much work to do.”

“Sam, I swear if you don’t go, I will somehow teleport to Chicago and drag you there myself.”

“Dean, this isn’t really my scene.”

“That’s precisely why you should go. Live a little. And if Bela’s there, she gets to see you somewhere else than at the office. A different setting, like you’ve been waiting for. And if she’s not there, you still get to have fun.”

“But hitting on her at a bar? Like, that’s just—that’s not really how I had pictured it.”

“Sam, maybe start by finding out if she’s interested? And when you know that she is, feel free to execute whatever fantasy of courtship you had planned out,” he said with a grin on his face. “At least, go to the damn bar and enjoy yourself, huh?”

“In which department are you working at The Milton’s now?” asked Sam.

“Changing the subject, huh? Nice try.”

“I’ll think about what you said,” he assured him. “But I’m curious and you didn’t say earlier.”

There was a reason for that.

“The…I’m working at the Gift Wrapping Booth.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Sorry, the what?”

Dean groaned. “You heard me.”

After a long pause, Sam said, “I see.” Sam hadn’t laughed, but Dean knew full well his brother was most likely holding down a massive fit of laughter. “I’m—wait, aren’t those usually managed by volunteers? And it’s for donations or—”

“It still is. The donation part, I mean. Look, I don’t know the whole story, but apparently, there was an issue last year with some of the volunteers, so this time, they decided to offer their own Gift Wrapping services. Nothing has changed. Every customer is entitled to the services, to donate however much they want, and all the funds goes to the Children’s Hospital, just like last year. The only difference is that the store is employing people instead of relying on volunteers.”

“Is this unusual?”

“I have no clue, but it creates jobs, so I’m not gonna complain about it. It’s actually kinda nice of them to do that since they really don’t have to. And the store is providing the wrapping paper and everything, and let me tell you, it’s not the cheap stuff either.”

“Cool. Cool. I just have one question.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Had they seen you wrap anything before they gave you the job or…”

“It’s wrapping, not rocket science.”

“Dean.”

“I’m fine,” he said defensively. And then, after a short hesitation, he added, “They do have a certain fancy way of doing it.”

“Thought so.”

“But I’ll manage. I practiced at home a bit—I mean it’s wrapping for God’s sake!”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine, Dean. I was just curious,” said Sam sincerely. “And how do you feel about it so far?”

“Well,” sighed Dean, “honestly, it’s been somewhat uneventful. I’m the only one in the booth—it’s more like a box, but whatever. At least I don’t have anyone boring to tear my ears off, but people haven’t been super eager to have their purchases wrapped so far. So it’s basically been me, sitting on a stupid chair and looking at people buying stuff I can’t afford. While listening to the same twelve songs.”

“Well, I don’t know if that’s encouraging or not, but I’m pretty sure the pace will pick up soon enough.”

“Yeah. Not sure that’s a silver lining.” Moving the phone away from his ear, Dean looked at the time on his phone. “All right,” he said, after putting the phone back, “I have to head back. My break is almost over. I’m lucky they even give me one, so… Thanks for the phone call.”

“Same. Though, I wish I had better news. Hang in there, Dean. The holiday season will be over soon.”

“I will. I’ll call you back tonight after my gig. And you better not answer because you’re out having fun for once,” he said with glee.

“We’ll see.”

“You freaking better.”

“Fine! Bye!”

Dean, walking to his booth, trying not to drag his feet, passed by toys’ department and spotted his friends, Charlie and Jo, looking at the board games.

Not in a talking mood, he simply waved at them and continued his route.

“Dean, wait!” said Jo.

Dean came to halt and let his friends catch up to him. “Sorry, I have to go back.”

“We’ll walk with you a minute,” said Jo. “Are you still good for tonight?”

“Yup. Pam called me Thursday night to double check. She gave me the address and everything. And a reminder of the regulations. I’m trying not to take it personally,” he said, beaming.

“Don’t. She did the same for me too.”

“Thanks again for giving her my name.”

“No problem.”

“You going too, Charlie?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Which sucks. That’s when I had my D&D meet ups.”

“Create a new one, then,” said Jo. “I’ll join.”

Charlie lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t toy with me, Harvelle.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Then Charlie, smiling, said, “You think we can convince this one too,” she said, poking Dean’s chest with her finger.”

“If I had time to have a life,” he said, “I would.”

Charlie squinted at him. “We’ll have to see about that then.” Continuing walking side by side, she asked him, “So, do you like your new position, Dean?”

“I’m not thrilled, but it’s not bad, either. And if I’m honest, it’s certainly an improvement from last year…”

“That wasn’t very hard to beat,” pointed out Charlie, remembering full well as she had been stuck in the same boat as he had.

“True.”

Having reached the booth, Dean pushed the half-door, stepped inside the booth, and approached the counter facing the girls.

“Wait, I thought you were at the Chocolaterie?” said Jo. “That was like perfect for you.”

“Yeah. I agree,” said Dean. “But I switched for the hours.”

“So, who is manning the Chocolaterie now?”

“Meg,” said Charlie. “I saw her this morning.”

“What?” exclaimed Dean. “Oh, man! I didn’t even know she was back.” And he made a face of disgust.

“She’s actually not that bad,” said Charlie.

An opinion that was not, it seemed, overly shared with her friends.

“Not that I care about that kind of stuff, but she always seemed kind of a manipulator to me,” said Jo.

“I don’t trust her,” said Dean simply.

Charlie lifted an eyebrow. “Um, one, you barely trust anyone. And two, I’m pretty sure the main reason why you don’t like her is because you saw her lurking around that guy you had heart-eyes for last year.”

Jo turned briskly towards her. “What’s that now?” A smirk appeared on her face. “What guy?”

“You didn’t know this?” asked Charlie.

“No. What guy?” she repeated.

“No one,” said Dean, busying himself by moving the wrapping paper around, which was utterly unnecessary.

“Not no one,” said Charlie. “Last year, there was this guy—dark hair, killer blue eyes, about yay-high—he was one of those last-minute employees. You know the ones who are brought in within the last few days before Christmas for emergencies, substitution or additional help?”

Jo nodded, understanding and eager to hear the rest.

“Okay, well, last year,” she continued, “Dean and I were elves helping out kids to have their picture taken with Santa. Which was not very far from the Chocolaterie. And this guy showed up just a few days before Christmas for additional help there, and from that moment on, all Dean did was constantly stare at his pretty face.”

“I didn’t constantly stare at him…”

“You didn’t ask him out?” said Jo.

Dean, pursing his lips, let out a deep sigh. “I never got to. As it was the last days before Christmas, I didn’t have one second to myself. I don’t even know his name or even exchanged a few words with him. And I didn’t work here after Christmas. I, um, did stop by the store a few times, but…and since I’ve been back, I tried to find out if anyone knew anything, but I haven’t had much luck so far.”

“I asked around too since they kept me on after Christmas, but nothing,” said Charlie.

“The only one who may have something is Meg and the only thing she had said to me last year was that his name was Clarence and I’m pretty sure it’s a goddamn lie. Hence: I don’t trust her.”

“Uh-huh. Were they a thing?” asked Jo to Charlie. “‘Clarence’ and Meg, I mean.”

“Who knows?” said Charlie. “It’s possible. I think Meg was the only one who got to interact with him. But he didn’t stay around for that long and I haven’t heard anything suggesting that either. The guy’s a mystery.”

Frowning, something was still bothering Jo. “Why not ask Rowena? If anyone knows who he is, it would be her, no?”

But Dean and Charlie shook their heads. “Rowena wasn’t here last year, remember? It was that atrocious-ass Adler.”

“Right. I think I had repressed that,” she said with a grim face. “Still, there has to be a way to find out. A record or something?”

But Dean was officially done with the subject. “Whatever,” he shrugged. “It’s not like my life depends on it. It was, like, one guy. Who may or may not have been good-looking. From afar. Whatever.”

Charlie and Jo exchanged devious looks.

Ones that made Dean roll his eyes. He waved them goodbye, as he knew they both needed to head back to their own departments, and watched them stroll down the aisle.

And so, left by himself, and with no customers in sight (for him, at the very least), just as he had told Sam, Dean pulled up a chair, sat down and…waited.

Attempting to seem alert and ready to help.

And not appear overly depressed at doing nothing.

At least it’s not complicated and it certainly beats dealing with rude customers.

On the other hand, killing time by staring in front of him blankly felt like a waste of time. Even if he was technically earning money while doing it.

But he knew he shouldn’t complain. As Sam had mentioned earlier, soon enough, he would most likely reminisce on the time when he was bored out of his skull.

But being kept in that booth with nothing else to do but to watch the people around him, while he was stuck alone, served as a painful allegory to his life. Everything around him was moving and there he stood, waiting for someone to come to him, while he was expected to just smile as if he was having the time of his life.

And now, the one silver lining he had had for the holidays was apparently gone as well.

No Sammy. No traditional cookies. And no making fun of old Christmas movies, while eating junk food and drinking eggnog.

They had never spent Christmas apart before. Even when Sam had been away at college. Even when either of them had been in a serious relationship (though that had mostly been Sam’s case, not Dean’s), they had still celebrated the holidays together.

No matter what. That was their thing.

And now he would have to spend it on his own.

Alone.

Assuming he would survive the crazy amount of workload awaiting him in December.

And not be driven mad by this infuriating Christmas music.

Awesome.

I hate my life.

“Hello.”

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. A hand over his heart, he turned to his left only to realize someone was standing next to him.

In the booth.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was told to join you today.”

Regaining his composure, Dean said, “Cool. Um, the place has been pretty de—”

And the rest of his sentence died in his throat, the moment his eyes fell on his new co-worker.

Dark hair.

Killer blue eyes.

About yay-high.

It’s him.

And he’s here.

With me.

At the freaking booth.

Dean gawked at him.

Chapped lips.

Stubble beard.

And a deep voice that—

And all I’ve been doing is staring at him like a complete moron.

“Hi!” Dean nearly yelled, waving his hand.

Stop now.

And he immediately dropped his hand.

“Hello,” the man repeated.

“Dean,” said Dean, pointing at himself.

“Hello, Dean. I’m Castiel. Nice to meet you.”

Castiel.

“Um, same. Hi, Castiel.”

And he smiled at him like an idiot.

--End of Chapter One----

Read Chapter Two and the rest of the fic on AO3 :)

[patsdrabbles]

He’s Mine

Title: He’s Mine Fandom: The Traveling Wilburys Pairing: Bob Dylan/George Harrison Rating: Gen Word Count: 2402 Summary: There was a woman standing in the hyacinth flowerbed. An in-universe AU of my WIP Dylarrison fanfic “Planting Trees”; things don’t happen/get revealed like that in the main fic. The gist is the following: Bob is between a broken engagement and a new album that needs to be written and escaped to a mansion he bought in the middle of an English forest. There he meets George, who has explanations for everything. But some things are for Bob to be found out on his own. A/N: Part 20 of my Daily Fanfic Chocolates calendar :D For the prompt “’my current partner is a huge asshole and I need a reason to break up with them, so will you pretend to be my possessive and violent ex’ + Dylarrison” sent to me by both @savoy-brown-shoe and @siliconpine! I put a little twist on it, but I hope that’s alright! ^^ Please enjoy ❤

(links to AO3 and the DFC masterpost are in the reblogs!)

There was a woman standing in the hyacinth flowerbed.

Bob knew so, because he spotted her first on his walk with George through the garden. George had wanted to teach him more about the plants growing here and their proper care, and Bob had found it all too easy to agree.

Instead of learning about flowers now, however, they approached the woman, who just remained where she stood as they got closer.

It was the fur coat that should have told him, Bob later thought in retrospective.

It was the honey-voiced yet sharp “Bob!” that made him realize that trouble was ahead.

Before the bafflement left him, enabling him to utter the important question of what the hell she was doing here, in England, George already spoke up.

“And who’s that, standing in my hyacinths?”

George frowned and Bob had never seen him so pissed off before. Huh. Maybe he did have a chance of getting out alive of this after all.

“That’s... Macy. The woman I cheated on my ex-fiancée with like an idiot.”

George halted, then nodded knowingly when he remembered – one of the few things they both remembered of their recent drunk late-night conversation.

“Macy–” George started, then paused for a moment, not knowing her last name and regretting the loss of emphasis his address had because of it. “Firstly, I would kindly ask you to get out of my hyacinths.”

She shrugged carelessly, but stepped out of the flowerbed at last. Bob expected George to relax thereafter, but he was clearly mistaken. The tension in George’s shoulders only seemed to increase as he stepped closer towards her.

“And secondly, I would ask you to leave right now and not return, before I get really angry.”

She laughed.

She laughed in his face and showed off teeth that suddenly frightened Bob. They looked canine, and for a split moment, he could have sworn that her eyes flashed yellow and her fingernails were literally sharp as razor blades. He instinctively took as step back.

“Sure, dearie.”

She gave George a put-on lascivious grin and once-over that made Bob want to gag. She was gorgeous, yes, and it had been the last straw to doom his already doomed relationship, but now that he saw her in the daylight? Quite frankly, she was scaring him. And his list of reasons as to why currently kept growing by the minute.

“But I’m not gonna leave without dear Bobby here.”

She said it in a way that would have a bystander think that she was simply implying having a good time, but there was an undertone to her voice that told him that he was a dead man if he followed her. Potentially, literally dead.

“Well, sorry luv’, but I don’t think so.” George’s voice had dropped quiet, but it had a dangerous undertone.

“Dear ‘Bobby’ here... he isn’t going anywhere. Lest of all with you.”

A low, rumbling sound started to fill the air, and it took Bob a handful of seconds to realize that Macy was growling.

“Is that so?” she asked, and when had she moved to stand face to face to him?

Suddenly, faster than his vision could comprehend, a hand grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and he was being yanked forward.

“You’ll thank me, trust me,” she said with a honeyed voice as her grip on Bob’s shirt tightened.

She only got one step farther before George stood right in front of them, hissing. And fucking hell, had his teeth always been so damn sharp?

“He’s mine, and you are going to let go off him this instant, or you’re not going to leave this place alive.”

For some reason, Bob knew that he wasn’t making empty threats and a shiver ran down his spine.

Without a word of warning, he found himself yanked out of Macy’s hold and pushed behind George and thereby out of her reach. Which was good, because the very next moment, George was already pinning her to a tree with both his hands as she struggled against his grasp. Her fur coat seemed to blur, and Bob squinted, not sure if he had gone insane or was simply panicking.

But in the end, there was no denying the fact that Macy, the woman, had just turned into a huge... wolf?

The wolf was still struggling against George, but his grip didn’t only look vice-like but seemingly was it, as well, and he didn’t let go of her once.

“You will leave this place. You won’t ever return here, either.” He leaned in and let his teeth flash again, staring sternly into the eyes of the wolf who Bob was only then beginning to comprehend was Macy.

The wolf – Macy – turned her head to the side, trying to evade his gaze.

“He is mine to enjoy and you won’t get a bite of him, not now, nor ever.” George turned his head and gave Bob a soft smile that made Bob get weak in the knees for a multitude of reasons. He wasn’t anyone’s anything but he wouldn’t correct George; he could see what game he was playing. “I know a good thing when I see one and you? Are late.”

George leaned in and bared his teeth again, and for the first time since Macy’s unexpevted appearance, the cogwheels in Bob’s head began to turn, and he finally, finally began to understand a good amount of things about George – including the reason why Macy had overtaken herself when she decided to challenge him.

George was not the janitor’s son. Or perhaps he was, but then his dad must have died a very, very long time ago.

Bob had a lot of questions, but all of them disappeared to the back of his mind when George simply picked up the wolf – Macy – and marched her right off the grounds. Hesitantly, unwilling to end up being torn into literal pieces, Bob followed the two of them. He should probably be running, leave before George returned, but for some reason, he wasn’t worried about him. He found that he was the opposite of scared. He felt save with George.

George’s hold on Macy didn’t loosen for a single moment, and by the time the house behind them had noticeably shrunk in size, she was starting to transform back into her human shape.

“Rrrrrgh – let go of me!” were her first words, but George just shrugged.

“You came into my house, young lady–” He grinned, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You play by my rules, and those are to be nice.”

She just snorted and he shook his head as if he were disappointed by her. “Trust me, I could have hurt you if I wanted to – and you really made me want to earlier – but... I won’t.”

She kicked against his shin then but he simply kept walking. Bob didn’t have words to describe what he was feeling right then, but it was an odd mixture of pride and awe and relief.

When George set her down, he kept hold of her with one hand, which seemed to be enough to keep her in place. That came as a relief to Bob since now she wasn’t only throwing George deadly glances, but him, as well. This time around, however, he didn’t take a step back. He remained where he stood with a safe distance to the two of them and kept watching.

“How sweet. Your food is already following you.” Macy laughed. “Does he know that if you want to, you can kill him? That he won’t be a forever-young rock star if you decide against keeping him?” She looked George in the eye and smiled. “You know that he used to be quite famous, right? Are you up to date on the music scene? Because that man was quite something... ten years ago or so.”

It’s a stab at him but Bob couldn’t have cared any less. George already knew who he was, had for a while. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like George was going to make a go for his blood anyway. Bob was pretty sure of that, although he wouldn’t have been able to explain why.

“Or do you maybe want your own, personal... rough-voiced songbird?” Macy raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely interested now.

George remained silent for a moment, then shook his head.

“I don’t owe you an answer, and I hope you’re aware of that.”

She grinned. “But...?”

“He has other skills that are worth keeping him around for... for now.”

She laughed, and this time it sounded genuine. Meanwhile, George’s tone of voice wasn’t the only thing that had had a shiver run down Bob’s spine. No, much rather it was the implication of George’s lie that had caused Bob’s breath to hitch.

“Look, I’ve spent a lot of time and money following old Bobby here.” She looked around herself with an evaluating glance. She also seemed to see or smell something in the trees at their side, judging by her tilted head and suddenly narrowing eyes. “Allow me to go on a hunt on these grounds – I’m assuming they belong to the mansion? – and I’ll go. Sounds fair?”

George remained quiet for a moment, then nodded.

“I’d hardly call showing up on someone’s flowerbed and demanding his lover fair, but I see where you are coming from. But these are Bob’s grounds, not mine. You’ll need to get his permission.”

Their gazes met, and George nodded gently once Macy had turned her head to look at Bob.

She grinned, and her teeth were sharp, and Bob just wanted for her to be gone.

He lifted his shoulders in a slow shrug and murmured: “Sure, go ahead. But don’t kill off the entire forest population, alright?”

He already anticipated another one of her laughs, but instead, George spoke up again.

“You swear on your life to stand by your word? You get to hunt on the grounds today, but you won’t ever get closer to the mansion than this.” He pointed at the section of the road they were standing on. “And you won’t ever return here after today, nor follow Bob ever again?”

She looked back at Bob for a moment, then at George again, and smiled tightly.

“You have my word.”

George nodded and let go of her. She kept standing in front of him for a moment, considering her next move, and looked toward the forest again.

“Alright. Goodbye then.”

She turned around and left to their right, turning into her wolf form the very second she broke into a run.

George and Bob remained standing in the middle of the street for a long, silent moment.

“I... cheated on my ex-fiancée with a murderous wolf?” Bob finally managed to get out.

You told her I was your lover? was what he wanted to ask as well, but didn’t.

“Yes?” George eyed him carefully, waiting for the other shoe to drop and Bob starting to run away. He honestly wouldn’t have blamed him.

But that moment never came.

“Thank you, George. That was–” Bob met his eyes and gave him a weak smile. “Thank you.”

When neither of them said anything further, Bob pointed toward the mansion with a movement of his head. “Let’s get back, huh?”

They slowly made their way back, George constantly checking the woods to their sides for movement, but relieved that there was none, and Bob walking quietly next to him, mostly staring at the ground, lost in thought.

Back inside the mansion, however, Bob stopped walking the moment they both had crossed the threshold.

“You are not going to kill me. Even though you are a vampire or something like that and easily could.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement.

George took in Bob for a moment. He should have known Bob better, trusted him more. He wasn’t sure when he could ever have brought up the matter of “by the by, I’m undead”, though. It didn’t matter anymore anyway; Bob knew now. And he was still there and trusted him.

“I won’t. And yes I am and could, but I won’t. You don’t know how hard I tried not to, and now I found a way, and–”

“George, you’re babbling.”

Bob was smiling and George took a deep breath.

“I’m sure you have a few questions.”

“I have a great load of ‘em. But that can wait for later. For now, just– Thank you again. I didn’t know what Macy was till earlier, and you saved my life, literally.”

Also, you are really strong? And you said I was your lover in a way that convinced even me it was true for a second? was what Bob didn’t say but thought as he saw what had happened pass again in his mind’s eye. He had been a hell of a lucky bastard, having had George by his side when Macy had appeared.

He was a hell of a lucky bastard to have George by his side, full stop.

Even though it was as a friend and not, as George had implied for the sake of his subterfuge and keeping Bob safe, as a lover.

There was still the matter of George’s former fiancée.

And even that aside... Bob was unsure if George really reciprocated those – he would have had to admit to it to himself eventually anyway, so he might just do it today – feelings he was starting to develop for the other man.

George gave him a soft smile. “It’s alright.”

He looked at Bob with a concerned gaze, and only then did Bob realize that he was shaking.

George spoke up again. “I could go collect some herbs in the garden, but...” He shook his head. “I trust she’ll stay away from the mansion and, more importantly, you now, but... Better not take any risks.”

Bob raised an eyebrow in question as George’s gaze got lost in the distance and he scratched his chin.

“I think we have a tea in the kitchen that should do the job, though, as well.”

George smiled as he reached for Bob’s hand and took it in his.

“C’mon, let’s get something for the nerves.”

Bob followed him – trusting him with his life, in fact, and shaking more than before now that George’s colder hand held his own hand, gently.

[chillin-at-partys-bar]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme

fill out & repost ♥  This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

My muse is: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO (Though he’s only in a few panels, I think he ends up being many people’s first fave?)

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO 

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO

Are they underrated? YES / NO (I think he’s very nicely rated, but also parts of him need more attention)

Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG.

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL 

How strictly do you follow canon?

I try to follow what is known at the moment. I’ve done math to figure out when people would be joining his crew, and I try to stick as close to canon as I can. However, we don’t know a lot about him or his crew honestly, so I end up supplementing a lot of my own things. I do have an intense, crippling fear of being wrong so I try to only make safe headcanon guesses even though I know most people won’t care. Also, I'm not a huge fan of no women seen so far on his ship so I just... adjust some things and stick my OCs there. I have a feeling I know part of why there aren’t any women, and I don’t like it even if it fits in with sailor and pirate lore, so I’m just gonna fix that bit. Shanks is so decent otherwise. 

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.

Shanks has a lot of different parts to him. He’s great because he can get along with most everyone for an evening of drinking. He doesn’t care who you are, and he’s really hard to upset but he can definitely troll other characters very well. He’s kind and will rescue your character from certain death if need be, but he’s also strong and will challenge them if they threaten those he loves. He can be a really fun character to ship with as he loves very hard and people mean a lot to him. So if someone writes with him he is guaranteed to have strong thoughts on yours and will be more than likely to call them a friend by the end of the day. He’s also very attractive and good with kids, so that’s nice. He’s very much a pirate too, so if you want a pirate for your story but you don’t want the kind that will strike you down, he’s a great option. He’s forgiving too so you can screw him over and he’ll find a way to forgive you. Maybe. Depends on the kind of screw up. He’s also got a long range in terms of moments to play in his life, some really dramatic canon moments and some headcanoned ones. So it’s very possible to write with kid, teen, young adult, and adult Shanks. 

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?

It can be a bit difficult to create conflict with Shanks. Although it lets him pull off some great crack moments and have some great fun chaos, it also means that even powerful antagonists are hesitant to challenge him or fight him. Or even bring harm to him as canonically it means starting a fight with the Red Hair Pirates - which it’s also canon that not many are eager to do. This means a lot of the threads end up being talking or verbal threats as the opponent may make threats or Shanks will threaten but he doesn’t feel action is warranted unless action is done against him or a friend (if that makes sense). And even then circumstances mean a lot. I’d love to be able to play more physical rps and put him in more harrowing positions, but it’s difficult with how powerful he is and his reputation. 

What inspired you to rp your muse?

I actually really, really like pirates. I have some books on pirates and I’m really drawn to stories about pirates. A long, long, long time ago I had just read a cheesy romance novel called To Catch a Pirate and I really wanted another book where the pirates weren’t necessarily the bad guys. I was volunteering my summers at the library at the time and they had the first volume of One Piece. I set my sights on Shanks and never looked back. He’s just everything I crave in a pirate story. The dashing rogue with a heart of gold, you know. So I was sold. 

What keeps your inspiration going?

I think just the character and the new interactions that we get to come up with. Also, he’s a really unique character to rp culture as well. He’s insanely powerful, which is something that is more frowned upon with creating OCs for better or worse. Also, because he really won’t abuse this power except for like, something silly, I get to really play with him. I feel I also get to help people play with versions of their characters they haven’t been able to play before. Characters who are used to strong-arming and violence to get their way suddenly can’t do that, because Shanks is too powerful. So they have to come up with another way to express themselves and seeing these muns work with their characters to figure that out is really fun. 

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you do your character justice? YES / NO

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO

Do you think a lot about your muse during the day? YES / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO

Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO

Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?

I’m going to be honest. I really need to steel myself for criticism. I’m a perfectionist to the point where it’s really, really bad sometimes and I have walked away from a character because one person said they didn’t like how I played them. I try to go back to that character but I just can’t really. RP is fun for me, and I want this world to be a place where I can feel free to do what I want. So I prefer no feedback here. 

In before someone says “but criticism is how you grow” - okay. I get that. I really do. I’m a graduate student so I’ve had feedback from teachers. I have a few writing groups where I get feedback on my creative work. I get feedback on things that are meant for a larger audience and I get the feedback often. It hurts a bit but I am getting tougher. A few weeks ago, my group ripped apart (in the nicest way possible) a comedy sketch I was proud of. It took a bit to get over but now it’s better than before. 

So here I might not open things up for critique. I don’t really want to hear it (I accept positivity because I’m a jackass like that). If you don’t like how I write Shanks, that’s fine. Please don’t tell me and leave me be and let me do this my way. If you want to critique something of mine, let me know and I’ll give you a short story, some character notes for a book, one of my sketches, my sitcom pilot script, or my full-length movie treatment, hell I have a 2500-3500 word reflection essay for my grad program due next week so read that. Those- feedback, yes please. I need them to be stellar. This? No. Shanks is my toy and I’m here for fun not to worry and stress and get anxious about posting.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?

I accept questions! I also accept questions asking about my decisions. Those I don’t view as criticism and working through my thought process can be helpful. Some answers might not be as complete as others but I definitely do accept them!

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?

Not really. I don’t even want to know they disagree unless it’s a huge problem. I had a disagreement over a headcanon once get super out of control and the person got angry with me so... I really don’t want to know. Unless it’s something significant I guess? But I can’t think of anything that would be of that magnitude. I just want to have a good time. Please just let me have fun my way and if you really hate it, just write Shanks yourself and let me be. 

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?

I don’t want to know. This is the theme here. Just don’t tell me. I don’t see the point in telling me you don’t like how I write. I am very sensitive sometimes and I’m working hard through therapy and my own work to not be so sensitive, but I’m just not prepared for that sort of feedback here. In my writing groups, yes - definitely prepared for disagreement and push back on decisions. Here? No. Please no. If you hate my version of the character that much, please just block me. Or just vanish into the abyss. Don’t tell me. I will try to avoid being sad about it but I will not be successful. I know it’s not great and I really don’t want people to try and tell me to get over things like this because I know I need to and I’m working on it but gyah. Now I’m upsetting myself, haha. i cry easily guys. 

Some people: i don’t care if the truth hurts. I’d choose the truth over a lie any day. 

Me: no just fucking lie to me if you have to tell me something. let me be ignorant here.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?

I’m sure some people hate Shanks. And that’s different from hating my portrayal. He’s not my character, so whatever you want to do go ahead and hate. I don’t like a bunch of other characters in the world. Just remember whenever shitting on a character, and this is something I learned while interning at Marvel this last year: every character is someone’s favorite. So in Marvel that meant you had to treat every character with respect. Even if it’s like, Electro in Spider-Man - he’s someone’s favorite character so treat him with respect. That doesn’t mean let him get his way, just don’t treat him like junk or a filler. 

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?

See above with “trouble making mistakes.” Also, but why?

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?

Wow, this whole thing makes me look difficult - doesn’t it? I’m really just here for fun and to enjoy myself and have a good time writing. I do think I’m pretty laid back about things, I don’t have triggers and I’m really forgiving about mistakes. If someone needs to talk to me about something technical that’s fine and I love hearing ideas. I just also want to keep this as a place for fun, you know? I want to make sure I’m not afraid to come on here and write some things, so I just try to make it a space for me to be comfortable. 

That’s about it, congrats for filling out!

➸  Tagger: @godlivesonthemoon and @seraphiixa ((thank you guys so much!!))

➸ Tagging: u and ur face

[lil-purplebird]

Monster Island Buddies: Episode Fan Fiction

Fandom: Godzilla (Monster Island Buddies)

Rating: M

Genre: Parody/Humor

Words: 7,295

Summary: "Werehuman". A self-explanatory legend and an existential crisis. Maybe. Adult language, not for children.

Notes: Rawwrrrr!

So this is just something silly I thought up of out of nowhere and it wouldn't leave for a few days. Figured this would fit better as a “Monster Island Buddies” fic than just a normal Godzilla parody. Yes, I'm insane enough to make an MiB fic, but I know I'm not the only one. To borrow from Destoroyah: “Fuck you.” (Not really, love you guys. But this fic is more-or-less in response to wondering if I'd make more kaiju fics, of which I'mmmmm not telling, but this is still something, I guess. Apparently this takes place before "Destroy All Godzillas".)

Ha ha, well, hope you'll enjoy! I tried.

Can also be read here.

For lunchtime at the bar, Godzilla and some of his buddies were chilling with a game of monster pool. It was called such as the billiard balls were about as big as them all, and they had to be split into teams of three to even carry the cue stick. Stupid in practice, but everything's a great idea in one's drunken state of mind, and they would've declined if Gorosaurus was the one who suggested it and not Gamera.

"Oh, my God, you guys, we're in a tag team!" Gigan exclaimed happily behind Megalon, who in turn was behind Varan. "We're gonna win together as a team! You guys? Am I right? Teamwork rules!"

"How did I get stuck with Gigan, again?" Megalon grumbled.

"Shouldn't I, like, be the one to say that instead?" Varan muttered back.

"Kick my brah's ass, Var!" Biollante cheered from the sidelines.

It was a rare sight to see the couple at the bar, but SpaceGodzilla just had to say something about celebrating their group's founding anniversary with drinks and a bottomless buffalo wings basket or something. Oh, and a friendly battle or competition where the winner (or in this case, the winning team) was going to get free tickets to a concert, and Varan got excited.

Godzilla, Jet Jaguar, and Gamera were in another team chalking up their cue tip waiting for Gorosaurus' team (consisting of him, Baragon in front, and Gabara in the back, who butted in because he had overheard about the tickets) to do the break shot. The robot hemmed to himself, "Why're we believing SpaceGodzilla has concert tickets, again?"

"I don't, but I need to get out more," Godzilla said. "I don't know how you guys can live with me if I can barely stand living with myself most days."

"Yeah, see if I'll take you back under my wing again," Gamera wryly recalled.

Mumbling under his breath, Baragon was taking care to calculate his aim, but Gabara was growing impatient. "Jussth hit the ball!" he shouted, trying to take control of the cue stick.

"I want to get at least two balls in!" the burgundy monster stated, fighting back.

"You guys, we have to work together!" Gorosaurus interjected as group leader.

"Givth me the shtick! Hyouuungh!" Gabara brayed.

"No! It needs to be precise!"

Enough force was put into the tug-of-war that the cue ball was hit, but it scarcely scraped by the nine-ball rack and rolled into the left side pocket. Some of the onlookers hooted at the sight. "Look what happened!" the dinosaur moaned.

"Alright, guess it's up to us to break it!" Godzilla said excitedly, already in place up front while SpaceGodzilla fished out the ball.

"Godzilla, let me be the frontman," Gamera suggested. "Or, I don't know, let me angle the cue stick for you."

"You're in the back, though," he pointed out. "That's what you are supposed to do."

"Maybe I should shoot," Jet said. "I already have the trajectory calculated."

He barely finished his sentence when Godzilla impulsively hit the ball the moment it was set down in front of him, and the rack cleanly broke. The eight-ball was one of the outside balls and halted close to a pocket, but then a ricocheted striped ball hit it in. "Ooh, tough luck!" SpaceGodzilla tsked, smirking at his half-brother's misfortune.

"Ooh, fizzlesticks!" the robot hissed.

"Wait, we're out of the game already?" the bipedal turtle gasped. "Godzilla, did you even aim?!"

The king of the monsters belched. "Oh, sorry, I guess I stumbled there."

"Why're you such a klutz?!"

Gigan hopped in place. "Oh, my God, did we win, you guys? We won, right? Hooray for teamwork!"

"Dudes, it worked!" Varan said in awe, letting out a breathy laugh. "Rubbing my lucky rabbit's foot worked!"

Megalon did a brief double-take. "So is that what happened to the Easter bunny?"

As Varan and Biollante had a victory make-out, Gamera gruffly sighed and threw down his end of the cue stick. Godzilla shrugged it off. "Well, that was fun, I guess. Too bad Rody missed out."

"Are you blaming this loss on me?" Gamera growled, feeling a buzzing headache coming on.

"It's not because of you, man. Now if it was Rodan in your place, one flap of his wings would've broken formation."

"Rodan would've suggested beer pong in your place," Jet said. "No offense, Gamera, monster pool just isn't working out for us."

"It was a brilliant idea! You just don't have the artistic vision to see it!" The monster turtle belched and groaned. "Ugh, I'm getting too worked up. I need to get home and lie down for a bit, maybe cry myself to sleep."

Godzilla almost rolled his eyes. "A one-time fluke doesn't mean it's a horrible idea, Gamera. Maybe it just depends on the team."

Gamera scoffed. "Yeah, guess you're right. So that means you're out of the team, Godzilla."

He threw his hands up. "What?! Why me?!"

"Guys, calm down," Jet tried to pacify, stepping in between them. "There's no need to fight over monster billiards."

"Oh, but there's plenty of things to fight over," Gamera sneered, still not breaking eye-contact.

"Oh, oh, you're going to bring up our college days now?" Godzilla bellowed. "Look, man, if this is about the time-jumping thing, there wasn't room in the machine for all of us!"

"I still got a sweet acting career out of it. But actually, there was one thing about those days I still haven't forgiven you for, and that was the werehuman prank!"

Jet Jaguar looked between them with disbelief. "What's this about a 'werehuman'?"

Godzilla scratched his snout, aimlessly staring at the ceiling. "Uh... can you refresh my memory? I think the coke binge might've warped it into something else. But I have this strange feeling like I've met a wolf man before."

"No, not that Wolf Man," Gamera huffed.

"What, do you have something again Lon Chaney?"

"No, you're just an idiot."

"Guys, what's a 'werehuman'?" Jet tried to ask, but he was ignored as the turtle scoffed.

"You want to know why you never saw my mom anymore after that party? She got paranoid and had to flee the planet so she wouldn't look at another human ever again!"

"Oh, I thought your mom died. I just didn't want to ask because she just seemed so old, and you didn't talk about her much."

"Being in your two-hundreds isn't old, you prick!"

"That just means she wasn't hot."

"Hey, you guys, can you keep it down?" Gorosaurus came in. "You're triggering an early hangover."

While the two continued to argue and insult each other, Jet Jaguar went over to the dinosaur. "Gorosaurus, what's a 'werehuman'?"

He turned to him in surprise. "You've never heard of it? It's a famous monster legend around these parts."

"Really? I've been here for over forty years, and I've never heard of it."

"You've heard of the werewolf, right?"

Jet quickly went through his archives. "It's a half-wolf, half-man, right?"

"No, it's—"

Baragon interrupted, shaking his head, "No, no, no, the Wolf Man is a completely fictional character by Hollywood. But the werewolf is believed to originate from the Mesopotamian story 'The Epic of Gilgamesh', and was adopted and tweaked a little in European folklore."

"Hey, I was getting to that," Gorosaurus complained.

"So what's a werewolf?" Jet wondered.

"A werewolf is a man who shape-shifts into a wolf during the full moon," the actor explained. "It's like a curse, which can be broken with a silver bullet, or by eating wolfsbane. You also turn into a werewolf if you're bitten by another werewolf, but you have to kill that werewolf to lift the curse. Or is that a vampire?"

"Like a zombie!" Gorosaurus added.

"Ohh, so a werehuman is a man turning into a human?" Jet Jaguar paused, then realized what he said when he glanced over at other patrons in the background. "Wait, dammit!"

Baragon laughed quietly. "No, a werehuman is a monster that transforms into a human at sunrise."

"Why sunrise?"

"The cursed monster has to work a nine-to-five office job."

Jet stared, cast his eyes over at Godzilla and Gamera who were still fighting and it was getting more heated, glanced at the bartender, and then looked back at the reptiles before him. "That's it?" When they nodded, he shrugged. "Well, uh... how do you break the werehuman curse?"

"You can't," they said in unison.

"Not even a silver bullet to the heart?"

"I never said you have to shoot a werewolf in the heart to break the curse," Baragon corrected. "But no, not even with silver bullets. All you can do is infect other monsters until you die from overworking yourself."

"My mommy told me once you had to become a vegan," Gorosaurus spoke up. "Monsters don't eat their greens and never will, so they just overwork themselves to death instead."

"Uh... Mothra eats her greens," Jet pointed out. "Cotton sweaters count, right?"

The dinosaur slowly gasped. "Maybe she was the werehuman of legend!"

"But that's all it is—a legend," the robot stressed.

"Do you see other herbivores on a regular basis?" Baragon asserted.

Jet paused. "Okay, you got me there. So... how do you become a werehuman?"

"A human bites you."

His head jerked back in shock. "That's it? Just a human?"

He leaned in menacingly, shadows splitting across his face. "Did you know that human mouths are pretty disgusting?"

"But... you said werehumans infect other monsters, too."

"Yeah, they do. But patient zero always gets bitten by a human first."

Some silence passed between them before Baragon started laughing. Gorosaurus joined in a moment later, and Jet managed to let out a nervous chuckle before backing away. Then in mid-laughter, the subterranean reptile turned to his companion. "Hold on, you said 'mommy', didn't you?"

Returning to Godzilla, the robot noticed Gamera had left. "Hey, Godzilla, what's the matter?"

The kaiju looked like the alcohol was finally getting to him, he had a more fatigued expression on his face and he was swaying a bit. "Man, Gamera's such a fucking sore loser. He blames everything else but himself."

"Uh..."

He hiccuped. "Anyway, when he's better, I'll talk to him. I didn't know that about his mom, so it's no wonder he's got abandonment issues."

"...Yeah..."

"So what was it you wanted to know about our werehuman prank, Jet?"

Jet shook his head. "Oh, never mind. I had too much to drink. Think I'm going to go home, maybe go see Hedorah."

"Okay, bud, see you later," Godzilla said, but the robot had turned his back and left the bar. He frowned, then realized he was being footed the bill. "Oh, goddamn it, Jet!"

Soon after with an emptier wallet, he was on his way back home and walked solemnly past some human crowds, but his thoughts remained back at their fight. He really couldn't remember much about that party, their whole college days was full of weed, alcohol, and casual sex that everything blurred together. But he did meet Gamera's mother once when she had visited for some celebration, he recalled simultaneously chuckling at and being grossed out over her many sags, realizing that was what his roommate was going to look like in a hundred-plus years. He had taken a hit with a bong or something before everyone came over, and he had a feeling some human was somewhere in the crowd.

Not that he hated humans, but it was someone he didn't particularly like, so he had wanted to "frame" the human as well as lighten the mood. So he slipped through into the kitchen area where Gamera's mother was fetching some more snacks (or was making sweets), jumped on her back, said articulately, "Nothing personnel, MILF," and then bit her neck. When Gamera came running in screaming "What the hell are you doing?!", he had answered, "I can't fight my werehuman instincts any longer!" then howled at nothing in particular and ran out of the dorm to terrorize the campus.

Godzilla paused to stare at some graffiti as he reminisced. "...Huh. Just how fucking stoned was I to think she was a MILF?"

Suddenly, he felt teeth sink into his tail, although not by much so it didn't hurt, but it stung. He looked behind him to see a human gnawing on his tail as if it was a corn on the cob, looking like his mind had just snapped. He was not even a hobo like one would think, he had on a suit and tie and his briefcase contents were spilled everywhere.

"Well I'll be damned. I didn't know I could feel that."

And then it hit him—the briefcase did, but so did the situation.

*~*~*

In their living room, Rodan and Mothra were having their afternoon romp. The moth kaiju was somewhat chewing on the pillow while her husband pounded her from behind, trying hard not to set the sofa on fire (again) since burnt leather is a huge turn-off. Also it's embarrassing to confess to the fire department about how it happened, and he didn't want to be featured on "Sex Sent Me to the ER".

"Here comes Rodaaaan, giant peeenilesaurrrr! Here comes Rodaaaan, deep in Mooothra's corrrre..."

And of course Rodan's growling out his theme song, somewhat, being in the heat of the moment.

"Maharaaa—ah! Mahara Mosuraaa—nn!"

Oh, shit, both of them got it in their heads to climax along with their theme songs. And thankfully, the doorbell started ringing wildly before the awkwardness could seep in further.

"Goddamn it, why now?!" Rodan grunted, flailing his wings about.

Sighing to herself, Mothra got up and apologetically nuzzled her husband. "I'll get it. It'll be less embarrassing."

Rodan stared before glancing down as she flew over to open the door. The sight of Godzilla standing there in a nervous sweat took her by surprise. "Oh, my, you don't look so good."

"Mothra, Rody, you gotta help me!" he said, slightly panting. "You guys are the only ones I can turn to!"

The pterosaur came up from behind his wife with his trademark pissed off glare. "Can't this wait? The sex was just getting good."

"Rody, please, after I got in a fight with Gamera at the bar, a human bit me on the tail, I almost lost my voice screaming and running around, and now I'm going to turn into a werehuman and have to go work in a cubicle for the rest of my life!"

The couple slowly looked at each other in befuddlement before facing their friend again. "What the fuck, Godzilla? Did you get back on drugs?" Rodan asked, exasperated his sexy times with Mothra was interrupted by a drug-fueled fit.

"I couldn't make this up even on crack! Please, you gotta help me!"

"What about MechaGodzilla?" Mothra suggested, though she sounded a little unsure.

"That's why I'm so worn out, I just came from there! I've never seen it look so empty before! Does this need a quick flashback, too?"

"Why're you bragging about coming when you interrupted me coming?" Rodan snapped out, getting antsy.

"Give it a minute, Rodan," Mothra said in aside.

"That's what you said the last time!"

Ignoring him, she then made another indication to Godzilla, "How about Jet?"

"I can't find him anywhere, either, I thought he went home!" Godzilla whined, head in his hands. "I don't know, I'm just freaking out and I don't know what to do!"

Her heart going out to her distressed friend, she patted him on the arm in comfort. "Well, come inside and we'll figure things out. But wipe off your feet and that human, first."

They turned to the man still clinging to the lizard's tail, though he was looking stiff and there was blood around his mouth and shirt.

"He's dead!" Godzilla gasped. "Oh, my God, the rabies must've gotten to him!"

"More like cancer from how cancerous this whole situation is," Rodan huffed.

"Rabies?" Mothra echoed. "Are you sure it's rabies?"

"Well why else do humans bite unprovoked?" Godzilla said with a shrug.

"Then why the hell are you going on about 'werehuman' shit?!" Rodan shouted, starting to flip out as well.

After peeking around the corner with a head, their son, King Ghidorah, slinked into the living room. "Oh, you finished having intercourse with each other?" the three heads gave a relived sigh in unison.

"No, your mother just got distracted," the pterosaur insisted, shooting a leer at Godzilla who gave him an odd look as well.

"Well, uh... I need to make lunch now or my blood sugar level's going to drop. The General offered to get lunch, but he's gonna be out a bit longer. So... can you make it quick?"

"Can't you guys do it in the privacy of your own bedroom?" the lizard wondered.

"The living room's the farthest from his room, and General has cameras installed in the basement," was Rodan's claim. "Ghidorah psychic links and public indecency laws have been sucking all of the fun out of it. Mothra's been liking the attention, though."

Mothra giggled a little. "Oh, it's not like that."

Face faulting in horror, Godzilla gestured at the furniture. "...But... everyone sits on that couch."

"But the bedroom's a good idea, Godzilla," she suddenly said a little hurriedly. "Most of my things are up there anyway, so let's get you looked at."

"Oh, Mother, Father, please don't," their son cried. "You're already copulating thrice a day, don't add more to it."

Rodan put his wing around his necks. "Son, worry not about what your mother and I do. Where do you get these crazy ideas from, anyway? I knew getting you that computer was a bad idea!"

"I was the one who built it, Father," King Ghidorah informed.

"I don't care if it was Charles Babbage’s brain, show me your search history! My son's not going to grow up to be NTR'd!"

"Rodan, are you coming or not?" Mothra asked firmly.

Rodan swung around eagerly. "I thought you'd never ask, sweetheart!"

"Not that."

He roared in frustration. "Your timing fucking sucks, Godzilla!"

Entering the bedroom, Godzilla took in the numerous candles, cushions, trinkets, some statues, and other new age stuff he never understood. His eyes fell upon an odd drawing of a moth silhouette surrounded by seven statements (as written in kanji). A green checkmark was inked next to "Three Dragons".

"Hey, what you got here?" he inquired, following a line downward.

Mothra quickly shooed him away toward the circle of cushions and kicked the poster behind a bureau. "Okay, Godzilla, slowly lower the body."

He had to shake the corpse off of his tail, and the three of them stared down at the man's blissful blood-smeared face. "So why did this human bite you just to die?" Rodan questioned suspiciously.

"I don't know, I was just trudging home from the bar, and suddenly I felt something nibbling on me," he relayed his story. "The guy looked like he just dropped everything for a bite, and he wouldn't let go like he superglued his teeth on me or something."

"How long ago was this?" Mothra asked. "He hasn't been dead for even an hour."

"Thirty minutes, I think?"

"If this was a hobo, you wouldn't have come interrupt us because you'd be dead from rabies," Rodan said gruffly.

Godzilla snorted. "Mothra, does the guy have rabies, or no?"

Studying what little life force there was from the body, she shook her head. "No, this guy was just... normal."

"Biting a monster's tail is not normal!" he declared, starting to freak out again. "This normal guy had himself a normal job someplace and he did an abnormal thing!"

"So is that why you think you're turning into a werehuman?"

"Yeah, funny that Gamera brought that up just minutes before my tail became this guy's lunch!"

"A prophet tells prophetic things. Shocker," Rodan sarcastically said.

Humming to herself, Mothra's antennae drooped. "Well, uh... I don't know what else to say, Godzilla. This is new to me."

"Why couldn't it have been Kong or Gorosaurus who got their tails gnawed on instead?" the king of the monsters sniveled. "I don't have the experience to do paperwork, and I'm too much of a klutz for coffee runs!"

"Are you done yet?" Rodan grunted. "My balls have been aching for release since you got here."

"Rody, you're my best friend, you know that?" Godzilla whimpered. "Can you take one for the team and let me do a test bite on you?"

"Fuck off, Godzilla!"

"Please? Just a nibble?"

Mothra stepped in between them. "Godzilla, I suggest you go home. Spend the rest of this time with Minilla and the others."

He paused, thinking back to his household who were none-the-wiser of his predicament. "Yeah... I suppose you're right. How much time do I have left as me?"

"Not short enough," the pteranodon growled. "We're already ten pages into this crap."

Godzilla solemnly stared down at his feet, unsure what to think of his situation. This was a fate worse than death, he was starting to realize why a lot of humans were so miserable all the time, and he hadn't even begun transforming. His stomach churned, and he groaned in anguish.

Mothra patted his shoulder with a wing. "Hey, cheer up. You're only a human during the day. You can come visit us when the sun goes down."

"But eleven-fifty-five is off-limits!" Rodan warned. "It's the only time where I get to hump Mothra well into the next day to feel better about my sexual prowess!"

"You only last for five minutes?" Godzilla asked.

"Goddamn it, Godzilla, let me have this!"

"Hold that thought," he said, and the nausea caught up to him.

*~*~*

Having already been out visiting Anguirus for the day and happened to be passing by, Minilla helped his depressed and sick father back home, feeling the weight of the news bearing down on him. Godzilla had been crying and whimpering to himself about his predicament, and he didn't know what to do to console him. That was the thing about being the Chosen One, you're only prepared for one destiny, the others just sneak up on you.

"Hey, Dad, if it means anything to you, you can become like an ambassador for Monster Island," he finally made a suggestion, trying to remain optimistic. "If it'll keep less missiles from being launched our way, this sacrifice will not be in vain."

Godzilla was still sobbing to himself. "I'm going to look like an uglier Kong, but bald!"

"Is that what you're most bothered about?" his son sighed.

"And even if I do get a human girlfriend, the sex is just not going to be the same. Once you go kaiju, you can't just downsize!"

"Dad, stay focused, please."

He sniffed some mucus back up his nose. "Maybe I'll still be able to grow a beard and join a motorcycle gang, or something to stave off my loneliness."

"This is getting serious. Dad's reaching the acceptance phase fast." Minilla frowned to himself. "Actually, why wouldn't that be a good thing?"

Upon reaching their home, they could see Titanosaurus was standing conspicuously on their lawn and staring into the window. "Oh, damn it," the Chosen One hissed. "Where're the others?"

"Oh, Titanosaurus, did you need something?" Godzilla called, temporarily putting aside his grief.

The dinosaur giggled as he turned away from the window. "Hohohoho! You talkin' to me, Fuzzy Lumpkins? Hohohoho!"

"Well, yeah. Just want to know why you're here at my house. You're crushing my azaleas."

"Stick your gangrened mojo up your powder puff, princess! You're in for a rowdy rough ride! Hohohoho! Hohohoho!" He began river dancing on the lawn, and they had to avoid his swinging tail.

"Just get inside, Dad. We need to let the other Godzillas know about this."

Walking into the living room, they noticed the group had a movie on, popcorn, chips and other junk food littered the area, and the TV's screen looked like it was set on its highest bright setting. "Hey, guys, can you pause the movie?" Minilla asked just to get his face sprayed with crumbs by a shushing Orga.

"See, this is why you can't enjoy a good movie anymore!" he grumbled. "Jackasses are always interrupting your viewing everywhere you go!"

"Orga, you've been coming over uninvited to watch a movie for weeks now!" Godzilla groaned.

"My cable provider hasn't gotten back to me yet, and I need it to make my Orga Reviews so I can pay the bills! Fucking asshole."

"Crash over at Rodan's place, then!"

He chortled. "Dude, have you seen their couch? And I'm not the one who broke it this time!"

All of the alternate Godzilla versions shushed them. "Ugh, why do we always get interrupted by jackasses at the best parts?" the stout lighter-gray Godzilla growled.

Godzilla Earth lumbered into the living room to announce in his booming gravelly voice, "WELL, WE RAN OUT OF THEM LEMONY-SCENTED GOODNESS WIPES AGAIN. DID I MISS ANY BOOBIES ON THE CABLE?"

Minilla snatched the remote to pause the film, ignoring the protests from the others. "Guys, my dad has something important to say."

"Unless he won a million-billion dollars, forget it," Alternate Future Godzilla scoffed.

Godzilla stepped forward, now somber once again. "Everyone, this might be the last time to be me as I am now."

They silently gave him weird looks.

"I know this is hard to believe, but... I'm a werehuman."

"Nothing shocks us anymore," the tiny Godzilla said. Orga almost choked on a chip laughing.

"I was bitten by a human this afternoon, and that means I'm going to be a human by the morning. I'll still come around when it's nighttime, but I'm not going to be head of the household much anymore if I can't be king of the monsters." He turned to his son. "So Minilla, my boy... I'm giving you the keys to the castle. It's been a long time coming, but you deserve it, my son."

Although he was certain the "werehuman" wasn't what it seemed to be, he couldn't help hanging his head in reverence. "Dad, I'm honored..."

"OHHH BOY, I CAN FINALLY HAVE MYSELF A 'M.A.S.H.' MARATHON BUDDY TO WATCH WITH!" Earth exclaimed happily, his jagged smile crinkling his eyes. "YOU BEST NOT FORGET, YOU HEAR?"

"I call your room," Future Godzilla said, raising his hand.

"Damn it, I wanted his room!" Big Daddy G roared.

"Should've called faster."

"Guys, I'm not relinquishing the house just yet!" Godzilla insisted. "I'm still going to be living here until I can find myself a human apartment!"

"Uh... yeah, I knew that. But I'm still going to call it."

Turning to Little Godzilla and Baby Godzilla who were sleepy on their feet, the king of the monsters spread his arms out for a hug. "Come here, kids. I just need to tell you I'm proud of you, and wish you well as you grow up."

The babies stared at him, then babbled something about him smelling like beer and incense.

"So Godzilla Prime, what're you going to do for the rest of your kaiju day?" another Godzilla asked, orange eyes narrowing like he wasn't taking the news seriously.

Thinking back to whatever bucket list he may have had in mind, he hemmed and folded his arms a bit. "Really good question. Let me think about it after lunch. Also get the fuck out of my house, Orga," he added to the alien.

"Alright, alright, sheesh," he huffed, stepping outside only to get tackled by Titanosaurus.

Everyone gathered around the table as he munched on an egg salad sandwich and sucked down some cola. Minilla was cooking up another egg for his father and himself, inwardly consulting with the Hand for guidance while also thanking the Hand for handling the skillet in his place. As Godzilla Prime counted his alternate selves surrounding him in his head, a thought struck him like a lightning bolt out of the blue.

"Hey, Minilla, do you remember what I did with the bible audiobook?" he wondered as he finished his drink.

He turned away from the stove. "What's this sudden interest in the human concept of religion, Dad?"

"If I'm going to be a werehuman, I figured I might as well pretend I know what I'm talking about when debating around the water cooler. Also Larry King just soothes the eardrums just right. I think that's part of what comes with the Jewish package, kinda like how King Ghidorah used to speak."

Minilla wanted to roll his eyes to the ceiling as his father scarfed down the rest of his food. "Yeah, you're going to fit right in with the humans."

"DID SOMEONE SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHEWS?" Godzilla Earth queried, his hearing failing him again.

"No, it's Jews," Big Daddy G corrected.

"WOAHHH, YOU BETTER BE CAREFUL ABOUT THEM CHEWS. ONE TIME, I WOKE UP WITH A MOUTH SORE BECAUSE I SLEPT WITH MY MAW OPEN, AND THOSE DAMN PESTS CRAWLED INSIDE TO NEST BETWEEN MY GUMS."

"Actually, I'm going to check to see if it's on Audible." Godzilla fished out an iPod for a look.

"If you're so sure about it, Dad, I can check storage for you," his son offered.

"That's okay, better safe than sorry. Ah, here it is—ohhhh man, it's the big James E. Jones! Now that's a real king! Is it free?" He did a quick scan and then tossed down the iPod. "Forty bucks?! Goddamn it, I might as well just read the actual book, and I don't have the time nor ability to read and do stuff all at once!"

With a sigh, Minilla went to go scour the boxes for any trace of the audiobook. It wasn't that he didn't care what his father would do, but he didn't feel it was going to do or change anything. Besides, he felt like he saw something like this on TV and it felt like a cheap, quick gimmick to avoid actual conflict.

When he found the box with the CDs still unopened inside, he wondered what was even the point, and secretly hoped the CD player was unplayable so his father could actually get off his tail and do something—

"Oh, you found it, son?" Godzilla said from behind, looking over his shoulder. "Wow, I completely forgot about this—oh, hey, that's the same one I was looking at on Audible! Oh sweet, you saved me forty bucks, Minilla!"

He hesitantly handed them over. "Yeah... you're welcome, Dad."

Godzilla put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, boy. I'm still going to be around, even if I'm an ugly hairless ape."

He harumphed to himself, smirking slightly. "You sure change your mind pretty quick."

"Well, you got to keep an open mind, you know. Okay, how do you work this thing, again?"

Getting it strapped (somehow) on his waist and the headphones plugged into the jack, he snapped on the first disc. "I'm heading out."

"Where to, Dad?"

"I've got things to do, places to go, people to see. All that jazz. Byeeeee!" He left the house, leaving Minilla to stare forlornly after him at the window.

"Finally, we can start where we left off!" Future Godzilla sighed, plopped back down on the couch. "Minilla, can you make some more popcorn for us?"

*~*~*

Godzilla lost himself to the sultry, booming voice of James Earl Jones' narration (he'll have to play catch up on the Old Testament some other time), letting the words flow through him as he traveled the land. He never took off his headset when he tried new foods, explored a new cave or lakeside, attempted bungee jumping, even when stopping to have a chat with other kaijus, nodding along in all the right places and saying the right things while his thoughts remained on the narrator. Something-something about parables and healing of the sick, but it was like Mufasa was there in the clouds telling him all of this. It was quite heavenly and took his mind off of the throb in his tail from where the human had bit him. It was more annoying having to change the discs because it took him out of cloud nine, and apparently Minilla had the proper foresight to have snuck him some extra batteries, but that was all the motivation he needed to keep going well into the night.

Luckily, in the middle of Paul's epistles (he liked how James would say "Paul"), he made it back home in time for everyone to be in bed for him to not be bothered, and he snuck by Godzilla Earth snoozing in front of the TV to sit in front of a window that faced east. He wanted to be able to have the morning sun rest on him as he lounged in a chair, and make himself comfortable for the transformation. It shouldn't hurt, for all he knew, should be over in a "twinkling of the eye" as the good book said through the voice of Darth Vader. Something about eye twinkles was romantic and peaceful enough to yield to his fate.

Being a human shouldn't be all that bad, he reiterated tiredly to himself for what had to be the umpteenth time that day. You're only like an office slave for only eight hours. That's not too bad. You have sixteen other hours of the day to just be yourself. Just have to grin and bear it, and I'm pretty good at grinning, if I must say so myself. Yeah, shouldn't be all that different from what I do now. Probably have to cut back on my alcohol intake. Humans can't handle the same alcohol we can. Should start trying out this wine, I guess. All this talk about wine's been making me thirsty.

Godzilla tried to wriggle out of his chair to go get himself a glass of whatever, but his muscles were protesting too much, and he went limp. Oh well, that can wait. Man, I hope the others don't freak out when they see me, if they can still recognize me.

The deep voice rumbled in his ears, "'Let him know, that he which converteth the sinner from the error of his way shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins.'"

"Yeah, you tell 'em, Mr. Jones," Godzilla mumbled through a yawn. "You tell 'em..." And he dozed off right as this Peter part of the audiotape began at the three o'clock hour.

*~*~*

The babies were the first to get up and climb out of their cribs. They typically always were the first to greet the new day, it was the only time where they were free to do what they pleased before the grown-ups came to stop them. They put their all into their adventures.

As they waddled out into the living room where the TV was still blasting an informercial in front of a sleeping Earth, they went to enter the kitchen when they noticed a familiar shadow cast across the floor. "Daddy?" Baby Godzilla mumbled, and they looked at the silhouette facing the window. The sun was coming up, and the kaiju was immobile in the chair, arms hung down at his sides. The spindly rays looked like a halo about him, feathering his outlines.

They stared for a bit longer, unsure when their father had come back and what he was doing staring directly into the light, but they decided to let him be. Gesturing to each other, they left the room to go back upstairs. They can play some games up in their room, or find a way to climb out of their window.

It wasn't for another hour before Minilla got out of his room. As his father wasn't in his bedroom, he was hesitant to go downstairs to see what had become of him. A part of him was still unsure if the werehuman was even real to begin with, but Godzilla had looked too serious to have been pulling his leg. He figured before he'd search for him that he'd wait for his visitor to arrive.

Quietly so as to not disturb Godzilla Earth, he stepped out onto the porch in time to see Gamera and Anguirus making their way up the cobbled path. "Thank Blundergosh you're here," he said in a whisper.

"For the record, I'm just here to witness it with my own two eyes," the turtle said a little gruffly. "This is a touchy subject for me, but I think Godzilla would appreciate my being here."

"He's going to need all the support he can get," Anguirus said, a little melancholic. "Like the Hand, we must reach out to him in his time of need."

"So is he here?"

Minilla cricked his neck a little. "I think so, but I just got out myself. Everyone's still in their rooms, so..."

"Let's search around the premises first," the dinosaur suggested. "He may be too ashamed to show his face but still wants to be in the comfort of his home."

"You should go in front of me so I don't punch his face when I see him," Gamera said, flexing his jaw. "I'm sorry, this is just pissing me off."

Putting his paw on his arm, Anguirus gave a nod and started off for the yard. Carefully on tiptoe, they followed and looked around where they think a radioactive lizard—or a human—would hide in. They ruled out underneath the house for the time being, that was to be the last hiding place to check if they can't find him anywhere else. Glancing in the kitchen windows, Minilla was surprised to find it empty, since usually the babies were in there in the mornings.

"First clue: He's here, or has been here," he announced to his companions.

"Alright, keep searching," Anguirus said, still going on ahead. "Can't peek inside the windows for the life of me..."

Shielding their eyes from the sunlight, they turned to the window and through the glare saw a chair was in front of it, and it was occupied. Cupping their hands to their eyes, Minilla and Gamera peeked in, and the actor thought he could hear a molar crack from gritting his teeth to silence a snarl.

Snoring in the chair, head lolled back and drool on his chin, Godzilla was in a deep sleep, scales and all. The headphones had slipped and looked bent from the angle, but only the Chosen One noted that detail he had that audiobook on all night. Maybe it was a source of comfort for him, but he looked way too relaxed for someone who was absolutely certain he was a werehuman.

"Well? What do you see?" Anguirus asked, looking back-and-forth between them.

"False alarm," Minilla decided to say, sounding a little relieved.

"No it fucking isn't!" Gamera shouted, startling the two of them. "The jackass took it too far!"

"Is he in there, or...?"

"That piece of shit believed in his own lies, and he has the gall to sleep like a slob! God, now I wish he was a human so I could crush him!"

Anguirus tilted his head. "This is a bad thing, why?"

Pulling back, Minilla just shrugged. "In all fairness, he's quite human enough, so he wouldn't have been much different. I'd just hate to see him as an actual human."

"He'd be one ugly son of a bitch, that's for sure," Gamera huffed. "Ugh, screw this, I'm going home to sleep. I spent all night meditating for his sake. What a waste of energy..."

"What if your prayers were answered?" the seer suggested, hoping to cull his anger.

"I was meditating for his human self. What a waste." And he sulked off, leaving the two shrugging and letting out rough sighs.

Godzilla's breath caught mid-snore, and he smacked his lips, but didn't budge from his chair. "...May the Force be wi'you, Jonesss..."

*~*~*

"Orga's in the house!" the alien announced, grinning smugly while swirling around a half-empty glass of iced tea. "Well, that was a letdown of a disaster. Given the weird format of this 'fan fiction', I guess the mailbag's been replaced with this 'author's notes' instead. Man, what's up with that? If it's over, just end it, no need to make people read more. Besides, it sounds stupid for fan fiction writers to get fan-mail.

"Who does that, anyway? And with such messages like 'When is the next chapter of Forsaken coming out?' Like what's up with that?" Orga narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What is that, anyway? Sounds like it'd make for a cool 'God of War' or 'Dead Space' fic. Whatever. Hey, kid! You, the one writing this crap!"

The author's small hands stopped moving on the keyboard as Orga peered at her through the screen. "Who're you calling 'kid'?" she warned in an unfortunate high voice.

"Yeah, why're you doing this? Don't you have better things to do with your time like schoolwork or something?" Then he chuckled nervously. "Oh, wait, that joke's gonna age like Madonna if I go any further, and that's already embarrassing!"

The author's hands went palms-up in befuddlement. "Okay...?"

"Stay safe out there, anyway."

"Yeah... thanks—is that why you've hijacked my end notes?"

Orga shrugged. "Well yeah, I have nothing better to do, either! How long were you working on this, anyhow? Did the winning team even go to the concert, or what?"

"...Yeeeeaaa—I guess..."

"You're just making shit up, aren't you? You think you're so 'ha ha' funny, don't you?"

A back-and-forth uncomfortable stare ensued for the next moment while Orga finished off the rest of his drink.

"This is awkward!" he then broke the ice while crunching on an ice cube.

"You're telling me," the author grumbled, insulted.

"Hey, how're you typing this ou

[a-writing-bear]

[PruCan] Chapter 12: Soft-Spoken Calling, They Want Their Shyness Back

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159997/chapters/51804982

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on Tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’ But it is not formatted as well as the AO3 version.

Previous Chapter 

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Main Pairing: Gilbert Beilschmidt & Matthew Williams (Prussia & Canada)

AU:  College AU - Art Student Matthew and Media/Film Student Gilbert

Age Rating/Mature:  Teen And Up Audiences (12+ due to mentions of mature themes as well as swearing)

Trigger Warnings: High gone bad. Unwanted touching (just mentions but slightly uncomfortable)  Crowds & Depiction of a Panic Attack

In the past, the William-Jones family was a well-to-do, well adjusted and highly successful suburban family. Or at least economically and socially successful- if anyone asked Alfred he would quote their strength of prosperity came exceedingly cursed in terms of emotional wealth. In the most accurate and blunt possible turn of phrase: they were incompatible. Their french woman was an ‘aloof’ type more keen on decorating her doll and darling little boys, rather than acknowledging her arranged marriage to a work-obsessed brit. He could recall the loving pats he would get and Matthew and him sitting on a Saturday morning in a sunroom conservatory of their house in Surrey, England with their mother combing his ruthless cowlicks away; their father would be incessantly jabbering on the phone- something along the lines of investments and long term fail safes. They were 6 when they last saw that old house and it’s growing vines and English charm- his mother had decided to drag them to Canada, and despite the failed boutique business venture in Montreal, she had a trust fund large enough to keep them located there without work- obviously not enough to keep their father interested, Harry always was hard to please. He remembered the arguments that plagued the stairwell, the shouting they thought wasn’t audible through the twin’s bedroom walls. 

Harry was quick to file divorce the moment he got a venture in the USA. Turns out it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been arranged married to a woman once her family no longer pulls strings. Alfred went with dad. At least he was still dad back then- Alfred feels remorse when he does hear the word ‘Father’ tumble out Matthew’s mouth as if he was being scolded again. He remembers Matthew staying with mama, her pretty nails and thin arms wrapping around his brother as they said goodbye. 

Bad signal phone calls and some Summer camps were the only thing that kept the two siblings in contact, that and the occasional visit when dad couldn’t be arsed to deal with Al’s pestering. Prodigy of the academics, and exceeding in sports was the only way to get dad to put his phone down. He remembered Matthew on the phone complaining mama trying to bar him from hockey, or lamenting that mother didn’t see art as more than a hobby. So different huh? Matthew called a lot. Still close despite the distance. At least not till high school, if only Alfred had shut his mouth, if only he-

“Al? Ah? Has the..signal cut out or..?”Kiku’s voice wandered back into his head.

“I was asking if you’ve talked to your dad about-”

“No, I haven’t asked him about it. I haven’t even talked to Matthew about it. It’s getting late keeks- I should log-off, I’ve got an early lecture.."

----

Matthew's head felt subdued, despite the cackling cacophony of laughter that filled the room. His earlier attempts to get some water ended with him giggling with some random people- he could only really recognise the accent-tinged voice of Lukas, asking if he was alright. Of course, he was alright. He was here right? Everything was fine. Okay. good. Has this room always been this fuzzy? The kitchen counter seemed to stretch out forever in front of him and his mind wandered. God, he should not have smoked that much. He probably stank...everyone could probably smell him...oh fuck he’s a dumb idiot. Lukas must hate me.

“I don’t hate you Matthew- what are you going on about?” Shit could he read minds or was he talking, the Canadian’s inner voice seemed to be shouting but the pang only subsided with the tiniest sips of the overly clean tap water. 

“Jeez. I thought I told Mathias to not go overboard tonight...look Matthew I need you to tell me how you feel right now.”

Floaty. He felt floaty- but also like he’s sinking, melting into the tile floor and he can’t get up, the shallow attempts at sobering up felt like they were weighted with 10 years of baggage. There are so many voices in this house- has it always been this cramped? Had Lukas’tiles always been that baby blue? Oh god, he’s a horrible friend, he’s gonna be left here so fucking floaty, and he’s just gonna float away and everyone-

“Matthew- Matthew your phone man, Hej! Matthew! For god's sake” suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder and someone reaching into his pockets- despite the sudden discomfort and manhandling, Matthew was too tired to do much but whine at whoever was fishing out his phone. he hated people touching him. Not now.

“Hej? Thank god please tell me you’re calling to pick- …. Yes, Matthew is here isn’t that why you’re calling?. What? .. I- hm, I don’t think he can chat much...okay…” Lukas had moved the phone near to Matthew's ear, holding it with the other hand on his hip in annoyance but also a concern for his very paranoid and high friend.

“Mattie?” Oh, that silken voice that screamed of adventure and rock music, so nice- Gilbert was so nice. 

“Gil? Hi hello, what's up eh?”

“Mattie? Where are you?-”

“Above! I’m above!”

“What? Mattie are you- are you drunk or something?” Matthew chose not to answer but instead snort and push his glasses up before humming to his friend on the phone and pushing the little glass rectangle towards Lukas.

“I can’t pick him up, wherever you are… is Tim with him?” This time Lukas answered stating that Tim was incapacitated on a couch somewhere.

“Right. Hm. I’ll go call Alfred and he’ll pick them-”

Suddenly Matthew’s heart rate jumped even higher, if he wasn’t already slightly over aware, now he was on overdrive. The phone had been on speaker and he heard mention of his brother. Alfred couldn’t know. If he knew it would be over. He can’t know. Never know. No. Nope definitely not.

“Uh I don’t think he wants Alfred man, He’s oh shit Matthew breath, please. Matthew- Matt, hold on…Someone call Tim now please!”

Matthew was mumbling. Mumbling and mumbling and god shit it was loud in here and people kept touching him and he just wanted people to stop touching him and fuck fuck fuck. He needed to be sober right now- this was not gonna end well. Breathing sucked. Everything sucked insanely right now. He saw Tim’s clunky shoes in front of him- since when was I crouching? He heard someone saw something and he could feel others watching and watching oh god people are watching, Tim? Hello Tim? 

“Matthew. Give me a colour” brown. “Why brown?” Brown because that was the colour of Tim’s shoes right then..he could trace the floor around the brown shoes...browner than the oak trees near his old house.

“How about another colour?” Blue. but like light blue. The kind you swaddle a baby in. blues that seem to almost be too simple and light.

“That's nice, where did you see blue?”

“In the- uh- …” he felt like choking a little bit but the words were coming out. “The kitchen has..blue tiles.” Everything was coming back down to earth and Matthew was starting to feel a bit better- even if his chest hurt a little. 

“How do you feel about red?” That was a dumb question. He answered. “I like red.” He loves red. Red is his hoodie. His hoodie which was being pushed into his arms right now as he stood up, and Tim’s face came into view, a slight worry masked with relief at his friend's recovery from the panic attack.

“I...I want to go home.” Matthew spoke as if a fog had cleared up, but he still felt slightly floaty as he was brought into a car with Tim by his side, and chaperoned home. He’ll think more about all of this later. He wanted to sleep.

-----

Gilbert didn’t like sleeping early on Saturday but then again not many people worked on Sundays. To be fair, Gilbert’s Sunday job was a temporary stand-in at the grocery shop for some lady who got pregnant. He just needed a bit more cash and was willing to spend a few weeks of bagging if it meant he could save up to see his uncle. He should probably sleep now so tomorrow he could get work done without feeling terrible, the diner dinner was already awkward enough.

He wondered what Matthew was doing. Matthew with his sweet smile, who seemed so different in front of his brother and especially with that guy Tim. Matthew who got headaches from too much sugar..who shared vanilla milkshakes. God Matthew was adorable. After scrolling through his social media (and perhaps doing some minor stalking of a certain boy’s Instagram) Gilbert was still not tired enough to call it a night. When did his Saturday nights become ‘wait til work’ days? He was getting a bit too bland he supposed. Ludwig was probably asleep. He should text Mattie- ask how he’s doing- perhaps that invite-only event ended already. Texting didn’t seem to do much. It wouldn’t be too rude to call right? Just to check on him.

“Hey, Birdie! I know you’re probably busy but-” 

“Hej? Thank god please tell me you’re calling to pick-” someone else’s voice reverberated down the line, causing great confusion.

“Is uh, Is Matthew Williams there?” Gilbert could hear laughter and hollering in the background but all seemed unimportant except the fact that someone distinctly NOT Matthew picked up the phone.

“Yes, Matthew is here isn’t that why you’re calling?” The voice also sounded just as confused as himself, assuming that Gil knew where Matthew was.

“I don’t really know why I’m calling but now I’m worried, you are not him”

 “What?” 

“Just put him on the phone and let me talk to him.” Gilbert sighed as he heard the phone being passed, the fumbling noises making a ruckus on the phone.

“.. I- hm, I don’t think he can chat much...okay…” At least whoever this was trying.

With bated breath and a slight pause, the phone seemed to sound as if the jostling was over. “Mattie?” he called out hesitantly 

“Gil? Hi hello, what's up eh?” The voice sounded more happy than surprised but much too calm.

“Mattie? Where are you?-”

“Above! I’m above!” what the fuck is he talking about? He sounds completely out of it. Gilbert’s protective instincts kicked in, worried that something had happened to the Canadian. Hopefully, Matthew was as tolerant as his brother and wouldn’t be having a killer hangover tomorrow- he needed Matthew slightly sober tomorrow to at least talk about his project. 

“What? Mattie are you- are you drunk or something?” No response. Only a slight humming. Christ. The stranger must have been given the phone since they apologised for Matthew’s inability to cooperate- they asked if he could come to pick the boy up.

“I can’t pick him up, wherever you are… is Tim with him?” shit. Tim was drunk too? What kind of stupid idiots both get drunk if they knew they had to go home. Jeez if that dutch dude got drunk he can only imagine what god awful party Matthew had stuck himself into. He would attempt to get Matthew, but his motorbike and drunk people do not exactly mix well.

Thinking hard he stared at his dorm room door- Alfred! He could call his friend’s brother. “Right. Hm. I’ll go call Alfred and he’ll pick them-”

Suddenly he heard a wail and some noises of shouting- Matthew in the background, only briefly-   “Uh I don’t think he wants Alfred man, He’s oh shit Matthew breath, please. Matthew- Matt, hold on…Someone call Tim now please!”

Gilbert could only hear a rustling and some more movement. With that, the phone seemed to hang up and he stared in complete panic at the phone.

A text.

M @ 12:47am : Hi. This is Matthew’s, Friend Lukas. Sorry for the hang-up, Matthew had a panic attack again. He is okay. They are being taken back to campus by Berwald, Tim will be dropped off back at his house too, nothing to worry about. You might want to help get Matthew to his room later though. Sorry for the trouble. Night.

Fucking hell. Gilbert slipped on some sweatpants, a jumper and some flip flops, already on his way out to meet up with this Berwald guy at the dorm entrance. 

[shyanlibrary]

The boys as teachers for that sweet anon at my main blog. ~ Read the description of each to find out who is the teacher.

walking in the wind by orphan_account

Summary: in which Shane and Ryan go on a hundred dates and fall in love along the way.

Rated: M

Word Count: 2, 853 ~

Teacher: Shane

Commentary: One of my favorite oneshots in the fandom written by one of the authors I miss the most. This fic is fantastic, it gives you a sensation of growing with them and their relationship. Even the small angst in it it’s so well done, it makes you want to cry a little.

Hit The Books by TheseusInTheMaze

Summary: “You now what I miss? I miss the days when people used books as sources. Books are great. You can’t go wrong with books. There’s nothing that beats the smell, the feel….”

Ryan visits Professor Shane Madej's office outside of office hours, to dispute a grade. It doesn't go how he expects.

Rated: E

Word Count: 3, 548 ~

Teacher: Shane

Commentary: A fun smut with one of the oldest fantasies out there, but it’s fun to read and comes from the mind of the most prolific author in the fandom.

conflict of interest by spoopyy

Summary: Shane is a high school science teacher who really hates his job. He bumps into a passionate, but lonely history teacher named Ryan, who just might make teaching worth it.

Rated: Not Rated (G)

Word Count: 7, 055 ~

Teacher: Both

Commentary: This one is a classic in the fandom, the first one having any of them as teachers, and one of the best AUs out there. It’s fun, well crafted, well written and well characterized. It shows you a healthy and growing relationship born from friendship and interests in common, a happy yet simple happy ending that gives you that glorious sensation of maybe at the end all conflicts will have happy endings.

play me like a love song by sky_somedays

Summary: Wikipedia articles aren’t valid research sources. -s

Sent from my iPhone

“When he torpedoes you on Rate My Professor you’re gonna deserve it,” TJ informs him.

Or: Shane is Ryan’s beleaguered history TA. Ryan won’t stop suggesting insane theories.

Rated: T

Word Count: 9, 972 ~

Teacher: Shane

Commentary: This is such a fun fic. The way is done and how the story moves forward is very dynamic and mantains your attention focused on these two idiots. They are such dorks and so likeable in this fic, it makes the reading light, warm and comfortable. Really an excellent fic.

The Hierophant by carrieonfighting

Summary: “So kids, for the last week, we’ve been discussing the fundamentals of duelling.” Shane lounged easily against his desk, robes hanging open haphazardly. Ryan snorted to himself, sitting at the back of the huge room, and he saw Shane’s ear twitch.

“So today, now that I have a partner, it seems like a fantastic time to demonstrate!” He announced. It was Ryan’s turn to twitch. “Professor Bergara is your new Divination teacher, he’ll be starting his classes after the weekend. Please stand up, Professor.”

“E-excuse me?” Ryan said, turning terribly red.

In which Ryan sees the future and moves to Scotland, meets his hero and isn't impressed, hears strange noises in the night, and interrogates some ghosts. After all these years, the castle still keeps its secrets.

Rated: T

Chapters: 15/?

Word Count: 31, 449 ~

Teacher: Both

Commentary: I’m gonna be honest here and say that I haven’t read this Crossover with Harry Potter that also happens to be an AU, but I know this author and I trust their writing, and I also trust my friends’ opinions and they all love this ongoing fic. So yeah, I’m gonna rec it because I’M SURE it’s high quality and many people is enjoying it, so I hope you enjoy it, too.

When I Kissed the Teacher by hufflepuffdaddy

Summary: One of these days Gonna tell him I dream of him every night One of these days Gonna show him I care, gonna teach him a lesson alright

-or-

Ryan has the hots for his professor. Shane has the hots for his student.

Rated: T

Word Count: 5, 075

Teacher: Shane

Commentary: Man, I enjoyed this one for how FUNNY it is and also because Ryan is the biggest mood in this fic. It’s very entertaining and it has a good ending, really something to enjoy.

The Wicker House by TheGodsWaitToDelightInYou 

Summary: "Ryan is getting real tired of his house trying to kill him."

International best-selling, horror and mystery author Ryan Bergara has just bought the house of his dreams. It doesn't take long for him to settle down and make a new friend, but it also doesn't take long for odd occurrences to start piquing the author's curiosity.

Or is it just his imagination?

With a deadline creeping ever closer and a nightmarish case of writer's block, is it the stress that is messing with his head?

Or is it something more...sinister?

UPDATE: I've deleted everything after chapter 1 because I'm editing the chapters and/or completely redoing them.

Rated: Not Rated (T)

Word Count: 1, 918 ~

Chapters: 1/?

Teacher: Shane

Commentary: I liked this fic when it was going, and while it hasn’t been updated ever since the author deleted the others chapters to edit it, I believe it’s worth the wait and the try. It’s very interesting, and Ryan is an author in this one.

[onewhoturns]

fictober.13.: speech

#Fictober19 Prompt: 13. I never knew it could be this way. Fandom: Oxenfree Pairing: Alex/m!OC, Jonas/Alex (ambiguously maybe/maybe not one-sided) [future fic] Rating: T (no warnings apply) Tags: Alex is getting married, Jonas isn’t happy about that, implied stepcest Word Count: 2032

There’s a chime around the room as the man stands, tapping silverware against his crystal glass. Clean cut, clean shaven, well dressed, looking like he just rolled out of a J. Crew catalogue. That formal kind of casual. Everything about this event screams expensive informal.

The invite said casual wear. Jonas is under-dressed. As per usual, with this group. (Apart from Alex, that is. At least, how she dresses around him.)

“Thank you all so much for being here with us this weekend, for such a momentous event in our lives,” the man begins, his teeth too white as he smiles that too straight smile. “Alex and I are so grateful to all of you.”

Bullshit. 

Jonas’s head cocks slightly, chiding himself. That’s not fair. He probably is legitimately grateful. He’d better be.

“Before the ceremony on Sunday, I just wanted to take this opportunity - with a much smaller audience - to say a few words. So… be patient with me, okay, I usually only make speeches with a nice array of visual aides to back me up.” The room laughs politely.

The man (Jason. Jason Flemming.) clears his throat, and his lips have that little quirk that Jonas reads as smug. Which might be unfair. He has to keep reminding himself not to be unfair. Cause Alex loves him. (Maybe.)

Jason pulls out a note card, but only glances at it briefly. "I never knew it could be this way."

His hand is on the back of Alex’s chair. He’s got a watch that probably costs more than half of Jonas’s wardrobe. Jonas watches it carefully, and tries not to see Alex’s adoring look up at her fiancé. Soon to be husband. 48 hours. Less, actually. 

“I can honestly say that I am truly blessed to have Alex by my side,” Jason continues, and his hand slides onto her shoulder, squeezing for a second, even as his eyes watch the rest of the room. It’s something that irritates Jonas just a little bit. That he’d take his eyes off his bride-to-be for even a moment. “I have had the privilege to watch her grow and mature and develop into the woman she is today.”

Jonas’s jaw clenches, and he’s too focused on his breath, on keeping his temper in check, because that’s just—

“If you had told me, the night I met Alex, that years later she’d be my wife, I never would have believed you. I would have looked at her - dancing on a table, I kid you not, the night we met - and said there was no way that she could ever be tamed. Yet here we are, four years later. Alex is wearing white - and you know that’s a feat in and of itself - and my parents are thrilled to call her their daughter in law.”

Tame her. He wants to tame her. Alex isn’t meant to be tamed. Tempered, maybe, but never tamed. Yet that’s what this Jason has done. Slowly, over time, but gradually he’s been sanding away at her rough edges, polishing her up, smoothing her into something pretty to stick on his shelf.

Maybe.

All of this is conjecture on Jonas’s part, of course. It’s not like it’s something Jason has done maliciously. And Alex may have been just as complicit. But it feels wrong.

“Tonight never would have been possible without all of you; our family and friends,” he goes on. “I’m sure my own parents are well aware of our gratitude and - well, mom, I’m sure Alex is thankful for the pearls as well-” Pearls. Alex in pearls. It’s too cookie-cutter country club. Jonas glances to Alex, finally, and she’s looking just a little nervous. A little bit put on the spot, offering a crooked smile to her very blonde soon-to-be mother-in-law. “-but I want to extend my personal thanks to Alex’s family as well.” Jason himself has dark hair, like his dad. Who’s wearing Hugo Boss. To a rehearsal dinner that was labeled casual.

“To Alex’s father, David; thank you. Without you, this never would have been possible.”

Without David’s threat to stop paying Alex’s tuition. Alex had been utterly distraught, and Jonas had been the one comforting her through it, through her security crisis, when she felt like she was just hovering over a precipice of no education and no savings. The ‘compromise’ that had come to pass moved Alex out of their house and into her dad’s. She got Thanksgivings with them, but Christmas was with the new family. Jonas knows she never really felt at home there. It was why she took every break she could to come visit. But it was never the same, not really. They never had what they used to. Not that Jonas didn’t want it.

“To Alex’s stepmother, Anne; thank you, for your kindness and hospitality. You truly are the perfect hostess, and I honestly think my mother envies you.”

Translation: good little housewife. Alex may not have brought it up recently, but that was one of those things she’d mentioned a lot after the move. Feeling like she had to be performing around her new extended family. Like she was constantly being judged, like they were deciding if she was worth the investment. She was terrified, and Jonas was her shoulder to cry on as often as he was her guilty pleasure. Not— not like that. Not since they were teens. But he was the one she could wear sweats around every day, and stay up with til 2 watching horror movies (her choice, not his), and unabashedly eat all the processed foods banned in Anne’s home. He was her pillow and her ride home and the reluctant participant in every instance of acting out that she couldn’t do around her dad. Well, maybe not every instance. He got the inside scoop on some of her wild nights in college as well.

Until Jason. Until fucking Stephanie, and Casey, and Jason. Being brought into the Stepford fold, as he so uncharitably considered it (to himself, never aloud). Their gentle guidance.

It’s not fair— Jonas knows it’s not fair to think of them that way. Alex really does like them. And he’s met them and… well, aside from being kinda… basic, they aren’t too bad. Just sorta boring. Not exactly the type to go breaking into old amusement parks, or climbing around unfinished construction sites, or deciding that 21 was the year to cross bungee jumping off of her bucket list. They were cosmopolitans, she was a shot of jaeger with a coffee chaser. Unorthodox, and an acquired taste that you couldn’t really forget. Also, maybe a little fucked up on the palate. His lips twitch at that thought.

“To Alex’s mother, Grace; thank you. I have never felt such warmth as I do around you and Martin. Martin, as well, you have always made me feel part of the family.”

Jonas’s dad is smiling. He’s too easygoing. And Jason is… unobjectionable, Jonas supposes, grudgingly. Business major. Not a frat boy, but still in a fraternity. He’s generous, at least, and conscientious. Always makes an effort to follow up on things they’ve talked about in the past. He can even dial down the rich-kid thing, when he stays with them in Camena. But that’s kinda the annoying part; that he’s not that bad. Just irritatingly unobjectionable. He’s nice to Alex, he is. He’s patient with her. And he’s soft and affectionate when it matters, but… But Jonas still gets her calls when she’s upset about something. He’s still the one getting called at 3am so she won’t wake up her fiancé with panic from nightmares.

“To Alex’s brothers—”

Jonas tries not to wince. Aside from just the dropping of the step distinction, being compared to Alex’s other stepbrother is… well, insulting. The douche is a workaholic med student, who’s never in a good mood. Who can never resist the chance to throw insults at Jonas over his vocational schooling and lack of a four-year degree. In layman’s terms: Will is an asshole.

“Will; I am thrilled to no longer be the youngest child! Finally, someone to give noogies to, and lecture about— well, nothing, you’re way more educated than I am,” he grins as the room laughs. Will is smirking, and Jonas resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I fully believe that you will be the next top surgeon wherever you decide to take your talents after residency.” Optimistic, assuming the douche is gonna be a half-decent doctor, when Jonas already knows his bedside manner must be horrific.

“Jonas;” Jonas tries to put on a slight smile. It’s easier if he looks at Alex, whose eyes are bright and appreciative and warm when she looks at him. “I really do have to thank you.” Jason sounds sincere. It almost makes Jonas feel guilty. Almost. “From the bottom of my heart. I have no doubt-” Jason breaks off, speaking more casually, speaking to the room at large, with a crooked smile that feels like something he probably picked up from Alex; “-Have you guys met Jonas? Look, when I started dating Alex— he’s an intimidating guy, right?” Jason grins, looking back at him. “I have no doubt that if you ever thought I wasn’t good enough for your baby sister I would’ve been kicked to the curb in a matter of seconds - either literally or figuratively.” Baby sister. Yeah, he’s never thought of her that way. Though the rest of that is… close. There may have been times Jonas grumbled that Alex’s boyfriend wasn’t quite enough of a dick to actually deserve a threatening.

Jason goes on, jokingly. “I always have this sneaking suspicion that Alex only gave me a chance because she misread my name as Jonas instead of Jason.” There’s a tittering of laughter, and Jonas’s eyes flick to Alex, who’s blushing a little, a hand over her eyes as she shakes her head. She’s still smiling, though. It’s cute. “So for that I have to be insanely thankful.” It’s less cute when Jonas spots Jason’s hand rubbing reassuringly at Alex’s shoulder.

“Alex goes to you for everything - I think your name comes up more than the rest of my entire family-” he jibes, teasingly. It’s frustrating that he’s having a good sense of humor about this. When Jonas has always felt a little… guilty. About that. “...and you have been the most supportive stepbrother she could have ever asked for.” Oh. Oh that’s something that makes Jonas’s lips curve up a bit with his own little touch of pride. Because that’s Jason siding with him over Will. Which is kinda nice.

“It’s a little unorthodox to have a Man of Honor, but Alex has always been a little outside the box. And, I’ll admit, I was pretty jealous of you once upon a time.” Again, Jonas looks to Alex, who’s rolling her eyes, but hasn’t taken her eyes off of him. She’s still blushing. It kinda makes his stomach flip a little bit. “But taking the girls to Vegas, that was really taking one for the team, and your patience is utterly commendable— being the cock in the hen do, so to speak.” Jason has that slightly sheepish smirk as a few people - including Alex - giggle a bit at the words.

Right. Vegas. That had been…

Jonas’s brow furrows for just a second as he studies Alex. She’s still bright eyed and glowing. Like a girl in love. Even if he’s… he’s just not sure if she is. Not after Vegas.

“But that’s enough about that,” Jason smiles, gesturing to the room in a sort of apology for going on. “Suffice it to say; I’m thrilled to have not one but two new sets of parents to buy Christmas gifts for, and two new siblings to rib me about all of my bad life decisions. Luckily— I know that this isn’t one of them.” Jason finally looks at Alex. And… yeah, okay. He looks happy too. In love. Which… well. It’s good, probably. At least he’ll care about her.

“So I invite you all to raise a glass. To all of them, and to Alex. For being exactly what I needed.”

[source for AO3]

[scrollingkingfisher]

Shipping it like the Titanic

Sam secretly writes fanfiction between killing monsters and fending off the apocalypse-of-the-day. In heaven, a newly recovered Gabriel discovers smut and decides to try his hand. Because that's all sabriel will ever be for either of them, obviously- a far-off fantasy.

There's no way what they're writing about could ever find its way into their real lives. No way whatsoever.

AO3

Rating: E for Lemon                                                                                                Pairings: Sabriel                                                                                                    Words: too many (10k and growing)

Written for the @gabriel-monthly-challenge and encompassing not one, not two, but three of the prompts! Woohoo! A record for me! 

This is only half of it, because, as usual, the prompt grew out of proportion, so there will me more. It’ll be posted chapter-wise on AO3, because I know me- there’ll be more details I want to add in!

tagging @warlockwriter, @archangelgabriellives, @archangel-with-a-shotgun, @archangelsanonymous, @ttttrickster and @revwinchester!

It started with the play.

Sam had almost forgotten about the Supernatural books- their lives went crazy on such a regular basis that any form of insanity that wasn’t directly threatening their lives tended to be quickly pushed into the background. But it all came back to him in vivid detail as he watched a fifteen-year-old with yellow contacts gleefully daub red paint onto the face of a plastic doll that he was fairly sure was meant to be representing him.

It had been a surreal experience, seeing those schoolgirls play out their various adventures. There was something almost… freeing about it, he realised as he watched the recording again on the way back to the bunker. It really put some of the crazy crap they went through into perspective.

And then Dean had to go and make a big deal out of the… interpretations of the supernatural books. And Sam got curious, okay?

So the next time he had a few hours to himself while Dean was out doing god knew what, Sam got himself a beer from the fridge, sat himself down at the library table, flicked open his laptop and opened a browser tab.

A quick search was more than enough to find what he was looking for. It wasn’t exactly well hidden. The first result in google was the official website for Chuck’s books- it hadn’t aged well. Even back in 2007 when the books were being published Sam would have said it looked outdated. Whoever had designed it obviously wasn’t being paid much. Who ever made official graphics in comic sans? He shook his head, backtracking.

But the link below that led to a rather better curated fan site. Sam narrowed his eyes as he scrolled down. There were the links to the publishers, but also PDFs of the later, unpublished books. There were dates for conventions along with links to get tickets. And at the bottom, there was a series of links to other websites, presumably places to chat with other fans.

He hovered his cursor over the link simply entitled tumblr and clicked.

There was so much. More than Sam had even thought possible for a tiny series of books with a cult following.

He ended spending most of the afternoon falling into the apparently bottomless pit of online fandom. The raft of empty beer bottles at his elbow grew as he roamed his way through the understorey of the internet. He scrolled with fascination through blogs full of pictures edited to look like them, through fan theories of what they were like, and then speculation about things the books didn’t show. Continuations, ‘missing scenes’, and… other things. If Sam never had to accidentally read another poorly-written full-frontal account of Cas and Dean’s fictitious sex life, it would be too soon.

And, well, there were so many things they’d got wrong. Or not quite right. But Sam didn’t feel right about commenting on people’s stories; they didn’t want some randomer coming along and critiquing their characterisation.

So the only way to correct it, he thought with tipsy confidence, was to write it how it had actually happened. He started off small; wrote a few of their more recent hunts, made a blog, and before he could think about it too much, pressed that ‘post’ button.

When he woke up in the morning, he was surprised to find all the notes and comments. Apparently, people liked his writing. A lot.

So he wrote more. And more. Soon Sam was pretty sure he had an addiction. It wasn’t like he had any lack of free time in which to write- Dean was always so stubborn about which of them got to drive, so he had hours and hours of sitting in the passenger seat to fill, and there was only so long he could spend researching.

So his blog quickly grew.

At first, it was strictly real life that he wrote; hunts they’d recently been on, anecdotes, slices of their lives. It helped him to cope, to get all of his thoughts and emotions out of his head and onto paper. But soon, he was branching out into ‘fix it fic’- for him, it was wistful thoughts about possibilities of what could have been if they���d taken different roads. If they’d just managed to save a person here, trusted someone else there. One or two about what might happen if Cas and Dean ever pulled their heads out of their asses.

So he was pretty deep already by the time he stumbled across the Sabriel.

He had just woken up when he found it. He was sitting at the bunker kitchen table, scrolling through his feed over a cup of coffee. Gifset, meta analysis, pictures, art, gif-

Wait.

He got the the end of the post and just stopped scrolling for a second, blinking. Had that art been of him and Gabriel? He scrolled back up.

It was. They were hugging- the artist had got the height difference right, he distantly noted. It was a good likeness even. It was quite chaste compared to a lot of the things that crossed his screen, but there was… something about it. He blinked some more, feeling his forehead scrunch a little as he narrowed his eyes at the screen.

He wasn’t offended by it or anything. Mostly, he was just confused.

Him and Gabriel? Really?

Why?

He and Gabriel had barely known each other. The archangel had hardly talked to him. Even when he had, those words had more often than not been angry. They had started off hunting him after all. And they hadn’t parted mystery spot as friends. Hell, on top of that, Gabriel was dead! Long dead!

Sam clicked on the artist’s profile and scrolled further down, a huff of amused disbelief breaking out of him. The art definitely wasn’t a one-off, and judging from all the reblogs, they were far from the only shipper. No matter what had really happened, these people seemed to think that they had potential.

He sat back, resting his phone down on the table and considering. Huh. What would that even be called? Samiel? Sambriel?

He checked the tags. Sabriel, apparently.

It was impossible. Totally and utterly implausible. Maybe that was what drew him to it. There was no way any of this could work its way into Sam’s real life. He didn’t see any harm in it.

At first it just amused him. But gradually, over time, he found himself starting to seek it out. The ‘incorrect quotes’ made him laugh, either because they were hilariously out of character or (more often than not) hilariously in character. The mood boards made him smile. The art sometimes tugged too-tight at his heart, but it was always amazing. And the fic was something else.

Before he knew it, he was following a whole host of sabriel blogs, reblogging their content to his own. He even made a few friends.

And, gradually? He was starting to see it too. The books had been more revealing about Gabriel than he ever had been in real life. Meta posts pointed out the similarities between their characters, between their stories, and it made Sam realise that they really hadn’t been that different after all. Gabriel had been just as desperate and afraid as he was back then, he’d just had different ways of hiding it. And if the scant number of scenes from Gabriel’s point of view were as accurate as the rest of the books, it certainly looked like he’d had a soft spot for Sam, much as Sam thought he’d never showed it.

Just how many of their interpretations were true? he wondered as he stared at his dimmed computer screen while the streetlamps flashed past on another midnight road. Was there a possibility that, if Gabriel was alive, they could have got along?

He felt a little pang at the thought that they’d never talked at all, really, before he died. Sam felt he knew the archangel better now than he ever had back then. Knowing what he knew now, he wished that he’d at least been friends with him.

In a way, fictional Sam had it better than real him did. The more he read, the more he realised he was craving what his fictional self had; stability, a partner. Someone to come back home to, someone to wrap his arms around at night. It wasn’t like there could ever be any permanent lovers in his real life. He could never keep what he did a secret, or drag someone into this life. And after Eileen, he didn’t have the heart to date anyone within the business. The mortality rate for hunters was just too high.

He looked out the window, shaking his head at himself as they rushed through the night. How sad had his life become? A little voice at the back of his head whispered maliciously. Was he really sitting here daydreaming wistfully about a normal life like some kind of caricature of himself?

Well maybe I am, he retaliated almost angrily. He had few enough permanent good things in his life, and his writing was a lifeline that kept him afloat. It was an escape from the violence and monotony of their lives. It wasn’t hurting anyone. If he wanted to fantasise about having somebody who cared about him, then what the hell, he was gonna do it.

With renewed determination, he opened a new document and started to type.

                                                            ...

So it went on. He wrote when Amara rose. He wrote then their Mom came back from the dead. He wrote to forget his torture at the hands of the British Men of Letters. He wrote when Cas died, when he lost their Mom, when they found Jack, when Cas returned from the Empty. It was his crutch; whenever things got bad, out came a fresh google doc and onto the page it all went. By the time they were trying to get their Mom back from the apocalypse world, his little blog had over two thousand followers all eagerly awaiting his updates.

So obviously, because this was the Winchester’s luck, that was when Gabriel came back to life.

                                                           .o0o.

Gabriel would like it noted down that it was Cas’ fault. For the record.

“Brother. You need to take a break.”

Gabriel looked down at him from heaven’s throne and raised an unimpressed eyebrow. It was a look he’d been perfecting these last few weeks since he’d come back upstairs to reclaim what was left of his birthright and discovered how almost frighteningly easily the other angels fell into line- the first time he’d done it, a cupid had actually keeled over.

Castiel, on the other hand, didn’t back down even half an inch. That seraph had balls of steel. It was one of the things Gabriel liked best about his brother- he had no fear of calling Gabriel out on his bullshit, unlike the rest of the cowardly sycophants up here.

“You have been snapping at the seraphim all week. I believe you need to, as Dean would put it, ‘take a load off’.”

He even crooked his fingers to make the air quotation marks. Adorable.

Gabriel heaved a sigh. “And what do you suggest I do? A zumba class? Go out and commune with nature?”

Castiel was undeterred by his prickly demeanor. “What did you used to do to relax?”

“Mess with dickheads until they died,” Gabriel answered. Cas stared at him blankly, waiting.

“... Make amateur porn?” he suggested.

Cas sighed, rolling his eyes and turning with a swish of trench coat. “Just… go and find something to do, Gabriel. Something productive. Read a book,” he called over his shoulder as he strode out of heaven’s throne room.

Gabriel scoffed to himself, slouching back on the throne to sulk. Read a book? Like literature could hold his attention at the moment. What he needed to do was get outta here and stop wallowing in his own juices!

But if he was being honest with himself (not something he made a habit of), he really didn’t know what he wanted to do once he did manage to get out. He was… aimless. And the longer he sat here with nothing to distract him, the more those memories lurking at the back of his mind dragged their fingernails against his consciousness.

You know what? Maybe he would read that book.

He stood and snapped himself to the nearest bookstore before he had any more time to chew it over. Walking over to the fiction section, he perused along the shelves. Yes, escapism, that was what he needed!

But nothing appealed. Every damn book he picked up seemed to be either a cheap Game of Thrones knock-off or vampire erotica, and he’d already had his fun with Stephanie Meyer.

He was about to snap himself away again in frustration when he paused. There was something poking out of the discount book bin. That cover looked strangely familiar…

He picked it up, smirking at the hunks on the cover, and turned it over to read the blurb. His eyes widened. Holy guacamole. He couldn’t believe it!

He started laughing, uncontrollable whole-body-shaking hoots that quickly turned into constricted wheezing, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. People started backing away from him, but he didn’t care. Oh, this was great! Of all the books that had to catch his eye, it had to be this one. If he didn’t know better, he’d say this was Dad-ordained fate.

He nearly skipped up to the counter, slapping the book down next to the cash register. “Hey, you got any more of these?”

The guy behind it eyed him with concern. “Yeah, should be more if you dig in the bottom of the bin. You like them?”

“Oh yeah,” Gabriel grinned like a slightly manic shark. “I’m a big fan.”

                                                                 ...

“Father above, their lives are depressing.”  

Gabriel tossed the last book off the dais with a sigh, lobbing it neatly through a wormhole. Well, that had helped pass a few hours, at least. But after binging his way through two entire lifetimes’ worth of tragedy and man-tears, he was outta reading material.

What now?

Idly, Gabriel pulled out the phone that Sam had given him the last time he popped down to update them. Installing WiFi in heaven had been the first thing he did when he limped back. His siblings would thank him. Eventually.

He typed ‘supernatural’ into google.

And, wow. His eyes widened. That was a lot of porn. Ah, humanity at their finest- it didn’t matter how angst-soaked the source material was, in his experience, there was always at least one fan who would say, “hmmm this needs more nudity!” And, apparently, this fandom had more than one fan who thought Sam and Dean needed more hanky panky in their lives.

He chuckled, scrolling down the entries. Damn, he liked these people already!

“Bingo.” He clicked on a link.

The site flashed up before his eyes, summaries and ratings in their colourful boxes catching his attention. Now this was more like it! He snapped himself up a big tub of popcorn and dug in.

                                                            …

He was half way through the tag when he started finding the sabriel.

For the first time since he’d started reading four days ago, his finger paused on the touchpad. His grin faded a little.

So they’d noticed that, had they? He’d thought it wasn’t too obvious from the books, but humans were intuitive.

Tentatively, he clicked. He read, getting more and more wound up the further down he got.

He snorted to himself as he reached the bottom of the page. Where was the danger? The drama? The strippers? He didn’t belong in a coffee shop AU! He pressed the back button, scowling. He searched the tag itself, and wasn’t much more impressed. Why was there so much domesticity? He was a maverick! A rolling stone!

Hey, maybe he should start writing? Show them all where they were going wrong? Because somewhere along the line they’d clearly got the completely wrong impression of his character.

And okay, he thought as he set himself up an account, so maybe they’d been right about him nursing a little crush on the younger Winchester from afar. That was fine! Nobody in real life needed to know! He could just bury that one at the bottom of the ocean in a mental curse box with all the other things he deliberately didn’t think about. As far as Gabriel was concerned, he would keep all his feelings right here in his chest, and then one day Sam would die, and that would be the end of it. And Gabriel’s heart would shatter into a million tiny shards and he would never be quite right again.

But whatever! Not like that was gonna spillover into what he wrote or anything. No, this work of creative genius was gonna be one-hundred-percent SEX, as many chapters of raunchy, kinky, personal-fantasy-fulfilling porn as he could get out onto paper. No feelings here. None whatsoever.

So he conjured a laptop, opened up a playlist for inspiration, and started to write.

                                                             .o0o.

The first time that Sam ever really paid any attention to Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets was when he reblogged the call-out post:

Fandoms-forevr: I don’t care what they say, Sam is always the worst character. No matter what else he’s done, the stans can’t deny the facts; he opened a portal to hell. He opened the cage and started the apocalypse. He’s a selfish, manipulative asshole. Tbh if Sam wasn’t in the books, Dean could be retired by now and not be dragged around cleaning up after Sam’s sorry ass. 

Sam apologists, don’t interact.

It had been nearly 3am and most of the way through a bottle of whisky, and Sam had reblogged it as an act of drunken self-flagellation. Then he had flicked his phone off, rolled over, and fallen asleep like a baby seal that had been clubbed over the head with a bottle of Jack Daniels.

He woke up to online carnage.

He thought that the notifications were a hallucination from his raging hangover for a second, but when he blinked they didn’t disappear. His eyes widened as he scrolled down the long list of angry reblogs. Some seemed to be arguing for him, some against him. Who the hell had started all this drama?

He scrolled down to the first reblog.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets reblogged: I’m sorry, but Sam? A ‘selfish, manipulative asshole’? What have you been smoking? Whatever it is, put that blunt down, cos it’s making you delusional.

First off, I know this post is about Sam, but you really think Dean would stop hunting without having to be literally chained to the floor? Puh-lease, that boy isn’t gonna stop moving until he gets hitched to Castiel.

Anyway, back to Sam. You’re wrong. Don’t know how you can’t see that, but here, let me take you to the character optometrist...

And then they went off.

The post kept going, a whole list of passionate arguments. Sam felt a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. He might not agree with their points, but whoever they were, they had style.

Sam had seen people defending him before. He tended to avoid those sorts of posts; it made him uncomfortable for some reason. He knew he didn’t deserve these people’s praise. But for some reason, those usual feelings of guilt and inadequacy weren’t surfacing

The good feelings faded when he opened up his personal messages.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets said: Call yourself a Sam fan? I thought you were meant to be on his side?

Sam frowned at his phone. The reblogs, okay, but personal messaging? Really? His fingers poised over the keys to write an acerbic response, but he restrained himself. He didn’t owe random dickheads on the internet any explanations!

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets… why was that familiar? He’d seen them around once or twice before, he realised; sabriel wasn’t the biggest ship ever, so chances were if someone was on board then Sam would have at least heard of them.

But recently, Gabriel’s real life return had put a bit of a damper on his reading and writing. It was one thing writing yourself into a relationship with someone who was, to all intents and purposes, not real- it was quite another to write yourself sharing a loving embrace with someone who regularly popped in to give you updates on how heaven was doing under new management. He was surprised he could even look Gabriel in the face after some of the things he’d read about them.

That was it! Sam nodded to himself as he realised where he’d seen them before. The kinkmeme. Of course.

He opened up their A03 profile. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing in there less explicit than an E. Half of their fics made Sam blush down to his scalp just by looking at the summaries. There were some… colourful entries in there.

Sam hovered his cursor over the latest fic. With trepidation, he clicked.

“Spank me. It’s the only way I learn.”

Sam waved his cute patootie in the air, already marked with several cherry-red handprints like the naughty boy he was.

“Oh, you’re gonna learn, sweet-cheeks. And you’re gonna enjoy it.”

Gabriel ran his fingers across the array of toys before him, and as he glanced up, a sharp smirk tugging at his lips, he had never looked more dangerous. Dangerous, powerful and sexy. He picked out the biggest dildo, the one as long as Sam’s arm and twice as shiny, and in one swift thrust he rammed it into his tight little-

“Oh my god,” Sam choked, turning the laptop screen away a little. He needed a moment. That was… that wasn’t physically possible. Or at least, not pleasurable at all. It couldn’t be.

Was it?

He glanced back at the text. It was just morbid curiosity, that was all, he told himself. Just morbid... curiosity…

He read the whole thing. And then another one. And another one.

Sam surreptitiously adjusted his pants. Okay, so they could write, he thought to himself. That didn’t make them any less of an asshole. But he did decide to message them back.

Moose-of-Letters- Look, we’ve got different opinions. Could you just stay in your lane and stop bothering me?

It took a surprisingly short length of time before a reply to pop up.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets- I’ll stop bothering you when you aren’t reblogging hate posts

Sam scowled, feeling his temper rise. Who did they think they were, telling him what he could and couldn’t have on his blog? Like their own wasn’t a dumpster fire of discourse posts!

“What you looking at?”

Sam nearly jumped out of his seat, hiding his phone in reflex. Dean was standing behind him, grey robe on, steaming mug of coffee in hand.

“Selkie lore,” Sam grunted defensively.

Dean snorted. “What have selkies ever done to you?” Sam looked up again, frowning in confusion. Dean plonked himself down in the seat opposite, pulling the toast towards himself. “You look like you’re ready to open up a can of whoop-ass. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Sam muttered. “Late night, that’s all.” Dean raised his eyebrows but stayed silent, accepting his answer. Sam angled his phone away from his brother and typed furiously.

Moose-Of-Letters Commented: I’m not going to even bother arguing with you. If we can’t have a conversation like adults, then just fuck off.

He brought up their profile, his finger hovering over the ‘block’ button, but he paused. They were one of his followers.

Maybe… maybe he was being a little harsh. It had been a hate post, and he usually tried to be positive about all the ‘characters’, while he was sober at least- he didn’t normally put up with character hate. He’d been pretty vocal about it in the past. No wonder people had been taken aback, even if this one had dealt with it rudely. Slowly, he took his finger off the button, going back to the chat. How should he phrase this?

Moose-Of-Letters Commented: Look, some of the stuff with Sam is kind of personal for me, it’s a bit too close to home. I’m sorry if I got snappy with you.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets- Oops. Too late for that

What did that mean? As soon as Sam thought that, his feed updated. And there it was, right at the top.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets posted- The great battle for Sam’s dignity begins. Who woulda thought it but Moose-of-Letters is officially the enemy of the people. I declare war!! 

The text was followed by a gif of a pair or armoured knights facing off while brandishing rubber dildos. Already there had been another flurry of reblogs and arguments. Sam rolled his eyes, turning off is phone. Why did he even bother?

                                                              …

Gabriel was scrolling down his feed idly. Honestly, as much as he moaned about ruling heaven, there wasn’t that much to do. The most difficult thing he’d solved this morning was a disagreement between the Virtues as to whether the lesser cherubs should be classified using a tiered system or not. Who cared! It didn’t matter!! After that, the inane squabbles of tumblr discourse looked almost sensible.

Almost.

But then, he did enjoy causing chaos and then sitting back and watching everyone fall over themselves in indignation. That was just funny.

And what was even better were the increasingly frustrated and snarky reblogs he’d been getting from an account he’d decided to target after they reblogged that Dad-awful Sam hate post. They’d totally deserved it. He was amazed they hadn’t blocked him yet, but he was taking advantage of having someone to rile up while it lasted. Their replies had been getting progressively more pointed and it gave Gabriel a vicious sort of satisfaction. He was planning another volley of posts this afternoon, and he had some scorching insults lined up.

He reblogged some excellent fanart of Dean in a pair of pink panties (must remember to leave that somewhere for him to find), skipped over another post about the latest tumblr scandal (someone was making earrings out of human bones!?), but then he paused. He felt a flash of excitement- his nemesis was posting again.

Moose-of-Letters posted: Ugh, it annoys me so much when people try to pass Gabriel off as someone who just has loads of sex and eats candy and does nothing else. Like whatever, you want an outlet for your kinks, but it’s just bad characterisation.

Oh, he knew who this was aimed at. He felt his feathers fluff in annoyance. They were vagueing about him? And for all the things they could go for, they decided to take aim at writing. He quickly batted away a twinge of insecurity. It was his aesthetic! Who were they to judge his style? He could write Gabriel however the hell he liked!

He had a strange moment of dissociation where he realised he’d been thinking of himself in the third person, but he brushed it off. Obviously they thought they were just judging a character, but there was no way he couldn’t take this personally. Gabriel was offended on behalf of his fictional self. He opened up a direct message window again.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets- Look, if you’ve got a problem with my fics, just come into my comments and flame me like a normal person.

It didn’t take long for a reply to come in.

Moose-of-Letters- What makes you think that post’s about your fics? Hmm it’s almost as though you know it’s a flaw in your writing

And then, before Gabriel could do more than gape at his screen in disbelieving insult,

Moose-of-Letters- And it’s not that I don’t enjoy your writing, but I find your characterisation of Gabriel is off. You write him as though he’s just this candy-addicted nymphomaniac when it’s obvious that those things are shields. I was just trying to get people to appreciate that he’s clearly a much more complex character with deeper motivations!

Shields!? Where were they getting this stuff? Gabriel liked sex! He loved sex! All hot people all the time!

Well, the best defence was a good offence.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets: Well if you’re so high and mighty, how would you characterise Gabriel? Sensitive with a side of Single Man Tears?

The jumping dots appeared under his reply. Then they stopped.

Gabriel smirked. Ha! Come back to that, dickweed!

But then the dots were back, the person on the other end obviously typing furiously. Gabriel watched, waiting for the answer to appear. What the hell were they writing, an essay? A novel? An epic?

Moose-of-Letters- Of course not. He’s an archangel, a warrior. But I think that Gabriel cares a lot more than he lets on. He’s got a huge heart, even though he tries his best to hide it because he’s been hurt by people he cares about. And I think that he feels a lot of hurt about his family. I think that’s why he gets so mad at Sam and Dean in TV land, because they remind him of his brothers, but he knows that he can’t yell at them directly so Sam and Dean get the brunt of his anger instead.

Gabriel winced. Not one of his better moments.

Moose-of-Letters- But I think that even more than loving his brothers, Gabriel loves humanity. In the Elysian Fields motel I think it’s clear that he feels guilty that he wasn’t strong enough to protect the humans from the apocalypse, even though that was never his fault. The Winchesters should have never guilted him into it, because every time he tries to help them he ends up dead.

Well, Moose wasn’t wrong.

The worst part was that he did seem to have Gabriel right so far. The guy had him bang on, whoopie for him. It wasn’t even like they were using that knowledge to insult him- they were defending him, even! But there was something painfully vulnerable about somebody laying out his character like that. Something violating. Like ripping off a scab and leaving the stinging, raw emotions underneath open to the elements.

And it made Gabriel angry. Suddenly, he realised that was what this feeling brewing in his chest and prickling behind his eyes was. His blood was boiling; who were these people to Know him? He hadn’t given out any of this information voluntarily!! It had been ripped from his control, the most intimate workings of his mind printed on pulp and handed out for people on the internet to pick over, like vultures at a carcass.  

Suddenly, the books didn’t seem so funny any more. He was starting to realise why the Winchesters had wanted them gone for all these years

Screw his Dad, seriously. A+ parenting all round.

He was about to angrily snap the laptop shut when another message popped up.

Moose-of-Letters- I think all the characters tend to underestimate Gabriel, in different ways, and I think that the writer did too. I just have a lot of admiration for his character because I can relate to a lot of what he’s gone through.

Gabriel deflated. These people didn’t know. They hadn’t got a clue that any of this was real. And this person in particular had obviously seen his character, him, for who he was, but they hadn’t run screaming. They were… defending him?

He stared at the screen, nonplussed. Why?

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets: You really like Gabriel, huh?

Moose-of-Letters: I think it’s impossible to spend all this time getting to know about someone and not care about them.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets: and you think you know him? The real him?

Moose-of-Letters: I’d like to think so. Hey, sorry I came off as an asshole. And I’m sorry if I’ve been an asshole about other things as well. It’s just something I’m really passionate about.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets: That makes two of us.

Gabriel quirked an ironic little smile to himself. Even here, in the underbelly of the internet, people were still reminding him why he’d always defended humanity. Their ability for change and forgiveness was something he wished angels had a hang of. He kept typing.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets: I guess I should apologise for the insults, even if they were super creative. And you’re not a bad writer yourself. My dad was a writer once, and you’re definitely better than him. I’m pretty new to it.

Moose-of-Letters: I’d be happy to give you some pointers if you’ll give me some! your smut is hot as hell ;)

Gabriel laughed, properly this time. Oh, he could already tell this was going to be a very fruitful alliance.

                                                          .o0o.

Goldenhorns posted- There’s nothing weirder than seeing Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets and Moose-of-Letters getting along. It’s like watching God and Satan getting pally.

Vatican-came0s commented: Correction; there’s only one thing weirder than seeing Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets and Moose-of-Letters getting along, and it’s seeing them give each other fic suggestions. How the hell is that even happening!?

Gabes-hoe commented: I have no idea, but they will have the most gorgeous plotty-smutty literature babies together

Guess_who_lost_a_shoe commented: I for one welcome our new fic creating overlords!

Gabriel smirked as he saw the post crop up on his dash. It was definitely more entertaining watching everyone’s sudden confusion at them getting along than it ever had been when he was trying to make them angry.

It was the strangest friendship he’d ever made, and coming from someone who’d spent several centuries as a trickster god, that was saying something.

But he and Moose (as he’d insisted on calling him) had started talking more and more over the last three weeks, and the more they talked, the more Gabriel was realising that they had in common. Seeing his own character through someone else’s eyes was fascinating. And Moose was great once he’d got to know him- they might have different approaches to writing fic, but he was kind, level-headed, and an amazing writer with some awesome ideas. Gabriel was writing more now than he had in months-

“Gabriel, are you even listening?” Cas’ deep voice interrupted his thoughts. Gabriel’s head jerked up to where he was standing in front of the throne.

“Hmm yeah. Uh. What?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You are distracted again, brother. At least pretend to pay attention.”

But it was no use, not when his new favourite commenter popped up in his notifications. Gabriel snatched a glance at his notes between appointments. Oooh, Moose was commenting on his WIPs.

Moose-of-Letters- Love the descriptions! Maybe put a short bridging scene between them meeting in the club and getting to the shibari, though? The transition feels a little abrupt.

Gabriel nodded to himself. Moose was right, it did need another scene in there before it got to the bondage part- he’d do that later. But working on his ever-growing library would have to wait. He turned his phone to silent, stowing it in a pocket. It was almost time for the weekly appointment he looked forward to and dreaded in equal measure; going to visit Sam.

                                                         .o0o.

Sam had spent most of the morning alternating between frantically researching or repeatedly checking his phone, trying to keep himself busy enough with making protective hex bags for the new hunters that he could stay calm and prepare himself for Gabriel's weekly visit. But he still didn’t feel either calm or prepared when the beating of wings filled the kitchen.

Gabriel appeared with a pop in front of him, tugging the collar of that leather jacket he favoured these days back into place. The archangel nodded at him, looking him up and down. “Sam.”

“Gabe.” Internally, Sam winced. Was ‘Gabe’ too informal? It felt too informal. Was it something he’d picked up from everything he’d been reading? He didn’t know any more! Fanfiction wasn't reality, he knew that damnit, but sometimes it just slipped out-

Gabriel, thankfully, didn’t seem to have noticed his internal struggle. He bounced on the balls of his feet, his arms swinging stiffly at his sides as he looked around the kitchen like he felt the awkwardness as keenly as Sam did.

The silence stretched out painfully. Sam had to say something. Anything.

“How are you?” he blurted, at the same time as Gabriel said, “So, wotcha been doing down here?” Sam snapped his mouth shut. Gabriel smirked, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “Ladies first.”

Normally, this would be where Sam would fire back something witty before they got down to business. But some fanart Sam had seen of Gabriel posing in an extremely short skirt and silky, lacy lingerie under it appeared behind his eyes like a goddamn real life pop-up. Sam cleared his throat, shaking it off.

They managed to get through most of Sam’s updates on the new hunters without him embarrassing himself, which Sam thought was a serious achievement. At some point they moved to sit at the kitchen table, Sam with his hands clasped in front of him. Gabriel was fiddling absentmindedly with one of the pieces of string Sam had been using to make the hex bags while Sam talked. “So yeah, we managed to get that demon nest cleared up before they could kill anyone else. I was worried we might have something more powerful on our hands, but it looks like it was just a very charismatic leader. I think he was running for candidacy for the king of hell.”

Gabriel nodded as he listened to Sam intently, twirling the string between his fingers, snapping it tight before letting it go slack again. “Good. As long as everyone downstairs is still distracted, we should be able to get established before they rally.” He glanced up. Was Sam imagining the way that tawny gaze softened when Gabriel looked at him? Was he searching for fondness that wasn’t there? He couldn’t tell any more.

Gabriel sat back with a dramatic sigh. “We’re nearly good to go up there, the souls and heavens are finally stable but I’m still trying to find another angel apart from Cassie with more personality than a banana skin…”

Sam found his attention trailing off, Gabriel’s hands holding his gaze, those clever fingers twisting and pulling at the string. A scene flashed past his eyes from Trickster’s latest fic that he’d read just that morning-

Gabriel gave one last tug on the ropes, pulling them tight. He looked down in satisfaction at the intricate series of loops holding his lover exactly where he wanted him- bent over the bed, legs slightly spread, back arched beautifully. An entire smorgasbord of skin, all laid out for him to enjoy.

Sam whined behind his gag. Gabriel could see him testing the knots, flexing his arms where they were tied behind his back, but he knew they would hold. Those tanned muscular thighs, gleaming with sweat, were straining against the ropes, but he was rocking against the silk sheets in a way that made it very clear he was still helplessly turned on.

Gabriel rested one hand against his back, stilling him. Slowly, he soothed the hand  upwards, and Sam melted at the contact. Finally he relaxed into the ropes’ embrace. The sight of Sam so willingly submitting himself to Gabriel’s complete control fanned the hunger burning in his gut flare into a roar-

“Sam? Hey, gigantor! Anybody home?”

Sam jerked, his eyes flashing guiltily to Gabriel’s. Gabriel raised a questioning eyebrow. Sam, to his mortification, felt himself flush scarlet. Gabriel’s eyebrow nearly disappeared into his hair.

Damn it, Sam, get it together! “Just… uh…” Sam cleared his throat. “Just thinking about demons. Uuuh, about going back to look for any we missed. Just in case. And we’re going to hunt wha I’m pretty sure is a chupacabra later, so… yeah. That as well.”

“Okay,” Gabriel still looked dubious. “Aaanyway, I gotta be getting back. The cherubs get jittery without someone telling them what to do every second of every day. But I should be back same time next week. What day is it again?”

Sam felt a lead weight form in his gut. He had to know, didn’t he? But time ran differently in heaven.

“It’s… it’s a Tuesday.” He couldn’t help the way his voice stuttered on that last word. Even after all these years, Dean still had to change the station whenever Asia came on the radio.

Sam saw Gabriel’s eyes widen. He froze awkwardly, his usual confident smirk slipping. Sam had no doubt that they were both thinking of the same thing- the six months that Sam had spent trapped in that time loop. The silence thickened.

Gabriel opened his mouth as though he was going to say something, grimaced, and Sam waited, his breath catching for a drawn-out second. Were they finally going to talk about this?

Then Gabriel closed it again in a huff. Sam tried not to show his slump of disappointment.

“So, same time next week?”

“Yeah, see you-” there was a flurry of flapping and Gabriel disappeared, “-next week,” Sam sighed.

He rubbed his face tiredly with one hand. Well, that could have gone better. Time to drown his sorrows in fanfiction.

                                                              .o0o.

Gabriel was in too deep, and he knew it.

He scowled at his latest WIP. He’d retreated to his favourite spot in the Garden and pulled up the kinkmeme prompt as soon as he got back from his little trip earth-side in the hopes that it would drive any residual anxiety out of his brain. No luck there. This was supposed to be porn, dad-damn it!  So why were they still talking? Why were they having a meaningful conversation instead of getting down and dirty? Where the hell had all these feelings come from?

He leaned back against the trunk of the nearest tree, staring out moodily across the sunlit clearing and the vast forest beyond. The problem, he grumped to himself, was what had happened that afternoon. He had put his foot in his mouth, again. Which wasn’t an unusual occurrence. There weren’t that many safe topics outside of work when it came to Sam.

And he had wanted to talk to Sam about Mystery Spot this time, he had! He wanted to move past this. He’d tried to get the words out. But as usual, he’d frozen, and his cowardice had won out. And then he’d run away. What the hell had he been thinking!?

Sam was his friend. Probably his last friend outside of heaven (well, apart from Moose). Sam had seen him at his lowest, cleaned him up and taken out those damn stitches, brought him back from being locked within his own mind, hell, even jumped in front of him to deflect Michael’s blade during that last desperate battle in the apocalypse world. Gabriel had hurt him and he wanted to fix it, but he just couldn’t get the words out.

A gentle breeze stirred around him. He took a deep breath of the sweet air, looking out into the once-busy emptiness of heaven.

Well, if he couldn’t apologise to Sam, at least fictional him could. Maybe it was time to take a leaf out of Moose’s book.

                                                         .o0o.

Sam bolted up the stairs, flinging himself into the nearest room and looking around wildly. Unfortunately it looked like it was a dead end- the window of the deserted shack was too small to squeeze through. Should he go and try another room?

But he was too late. The sound of the chupacabra they were hunting climbing it’s way up the stairs reached him. Shit! He’d have to hide.

Sam looked around, spotting a cupboard in the corner. He grimaced, climbing in. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. Silently, he pulled the doors shut behind himself.

The creature reached the top of the stairs. There was a muted clicking of claws on wood. The overloaded groan of a floorboard.

The chupacabra stopped. It sniffed the air. Through the tiny gap between the doors, Sam could see its forked tongue flickering out to taste the air, bulging eyes peering around the room. Sam held his breath and hoped that its hearing wasn’t sharp enough to pick up his heart thumping against his ribs.

It hitched in a breath, and sneezed violently. Sam flinched. His grip on his machete was so tight that he was sure his knuckles were turning white. It snorted, shaking itself with a rattle of spines.

With another grunt, it turned to leave. Sam dared to take the thinnest breath. His muscles relaxed just slightly.

PING!

The monster whirled. It’s lamplight eyes pinpointed the cupboard. Sam felt his phone vibrate in his pocket with the notification and had a moment to screw his eyes shut. Fuck! Why hadn’t he turned it off when they started!?

Luckily, at that moment, Dean’s war cry split the air. Sam leapt from the cupboard, machete already swinging. He could berate himself later. Right now, he had bigger fish to fry.

                                                             …

“Was the flamethrower really necessary?”

Dean looked back in satisfaction at the smoking remains of the shack. “The flamethrower is always necessary.”

Sam rolled his eyes, sliding into the front seat. He hoped he got soot on the upholstery.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he was relieved to see that it didn’t appear to have been damaged in the fight. The screen was still whole. He powered it on, and there it was, the notification that had nearly got him killed.

Archive Of Our Own

[AO3] Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets just posted a new work :)

Sam groaned. Fanfiction was literally going to be the death of him.

                                                        .o0o.

Moose-of-Letters commented: Hey, I like the new fic, it’s different from your usual. Sorry I didn’t comment earlier, I was a bit distracted.

Gabriel smiled as he opened his email. His new favourite commenter had picked up on it, because of course they had.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets: Yeah, guess this fic is your influence ;)

It had stuck with him, that conversation with Sam. Or rather, the parts of it that hadn’t happened. He’d been thinking about it, really thinking about it, in the times between his heavenly appointments.

Re-reading the book featuring Mystery Spot from Sam’s point of view had been quite an eye-opener. He’d been so focused, the first time, on getting Sam to stop that he hadn’t truly realised what he was doing to him in his desperation. It had made him wonder- what would he do, if he could go back and change it all? Knowing what he did now, would he have been able to make a difference? He thought he might.

And if he were to talk to Sam about it now, what could he ever say to apologise to Sam for what he’d done to him?

A lot of that had made it onto the page. It was heavier than what he usually wrote, but somehow Gabriel felt lighter for it.

Moose-of-Letters: About the Mystery Spot, do you really think that Gabriel was doing any of that for Sam?

Gabriel sighed. He should have known that Moose would want to talk characterisation. What should he say?

Well, there was nothing stopping him from telling the truth.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets: I think he was doing that all for Sam. Gabriel was just trying to prepare Sam for Dean’s inevitable death- he knew the apocalypse was about to go down, remember? He knew what was coming, and he was trying to avert it.

Gabriel bit his lip, his fingers pausing over the keyboard. Was he really gonna pour his heart out to random strangers on the internet? Really?

But now he started, he just couldn’t seem to stop his fingers. And anyway, Moose wasn’t really a stranger at this point.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets: Gabriel couldn’t go to Sam directly because he’s got a soft spot for him. He likes him. He doesn’t like seeing humans get hurt who don’t deserve it, and the fact that his brothers are gonna cause so much destruction and he can’t do a thing to stop it is breaking his heart. That bit at the end where he gives in? He just couldn’t do it anymore, Sam out-stubborns him. He knows he wouldn’t be able to stand to see Sam hurting, and in the end? That’s why he failed. His love for humans is his weakness, the way he cares for Sam in particular.

There. It was out.

Gabriel pushed his laptop away, closing his eyes and resting his face in his hands. He needed a moment.

                                                        .o0o.

Sam sat back. Huh.

He honestly hadn’t expected Trickster’s first foray into more serious fics to be much good. Not because he couldn’t write- obviously he could, his work had been featuring heavily in Sam’s spank bank (as Dean would call it) for months now. Heavy-hitting just wasn’t his speciality, that was all.

But he had written it. And it was good.

It was emotional, and raw, and almost painfully in-character. Gabriel’s confession, his betrayal and his grief and anger and guilt were all so real that Sam wondered if Trickster had gone through something similar in his own life. He hadn’t been able to resist asking what Trickster thought Gabriel’s motivations were. He wished he could be as sure as Trickster was that Mystery Spot had been about Gabriel trying to save him. And he secretly doubted that Gabriel had given up his attempt because he cared for him. Not in real life.

But he could let himself live this fantasy for just a little longer, couldn’t he? He felt a pang in his heart that he was never going to have this conversation with Gabriel himself. This was probably as close as he was ever gonna get.  

Slowly, Sam started typing.

Moose-of-Letters- Well, I think you’re right about Sam being stubborn. But it wasn’t Gabriel’s fault that Sam didn’t learn that lesson- I don’t think he ever would have. He was in too deep to ever realise what Gabriel was trying to say.

Sam hesitated, biting his lip. He started typing again.

Moose-of-Letters- I think they would both have been a lot happier if Gabriel had been able to get through to him. I wish it had gone like your fic in canon.

Angel_In_the_Streets_Trickster_In_the_Sheets: You and me both, Moose.

Sam smiled sadly. If only.

Moose-of-Letters- I’m not sure you’re right about Gabriel’s mercy being his weakness though. His love for humanity is what makes him different from his brothers. It’s what makes him human- it’s the thing that really drew me to his character in the first place. His love for humans might put him in the firing line, but I think it’s one of his greatest strengths as well. And I think his incredible empathy is one of the reasons why Sam would love him, as well as everything else they have in common. When it comes down to it, he’s ready to lay down everything for humanity too. They’re really kindred spirits.

Moose-of-Letters- Maybe if you’re trying angst I should give smut a go :P

And really, everything went downhill from there.

Part 2, coming soon!

[nephelite]

Station 19 Theme Week - Day One

Seeing You (2044 words)

Chapters: 1/7

Fandom: Station 19 (TV)

Rating: General

Characters: Victoria Hughes, Lucas Ripley

Station 19 Theme Week: Day 1: Heat, Oxygen, Fuel, Chemical Chain Reaction (Pre-Canon/Pre-Relationships)

Chapter 1 - Seeing You

It was her last day on sick leave and she was at the hospital for one final check up before she could return to work. She cursed the roof she fell through that left her with bruised ribs and with 5 weeks of staying at home practically not allowed to do anything. It was driving her insane and she was getting restless but she got a clean bill of health by Dr. Bailey and could return to work tomorrow and she couldn’t wait to get back and feel useful again.

She was about to leave the hospital when she heard a familiar voice. She knew she had heard it before but she couldn’t place it and curiosity got the best of her so she followed the voice. It led her into the Children’s cancer wing and there, sitting on a stool, was no other than Chief Ripley reading a fairy tale to sick children, doing voices and all that stuff and it surprises Vic. She had never pegged the Chief to be good with kids but then again she didn’t really know him. She had only met him a handful of times and she was yelling at him most of those time but it was not like he didn’t deserve it.

She just stands there and observes and the kids look excited and happy despite being sick and stuck in a hospital and Vic feels guilty for being so annoyed about having to stay at home for 5 weeks when those kids are probably never gonna leave this hospital.

The Chief finishes the story and the kids are cheering and everyone is talking at once asking “Uncle Luke” to read them another story when a little girl lifts her hand to ask him something.

“Yes, Maddie?” Ripley asks, his tone soft.

“I wanna be a firefighter when I grow up just like you, Uncle Lucas.” she says and Vic’s heart breaks for the little girl who looks quite sick and probably won’t get the chance to grow up.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a little boy telling Maddie that girls can’t be firefighters and she is about to say something but the Chief beats her to it.

“That’s not true, Timi. Girls can be anything they want to be including firefighters.” Vic smiles at that. The Chief may have just earned himself some plus points. “In fact, we have a real female firefighter here with us right now.” he announces proudly and the kids are oohing and aahing and follow the Chief’s gaze as their turn around and stare at Vic and she realizes that he is talking about her and it’s too late for her to back out of this and she curses her curiosity that got her into this situation right now.

Plus points deducted she thinks to herself.

“You are a real firefighter?” Maddie asks with big eyes and a smile that shows off adorable dimples and Vic is powerless. She can’t deny those kids so she walks into the room and sits on the empty chair next to the Chief. She realizes how close they are sitting together. Their legs are touching but he doesn’t makes an attempt to move away from her so she focuses on the kids in front of her.

“Yeah, I am. And Chief Ripley is right. You can be anything you want. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Vic stares at Timi who looks a bit ashamed for what he said earlier.

“I’m really sorry, Maddie.” he apologizes and the girl accepts.

“You know, you are really pretty.” another girls says and Vic can feel her heart melt.

“Thank you, sweetheart. You are very pretty too.” and the little girls is beaming at her.

“Don’t you think that she is really pretty, Uncle Lucas? She looks like an angel.” Maddie says and the Chief stutters and doesn’t know what to say and Vic feels like she wants to sink into the ground. Leave it to kids to make any situation between adults awkward with their questions.

“Sure, she is very pretty but she is no angel.” and Vic glares at him which he chooses to ignore. “You see, she loves to yell at me.” he explains.

Maddie’s eyes go wide at that.

“You yelled at him? But he is the Chief, doesn’t that make him your boss?” she asks curiously.

“Yes, he is my boss but that doesn’t mean that he is always right.” Ripley gives her a disapproving look and this time she chooses to ignore him.

“Also, in my defense, he deserved it and he yelled back at me so we are even.” and she knows is pretty immature but she sticks her tongue out at him and Ripley can’t help but chuckle at how childish she is in that moment.

They hear the kids snicker and turn around to look at them.

“Are you two married?” one of the kids asks innocently and Vic can feel her cheeks burning while Ripley almost chokes on his own spit.

“Why would you ask that?” he wonders.

“You two act like my parents and they are married and in love.” the kid explains with a shrug like it’s the most natural thing.

“No, we are not married or in love.” Ripley explains, his cheeks still flushed.

“But why not, uncle Lucas. You said that she is pretty and you two act like a couple already.” Maddie says.

“I think you should buy her ice scream to make up for yelling at her.” one of the boys tells him and Vic chuckles.

“I will keep that in mind.” Ripley replies.

I can’t believe I’m being set up by a bunch of 8 year olds Vic thinks.

“Aunty Vicky?” that gets Vics attention. “Can I call you Aunty Vicky?” Maddie asks and Vic just nods her head.

“Can you sing us a song?” and all the kids are nodding and look excited and Vic can’t bring herself to say no to them.

“Okay. Anything in particular you want to hear?” she asks them.

“That song from Moana, please.” the youngest girl requests and Vic waves her over to come sit in her lap and she does.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Vic asks.

“Keisha.”

“That’s a really pretty name for a really pretty girl.” Keisha smile shyly at her and buries her face in Vic’s chest.

“I think I will need your help. Do you know the words to the song?” the girl looks up at Vic and nods.

“Okay perfect. Wanna sing along with me?” the girl stills nods.

So Vic and Keisha start singing.

I've been staring at the edge of the water

'Long as I can remember, never really knowing why

I wish I could be the perfect daughter

But I come back to the water, no matter how hard I try

Vic encourages the other kids to sing along with them and then turns to the Chief who looks quite stunned and is staring at her and it makes Vic blush. She tells him to sing along with them, so he does.

Every turn I take, every trail I track

Every path I make, every road leads back

To the place I know, where I can not go, where I long to be

See the line where the sky meets the sea? It calls me

And no one knows, how far it goes

If the wind in my sail on the sea stays behind me

One day I'll know, if I go there's just no telling how far I'll go

I know everybody on this island, seems so happy on this island

Everything is by design

By now all the kids are singing and laughing and Vic and the Chief take turns dancing with them.

I know everybody on this island has a role on this island

So maybe I can roll with mine

I can lead with pride, I can make us strong

I'll be satisfied if I play along

But the voice inside sings a different song

What is wrong with me?

See the light as it shines on the sea? It's blinding

But no one knows, how deep it goes

And it seems like it's calling out to me, so come find me

And let me know, what's beyond that line, will I cross that line?

The line where the sky meets the sea? It calls me

And no one knows, how far it goes

If the wind in my sail on the sea stays behind me

One day I'll know, how far I'll go

When the song is over they have attracted several nurses who are watching them with big smiles on their faces.

Keisha walks over to the Chief and is pulling on his sleeve to pick her up, so he does.

“You were wrong, Aunty Vicky is an angel.” she beams at him and Ripley grins at the little girl before whispering into her ear still loud enough for Vic to hear.

“I think you are right.” and Keisha giggles and Vic is blushing.

“Okay, kids. It’s time for your naps. Say goodbye to the Chief and his friend. You will see them again next week.” one of the nurses says.

“Is that true, Aunty Vicky? You will be back with Uncle Lucas, next week?” Maddie looks so excited.

“If my schedule allows it, then yes.” Vic tells her.

“Uncle Lucas is the boss, so I’m sure he can make it happen.” Maddie winks at her before leaving the room.

They help tidy up the room.

“You know you don’t have to come next week if you don’t want to.” the Chief tells her while picking up some toys.

“I know but I want to. I just have to talk to Captain Sullivan.”

“Don’t worry about him. I will take care of it.” he smiles at her.

“Thank you. I had no idea that you are doing this every week. That’s very admirable.”

“There is a lot of things that you don’t know about me.” and Vic knows this is about the yelling.

“Look, I’m really sorry for what I said during the skyscraper incident. That was unfair of me.” she apologizes.

“I appreciate that, Hughes. I know where you were coming from.” he admits.

“Yeah, I didn’t understand the same for you. Truce?” she holds out her hand and they shake on it.

“What made you do this in the first place?” she wonders.

“Maddie, she is -- she is my niece. She has leukemia.” he hangs his head.

“I’m really sorry, sir. That must be really hard on your family.” she puts a hand on his shoulder for comfort and he lets her, gives her a shy smile before squeezing her hand back.

“That explains why she was so insistent on you being the boss.” Ripley chuckles.

“You caught that?!.” it’s more of a statement than a question and Vic nods her head.

“What were you doing at the hospital, anyways?” he wonders.

“Oh, I just had my check up so I can return to work again.”

“Oh right, I almost forgot. How are your ribs? Fit to go back to work?” he inquires and she nods.

“That’s good.” he says as they exit the hospital and it’s quite chilly outside. She hadn’t bothered to bring a jacket because it was so warm before.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.” he tells her as he drapes his jacket over her shoulders, making her jump a little.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. You looked like you needed it more than me.”

“Thanks.” she says as she slips into the jacket.

They walk to his car. He, ever the gentlemen, opens the door for her and she gives him directions to her place. They drive in comfortable silence with only the radio playing in the background. When he stops in front of her building, she takes off his jacket and hands it back to him.

“Thank you for the ride home, sir.”

“You’re welcome, Hughes. I’ll see you next week.” he confirms and smiles. She nods and smiles back.

“Have a great rest of your night, Chief.” she says before leaving his car and walking into her building, thinking what an interesting day it has been.

[darkhymns-fic]

The meaning of passive-aggression

Yuna only wanted a bit of fun with Aegis after an exciting conversation she had with Vicious - or so she said.

But Aegis had never been good at detecting lies.

Fandom: Tales of Crestoria Characters/Pairing: Aegis Alver/Yuna Azetta, Vicious Rating: T Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Based on that one skit about tying up Aegis. You know the one.

--

There was nothing more suspicious than seeing two troublemakers huddled in a shadowy corner of the inn’s main room, going into fits of giggling, their grins stretching from ear to ear. Like children reveling in their latest crime of stealing the last chocolate cake slice, or thieves that prided themselves on their petty crime of snatching a few gald from an old lady that passed by.

It only got more obnoxious when they wouldn’t leave said corner for around ten minutes.

“Are you two ill?” Aegis asked of the pair, going to them. “The innkeeper here keeps giving us looks because of…whatever this is. Have you forgotten that we’re supposed to be undercover?”

Yuna was covering her mouth with just her fingertips, barely hiding away the smile. She seemed absolutely tickled about something and whenever Aegis saw such an expression on her face, he knew it had to be bad news. Maybe he should check his pack later, and see if she hadn’t put something incriminating in it like last time…

“Oh Aegrouch, don’t be jealous now. We are just ‘avin a, how do you say… a little bit of girl talk!”

“…You don’t say.” Aegis narrowed his eyes at the slouched form of a certain Great Transgressor. His grin matched that of Yuna’s, even as he had to bend down his long legs to whisper effectively with Yuna just before. “Yeah, learn to mind your own business, knighty boy!”

To that, Aegis just rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Kanata and Misella have already gone to their rooms, so I’ll just be going to mine. Have fun looking as suspicious as possible then.”

“Heh, you know it!” Vicious flashed another sharp-tooted grin at the ex-knight, and once again, Aegis had no idea what to make of this man, except that he was most likely deranged in the head. He tried to ignore the strange flutter in his chest. It had just been a very long day.

“If you are so curious, per’aps you would like to join in on our little discussion.” Yuna winked as she spoke, her voice like liquid that probably would have melted any other soul if Aegis’ will wasn’t made of steel, as he knew it was.

“Going from experience, I’m quite sure that the less I know, the better. So, goodnight.”

Aegis wasn’t going to linger, especially in this ramshackle lobby of the inn, which strangely looked like every other inn lobby they had been visiting for the past few weeks. But true to his word, he didn’t stay, walking up the stairs, remembering to feed little Meakyu before going to sleep for the night.

He only barely noticed the mischievous tinge to both Yuna and Vicious’ grins as he turned away, but to be fair, that wasn’t exactly out of the norm. This only emboldened him to check his vest pockets in the morning and get rid of any tufts of grass stuffed inside. The joke was certainly getting old.

--

“Hey, I told ya I’d kill to see you try that, right?”

“Must everything be so violent with you? Maybe Aegrouch is right, you truly are a barbarian…”

Aegis thought he was dreaming it up. Not exactly the first time he had nightmares about the very people he was traveling with after all! Perhaps it was just Vicious finally coming upstairs to get to bed, even though he couldn’t recall ever actually seeing the man sleep. And still, why was he hearing Yuna at all…?

Bleary-eyed, and a bit grumpy, (trying to feed Meakyu had taken the better part of an hour as the small creature kept avoiding him in fear…) Aegis finally sat up, groaning in annoyance. “I’ve barely slept for more than an hour. Can you two please-?”

Then he felt himself pulled back, the back of his skull smacking roughly against the headboard of the bed.

Hearing Vicious’ voice again made him think that he was definitely stuck in some sort of nightmare.

“Huh, didn’t actually mean to do that. These thread things are temperamental.”

“You would blame them for your oafishness?” A sharp tsk of the tongue. “Mon amie, you are much too violent.”

“I didn’t think he’d get up that quickly! It’s his fault!”

Aegis was sleepy, a tad bit famished, (Meakyu also ate his food) and now his head was aching after being so roughly pulled by…something!

He tried to move his arms, then found that he couldn’t. Not at all!?

They were pressed to his sides, due to the binding around him, the material much stronger than it seemed at first glance. It looked like thread that had been dipped in red paint, but as he struggled, he could feel it nearly bite into him from their tension. “Gah! W-w-what is this?!”

And only then did he finally turn to his left, seeing both Yuna and Vicious standing by his bedside. In Yuna’s right hand, he could see her kunai held deftly by her fingers. The red string dangled from the very end of the weapons.

Wait, her kunai? That meant-

“You’re using your blood sin on me? Are you insane?!” And oh, he wished his voice hadn’t cracked just then.

She coyly tapped the kunai’s sharp tip against her lips, concern in her eyes. “Oui, juzt a little experiment. But you are not being a very promising subject for it…”

“I told you, I could have just knocked him out like that!” Vicious clenched one hand and slammed it into the open palm of another. The motion of it somehow made Aegis get pulled forward, smacking his nose straight into Vicious’ arm – and only now did he notice the Great Transgressor held one end of that curious red string material too, complete with Yuna’s very weapon. “You never let me try out my ideas!”

“Oui, because if I let you, you would just give this poor boy a concussion. That iz not what we want.”

“You sure about that?”

“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?!” Aegis once again tried to wriggle his way out of the strings, but to no avail at all. He was shivering, the blankets he had tucked around himself now in a messy pile at the foot of his bed. Though his legs were free, he was still half-submerged in fatigue to do much of anything else with them except shift them around. And to think he had slept through…through whatever they had been doing to him!

“Just what is this? Is…is this a hostage situation?” He grew quiet, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are…are you traitors!?”

Yuna smiled and nodded. “Zat is true. There iz big money on your head!”

“Yeah! What she said.” Vicious pointed a thumb at her, trying so hard to hold back laughter that he nearly doubled over. “Gonna get a lifetime booze supply out of ya!”

“…You are just both making fun of me again, aren’t you?”

Yuna nodded once more. “I would think you would see through my lies by now, Aegrouch.”

Aegis very, very deeply frowned, but that was literally all he was capable of doing right now. Dressed in his underclothes, which consisted of just a threadbare shirt and his loose boxers (knight-certified, of course), he felt all sorts of vulnerable, especially when underneath the leering gazes of a lying journalist and raucous criminal that still never learned how to wear a shirt himself. If this had been a few weeks earlier, Aegis would have felt completely mortified. Currently, he was just very tired.

He sighed. “I would prefer it if you didn’t rope me into your strange games… Stop that!”

He could already see Vicious laughing, pulling at the ‘rope’ that was bound so very tightly around Aegis’ arms and torso. “Aw, come on! I didn’t make you say it.”

“That’s not the issue, also you are cutting off the circulation to my shoulder!”

“Circu-what now?”

“Az I said before,” Yuna interrupted before the two could get lost in their own arguments. “Vicious and I just wanted to try a little experiment with you. We were having a bet, you zee. Knights like you are so stiff, a bit of a bore…”

“I am not boring!” Aegis couldn’t help but feel a bit defensive.

“I’m not done, but yes, such a bore! Vicious here thought you would be impossible to loosen up, but me… I have much more faith in you.” She winked, leaning forward, the hem of her robe reaching to the wooden floorboards. It also gave him more of a view than he was comfortable with.

“And how exactly does tying me up make me less boring?”

“Ah Agerouch, hav you never heard the term about opposites attracting? It’s not just to do with people…” She straightened again, and held up her kunai where the ring of it looped that curious red string. “But you woke up before we were complete with it… I had many kinbaku patterns I wanted to try on you.”

Aegis had to pause on that, just for a moment. He had to sift through numerous ledgers in his brain to finally settle on the very meaning of that word.

“I’m sorry, did you just say-” he started, only for Vicious to groan in frustration, interrupting him completely.

“Ugh, stop it with your damn French junk! I already said we should tie back his arms and see how far they go before they pop. Can’t get less boring than that!”

Aegis stared open-mouthed, while Yuna merely shook her head like a scolding teacher. “Non, that would be very bad now, wouldn’t it? Not everyone grows back their arms such az you.”

“Well, maybe if he tried!” Vicious then cackled wickedly, hopping onto Aegis’ bed while still wearing his shoes, still dragging the dirt from the 10-mile trek today. (No!!) “Also! I said first thing we should wrap this junk around his throat, then he’d be knocked out like a light! I know this stuff!”

“That would- that would literally kill me!” Aegis shouted. They must have made a racket by this point, so how had no one come by to his room already? He knew Misella didn’t care but he had at least hoped for Kanata…

“I must agree with Aegrouch. It would very likely kill him.” She clasped her hands together, placing her cheek over them, all while still holding one of the kunais with no fear to their sharpness. “And it would be truly terrible, it would!”

“I cannot tell if you are being sarcastic or not,” Aegis said, in half-defeat. “I do not think I want to know the true answer.”

With Vicious practically standing over him, grinning that terribly sharp grin of his, (and why did he have too stand that way? So much so that his marked abdomen was too close for comfort…at least Aegisthought) there was not much Aegis could do when he was essentially being tied up like a cooked turkey. And he didn’t appreciate the way Vicious seemed like he was about to salivate on him at any given moment. He didn’t handle the kunai he held with any grace like Yuna, looking dangerously close to dropping it straight on Aegis’ head at any second.

“Hm, we could try tying up his tongue!” Vicious helpfully suggested, looking particularly excited on that idea. “Especially if he’s gonna whine so much.”

At that, Yuna motioned with her right hand. Aegis only saw the red string wrapped around her ring finger before the shape of the kunai flew across his face. The weapon sang through the air, the tip nearly grazing his cheek before she caught it and quickly hid it in her overflowing sleeve.

“Hey!” Vicious shouted, and though he was addressing it to Yuna, he was closest to Aegis. So it sounded like he was screaming just exactly into his ear instead. “I was using that dumb thing.”

“Je suis désolé, Vicious. But, clearly, this is too much for you. Kinbaku is not the same as going, as you say, full guns blazing? It requires much more thinking then per’aps you are used to.”

“Ughhh, this is sounding less fun by the minute. I think you tricked me!”

“Does no one care how I feel about this?” Aegis asked, then closed his eyes. “No, of course not. Or I would not be here in the first place.”

Vicious placed a bent arm atop on Aegis’ head, leaning on him as he sighed so very deeply. “I care about you shutting up right now.”

“Duly noted.”

“I could very well go with my first plan, Vicious, and tie you and Aegis together instead.” She smiled, though the leer in her eyes was much more obvious now. “A bit of jealousy that you are not getting the same experience?”

“Hey, told you I ain’t care about what a ham feels like!” Aegis had to think about that turn of phrase, even as Vicious continued. “You and Kanata are way too obsessed about tying me up here.”

“Wh-What does Kanata have to do with this?” Was this his idea? And he had thought the young man to at least have some integrity.

Yuna shrugged. “Now it’s getting to be less fun. And usually we work together so very well.”

Vicious finally stepped off the bed, (while leaving dirty footprints behind!) hands folded behind his head. “Alright. Then I’m out. Gotta say, this just ain’t as exciting as I was hoping for it to be.”

Oh… Were they already going to be done humiliating him like this? Was it truly over? Aegis couldn’t begin to believe his luck.

“Oh Vicious, after all we been through?” Yuna was overdramatic in her disappointment, her hand placed on her forehead in mock despair, her body looking ready to sway right to the ground. Had she been takin acting lessons as well from Penelope? “We were two peas in a pod, and yet you abandon me…”

Vicious waved her off, stepping around her form with all the stealth of a hidden snake in the grass. “Maybe I need to be more drunk for this to be fun… So I’m going downstairs to do just that. Also I expected knighty here to scream a bit more. But all he does is bitch and moan.”

“You are incredibly awful,” Aegis intoned.

“And? What’s your point?”

Yuna moved from her ‘despaired woman’ position to resume her natural stance, looking suddenly so chipper again as she waved at the Great Transgressor. “Please be sure to drink yourself to death again!”

“No promises!”

Again?? But Aegis tried to show himself mercy by not thinking too hard on that.

Vicious shut the door then, and Aegis could only imagine he would go to the kitchen, terrorize the bartender for a little bit before stealing the alcohol from the kegs. His sole hope was that the proprietor would be too terrified later to make them pay for the expenses…

And yet Yuna hadn’t moved. In fact, she just continued standing by Aegis’ bed, smiling so pleasantly.

“Um.” Aegis shifted. Though his legs were still free, the red string continued to bite into his shirt, which was very uncomfortable. “Are we not done with this, or….?”

Ah, first mistake. He shouldn’t have made it a question.

Yuna continued to smile, but her eyes held something else in their depts, and she did so while holding up one kunai. The energy from that blood sin was similar to his own, and he could feel it heat up the air between them. “Aegrouch, but I haven’t even begun to have my fun yet.”

“You and I most likely have very different definitions of that word.”

Yuna stuck out her tongue at him then, showing off her pattern of guilt for the ex-knight to see. “Oui, your idea of fun is making up a grocery list for our next shopping trip, non?”

“You know how important it is that we have supplies! How many times must I explain this to all of you?” He paused. “Also, making lists just happen to be very meditative for me.”

Yuna nodded, but did so as if she would fall asleep at any moment. “See, now zis is why I wanted to do this! Per’aps I could instill a different level of fun for you? It will be for sure to get ‘ze blood pumping as you say!”

“I don’t like the mention of blood here…”

Yuna didn’t listen to his concerns. She held up both weapons suddenly, and the strings unraveled from his body – but they hovered around him, like sharp lines of color that cut straight through the air.

“Besides, without Vicious to interrupt, this will be much more pleasant, don’t you think?”

Aegis tried to react quickly. He shifted from the bed, the brand on his chest burning so brightly, it shone through his shirt. “I won’t let you-!”

But before he could even let another word pass through his lips, he was wrapped up, contained, bound again. The strings from Yuna’s kunais slipped around him like quick-moving snakes, even the very air they traveled through seemed to hiss at their travel. It triggered a memory of when he had seen her control these very strings to dig into the earth with the force of steel, rooting objects from their very foundation.

These strings could cut him up, could break him bit by bit, if she so desired. And he waited for that to happen, awed by their motion.

One slipped around his left thigh, while another wrapped around his chest like a circlet, doing so twice before traveling down to his arms. This time, they were pulled back, just slightly away from his body, and held together with the binding.

The act felt as if it was happening both too fast and too slow, all at once. Aegis found himself staring as the red string weaved themselves into knots, couldn’t move a leg before it was already bound up, limiting himself of all movement and freedom. His arms were pulled in closer to his back, and there was the sensation of the strands moving over his skin, forming knots that seemed impossible to pull apart.

He couldn’t follow their travel for much of it, many of it out of his sight. Aegis tried to struggle once more, and that was when he felt a hot breath just at his neck, saw that mark of guilt, printed black against the pink of her tongue.

“Se détendre, Aegis.” The smile was still on her face, but it held less of the bite than he had expected. “We don’t need to put on a show now.”

This only confused him more, from what had already been a very confusing night all around.

Why was she acting this way with him? Why would she?

He was still, so very still as the strings enveloped him in intimate ways, when he saw Yuna’s fingers move along the air, as if pressing against the invisible keys of an instrument. “Yuna,” he said, finally remembering to use her name. “Are you-”

“And done!” she said so quickly, leaving his neck and sporting another of her knowing smiles. The softness of her voice before had now completely vanished. She then gently placed her weapons on the bed, admiring her handiwork on Aegis. “All wrapped up and as lovely as any present.”

Aegis halted, feeling the binds pressed against his shirt, against his skin. He couldn’t see himself as well as Yuna could see him right now, but he stretched his back just a bit and it –

It was the very the limitation of it. The containment. The suspension, his arms still locked together tight, out of his very sight. If the knots there were more woven tightly, if there were dozens and dozens of them, he wouldn’t have been able to tell, at least not by much. He wasn’t experienced enough to understand it through touch alone.

But through it all, the way he felt, it wasn’t something that tightened or pulled at a nerve. It didn’t threaten to lock the flow of blood or make his muscles ache.

The binds moved with him, just enough. Working with him, almost.

“So…does it hurt?”

Aegis opened his mouth to confirm just that, because hadn’t it just did before? With the thread so tight that, if it truly had been wrapped around his throat like Vicious joked about, he’d have choked?

But he paused, focused on the feeling in his fingers – and his fingers could still bend and feel, despite their current position. The binds were around his wrist, around his thighs, and over his torso. The strings splayed out around him like floral patterns once he, looping underneath each other to create imagery that he hadn’t ever considered.

“I…suppose not…” And he didn’t understand that. Just earlier, the binds had squeezed him much too tightly.

Yuna placed a hand on her chest, and sighed. “Good. It iz not supposed to. Well, unless you would like it to.” She winked. “But I wanted to make your experience a more pleasurable one this time. It feels like a big hug, does it not?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Aegis pouted. “But it is rather nice that it doesn’t feel like my arms are being pulled from their sockets.”

“Ah, magnifique then!” Though she no longer held her weapons, he still saw the string around her fingers, still trailing from her hands, connected to the patterns that decorated his chest, his thighs, and perhaps his back, if he could hazard a guess. It moved along with her, and he felt that gentle motion, nearly in sync with her own. “I always wanted to dress you up as such. Getting the braided pattern down your spine was a bit tricky.”

Aegis flushed, embarrassed at the affair, while also slightly intrigued. “Please do not treat me as your doll.”

“Oh? Even after I gave you such a pretty bow…” She giggled, and only then did the threads started to tickle, only then did he see the end of one looping down to brush against his cheek. He almost didn’t want to know just how extravagant she had made this so-called bow on him.

“You…you humiliate me enough during the day!” he shot back, the calming sensation from before already evaporating. “I demand you untie me.”

“Ah, but do you really mean such a thing? My dear Embroiling Deceit… she would just like to have your way with you.” Yuna tapped a finger against her chin, her gaze thoughtful and so very concerned, (oh of course she was) as she turned to the wall. “I’d assume you would appreciate the fine arts such as zis. My very own chef-d'œuvre, yet you would rather see it scattered and become utter chaos?”

“What are you talking about? You’re the one that assaulted me in my sleep-”

The kunais laid out on the bed snapped right back into the air, their blades catching the moonlight streaming in from the window. They rushed straight down, past his still head to imbed themselves into the wood of his headboard.

There was the sudden sharp clunk of the wood. It was loud, as loud as gunshots. But it was only the blades, their edges humming as they vibrated in the wood from the force of their plunge.

He blinked, and Yuna was over him then, smiling that same smile.

Her hands were placed against the bed, looking over him like he was something just so very interesting that she had found on the ground. “Aw, if only I had brought my enpicturator along… What a fun sight for me.”

His heart fluttered for the second time that night, yet the binds around his wrist didn’t tighten, even in his initial struggle.

“I…I don’t understand you!” The words came out louder than he meant to. Just a small crease on Yuna’s forehead, but he noted it. He kept pushing.

“What exactly do you even want with me?!” Her twin ponytails brushed against the bed on either side of him, tickled his sides cheeks just a bit, the way the threads had earlier. The red of the material seemed to illuminate within the dimness of the room. They matched the very shade of her elaborate hair pins, and, were they loosened? Just a bit? “Why pick me for such a so-called experiment? Just to torture me? That’s all any of you ever do!”

“Oh Aegrouch, you are just so fun to play with.” She sighed, and her breath hit his skin, sent nerves springing to life after being put to sleep from the binds. “Must you keep saying such cruel ‘zings to me?”

He narrowed his eyes, but failed at hiding away the color he felt rise to his cheeks.

“…I told you that won’t work on me.” Even on the battlefield, she liked to mess with him. More than even Vicious would.

Then so close, once again. She stuck out her tongue playfully, her very guilt branded on her with the brief flicker of flame.

Too close. Not unless she was about to-

Yuna looked down, and it was then he felt a fingertip against his chest, making him wince. Not from pain.

She pressed against that very guilt of his, hidden beneath his shirt, despite its lightness. It felt too much, too overwhelming for a moment. She hadn’t seen how it happened, how it came to be. She could not know. After all, hers had come from the ire of misguided and petty people. A true failure of the vision orb system.

Not like his own, so rightly deserved.

“Yet zis seems to work on you?” She tilted her head, tracing that guilt over him, too accurate in her patterns. “Maybe I should do something else with it then. Unless you truly would not want to.”

Aegis had his answer ready, floating within his head all this time, even as she bounded him up in strangely gentle ways. He tried to speak, but the words would not come.

Instead, he said, “You don’t even like me, I thought.”

She winked. “Aegrouch, I thought you would know my lies by now.” Leaning in, near his neck. “But you don’t know me so well, do you?”

The feel of her tongue was warm and sharp, and the Stain over his heart only continued to burn. Yet…not painful, and still he was bound and kept still, instead of being scattered to pieces as he had so often felt.

“I will help keep you together,” she breathed into his ear. “If you will humor me, for a little while.”

Perhaps she still kept lying, even long after the night drew out, when the shape of her own Guilt was imprinted into his head, into his very own mouth. The threads kept him from being shattered from his own misgivings, while her tongue continued to do carve meaning into him, down to his chest where the light of his guilt never dimmed – but he would not ask why she chose him to assuage her own guilt.

Maybe it was better to not know the answer.

[hailqiqi]

Plance Battle Strategy

SO.  Our little Canoe of Teal Happiness has garnered a lot of attention recently, and a Canoe of Darkness has been established. There’s discourse in the tags. That sucks. Whatever.

ANYWAY.  As far as I know nobody’s received the patented Voltron Fandom Death Threats over Plance yet but… I can’t help but think they’re gonna start at some point, especially if we keep growing like this.

Plance shippers!

May I suggest a game that will help transform your Death Threat experience from an ‘Oh no!’ to and ‘Oh yes!’ ?

BUT HOW?!? You ask?  Simple.

All death threats must be responded to with nothing but a picture of the Plance Child.

YES. THIS ONE. THE OFFICIAL CANON PLANCE CHILD.

(Relatives like this are also acceptable)

I propose that the entire Plance fandom responds to Death Threats in the same, unified manner, because fuck it it will be fun as hell.

Aim: To turn a negative experience into communal squealing over pictures of cows.

How to Play

1. Receive a Death Threat or other awful anon about Plance

2. Find the cutest, most insane or most creative picture of a cow you possibly can to respond with

3. Reblog others’ responses to rate their picture of choice.

3. Compete with each other for the best plance child responses!

Tagging a bunch of Plance shippers here to ask…. Are you in? @babsignal @myeverlastingship @justpidgance @bel-ina @the-vegetarian-artist @r-i-v-e-r @shiros-sugar @forever-painting-roses @sparklingpidge AND EVERYONE ELSE