#also posted on AO3

[give-bucky-his-boyfriend-back]

Dean Winchester, 8 years old, made a drawing for his dad. John doesn't even look at it and throws it in the trash.

"You're a man Dean. Stop doing that and make yourself useful."

So instead of making drawings he learns how to fight. His hands no longer hold crayons, instead they hold weapons. They no longer create things, instead they break them.

Dean is 16 and Dad is no longer 'Dad'. He calls him 'sir' instead.

When Dean asks his father why, he doesn't get an answer except 'Because I say so.'

Dean is 26 and he fights. He breaks things, kills them. Where before his hands were stained red by crayons, it's blood that gives them their signature color now.

He loses his father, loses Sam over and over again,goes to hell, is brought back falls from apocalypse into apocalypse and still he fights. Now both humans and creatures fear him. The ultimate killer. His hands do what they are best at.

When Dean is 41 he loses Castiel. The angel tells him that he isn't a killer. That all that he did was for love. Cas tells him he loves him.

For the first time ever since he was 8, Dean thinks about his hands. Maybe they weren’t made to kill, to hold weapons or to break things. Maybe they are made to care, to love , to simply hold.

So instead of letting the angel go, he grabs the lapels of his coat and holds on.

"Dean what are you-"

Dean crashes his lips against Cas's, interrupting him as the darkness starts to engulf them. When they break apart , Dean looks him in his eyes and smiles.

"I love you too sunshine. And I aint letting you go this time. Not alone."

On ao3

[based-and-uncouth]

Caught in the Rain

"MePad? Me...ad! No, no- no no-!" WATER DAMAGE DETECTED. INITIATING SHUT DOWN MODE. - Taco and MePad get caught in a storm, and Taco comes up with the perfect plan to sneak herself into Hotel OJ. (It doesn't go very well).

Objects are humanized

-

It was raining— hard. The sound of raindrops pelting the leaves of the trees and the ground of the forest was peaceful and the scent of petrichor in the air calming. To the contestants inside Hotel OJ, the storm outside was nothing less than zen background noise.

To Taco, glaring at the brightly-lit building with a vengeance, this was a cold, soggy hell. Her arms wrapped around herself as she trembled in the rain, cold fingers squeezing a bit of moisture out of the drenched sleeves of her shirt. The trees she took shelter under were doing little to lessen the downpour’s onslaught against her shivering body. it had been raining for days at this point, and she was exhausted. But she had refused to stoop to the low of showing up on OJ’s doorstep, looking pathetic and sad, begging for a temporary room. She wouldn’t be caught dead doing such a degrading thing.

So, why was she here?

Well, she had a plan.

MePad’s robotic body laid lifeless beside her, wrapped in her soaked, beige vest. The fabric did virtually nothing to protect him from the rain, and yet Taco bundled him in it anyway, because that was all she could do. Meeple’s technology was advanced, but clearly not advanced enough to waterproof their own robots; MePad had shut down in the middle of the night as a branch had given way in their home (and that term was used very loosely), showering the both of them in the cold rain water that had gathered in their roof. To Taco, it was a minor annoyance with the threat of hypothermia. To MePad, with all his sensitive hardware and his electronic body…that much water could spell death. Or, the Meeple-product equivalent of it.

Taco’s breath stuttered in her chest again, and she forced down a cough. She pushed her hair, stuck wet to her face, away from her eyes, and pulled her vest-coat tighter around his robotic body. 

Come on, Taco. You can do this. This may be the only way to get inside. She thought. She took a deep breath, choking on another cough, before loading the heavy robot onto her back.His screen-chin dug into the back of her neck. Her legs nearly gave out beneath his weight, but eventually she managed to take a step. 

He needs to get dry.

Then another step.

I need to get dry.

And another, until finally, the welcoming lights casted shadows on her face.

Click she activated her InvisaBow, and the tingling feeling of going invisible shook her body. Slowly, she began to shuffle her way out of the forest. The wind and rain battered her body, pushing her off course and knocking the wind out of her lungs. They were both cold, freezing cold in this weather, and she nearly crumpled in relief at the doorstep of Hotel OJ. Her hand slapped desperately at the doorbell, a cacophony of ding-ding-didididi-ding- resounding in the hallway inside. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Jeez, calm down…” came an exasperated voice from inside.

Taco slipped MePad off her back, not-so-gracefully depositing him onto the floor with a loud CLANG. She stared at her companion, debating her plan, before finally the front doors opened. She pressed herself against the wall beside them, trying to cover her visible bow tie, and watched as OJ took in the sight.

“Oh my- MePad?!” He sounded shocked, horrified at the condition of the robot at his door. It almost made Taco flinch at the volume. “Hey! Mic, Trophy, Paintbrush! Pause that game- I need help lifting this guy. Get him to the fireplace, quick!”

What.

What?

The names of her former…friend made Taco freeze up. A gust of strong wind blew more cold rain into her face, and OJ grunted, putting a hand up to block the worst of it from hitting his face. He took MePad up by the shoulders and began to drag him inside. Taco stared with wide eyes as Microphone and Trophy rushed out of the double doors, her throat getting choked up at the sight of her old…friend. 

“Mic…?” She whispered, her words getting swallowed by the torrent around them.

Microphone and Trophy each took one of MePad’s robotic legs, shoving the robot inside and out of the rain. Taco blinked, shuttering off her shock. She had a plan she needed to stick to, she needed to. So she willed her lethargic, invisible limbs to move, and squeezed herself through the doors of Hotel OJ before they slammed closed. 

~

REBOOTING. PLEASE STAND BY.

WAKING UP SYSTEMS.

PROBLEM IDENTIFIED. INITIATING FLUID EXTRACTION PROTOCOLS.

PLEASE STAND BY.

Kssshhhhhh…

ACTIVATING INTERNAL HEATING SYSTEM.

PLEASE STAND BY.

Vvvvvrrrrrrrrrr…

WAKING UP SYSTEMS. RESTORING MEMORY.

“God, how long is this going to take?”

“I thought Meeple’s tech was- I dunno, better than this.”

“Hey shh- MePad’s waking up!”

With a few more various beeps and boops, a few whirring and shifting noises, and finally MePad blinked into life again. The LEDs of his face flickered back to the bright magenta, and the shutters covering the upper half of his face slid away. 

“Hello.” MePad greeted. He blinked, taking in all the information around him: there was a fire thrumming in the hearth to his right. Beneath him were cushions, or perhaps a couch, and on top of him were four fluffy towels. There were many people hovering above him, also with looks of concern or anticipation. OJ, Lightbulb, Microphone, Paintbrush, a few season one contestants whose names were stored in his deeper memory banks- quite a few people, that was the point. 

But…she was not among them.

“MePad! What were you doing in the pouring rain?!” OJ fretted, pulling the robot upright. His orange hair was pulled out of his face in a messy bun, and the glasses on his nose were askew. “How did you end up on the doorstep of the hotel?!”

“I do not know. All I remember is that I had gotten caught in the rain, and powered down.” MePad responded. He made a surprised sound as Trophy dropped another towel on his head. “Thank you, for saving me.”

He looked around, scanning the perimeter for the person who knew must be here somewhere. She had murmured her plan to him before he fully shut down, but he could only make out her foggy voice calling his name again and again whenever he tried to remember the plan’s phase two.

“You came all the way from the contestant grounds? But, that’s so far from here. You couldn’t have wandered here by yourself, waterlogged or not.” OJ muttered in confusion. 

“Who cares?” Trophy wrinkled his nose in disgust, lightly kicking at MePad’s metal leg before yawning. “If lugging this hunk of junk is all you needed me to do, I'm going to my room. Game night’s been ruined anyway.”

The small crowd that had formed muttered things in agreement, some wishing MePad well, before returning to their rooms for the night. Lightbulb sighed, rolling her eyes. 

“What a meanie. Don't take anything he says personally, MePad! Sometimes the weakest ones like to put up the toughest masks. But in my opinion, masks are so four years ago, and super suffocating.” She blinked. “But- but your mask is cool! It's like, glowy and stuff, and I like glowy. Wait, that is a mask, right? Or is that just your face?”

She slid down to sit beside MePad, tapping at the glass screen that was his mouth. It made MePad chuckle. Paintbrush sat beside her on the arm of the couch, rolling their eyes as Trophy yelled something about Lightbulb being a loser. 

“Well, since you’re here, soaking all the towels and taking up all the space on the couch, the least you could do is play Mario Kart with us.” A gaming controller was thrown at MePad’s chest, and he looked over to see Paintbrush holding another two. They smirked at MePad’s confused eyes. They tossed a controller to Lightbulb and Microphone, however the controller just hit Microphone’s head, and she yelped in surprise.

MePad looked over at her instead, tilting his head. She had been staring at him, it seems, and was now desperately trying to avoid it. Her eyes were distracted, and her hands were shaking as she gripped the plastic remote. Something was on her mind, and MePad had a feeling he knew what. 

Or rather, who.

“Are you ready to get creamed?” Paintbrush grinned. Microphone shook herself out of her mute trance, groaning. 

“You say that, yet the highest you’ve ever gotten is second place.”

“That's just because we end when I'm so close to winning!”

“No, it's because OJ comes and shuts us down because you’re raging too loud!”

“Wha- look who’s talking!”

As they argued, MePad looked helplessly at the TV as some animations played, the gaming controller unfamiliar in his hands. He had a feeling that Taco would be much more socially adept at whatever was going on than him. 

He hoped Taco was somewhere in the Hotel, getting dried off with fluffy towels by a fireplace, and playing games with friends. But, as much as he hated to admit it, he doubted that was true. 

~

Her plan was working perfectly. MePad’s sudden arrival had drawn many people from the common areas to the main living space, giving Taco ample time to sneak through the hotel and find a hiding spot. It was a huge, ornate building on the outside, and felt even bigger on the inside. There were so many hallways and so many doors that she began to think she had gotten lost in some liminal space instead. Taco was surprised that this hotel cost only one million dollars to build— surely OJ must be suffering from crippling debt to keep it up and running. 

And yet, there was nothing in it's walls that suggested lack of funding. No spider-webbing cracks in the windows, nor black mold creeping in the corners of the walls. The paint wasn’t peeling, not even chipping could be found. Warm, centralized air thrummed through the ceilings, blowing in through clean grates and making Taco feel a bit less cold as her soaked shoes squelched against the carpet. 

She hadn’t even realized she’d stopped walking until she found herself turning in a circle, taking the hotel in. Hotel OJ was nothing like any of the sketchy motels she’d stayed in throughout her life. The little, hidden corners of the world where she would just make do. No, compared to those dumps, Hotel OJ was like a castle. A luxury resort. It…it was…

A place she didn’t belong.

The realization came crashing down on her, making her throat seize up and her heart rate spike. The orange walls towered over her short figure. Her muddy shoes sank into the carpet, as if she were to fall through. 

She dredged up her foot and took a step backwards, then another, and another, away from the towering walls, until her back hit something solid. She whirled around, heart in her throat, and caught sight of her bowtie in the window she had run into.

The InvisaBow on her neck glitched, and her body shivered with rematerialization. God, she was filthy. Soaked to the bone with rain, white shirt stained brown with mud, sweat, and blood. Her once clean-ish cut hair was tangled in with her bow, the greasy strands much longer than the bob she remembered it being. Her right eye thrummed with pain, the scratches and bruising swelling into an ugly purple-red. Beyond that, she looked exhausted. Eyebags sagging from lack of sleep, cheekbones much more prominent than she remembered them being, wrinkles lining her face, lips chapped and cracking, skin freckled from sun exposure. 

Ugly, was the first word that came to mind. Vulnerable was the second. Pathetic was the third.

Terror shot through her veins at the thought of somebody seeing her like this. Seeing her so pathetic. 

Taco’s head spun, and she coughed wetly when she attempted to breathe in deeply. She jammed her hand into the InvisiBow again, returning to invisibility, and fled down the hallway at the sound of approaching people. 

People.

People lived in this Hotel. People who didn’t like her, who probably wished she was better off dead. Who would kick her repulsive face back out into the pouring rain if they caught sight of her in their wondrous, royal, luxurious home. 

Taco couldn’t face them. 

So she ran. She ran and ran, like she so often did. Heaving and suppressing her coughs, she ran. She had been so focused on getting somewhere warm and dry, she hadn’t even thought about what she would do if everything went wrong. 

What would happen when MePad woke up? Would he sell her out? He had no reason to, unless-

Unless he realized she had used him. Like she had with every other person who had the misfortune of trusting her.

She should have built up a sturdier relationship first, or explained her plan as a benefit to him, or even admitted she was scared when he suddenly blacked out. But instead, she had cut corners. Rushed plans. Not thought things through.

Mic was wrong. She wasn’t changing. She wasn’t capable of it.

In the midst of her turmoil, she slammed into a door labeled “DO NOT OPEN!” Immediately, she tugged on it. At the slightest hint of give, she dove inside and shut it behind her, collapsing against a supply shelf. Her lungs stuttered, and her hands touched a suspiciously slimy substance. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

It was quiet. It was dark. It was slightly damp, and it was stuffy. It was nothing like what she was used to, and nothing like what she was hoping for.

But it worked. She would have to make do for now.

~

MePad couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t used to this comfortable bed, the downy pillows and the soft quilt. Granted, he normally slept on a hard, metal charging platform right beside MePhone, so anything that normal people would deem “comfortable” would not apply to him. He was not human, after all. He had no pain receptors in his metal body.

OJ had told him to “get some rest”, but all MePad could think of was the empty, clean bed on the other side of the spare room he had been lent. One that Taco should really be sleeping in, because Taco was a human. She had a toughened body yet a weakened immune system. She would benefit greatly from being warm, dry, and cozy, and MePad would not. 

The robot sighed, sitting up mechanically in bed. He neatly laid back the quilt before standing up, dressing in a robe —orange colored, because of course it was,— before walking to the door and grabbing the handle. 

He was going to find Ta-

“Ah!”

He blinked in surprise. Microphone stood in front of him squinting her eyes at the brightness of his LED eyes and mouth. She was standing surprisingly close to his door, bleary-eyed and dressed in a grey sweatshirt and pink sleep pants. 

“Y-you’re so bright…” The girl mumbled.

“Apologies. I did not expect someone to-“

“Shhh!” Microphone pressed her finger to his screen-mouth, although that would not work on an android like him. “Can't you speak quieter too?!”

MePad nodded. He closed his eyes, visualizing the dials for both his brightness and volume. When he opened his eyes again, Microphone was no longer squinting in his face.

“Apologies, again.” MePad said, much quieter. “How may I help you, at this time of night, Microphone?”

“Well-“ She shifted on her feet, nervous. MePad stepped aside in the doorway, welcoming her into the borrowed room, and she ducked inside with gratitude. Once the door shut, she got straight to the point.

“Taco.” She said, unreadable emotion on her face. “Where is she?”

“I'm afraid I do not know.” MePad sighed. He watched from his standing place as Microphone moved to sit on the bed opposite him. “I had thought that she was here, in Hotel OJ, however I was unable to spot her once I awoke. I have vague memories of teleporting us near the hotel, yet everything after I have failed to recall.”

Mic sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. Despite their rocky relationship and sudden falling out, MePad could see the concern etched into Microphone’s face. She was worried for her friend. It was kind of her to continue to care for Taco, even after recognizing all the hurt and manipulation the girl had put her through. 

“You are worried for her.” MePad pointed out as such. Microphone’s back went rigid at the words. “That is kind of you.”

“W-whaaaat? No, I…” Microphone trailed off, and her cheeks flushed red. “I'm- I’m worried about what she might do in the hotel! I mean, OJ will be furious if he finds out she snuck in. Pickle, too. And, uh…”

MePad hesitated.

“You are not worried for her wellbeing?” An edge of protectiveness tinged his tone, a sharp warning.

“No, no! I didn't mean that, I-I am!” Microphone sat up straight again, and MePad was even more confused at her reaction. “I just…its complicated. Complicated feelings-y stuff. Y’know?”

“No. Not really.” MePad shook his head, and Mic sighed.

“Ah. Robot. I forgot.”

They lapsed into a tense silence, and MePad’s gaze was drawn towards the door again. He couldn't waste any more time than he already had.

“Well, I was just about to look around and search for her.” He looked back over to Microphone, hand outstretched. “Would you care to join me?”

~

After what felt like hours, perhaps even days, Taco got her breathing back under control. Her brain had stopped somersaulting, and the walls had gone back to being just, well, walls. The darkness of the storage closet she had stuffed herself in helped, --she supposed that the bright lights had disoriented her poor vision-- but the disgusting, half-dried goo that coated the shelving units inside was not doing her any favors. If anything, she had felt even more sick now than she was before, as if that could even be possible.

But it was whatever, she could make do, so she had no reason to leave-

Knock knock knock. 

Taco tensed up, staring at the door in front of her. No, it couldn't have been for her. Perhaps a tenant room beside the closet-?

Knock knock knock.

She stayed silent, finger hovering over the InvisaBow on her neck. Perhaps it was MePad. But if it wasn't, it could be Microphone, or OJ, or Pickle, and she did not want to take her chances with them yet

“Hey…um, Taco?” 

The helium-high-pitched voice behind the door startled her, her brow scrunching up as she began to think that maybe Suitcase was not the only one experiencing hallucinations. 

“So, uh, I know you’re in here. I think. Uh, there was a trail of wet footprints, so I guess I assumed it was you-” Damn her un-waterproofed boots, foiling her plans again… “-but, whatever. If you’re in there, hi! It's um, it's Balloon.”

Balloon? What would Balloon want with her? She knew him, of course, they had done Season 1 together years ago. But nowadays, she barely knew the guy. Much less had a vendetta against him, but-

“I just wanted to help someone who, I thought deserved…another chance.” Suitcase’s words rang in her mind. 

Yes. Another chance. 

I see.

“Well, whether or not you want to talk or not, that's okay. I'm used to talking to myself, so uh, I guess I’ll just go on and monologue, or something!” He slid down against the door, and Taco found herself moving closer to the door to hear him better.

“Um…so I won't ask how you’ve been doing, since it's probably been not-so-great. Heheh, believe me I understand.” He sighed. “I'm sure you remember how I acted way back then, in Season 1? A huge jerk, yeah. Not the greatest person, I’ll admit. And, um, it wasn't fun, believe it or not, being a not-great person. Of course, I didn't realize that at the time. It wasn't until when the season ended that I realized that I was alone.”

Taco sighed, leaning her head against the door. If it were any other night, one in which she was dry, rested, and not feeling like utter crap, then she would have probably fired back with a defensive rant. 

“You probably won't believe it, but…well, it's hard for me to talk about, and I still kind of hold a grudge against OJ for this, but…it was raining, too, on the night I came back to ask for forgiveness. It was cold and wet, and I thought I’d get hypothermia or frostbite if I stayed outside for much longer. So I tried, wrote a whole long apology note and everything. All that got was my butt kicked back to the curb. But hey! At least he gave me a sweet, orange umbrella, right!?” Sarcasm was ripe in his voice, and Taco found herself rolling her eyes at the tone. Balloon huffed, as if sensing her gesture. 

“Honestly, I didn't even notice you sneak in here. But it was probably a much better idea than groveling. You were always the clever, quick-thinking type. Me? I was just a meaner version of Knife.”

“Oh, please.” Taco found herself mumbling. Her voice was shot, thick with a cough, and she cleared her throat. “No one can be more brutish than that ironically-dull kitchen appliance.”

“So you can talk!” Balloon laughed from behind the door. “Ah, I forgot you turned British.”

Taco laughed, wheezing a little bit, but a laugh nonetheless. “I was always British, I'm just a very good actor.”

“Sure, sure.” Balloon said sarcastically again. They went quiet, and Taco sensed Balloon had something to say. But before he could speak, she cut him off. 

“I appreciate your words of comfort, but I'm afraid our situations aren't so similar anymore.” She looked down to her black-gloved hands, ripped at some seams and still damp with rainwater. “Gods know how, but you got Suitcase on your side, and managed to complete a nice little redemption arc. Me? I can’t say I’ve even started one.”

“Really?” Balloon hummed. “Well, Lightbulb told me she thinks you’re getting there, slowly but surely. Don’t know how true that is, but what I do know is that turning over a new leaf is always easier with a friend by your side.”

Taco scoffed. “But I don’t-”

“Balloon? What are you doing, sitting in front of the storage closet?”

Taco’s eyes widened, and she scrambled to her feet. She stared at the door, straining her ears to hear that voice again.

“You don’t have any friends, you say?” Balloon said, a smirk evident in his voice. 

Taco pushed the door open, accidentally slamming Balloon in the face; but she couldn't care less. A relieved grin stretched across her face.

“MePad!”

~

MePad’s eyes flickered brightly as Taco’s lithe body barreled into him. That was sure to leave a bruise on her skin, but considering how she was hugging him with all of her strength, she didn’t care, and MePad wasn’t about to spoil the moment. He wrapped his arms around her back, feeling relief melt off him in waves. For something who claimed not to feel emotion, he certainly was getting a little soft. 

Taco’s own relief was short lived, however, as when she opened her eyes again she was met with a few people staring at her. Microphone, of course, was looking at her with concern in her dark eyes. OJ was behind her, arms crossed and clearly only begrudging her presence in his hotel. Balloon had emerged from behind the door, rubbing his red cheek, looked less than happy about being slammed in the face, but still held a small look of pride. 

They were staring at her, waiting for her to…speak. Do anything at all. So, Taco pushed MePad away, cleared her throat and fought the urge to look away. Instead, she stared them all right in their eyes. 

Alright, Taco. Say something, she thought to herself. Speak your lies, and manipulate them into letting you stay. Or at least, to not say anything. Blame it on MePad, he surely wouldn't mind. Yes! MePad teleported us here and- and I had no say. Perfect.

Mind made up, Taco opened her mouth to explain…only for her lungs to seize up and a fit of wet coughing to wrack her body. 

How embarrassing…

MePad made a distressed beep! at her sickness, trying to pat her back like she was a choking baby (which she wasn’t, thank you very much). Even still, she kept her head held high and her back straight and attempted to smoothen out her wrinkled shirt. She had class, elegance, and a simple cold wouldn't stop her from appearing her usual posh self.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Taco raspily muttered, waving MePad’s concerned arms away from her. She coughed into her fist once more before facing the dumbfounded group. “Honestly, OJ, you should up the security on this fancy little hotel you have here. You’d be surprised-” “Taco.” Microphone strode up to her, arms crossed and face scrutinizing. Taco swallowed discreetly, but still stood her ground against her former friend. Even if sweat dripped down the back of her neck, and her cold fingers began to tremble. The taller girl stopped in front of her, her face hesitant as she stared Taco down. 

“M…Microphone, I-”

“Shut up.” Microphone said quietly. Taco blinked, a little surprised.

“But I-”

“Just- just shut up.” She was still keeping her distance from Taco, and yet she looked…worried. 

Worried for Taco, of all people. The way she stared into her eyes was stifling with hatred, and yet softened with concern. Taco…didn't know what to say to make this better. 

The air was thick, as if Microphone had something more to say but she couldn't get it out.  

“OJ, do we have any more dry towels? Or spare clothes? And is the fire still going?”

OJ looked at Mic with a small smile on his face. “Who do you take me for?” He looked back at Taco, the corners of his mouth only twitching just slightly.

“Listen, we can work this out later.” OJ said to her, turning to the stairs. He paused, giving her a once-over again, and sighed. “Once you don't look like you’re about to keel over with a flu.”

“I am not-!” 

“According to my health sensors, your body temperature is higher than average, and you are at risk of suffering from exhaustion and hypothermia. I strongly encourage you to sit by the fire, even for an hour or two, Taco.” MePad said, concern replacing his apathetic tone of voice. 

“Trust me, you do not want to develop pneumonia.” Balloon, emerging from behind MePad, shuddered.

“Please, Taco, just this once?” Microphone was practically begging her. Huh, strange, she was acting as if they were still friends…

“Alright, alright, alright!” She pressed a hand to her temples to soothe a developing headache. “All of you, quit your yakking. I’m…I’m coming.” 

Microphone smiled, the tension in her face melting into relief. Hesitant, she extended her hand to Taco. 

Hopeful to begin again, Taco took it. 

“Achoo!”

Swaddled in towels and blanket so much that she resembled a burrito, Taco warmed herself by the fire. She leaned against Mic, who, despite obviously still uneasy about Taco’s presence, had a comforting arm around her as she huddled near the fire. MePad was humming quietly, fans running to keep him from overheating. Taco closed her eyes, ready to give in and fall into a deep sleep that would surely cure her of whatever illness she had developed, when she was stirred awake by heavy footsteps. 

A teacup clinked down beside her, on a plain white saucer. It smelled of lemons and ginger, and was still lightly steaming. The warm ceramic chased the damp chill away from her fingertips, and she breathed in the calming aroma as best she could through her stuffy nose. 

“Thank you.” She muttered, looking up at the person who had handed her the cup; only to find him part-way up the stairs. He stopped and looked back, and Taco’s eyes widened. 

There was something in Pickle’s stony look that proved he was not one to forgive as quickly as Microphone. And yet, he had still brewed her a cup of her favorite tea, and (even if begrudgingly) accepted her into his home.

He simply gave her a subtle nod, and continued on his way. Taco took a sip of the warm drink and smiled.

[jxngs]

FUUBUTSUSHI | 風物詩 — 1

· . ༄࿔ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Snow whispers softly, Blind eyes in winter's embrace, Curse king's frozen game.

⤿ or in which a blind girl is forced to play shogi with the king of curses.

Sukuna / Ryomen Sukuna | Original Female Character(s)

Tags: Slow Burn × Size Difference × Heian Period × Romance × Violence × Enemies to Lovers × kind of lol × Canon-Typical Violence × Betrayal × Disabled Character

[Ch.2] | [AO3]

It was cold.

The biting cold wrapped around everything, coating it with a crisp layer that crunched beneath every footstep. It was harsh and relentless; it seeped into everyone's bones and left no one behind. The poor village lacked resources. It lacked the ability to offer its inhabitants warm fabrics that gave a sense of security and comfort. And despite the sun lazily casting warmth over them through the layers of the cold, it wasn't enough. How could it be enough when the frigid air lingered? Lingered in the air, and lingered in their bones. Every time it snapped and turned, the smell of snow and pine stung in their frozen noses. 

And despite the harsh winter and its dead flora, soft laughter came from a distance. The ground rang with small vibrations, echoing the familiar sound of snow being crunched. A young mother was out, yelling at the children to come inside before the weather made them sick. Her voice was full of worry, yet a hint of amusement laced underneath it all.

"But mooom!!"

"No! I'm not hearing anything, so get in!"

With a groan and a grumble, the vibrations through the ground come to a stop.

A blanket of silence hangs over Yukimori—a village that was a week's worth away from Heian-kyō¹, the capital city. A gentle whisper oozes from the bare branches of trees surrounding the village, brushing against their ears. Birds chirp sparingly, their calls muted by the cold, while the soft swish of snow being gently blown from branches kisses their ears once more.

Winter's solstice was coming.

The trees spoke again, moving and dancing with the breeze.

Warning them.

Winter's solstice was coming.

Winter's solstice was coming.

Winter's solstice was...

Screams began to fill the place. Breaking the silence she found solace in. Hushing the rustling trees. Breaking the snow underneath. Hushing... People were screaming.

Her ears picked up on the sounds, as she struggled to grab her cane that she had forgotten about. It was coming from everywhere; the screams. The woman from earlier was sobbing and yelling, panic and fear coursing through her voice. The kids were quiet this time. They were always noisy. Joyful and happy to live. Her wailing bounced off the walls, and the earth shook with vibrations she had never felt before. The smell— God, the smell! Nature no longer flooded her nose. Acrid and metallic. It was all that she could smell.

Emotions flooded her, becoming too much to bear. Her senses were overloaded to compensate for her loss of vision and loss of knowledge. She couldn't understand what was happening. All that was on her mind was finding her walking cane and seeking her dad. 

Where is her dad? 

Her hands were pressed against the tatami mats, and she crawled around to find it. Tears soaked her fabric, overstimulating her senses even more. She crawled and cried. She crawled and cried till her knees burned and her sniffs added to the symphony of screams. Just anything. Let her grab anything to guide herself with. Her knees wobbled with every movement, feet shuffling, and hands stretched outwards.

Where is her dad?

The metallic smell was spreading everywhere, as panic and fear hung and settled in the air. Her heart was thumping loudly against her ribcage; it felt as if it were starting to beat in her ears too. It caused her body to tremble, walking around blindly. She was so shaken that she couldn't focus on a single sense. They were too overstimulated to the point that her body started to shut them out one by one. Her hearing was growing dull, and she couldn't smell anymore. Her instincts were kicking in: find your dad! Her brain was screaming at her to do anything to survive.

"Dad? Where are you?" she called out, shuffling near one of the walls. 

Her body kept bumping into random corners, but she couldn't pay any attention to the sharp pain and forming bruises. Despite knowing the layout of the house, she never knew how to get around that well without her white cane. Her disability made it too hard for her to do most things. Going outside was too dangerous. Cooking led to her getting burned and cut up. Sewing pricked her fingers too much. Hah, she couldn't even read or write! Without her only parent, she was as useful as a vegetable.

The more she walked around in the burning hot house, the more loathsome her thoughts were becoming. Why couldn't I just be born normal? 

At some point, she tripped over something, and she landed on her hands to protect herself from the fall. Her tears were starting to soak the thin fabric that covered her eyes. Trembling and panicking. Full of hatred. Self-loathing resentment.

It's not like she had any friends or proper connections that she'd remember in her last moments. She was alone her whole life. Not only was she blind, but apparently, she looked like a freak too! The poor girl never saw colors to understand their fuss over her appearance, and oftentimes, their comments would leave a bitter taste in her mouth. So ungrateful for being able to see in the first place.

Perhaps whatever was happening would get her out of the prison that was her body.

"—Up! It's your dad!!" 

Snapping her head to wherever the direction of the familiar sound came from, she started to shake again. Her hands ripped the blindfold off her eyes from how uncomfortably wet they were becoming. Her senses became so dull that she didn't realize her father's embrace until he shook her. The look in her eyes was so distant and fear-stricken, and it made her dad shake her more.

"—ina, I'm here [...]"

"Calm down, o—?"

"Breathe."

"In and [...]"

"—ut"

"Breathe."

Breathe.

With her nails sunken into her dad's clothes, her senses began to slowly come back to her. The crisp breeze of winter was washing away that putrid metallic smell. She no longer felt as if she were ten minutes away from her skin blistering and melting off. She could feel her hair sticking to her forehead from the sweat. Her cheeks were stained with fresh tears. People weren't screaming. It was eerily quiet.

"W-What happened...?" she finally asked once she had calmed down.

"There was an attack on our village, but..." Her dad trailed off before continuing, "a kind King was nearby and helped us out."

"Really? That's... that's so nice of him."

"Mhm, but he asked for one thing in return for their favor."

Her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion when she asked, "What was it? I hope our people are willing to do that since he saved us."

"My sweet, kind daughter," he cradled her face in his palms, caressing her cheek with one calloused thumb. "When he heard of you being a shogi master, all he asked for was to play with you until he won at least once."

The blind female only excelled at one thing: Heian shogi². It was as if the stars blessed her with one thing despite all her struggles. She has been challenging older masters with more experience since she was young, and her winning streak has been impressive. Usually, their egos would make them challenge her and wager on something, undermining her disability. Who would expect such a young, naïve girl to be good at such a game? It grated on their pride to know of such an opponent who had no losses under her belt.

It wasn't surprising to hear of the King's request; she always had people ask her for a match. She was more than willing to grant him his request.

"If that's the cost of saving us, you know I wouldn't mind, Father."

Her dad only pulled her into another warm, tight embrace.

"Oh, I'm so glad that you're still alive."

-

The young woman sat down patiently, not moving an inch while her dad neatly wrapped a fabric around her eyes. She was dressed in a white kimono with a light blue snowflake pattern and a matching blue obi, according to her father. Despite being of nobility, the village was too poor for her family to spend money on a jūnihitoe³. The clothes she was wearing were the best she had, and they felt silky and smooth enough to be appropriate. She was preparing to see a King of a town nearby, so of course, she had to pay attention to what she was wearing.

Her long hair fell all the way down to the ground after she gently brushed it out. Her father took out her favorite hair clip and pinned some strands to the back of her head. Finally, she slipped on her tabi socks and grabbed her cane from next to her.

Walking gently around the house, her arm was interlinked with her dad's. She slipped on her geta sandals before they left. It was still very cold, but the sharp smell of pinewood bit at her nose, making her visibly relax. Snow crunched under her feet with every step. The sound of her tapping was muffled by it. They reached a point where she could hear the sound of wood burning and crackling, seeping its smoky smell into the air.

When they reached the horse, he helped her get up on it before settling in front of her. Her hands gently held onto his clothes, and with that, they embarked on a days-long journey to the King's estate.

They took a couple of breaks here and there to eat food. It wasn't that tiring for her considering how it was her favorite season, and she got to happily spend time outside without worrying about getting hurt. At some point, she fell asleep while hugging her dad from behind, her cheek pressed against his back.

By the time she woke up, she could tell that they were on an area that wasn't covered with snow. The gentle rustle of a horse's movement was accompanied by a rhythmic, muffled squelch, which was telling of wet soil being stepped on. Her hair swayed with every step until it slowed down to a stop.

"We're here, my dear."

Her dad's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and she muttered an "okay." He helped her get off and handed her her cane. She gently held it with her right hand; her left arm hung on his elbow. 

TapTapTapTap

Her kimono moved with every step, as she was being guided by her father to the entrance of the estate. From what she imagined, it seemed to be big. The wooden floors didn't make sounds much like her house, and there were so many stairs she had to climb. The smell of incense wafted through her nose—smoky and inviting. 

Was the King that rich...?

She had visited a lot of rich people before, but their houses never felt as big as this one. She was only at the entrance so far!

Knock

Knock

She shuffled on her feet until she heard the wooden door open with a faint creak from the hinges, a soft, drawn-out groan resonating through the wood.

"We've been expecting you." The person greeted them, swinging the door open. "I'm Uraume, and I'll be guiding her to the King from here on."

She turned around to smile at her dad to bid him farewell. He gave her a tight hug, whispering to her how she should take care of herself and focus on winning. They eventually pulled away, and he started to walk away. The sounds of his footsteps grew quieter and quieter with each step.

Turning to look straight ahead, where she guessed Uraume to be, she gave them a gentle smile and said, "I'll be in your care."

The young shogi master walked through the long, endless corridors while Uraume held onto her arm and guided her. They didn't speak much, and she was too focused on taking in her surroundings. The wooden floors were cooler beneath her sock-clad feet, and as she moved, the soft creaking of the estate's wooden structure blended with the faint whisper of the wind seeping through tiny gaps in the architecture.

TapTapTapTap

It felt oddly serene and pleasant. The sounds and smells were inviting, and in her mind, it was fitting for a King like that. He was kind to grace their village from perishing. It made her excited to play with him, as she mentally hoped that he wouldn't be like most of her male opponents.

When they got deeper into the estate, the floors felt warmer, and the cold winds weren't sneaking into the air. There was a distant smell of wood burning, and it made it all too comfortable and cozy for her. They were finally reaching where she was going to meet the King.

The estate was definitely too big for her to memorize. Not unless she stayed there for months. It felt as if she were in a maze, and at some point, she gave up on trying to understand the directions they were walking in.

TapTap

Tap

They stood in front of a sliding door which Uraume knocked on three times at first. There was silence in return, yet they slid the door open. A faint smell of cooked meat and tea tickled her nose, and she was led inside. When Uraume tugged on her a bit, she went down on her knees in a seiza position. She placed her hands on the floor and bowed down until her forehead nearly touched the floor. After staying there for a few seconds, she raised back up. 

Uraume tugged on her again, indicating that the King had silently motioned for her to come and sit. She took her cane and was guided until she stood in front of the King, a shogi board between them. She sat back down in the same position, placing her cane to the side. Her hands were folded on top of her lap, and she gently smiled at him.

"It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty." She greeted him, her voice gentle.

It was quiet, and she couldn't tell what the King was thinking about. Her lack of vision made her unable to read into her surroundings, let alone people. Fortunately for her, it felt comfortable to sit in silence with him. She didn't feel pressured to say anything else, nor did she feel awkward and squirm around in her seat. It's been... a long time since she felt this relaxed in someone's presence.

Suddenly, she heard one of the pieces move and be placed on another tile. Her head tilted down as if she were looking at it, her mind deep in thought. Usually, her opponents told her their moves, but she, somehow, got a general idea of what they would be. Anytime she was in front of a board, it felt as if she could sense its energy buzzing in her mind.

In her imaginative eye, the shape of the board was glowing, and the pieces were in different intensities of glow. Anytime a piece moved, it would move in her head, too.

Her slender hand reached out to pick up a piece and placed it down, mimicking his move.

"P-5d."⁴

Since her opponent was someone she had never played against, she decided it would be better to do a basic move first. It'd be interesting to see what kind of player the King was. She never had a set playstyle; she always adapted to her opponent. Adopt their moves and become even better.

Snap!

Another piece had moved in her mind's eye. 'P-7f'

The pawn on one end of the board was moved forward two spaces.

"P-3d."

She did the same on the other side.

Snap!

The King moved his Silver General diagonally. 'S-4h'

Her hands quickly moved to pick up her Silver piece. "S-4b."

The King was obviously trying to gauge her skill too. So far, all their movements weren't offensive or straight to the point. The two were being tactful with each other, and it was obvious. It was rare for her to have an opponent who tried to get a read on her. Their egotistical personalities made them attack her pieces right from the start to dominate the game.

They continued to play. Sounds of the pieces being placed down and her stating her moves filled the room. She had a small smile on her face as they played. It felt so refreshing and nice to have someone take her seriously. She never expected herself to have so much fun. A part of her was worried that she'd be stuck with someone cruel till they got bored of her winning streak. But no, the King of her was kind.

"Thank you," she spoke up after stating her move, 'Nx3e', "for saving my village, Your Majesty."

"..."

He remained silent. She didn't even question it. She only gave him her sincerest smile, her hands folded on her lap. To her, it seemed as if he wasn't able to figure out what move to make next, yet she sat. She sat there patiently with her head tilted towards him rather than the board. It seemed as if she was staring at him, reading into him, but they both knew that she was blind. He verified it earlier.

Even if he sat there, thinking for the rest of the day, she wasn't going to urge him to make any move. King or not, she was simply not the type. Her patience was that of a saint, according to her father.

The glow in her mind shifted to show that one of her pieces had been swiped away. 

"I don't think cheating is allowed, Your Majesty." She giggled.

Silence.

Snap.

Her white piece was back in place now. 

The King was silent again for a moment before he moved a black piece.

"S-4f."

That caught her off guard for a second; it was the first time he had said anything since she had entered the room. 

His voice was a deep, resonant timbre, and it grazed her ears smoothly with a tinge of sharpness. It was... fitting for a King. No wonder why his place is so huge; he sounded like a strong King who had a very commanding aura to him.

"S-4c." Her movements were free of hesitation, as if she had already predicted his move long ago. 

"S-4g."

"P-5e." She retracted her hand into her lap, and she tilted her head back up to look at him. "I haven't had this much fun playing in a while!"

Her voice was higher and more feminine in comparison. It sounded dreamy with childlike wonder and excitement. It was fitting for a blind woman who was naive to her surroundings. Naive to the man sitting in front of her.

His gaze was dark and calculating, his red eyes raking over the woman in front of him. She smiled at him like his presence and cursed energy didn't suffocate everyone else in the temple. Like he wasn't the one who tried to annihilate her village. Like he didn't bare his claws at her neck moments after she stepped in. He couldn't tell if it was because of her disability or because of her gullibility. 

Her long, white hair flowed down her back and onto the floor, while her bangs and side pieces framed her porcelain white face. A tinge of pink covered her cheeks and the tip of her nose from the cold weather, and half of her face was covered with a thin, white fabric.

It felt as if she were a beacon of light in the darkness of his estate—an angelic being visiting. It infuriated him. It disgusted him how she looked so otherworldly, like she had never experienced any sin. Never experienced any of the hatred and anger he felt toward humanity.

If it wasn't for the vow he made with her father, he would've sliced her head off the second she stepped in. Sukuna never expected a blind woman to be this good at some board game. When her father first talked of his offer, he cackled. He cackled and laughed at how absurd it was. It was so amusing to him that he decided to entertain himself; his daughter was going to die today. In this room. Without knowing that her dad set her up for her death.

Yet, with how it was going, he was not going to win the first match.

Her existence was an anomaly for him.

She had zero cursed energy. He couldn't detect her presence till she was in his room. Every human he met, sorcerer or not, had some amount of it in them, yet the girl in white didn't have any.

Even her physical presence was meek and quiet, not demanding anything. Even when he took long to play his turn on purpose, she sat there patiently. Hands folded on her lap, and a soft, upward tug on her lips. 

That was without mentioning her weird ability to know that he took one of her pieces earlier. How could she be blind to everything but the board in front of them?

"+P-5g."

Her soft voice grated on his ears and snapped him out of his thoughts.

She had won.

"I'm sure you'll win next time." She gently encouraged him while picking up all the pieces in one hand. Her tone was free of bragging and condescension. She spoke to him like a mother would cheer up her son after losing. Sincere and... caring.

He hated it.

He hated her.

"How can you play this game when you're blind?" Sukuna asked her, an amused smirk resting on his face.

"O-oh!" she was surprised by the sudden question. "I don't know how to explain it... I can kind of see the board in my mind."

The woman proceeded to tap on the side of her head. She tried to think of how to answer his question. It was rare that people would be curious about her ability; they were often bridled with rage when they'd lose.

"Every time I play a move, I can see all possible combinations to any move my opponent can do to mine. It just flows in my mind, and I can't control it. Every combination is stored, too. Even if I last saw it years ago."

Her explanation had him humming in thought, trying to think of how that was possible. Could it be a Heavenly Restriction?

"You mean that you remember all the moves we did in this game too?" he asked her.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Interesting.

She seemed to be unaware of how that worked or why it did. That doesn't mean that he can't beat her. Sukuna knew that there had to be a way to get around her skills at this game. Eventually, he will find said way to win, and he'll be able to get rid of her at once. 

The two started another match, and she was the first to start. Her move wasn't a basic one like earlier; she had already gotten somewhat of a read on his playstyle. In order to win, she had to think in his way to be able to predict his most probable move after hers. 

So far, she had been moving in a certain rhythm—moving her pieces seconds after him. She looked at him and the board as if she could read their souls bare. Telling her what she needs to do to maintain her pace. All Sukuna had to do was disrupt her pace. He played the same way he did earlier, leaving two of his strong pieces around his King and attacking her with the rest.

However, when she was nearing his King, he suddenly moved his knight and placed it in an unexpected position.

"N-7g."

She froze in her place, her hands tensed up. He didn't have to see her eyes to know that he had caught her off guard. It was visible from the way her gaze was directed towards the board, and her hands were stuck in place.

'You'll be a nice dinner to have today.' He cackled in his mind while he leaned in closer in anticipation. His eyes were wide open, staring at her intently to watch her reach her death at her own hands.

His gaze dropped down to her moving hand, and he grinned widely. She was going to fall into his trap; he was going to win when she'd least expect it.

"+N-6i." She placed her promoted knight down.

He lost.

Again.

His grin transformed into a quiet sneer. He gritted his teeth and glared at the board. How... how did she manage to do that? 

"That's a checkmate." He finally said.

Sukuna began to pick up the pieces instead, his mind running a thousand miles per hour. It annoyed him to realize that he hadn't noticed her promoted piece earlier on. He was so focused on almost winning that he forgot about his most vital piece. His own King.

"Why did you hesitate?" he asked her, his voice not betraying the anger that bubbled in him. 

Snap! Snap! Snap!

He placed the pieces down to rearrange them.

She lifted her head to look at him, and she smiled sweetly like she wasn't the one who tricked him. 

"Because the sequence you did was something I had done before." She began to explain calmly. "Then I had an opponent do it to me before, so I had to find out halfway and change up my strategy without him noticing."

She gripped her kimono and glanced down at the board with a fond look. "It was like reliving that moment again. That's... That's why I hesitated."

Sukuna couldn't stop himself from chuckling at her words. For such a dumb, innocent girl, she played him without him noticing. It was starting to drive him insane; he had to win no matter what. Even if it took up all his time, he was determined to win. All just to fulfill the vow and kill her and her annoying village people. It was them who sent her his way. Who forced her into his sacred place. The second he won, he was going to relish in murdering her and the rest. He'd hang up their heads and organs to warn people to never mess with him again.

And so, they played.

They played and played till night rolled in, and it was nothing but a losing streak for him. Sukuna was visibly looking at her with unbearable bloodlust, yet she still continued to look at him like he was a Saint who saved her people. She treated him with a softness he had never experienced before, and it set him off. He never allowed someone to treat him like that. Matter of fact, no one ever did. He didn't need some weak, pathetic human emotions displayed towards him.

She even had the guts to explain to him what moves he could possibly do when he was actually struggling on what to do. Sukuna thought his options were limited, but hearing her tell him about all the combinations while pointing at the pieces with her index finger opened his eyes to possibilities he had overlooked. The worst part of it all was how genuine she sounded. She was so happy and excited to tell him.

She was truly the weirdest person he had ever met in all the years he had lived.

Sukuna knew that she hadn't gotten to rest properly in over twenty-four hours. They started playing the second she had arrived. However, she didn't show a hint of exhaustion. She didn't ask him to stop out of hunger or tiredness. Instead, she played with him to his heart's content. If it was anyone else forced to be in her position, they'd show it with their body language.

She was just...

He didn't even know how to describe her anymore. It really threw him for a loop.

His gaze lingered on her for a second, and then he said, "What's your name?"

Her lips tugged upward at his question.

"My name is Yukina, Your Majesty."

"Call me King Sukuna."

Yukina was pleased to hear his name, and she gave him a small nod and said, "Yes, King Sukuna."

So docile.

Sukuna leaned back in his place while trying to study her features. Yukina was completely oblivious to everything around her. To him. To how he stared at her intently like she was his prey. It was starting to become entertaining to him by now. He was going to shatter her innocence and expose her father's betrayal to her eventually. He would let her know that it was him, the King of Curses, who set her place on fire and killed a good part of her population.

And he was going to love every second of it.

Notes:

✧ Fuubutsushi: the things—feelings, scents, images—that evoke emories or anticipation of a particular season for a poet.

¹. Heian-kyō: Heian-kyō was one of several former names for the city now known as Kyoto. Emperor Kanmu established it as the capital in 794, moving the Imperial Court there from nearby Nagaoka-kyō and marking the beginning of the Heian period of Japanese history.

². Heian shogi: Heian shōgi is a predecessor of modern shogi. Unfortunately, there is not enough information to actually play the game.

³. Jūnihitoe: The jūnihitoe is a style of formal court dress first worn in the Heian period by noble women and ladies-in-waiting at the Japanese Imperial Court. The jūnihitoe was composed of a number of kimono-like robes, layered on top of each other, with the outer robes cut both larger and thinner to reveal the layered garments underneath.

⁴. P-5d: A typical example is P-8f. The first letter represents the piece moved: P = pawn, L = lance, N = knight, S = silver, G = gold, K = king. Promoted pieces have a + added in front of the letter. e.g., +P for a tokin (promoted pawn). The designation of the piece is followed by a symbol indicating the type of move: - for an ordinary move or x for a capture. For example, Nx7c= indicates a knight capturing on 7c without promoting.

[cod-dump]

At the soapghost wedding-

Rudy: Pull yourself together Ale

Alejandro, a sobbing, snotty mess because he’s an absolute SAP: I-I’m Try-Trying

What You Deserve

AleRudy, SoapGhost

(Disclaimer: I don't speak Spanish so I used an online translator. I am sorry if it doesn't come out legible or accidentally summons demons when read out loud)

___

Alejandro hadn’t expected Ghost and Soap to visit the Los Vaqueros base. The pair were glowing when Alejandro and Rudy greeted them. He could feel their joy and excitement.

“My friends! What has you smiling so broadly?”

Ghost, who had an arm on Soap’s shoulders, squeezes them and immediately Soap held up his hand. There, a simple silver band with a gold stripe rested on his ring finger. Alejandro gasped and Rudy grinned. They were getting married. They grabbed they men and smooshed them in a hug, Soap laughing loudly.

It took them a moment to release them, both jittery with excitement and joy, now matching the energy of their friends.

“We didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

“I would’ve killed you if you did!”

They ushered the two off to grab drinks. They had already told Laswell, seeing that they were in the US first to tell her. Then they flew here to tell Alejandro and Rudy.

“You have to stay for dinner!”

Soap looks at Ghost and grins, “Told you they were going to ask.”

Ghost rolls his eyes fondly, “Laswell stuffed us with pie when we saw her.”

“Then we’re going to have to stuff you with birria tacos.”

Soap slaps Ghost chest to prevent him from saying anything, “Oh, we’re staying!”

They ended up going back to their house, Soap deciding to help Rudy in the kitchen while Alejandro and Ghost were banished to the living room. Ghost was bouncing his knee as Alejandro grabbed them beers.

“I can’t believe you’re finally getting married!”

“After carrying the damn ring in my pocket for a year, yea.”

Alejandro laughs, “A year?”

“The most gruesome year of my life.”

Ghost and Alejandro open their beers, Ghost taking a swig. Alejandro could tell he was wanting to say something. The bouncing knee and now him fidgeting with the beer bottle.

“Something on your mind?”

“Yea, I was wanting to ask you something…”

Alejandro tilts his head and Ghost breathes out before looking to him, “Would you be my best man?”

Alejandro, of course, was in mid drink of his beer when he processed the question. He immediately choked on the drink, almost spilling the rest of his beer while trying to blindly put it on the coffee table. Ghost panicked and pat his back to help clear his lungs. After a moment of coughing, Alejandro breathed in.

“You… want me to be your best man?”

“Yes?”

“Me- Simon, I love you. I am honored that you have asked me but- what about John? Kyle? Kate?”

Ghost laughs, “John is more like my father and Kate is unofficially my mother if you haven’t noticed. Not exactly best man material. And Kyle is Johnny’s best man. You should’ve seen the river he cried when Johnny asked him.”

Alejandro stared before he grins. He grabs Ghost and pulls him into a hug. Ghost immediately hugs him back, laughing.

“Is that a yes?”

“You bet your ass it is!”

After a minute Soap yelled from the kitchen, “I’m assuming the coughing and yelling is because Ale is now your best man and not that you killed him!”

Rudy screams, “ALE IS GOING TO BE HIS BEST MAN?!”

After dinner and much talking, Ghost and Soap left even though Alejandro and Rudy insisted they stayed the night. Alejandro was riddled with anticipation, unable to sleep that night. Soon Alejandro was helping get ready for the wedding. He of course made time with Rudy, planning their outfits and shopping for wedding gifts. It was truly one of the happiest they had felt. They had been to weddings before but this one was different. Two of their closest friends were getting married. Two of the bravest men they had the pleasure of knowing.

Two men, like them, never knew if they would ever be able to have this.

Alejandro and Rudy didn’t have an actual ceremony when they had gotten married. They took the quickest route to tie the knot because, at the time, they weren’t sure if they would ever get another chance. Though Rudy has told Alejandro time and time again that not having an actual ceremony didn’t bother him and he was happy, Alejandro felt as though he deprived his husband the wedding he deserved.

The wedding was taking place in Scotland, at a church that was near a cliff overlooking the ocean. This was where Soap’s parents had gotten married. And now it was where Soap would be marrying the love of his life. Alejandro was up one night talking to Ghost about it, he could hear the smile on his face even over the phone. Alejandro was outside, enjoying the cool breeze as they talked. He was watching Rudy through the window as Ghost expressed his excitement and joy.

“Every little detail matters. I’m going to make it the most wonderful and memorable day of Johnny’s life.”

Even though Rudy was smiling as he read his book, Alejandro felt himself frown.

“All of us are going to make sure you both have a wonderful and beautiful day, Simon. It’s what you both deserve.”

Alejandro had the pleasure of helping wrangle everything together along with the rest of the wedding party. Gaz was trying to act like he wasn’t holding back tears as they planned his best friends’ day. Alejandro had found Gaz sobbing behind some flower arrangements.

“Kyle?”

Gaz didn’t bother to look at him, “They’re killing me!”

Alejandro saw that Gaz was looking at his phone, seeing a paragraph of text from Soap.

“Johnny just sent me a rough draft of his vows. It’s so sickening! I might throw up with how sweet it is!”

Alejandro smiles and pats Gaz’s back, “Save the tears.”

“If I do that I might flood the church!”

Price wasn’t much better. He, Laswell, and Alejandro went with Ghost to look at tuxedos. When Ghost tried on the third tux, Alejandro could see Price struggling to keep it together. Laswell had to step away to give herself a moment before she came back. She was also taking a million pictures, Ghost groaning when she kept having him turn around.

“I don’t even know if I want this one.”

“I don’t care! I’m savoring every moment of this!”

Ghost didn’t pick a tux that day but no one was in a rush. That night, Gaz called and talked about Soap and how his father and mother were pestering him about growing his hair out for the wedding. Alejandro laughed, he couldn’t imagine Soap with a full head of hair.

“It’s getting closer…”

Rudy nodded, falling asleep on Alejandro’s chest. Alejandro thumbed his wedding ring, wondering what kind of wedding Rudy and him would’ve had. Something traditional? A small gathering of their closest friends and relatives? Rudy hasn’t been in contact with his parents and family for years. Would they come? If not, who would walk Rudy down the isle?

“Estás pensando demasiado alto, amor.” (You’re thinking too loud, love.)

“Lo siento, flor” (I’m sorry, blossom.)

Rudy mumbles, burying his face against Alejandro’s chest. Alejandro sighs, closing his eyes and attempting to drift off to sleep. For the next couple of months, up until the wedding, Alejandro continued to think. As everything built up, to the decorations, seating arrangements, guest list, food— All Alejandro could think about is what Rudy and him would’ve chosen. He tried to not let his busy mind get in the way of helping make his friends’ most amazing and impactful day of their lives become reality.

The dancing classes Alejandro attended with Gaz, Ghost, and Soap was fun. Soap insisted that Alejandro and Gaz were going to dance together at the wedding, and Alejandro laughed as Gaz stared at him in judgment.

“I don’t dance.”

“You will!”

Gaz groaned loudly before turning to Alejandro. Alejandro had to laugh at the face he was making as they followed the dance teacher’s instructions.

“At least you haven’t stepped on my feet yet.”

Immediately after those words left Alejandro’s mouth, Gaz purposely stepped on his foot.

“Oh, my bad.”

Alejandro went to say something when he noticed Ghost and Soap as they practiced. He saw how carefully they moved, Soap grinning like a madman. Ghost was looking at him like he was the only person in the whole world. Alejandro stumbled over his own feet and made Gaz lose balance, causing him to fall against Alejandro. They didn’t fall to the floor, thankfully, but they still were in a awkward position.

“You clumsy ass!”

The old lady who was instructing them gasped at Gaz’s words while Soap laughed. Alejandro helped Gaz stand while grinning. Once Gaz was standing on his own, he smacked Alejandro’s shoulder and backed away.

“I don’t know how Rudy deals with you!”

“I am very charismatic.”

Gaz glares at Alejandro while the instructor announces that it was break time. Soap and Ghost walked over with matching grins.

“Do we need to separate you two?”

Alejandro shrugs, “I don’t know what’s Kyle’s issue. I thought we were doing fine.”

It isn’t a secret on how some friends can’t work with each other due to how they distract one another. Gaz and Alejandro so happened to be that type of friends. Well, sometimes they were like that. But they knew that this wedding was important and they weren’t going to be the ones that disrupt it.

“I swear if it rains-“

“Tents exist, Simon.”

Soap and Ghost were set on everything happening outside. The actual ceremony would happen inside the church but everything else would be outside. Alejandro and Gaz had been running around to make everything was perfect. From looking at pole tents, DJs, what drinks and food to serve, getting all allergies down— It was a lot of work but they were happy to do it.

With the wedding right around the bend and finishing touches being made, Ghost became increasingly anxious. He was pacing as he and Alejandro went over last minute details to make sure everything was perfect.

"What if he changes his mind about marrying me?"

Alejandro rolls his eyes, "Mi hermano, in what world or timeline would Johnny not want you?"

Ghost sighs, "Just... he could do so much better than me."

"Simon, you are a damn good man. I can't imagine a single person who is better than you."

Ghost huffs but Alejandro could see a hint of a smile in his eyes. Alejandro helped Ghost arrange a gift to be sent to Soap the night before the wedding. A simple bottle of whisky and chocolates with a note. Ghost worried he should have something more extravagant delivered but Alejandro assured him Soap would love anything he sent him. From a bottle of wine from the corner store or a bottle of whisky straight from the distillery.

Alejandro had to help Ghost calm down enough to sleep. Though he, too, had a hard time settling down. Tomorrow was the big day.

"No sneaking out the window," Alejandro joked as Ghost sat on his hotel room's bed.

They decided Soap would stay at his parents' house while Ghost stayed in a hotel. Alejandro and Rudy were staying in the room right next door and Laswell was in her own room with her wife down the hall, Price in the room across from hers. If Ghost did try to run (which he wouldn't in a million years), someone was bound to catch him in the act.

Alejandro groans and falls into the bed next to Rudy. He feels his husband rub his back which made Alejandro groan again.

"Can't wait for the wedding to be over with?"

"I love Simon and Johnny but god I had no idea planning a wedding would be this exhausting."

Rudy hums and Alejandro felt his heart twist. He would've been just like Ghost if he was planning his wedding with Rudy. Every detail would matter. Location, guests, decorations, the food-- Everything. Alejandro sits up in the bed, kneeling in front of Rudy.

"Mi amor? Something wrong?"

Alejandro reaches over and takes Rudy's hand, thumbing over his wedding band.

"Remember when we were kids and you talked about your dream wedding?"

Rudy sighs, "Ale-"

"Rudy, please..."

"Yes, but that was years ago. What child doesn't dream about their wedding?"

Alejandro scoots closer, "I should've given you that wedding. Some way or how-"

"Alejandro, I don't need a wedding. I am married to you, not having a ceremony does not change that."

Rudy moves and crawls closer to Alejandro, cupping his face.

"I am happy, my love. I have you and that is what matters."

Even with Rudy kissing him to seal that fact, Alejandro still felt doubt. When they were children, while Alejandro was sword fighting the neighborhood kids with sticks, Rudy was creating stories. One story was his wedding. Back then, Rudy and Valeria would 'kidnap' Alejandro and have a dramatic mock wedding. If Alejandro knew those silly games would be the closest thing he had to having a ceremony with Rudy, he would've done things differently.

When morning came, Alejandro put on a face for the wedding. He felt anxious so he knew that Ghost was going to be far worse.

"Today's the day," Alejandro muttered as he went to make sure Ghost was ready to get this over with.

Rudy parted from the hotel after giving Alejandro an encouraging kiss. Hearing Laswell finally let out a sob when reality hit her brought Alejandro's attention back to Ghost. They dressed Ghost, made sure everything looked in order, then headed out for the church. Alejandro could feel the tension coming off of Ghost in waves, the man fidgeting with the cuffs of his suit.

"Everything is going to go perfectly, mi hermano."

Ghost breathed out, head resting against the back of the seat, "I hope so... I never thought this day would come for me..."

Alejandro pats Ghost's knee, "Course it would come. Just had to wait for Johnny."

Ghost cracks a contagious smile that Alejandro couldn't help but return.

Everything from that point on, thankfully, went without issues. The guests were behaved (Alejandro was concerned about Soap's family but he wouldn't dare say that out loud), everything was in place, the priest was ready to go-- Everything was perfect! Gaz had given Alejandro an earpiece so they could communicate and Alejandro couldn't help but laugh.

"This isn't a mission, Kyle."

"Uh, yes it is. A life mission."

Alejandro laughed as Gaz continued out, both of them making sure no issues even had a chance to take root. Finally, it was time. Everyone took their places, and soon the ceremony started. The priest took his place at the alter, then Ghost took his place with Alejandro following suit. Alejandro could see Rudy in the crowd, near tears. Alejandro could see Ghost fidgeting again as the rest of the wedding party took their places and, finally, Soap walked down the isle with his father.

Alejandro could see the awestruck look on Ghost's face, the love and adoration as Soap made his way down the isle, kilt and all. The look never went away, even with Soap standing in front of him. Alejandro found himself imagining him and Rudy in their position, in front of an alter, family and friends around them, laying witness to their union. He was unaware of how much time passed, of what was said. Alejandro was lost, imagining a beautiful ceremony, catered to Rudy and all that he ever dreamt of.

Then the priest started to give a speech about marriage and he snapped out of it. Ghost and Soap seemed almost lost staring at each other, the love so strong that Alejandro could get sick by it. Finally, it was time to exchange vows,

"Simon and John, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?"

"Yes."

"Will you honor each other as husbands for the rest of your lives?"

"Yes."

Alejandro could hear a shake in Ghost's voice as he spoke, holding Soap's hands in such a delicate manner. As if he was afraid this would all go away if he squeezed too hard.

"I, Simon, take you, John, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life."

Alejandro could see Price sobbing, tears streaming down his face. Laswell was rubbing his shoulder, tears also in her eyes.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, take and wear this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness."

Ghost managed to slip the ring onto Soap's finger without dropping it. The man was barely containing his shaky hands. Alejandro swallows hard, thinking about the ring he had gotten Rudy. It wasn't anything special. Wasn't expensive or worth showing off. It was just a plain wedding band, something to show that Rudy was taken. Nothing more.

There was more preaching and prayer until, finally-

The kiss shared between Ghost and Soap was the most passionate one Alejandro had ever seen them share. Tears in their eyes, Soap cupping Ghost's face as they smooshed their faces together. Alejandro swears he could hear Price losing it but he didn't look to confirm it. After the priest's final blessing, the wedding party begun to leave. Soap's nieces who served as flower girls skipping down the isle, throwing their petals with glee.

Alejandro joined with Rudy as soon as he could, choked up by it all. He swept his husband into his arms, not giving the man a chance to say anything. He captured his husband's lips into a kiss before pulling away, holding his face.

"Let's get married."

"What? Ale-"

"I want a do over. A ceremony."

Rudy places a hand over Alejandro's that held his face, "Ale, I don't need a ceremony."

"But you deserve one. And I swear I will give you one."

Rudy chokes up, leaning in to kiss Alejandro. They part smiling, tears wetting their cheeks. They made their way back to the rest of the party, Ghost and Soap pressed against each other, staring at each other like there was no one else there. Alejandro kept a firm hand on Rudy's, smiling.

He'll make sure his husband gets this. It's what he deserves.

___

[jake-is-screaming-in-tune]

Hello! I'm back with some Tiger!Zoro

[giantbonfirestars]

An Orphaned Brother

Summary: Zane and Jay meet while Zane is being held by The Administration

A/N: This is only a oneshot, so no more, sorry not sorry. Also I haven't seen s2p2 yet so there might be some details I don't know about and therefore did not include. Enjoy!

Zane busily moved about the mail room. He may not have been here by choice, but he would at least make sure he was efficient in the work before he was saved.

He kept glancing at the monitor sitting on the desk, looking for any sign of his friends. He would be able to send them messages using the mail tubes once they were actually here. It was taking some time, but it had also only been a day. Plus the rest of the ninja were already busy with their own missions when he was captured, he had to wait until they returned home and actually knew of his absence.

Zane had just sent off some paperwork to one of the many people working at a desk when he heard footsteps approaching the room. How has he not seen them on the screen? It wasn’t often someone actually came in here, but they usually just ignored him when they did. So long as he was doing his work properly, which he was, they wouldn’t have a need to bother him.

The door opened and Zane tried his best to ignore whoever it was and just continue with his work. There was a beat of silence and someone cleared their throat in the way to show they are trying to another’s attention. Zane stopped what he was doing and turned to the person in the doorway.

The young man standing at the door had curly ginger hair and freckles lightly dotting his cheeks and nose. Zane would recognize him anywhere, this was his teammate, his brother. This was Jay.

The expression he wore wasn’t familiar though. He looked annoyed and almost bored, which wasn’t uncommon, but it was like his spark was gone. Like the thing that made Jay, Jay, was gone.

“The mailing tube in my office isn’t working so I needed to bring this up by hand. Get it to room 5013 please. I would have brought it there myself, but the mail room is much closer, not to mention I have a game- a lot of paperwork to get back to.” Jay explained, holding a stack of papers up for Zane to take.

“Jay?”

The mentioned boy raised an eyebrow at his name. “What authority do you have to address me by my first name?”

“Do you not recognize me?” Zane asked, a feeling of grief clawing at his insides.

“I have never seen you before in my life. I haven’t ever been to mail room before and I would hope you haven’t been out of it either.” Jay sounded annoyed, lowering the stack of papers that Zane had yet to grab from his hands.

“What? Why is that?” Zane hadn’t left the mail room since he got here, it’s true, but the way Jay said it implied something else. Jay didn’t seem to know that he was prisoner, he just thinks that Zane had been here the entire time. He knew this place was strict but did they really not allow people to leave their offices and cubicles. Then again, only people of higher status ever seemed to freely roam the halls and interact with other fields, or at least that’s what he got from viewing the monitor. Jay must be someone important to be able to just walk in here.

Zane was pulled from his thoughts as Jay started talking again, “Because equipment isn’t allowed to leave the area of its purpose. Well, unless we’re destroying it that is, but why would we destroy you? You’ve only been here a day and mail speed and productivity has already increased.”

Zane just stared at the shorter man in front of him, his throat tightening up. Did Jay call him equipment? A thing?

“Although making or purchasing equipment with free will is a little silly if you ask me. Our conversation has been great and all but you still haven’t done what I asked of you.” Jay held up the stack of papers again and Zane warily reached out to take them.

“It is a good thing you aren’t actually sentient, because if this keeps up we might have to destroy you after all.” Jay chuckled quietly at that, but Zane couldn’t find any humor in it. Jay turned to leave and Zane turned to send off the papers. Hesitating as he heard the click of the lock on the door after Jay had closed it.

Jay was just as much a prisoner here as Zane is, only he doesn’t know it.

[i-am-church-the-cat]

fresh kill

wc: 1745 summary: "This is your mouse, congratulations." | Or how the boys first meet in my patron deity au

also read on ao3

People at the karting track were leaving quite a berth between them and the two Sargeant brothers. Dalton, almost 17 and more than used to his kind of behavior, doesn’t think anything of it. He came out to Europe to see his brother not people with gods too scared to talk with them. Dalton could tell it was bothering Logan, though. Logan, who was all alone in a foreign continent, who felt distinctly apart from everyone else, and not just because he has a predator god as a patron. 

Most of the other kids are avoiding Logan like the plague. The longer it goes on, the more his brother looks like a kicked puppy. His brother’s a bother at the best of times, but Dalton is still fiercely protective over him. He wants to march around to all the adults and yell at them for ignoring a kid. A kid. Logan’s barely 13!

Before Logan can burst into tears and Dalton can start ripping people to shreds, a boy roughly the same age and size as Logan pops out of nowhere. He still looks wary at approaching the son of a hunter god, but he’s clearly brave enough that it isn’t holding him back. 

“I’m Oscar,” the boy says. There’s something weirdly syrupy in his tone and it takes Dalton a second to place it. Fucking children of sleep, they’re the worst on a race track. They’re a straight up danger if they don’t know how to regulate their energy. Though, if no one’s gonna make a fuss, Dalton isn’t. This is the only kid who’s talked to them all day and Logan’s spirits are finally starting to lift. 

“I’m Logan,” he says, bright and chipper, squeaky and cracking around the edges. “Are you racing today.”

“Yeah,” Oscar says, slowly once again. Dalton’s pretty sure it’s less his personality and more because Logan just asked a ridiculously obvious question. He’s in a race suit and has a yellow, blue, orange helmet under his arm. “You qualified tenth for this race, right?”

Dalton’s honestly surprised Oscar noticed. How long has the kid been building up the courage to come talk to them? Logan’s head flops around on his neck in a facsimile of a nod. 

“Yeah, yeah. You qualified higher, though.”

“Sixth, yeah,” Oscar agrees with a short nod. The difference in demeanor between the two boys is slightly jarring. It’s like being light-headed from elevation at the same time as being buried beneath the earth to sleep. For someone on the outside, like Dalton, it was giving him a headache. Logan and Oscar seemed to not notice at all, attracting more like magnets. 

“I’ll just have to catch up with you, then,” Logan says. He tilts his head and Dalton can recognize the look of interest catching in Logan’s head. Not just for a new friend but for a new target. He sighs internally and hopes this guy doesn’t go running for the hills.

Oscar doesn’t seem to notice Logan’s newfound fascination. He just shrugs. 

“You can try, but I’ll probably be in first before you get to seventh.”

Both Sargeant boys blink, taken aback. Before Logan can respond, a woman who looks a lot like Oscar is calling his name and waving him over. The drowsy boy looks over his shoulder at her before turning back to Logan. 

“See ya, then.”

It’s only when Oscar is walking away that Dalton realize the kid never once addressed him. Kind of rude. Before he can bring up the topic of getting something to eat to his brother, Logan is turning to him with wide eyes. 

Blue-green eyes. Shit. 

“I like him,” Logan tells him, reedy voice going sharp. His brother is bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, like he’s about to take off. “I wanna beat him.”

Dalton sighs for real this time. 

--

Logan chases the blue, yellow, orange helmet all the way up to second place. Dalton figures he would have caught the kid if they’d had another couple of turns. But as fast as Logan was when he was hunting, Oscar was somehow just that bit faster. Dalton wondered if the kid had any idea what he was doing. 

From the dazed expression Oscar had when he got out of the kart, he would say no. 

Speaking of dazed expressions, Logan’s eyes don’t leave Oscar’s once during the podium ceremony. He barely manages to get a word out to the announcer. The boy on the step above him doesn’t once glance his way. 

Dalton can see Logan getting more antsy the longer Oscar ignores him. He wonders if he’s seriously going to have to drag his brother back to their car to keep him from jumping this poor kid. But Logan steps off of the podium without argument, making his way to Dalton’s side without once looking at him. He’s holding his second-place trophy in a loose fist as he watches Oscar head back to his family. 

“Quite a race, dude, you almost had him,” Dalton says, forgoing his usual noogie for the mild apprehension that Logan might bite him. “Want me to take that for you?”

Logan finally tears his eyes away from the son of sleep and looks down at his trophy as if seeing it for the first time. He looks at it for a while, then between it and Oscar, then to Dalton. He gets a sinking feeling in his gut before Logan even opens his mouth. 

“I need to give this to him.”

Before Dalton can explain that that would be crazy and that his hormones are all out of wack right now, Logan is taking off at a brisk walk towards Oscar. The older Sargeant curses and takes off after him. With his brother’s luck, Logan’s gonna end up flat on his ass and banned from any more karting events for being fucking weird. 

Logan pulls up short right in front of Oscar. Oscar doesn’t seem to mind the intrusion of his personal space, just raises one bored eyebrow up at Logan’s appearance. 

“Hey, mate, what’s up?”

Logan opens his mouth. Closes it. Does this a few more times before shoving his trophy forward into Oscar’s chest.

“Here.”

Oscar looks down at the trophy that was unceremoniously shoved into his arms and then back up at Logan. There’s only confusion in his expression before a spark of annoyance appears. 

“I don’t want your second-place trophy, mate. If you didn’t notice, I won. I came in first, not you.”

Oscar tries to shove the trophy back into Logan’s arms but the blond makes a sound not unlike a squawking bird and just tries to give it back. They end up in this weird tug-of-war situation, except instead of tugging, they’re both trying really really hard to push it away. 

“No, it’s yours.”

“I didn’t come in second, it’s yours.”

“But I’m giving it to you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dalton finally decides to step in for the lack of any other semi-adult figure. He pulls his dejected-looking brother away from Oscar, who’s still fuming at the assumed insult. Logan looks from the trophy in his hands and then up at Dalton. He looks fucking pitiful, the goof. He sighs and decides to at least try and help his little brother. 

“Look, Oscar,” he starts, baring the thoroughly unimpressed look the other 13-year-old gives him. “You know how a cat sometimes bring mice to their owners?”

“I’m not a cat!” Logan sputters indignantly at the same time Oscar says, “Yeah?”

Dalton snags the trophy from Logan’s hands and holds it out to the Australian. “This is your mouse, congratulations.”

Logan looks like he wants to argue the point but Oscar is looking at the two brothers with much more consideration then before. Just when Dalton is sure his brother’s gonna get rejected again, he gently takes the trophy.

“Okay,” Oscar says, tucking the slightly smaller trophy against his side next to the big trophy. “As long as you’re not taking mine.”

Logan’s head flies from side-to-side like a hummingbird wing. Fucking goof.

“Alright, then,” Oscar finally seems to relax. He offers Logan a tentative smile and Dalton can feel his brother practically droop against his side. Oh, thank god, somehow this kid’s mojo got Logan’s hyperfocus to take a fucking break. That would have taken Dalton forever.

“I have to go now. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya,” Logan says, but Oscar is already gone. For a kid so lethargic, he sure does move fast. The Sargeant boys watch him walk away, one with little hearts flying around his head and one utterly done with this shit.

“Well,” Dalton looks down at his little brother. “I’m never letting you off your leash again.”

Logan turns right around and bites him. The fucking brat.  

--

New day, new race, same track and same opponents. Dalton is sitting on a fold-out chair watching Logan’s mechanic walk him through different parts of his kart. His little brother is nodding along, entirely focused on the car, until the smell of rain at nighttime come through. Then he’s a fucking lost cause.

Oscar is standing at the entrance to their tent, looking at Logan almost as intensely as the blond is looking to him. His little brother bounds over without a second thought in his empty little head.

“Hey! What’s up?” Logan sounds so excited. Dalton’s honestly embarrassed for him.

“I had a dream about you,” Oscar says without preamble. Dalton chokes on the Coke he was drinking but neither boy seems to care that he’s in the throes of a cheap death. 

A sleep god gave their kid a dream about Logan? About his little brother? This can’t be real life. 

Logan, without a clue in the world of the implications of that statement, just says, “Cool, was it a good one?”

Oscar seems to think about it for a second before nodding. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it was a pretty good one.”

That statement must have been some kind of secret code the two made up the second Dalton wasn’t there, because Logan just nods and doesn’t react at all when Oscar grabs his wrist and starts pulling Logan out of the tent. Logan starts yammering away in his usual hyperactivity, and Oscar just nods along as he leads the blond to gods know where. 

And Dalton is left sitting in the kart tent. What the fuck is his life?

[starlight-tav]

Mortal Again

Gale x Trans Male Tav

Content: smut, minor act 2 spoilers, slightly angsty gale, lots of fluff and trust, anal sex (Amethyst uses magic to enlarge his bottom growth for penetration), hope

Summary: Gale doesn't know why Amethyst cares for him, but he finally confesses that he wants him. In return, Amethyst gives him everything.

Gale can hardly believe it on the best of days ��� that Amethyst would have affection for someone like him. He is a constellation of insecurity, ravenous ambition, and spurned desires. And now he is also given unto death by the gods themselves. What can he offer him, save for blathering lectures and ill-wrought witticisms?

Gods, but he wishes Tara were here; well, rather he wishes he were at home in Waterdeep and her good company. For all is foolhardiness, she offers him remarkably little judgment. Constructive criticism? Aplenty. But judgment? No. She only wishes to see him contented. And, if he were completely honest with himself, she seems to know better than he how to achieve that. Always has. 

Gale draws in a surplus of breath and releases it like a field ox under heavy yoke. Amethyst's ears perk at the sound from his perch at Astarion's tent. To the vampire spawn's great relief, the half-elf's words trail off as he becomes distracted by the wizard's distress. 

"Just go to him," Astarion groans, momentarily dropping his mending work to his lap. "And leave me to my task. You're annoying me." 

Amethyst glares at Astarion and the spawn shoos him. The urge to stubbornly remain at his companion's side out of spite is strong, but the desire to investigate Gale's weariness is stronger. 

Amethyst stands and crosses camp. He finds Gale seated on a stool, book unopened in his lap, with a ponderous frown creasing his brow. 

"Care to share the burden, my dear?" Amethyst ventures, squatting in his usual way in front of Gale so he can look up into the wizard's eyes. 

Immediately, Gale's brow softens, and a smile graces his lips as if unbidden. He opens his mouth to protest, but his thoughts of Tara chastise him as though she were actually present. She would urge him to be honest with one he claims to be so fond of. So, he asks Amethyst to join him for a walk. 

The pair travel in companionable silence to a knoll blanketed in the dark grass so common here in the Shadow-cursed Lands. Gale sits first and then gestures for Amethyst to join him. 

"I've been thinking about you," Gale begins, eyes trained on a crooked tree just ahead of them. "And how strange it is that you've come to care for me."

Amethyst's pale brows furrow as he examines Gale's expression. He doesn't know what he sees there, so he waits for Gale to continue. 

"The truth is, I fear I have too little time left and even fewer virtues to give you. In a wry twist of fate, it seems that the very thing that could fashion me into a far worthier man would also bring our journey together to an end. You deserve more than a fool. More than a sacrificial lamb. More than I am. And yet…" 

Gale suddenly turns to look at Amethyst, and just as Gale softened the moment he heard the half-elf's voice, so too did Amethyst melt into the warmth of the wizard's gaze.

"…And yet, selfishly, I want you. I want to give myself to you. A paltry offering, I am, but-"

Amethyst surges forward and quiets Gale with a touch of his lips to the corner of the wizard's mouth. 

He pulls away from Gale, just enough to capture his eyes with his own, and assures him with confidence and grace, "There is nothing meager about what you are willing to share with me, Gale. I want it all. I want you. And you can have all of me in return." 

Perhaps it is the earnestness with which Amethyst speaks, but Gale finds neither will nor word of protest within himself. Instead, he leans into his companion and kisses him delicately. 

Amethyst responds eagerly, pressing into Gale's body, his hand finding the back of Gale's neck to pull him closer. 

Gale marvels at the balance Amethyst strikes between insistence and restraint, and chuckles against his lips. 

"What's so funny?" Amethyst asks, smiling in between pecks to Gale's cheek and jaw.

Gale's hand travels the length of Amethyst's arm and shoulder to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck as the warlock-sorcerer nips at his skin. "Nothing. You're perfect," he says. Amethyst hums against him and sucks lightly at his throat. 

Gale moans, a quiet and desperate little sound. 

"Like that?" Amethyst asks.

"Yes." Gale tugs on Amethyst's hair so the man looks up at him. "I'm all yours, Amethyst."

The way that Gale says it makes his meaning clear, and Amethyst grins before pressing an agonizingly chaste kiss to Gale's adam's apple. 

"Want me to mark you?" He asks, nipping playfully. "Want me to write my desire into your skin?" 

"Yes. Gods, yes." 

Amethyst latches onto Gale, sucking bruises into the column of his throat, and Gale's grip in his white hair tightens. 

The half-elf hums with pleasure at the sting on his scalp and the sound makes Gale's cock throb. 

Gale nearly whimpers his lover's name and Amethyst bites him in response.

"I want to fuck you," Amethyst speaks against Gale's skin, voice darkened with need. 

"I would like that very much." Gale cards his fingers through Amethyst's hair. "I want it to be perfect. I want to bond with you the way the gods do."   Amethyst freezes for a brief moment, body gone rigid against Gale's before he slowly disentangles from the Wizard.

"What's wrong?" Gale asks, voice gone tight with restrained panic.

Amethyst uses both of his hands to tenderly hold Gale's face, thumbs gently tracing his cheek bones. 

"Gale, I am no god," he says, sadness where desire filled his voice only a moment ago. "I neither need nor want perfection."

Like hearth fire, the words soothe something deep inside Gale's heart. Maybe Tara is not the only one with insight into Gale's needs. 

"Okay," Gale smiles and presses his lips to Amethyst's forehead. "What do you have in mind?"

"Just be with me, hm?" Amethyst asks. 

Gale nods. 

Amethyst grins and stands, pulling Gale up with him. They return to camp and surreptitiously gather their bedrolls before returning to their secluded glade. They create a comfortable pallet for themselves and kneel naked before one another, lips joining in a feverish kiss.

Pink blooms beneath Amethyst's ravenous mouth from Gale's jaw to his hips, and it drives the wizard mad. When his lover's tongue finally meets his aching cock, Gale whines like he never has before. 

"Please," he begs, adjusting his position so he can spread his legs to suit Amethyst's broad shoulders. "More." 

Amethyst hums contentedly, dragging his tongue from base to tip before sucking the head into his mouth. 

Gale's toes curl and he groans with the release of weeks of want. With anyone else, he'd have been embarrassed at his easy arousal, but Amethyst responds so greedily to his pleasure that he couldn't be ashamed even if he'd been able to think through the unspent lust.

The half-elf's teeth gently scrape along the underside of Gale's cock and the wizard trembles, his fists bunching in the blanket beneath them. Amethyst lets Gale fall from his mouth so he can speak an incantation to oil his fingers. 

He presses the pad of his thumb to Gale's asshole and looks up at him, "May I?"

"Yes, by all means," Gale nods, grinning.

Amethyst dips his thumb into Gale for a brief moment before replacing it with his index finger. Gale had never had something this solid and warm inside of him before, and the feel of it sends sparks up the length of his spine. 

"Amethyst, please," he requests sweetly. 

Amethyst takes his dick back into his mouth, sinking his finger as far into Gale as it will go, and a melodic whine spills from between Gale's lips. Amethyst slips a second finger into Gale and the wizard gasps when he presses into his prostate. 

"Oh, hells," Gale sighs. "More. Please, more." 

Amethyst happily gives Gale what he asks of him. He swallows around his cock and soon presses a third finger into him. 

"Amethyst, please, I'm close," Gale says, tangling his hand in his lover's hair.

Amethyst releases Gale from his mouth and halts his fingers, keeping him full but no longer stimulating him. 

"Gale?" 

Gale props himself up on an elbow to meet the warlock-sorcerer's gaze. "Yes, my love?"

"I'd like to fuck you now." 

Gale quirks an eyebrow, "Is… that not what you've been doing?" 

Amethyst chuckles and moves forward to kiss Gale. The wizard's asshole clenches around his fingers, and Amethyst pulls them out until Gale whines. 

"I have something else in mind," the half-elf whispers. "Do you trust me?" 

Gale nods, "Of course."

The warlock-sorcerer presses his lips to Gale's chastely and grins. He speaks an incantation and Gale's eyes widen. The wizard's eyes fall to the space between his lover's legs and watch as his small cock grows large enough to penetrate him. Gale's cheeks grow warm and his heart rate increases. 

"Of all the ways I've used magic for intimacy, never have I considered this," he says, giggling with genuine glee. 

"When you're a man like me, innovation is sometimes necessary," Amethyst smiles and Gale sees the vulnerability in his lilac eyes. He realizes belatedly that Amethyst may not have been as confident as he seemed earlier. His heart fills with admiration.

Gale kisses his lover and speaks his desire against his lips. 

"I want you," he says. "I want your cock inside me. Please?" 

Amethyst shivers and presses his tongue into Gale's mouth, voracious with lust and relief. 

Gale feels the length of him between them as they embrace, and it stokes the fire burning in his belly. 

"Amethyst, please," he urges, desperation growing. 

Without further preamble, Amethyst dips his fingers into his own cunt and uses the slick to coat his cock. He lines himself with Gale's asshole and kisses him again as he presses inside. 

Amethyst may not be a god, but his body meeting Gale's is an act of divinity such that Gale breathes his name in supplication.  

"You feel so good," Amethyst praises him, panting into his neck as he rocks his hips against Gale's ass. 

Gale hooks his ankles behind Amethyst's back, pulling him closer, deeper. Amethyst is hard and warm inside of him; and so, so corporeal. He is a comforting weight pressing him into the earth, so substantial – so real. 

"More," he pleads.

Gale doesn't know how, but Amethyst understands what he needs. His lover tugs Gale's hair free of its tie and combs his fingers through it a few times before tugging his head back. Amethyst latches onto his wizard's neck, leaving marks upon his skin like tenets etched in stone. 

Without warning, the heat in Gale's belly swells, and he cums between their bodies with a strangled cry of his lover's name. 

"Fuck, Gale," Amethyst shudders and releases, his slick trickling down the inside of his own thigh. 

Moments pass with them entangled, breathing in the scent of their coupling while their hearts race together. Amethyst lets go of his concentration, and his cock returns to its smaller state. Gale clenches around nothing, missing its warm immediately. 

Amethyst affectionately noses the lines of Gale's orb marking, and it occurs to Gale that he is wholly satisfied. The revelation stirs his emotions and his eyes blur with unshed tears. 

"I had forgotten," he starts to speak, pausing to swallow around the lump in his throat. "I had forgotten how good it could feel to be so mortal." 

Amethyst's gem-like eyes meet his and Gale smiles. 

"Thank you," the wizard says. 

Amethyst kisses Gale, a sweet lingering touch of lips. 

"You make me happy, Gale," Amethyst says with earnest adoration. 

"You make me happy too," Gale promises. 

They lay together for a long while before Gale conjures fresh water for them to wash up with. Amethyst balls up the blanket that was on top of their little pallet and promises himself it'll get washed tomorrow. He and Gale cuddle beneath Amethyst's raggedy quilt, which is thankfully mostly clean.  

While Amethyst naps, Gale scratches lovingly at his scalp and considers himself anew. Tonight, he made love as mortals do – filthy, sweaty, earthen love – and it was the sweetest pleasure he's ever experienced. For the first time in well over a year, he feels truly happy. To be here. To be mortal. To be with a man who may yet love him. 

This is hope, he thinks. And he resolves not to squander it. He will find a way to defeat the Absolute and to live, goddess be damned. 

[moxbryswhore]

The Smallest Man Who Ever lived

After her Summerslam match, and the betrayal, Rhea heads back to her car.

Were you sent by someone

Who wanted me dead?

Did you sleep with a gun,

Underneath our bed?

Were you writing a book

Were you a sleeper cell spy?

-

The event hadn’t even finished, she could hear the thunderous sound of the stadium as she walked towards her truck. But Rhea didn’t care, she didn’t care about Drew Mcintyre beating CM Punks ass, hell right now she didn’t even care much about Damian’s World Heavyweight Championship match. Win or lose, The Judgment Day would never be the same again. The kiss of death had seen to that. The godforsaken kiss that no matter how hard she tried, Rhea couldn’t stop seeing over and over again. She’d been so convinced, when that damned chair had hit the mat, that it was a mistake. That he’d been trying to help her, that it was just another case of Dominik fumbling from the sidelines, but trying his best. Then she’d seen the smirk on his face, watched him pick her up from the ground as he’d done her so many times, after a hard fought battle in the ring. Her blood had run ice cold.

When she’d returned from injury with her sights set on Liv Morgan, incensed that she had laid hands on what Rhea felt she had made very clear was hers, Dominik had spent hours convincing her that there was nothing to worry about, that the obsession was purely one sided. She’d stood beside him while he’d declared his hatred for her. She’d believed every publicly spoken word, every whispered promise late at night. Everything felt like it was going to be okay, she was back, Damian was champion, Finn and JD the tag champs. It was the strongest The Judgment Day had been in what felt like a long time. They were going into Summerslam on the same page. Dominik had been laying from a different rule book though, for a long time

How long had he lied to her? How long had the two of them planned this? Exactly long had he played the doting, adoring boyfriend while all along they planned her downfall? Since before the injury, had he planned that too? Was he secretly thrilled she’d gotten hurt? He’d waved her off the day she’d relinquished her championship, told her that he loved her as she left. Was any of it true? Rhea went back to every moment since then, every phone call, every facetime from the road. Tried to pinpoint the change, but damn.. He was a good liar. Did Rhea teach him to lie that well, imprint that evil streak in him? Had she set up her own downfall?

Rhea reached her truck and climbed into the drivers seat, throwing her luggage onto the seats behind without any care. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Sure, she wasn’t sure she would have won her title, maybe Liv would have taken some cowardly way out to retain. It wouldn’t have mattered because Rhea would have gotten her hits, would have been satisfied that she’d taught the blonde a lesson once and for all. Her and Dom would’ve left together, hand in hand, would have picked up food to eat back at the hotel, arguing over who gets to play their music on the way. Now the seat beside hers was empty, absent of the sound of Dom’s teasing. His cup from earlier in the day was still sitting in the cup holder, the dregs of coffee long since gone cold. The charging cable still plugged into the dash. Little, insignificant pieces of him that she’d continue to find throughout her life, scattered around her home, like a thousand little razor blades cutting into her.

Why couldn’t he have just left her? A call from him while she was off the road rehabbing to make it easy, some crap excuse about time spent apart, even the truth about his feelings for Liv. Anything. Why this facade of love, why this public humiliation? Had he been miserable the whole time? Two years, planning how he’d take her down, finding the perfect companion in Liv to help him carry it out? This hadn’t just been about ending things, he’d wanted to break her. He’d taken pleasure in it, How could that be right? How could the same man who’d treated Rhea gently, lifted her up so high, treasured her like a prized possession, discard her in such a manner. It was like he was a stranger to her.

She gripped the steering wheel, fingers turning white from the pressure, the leather of the wheel squeaking against her rings. The sounds of the stadium were muffled inside the leather of her truck, but she could make the telltale music of Gunther, and Samantha’s voice declaring him the champion. Damian had lost his title, and Rhea wasn’t there, wouldn’t be in gorilla to greet him as he had so often done for her. She just couldn’t face it, the sideways glances from their coworkers, the whispered hushes of how she probably deserved this after everything she had done.

Maybe they were right, maybe this had been a long time coming? Maybe even before Liv had started playing him like her favourite game, Dom had always planned to one day hurt her the way she had hurt him. Because it was true, their relationship had begun with abuse, hurting him to try and get his attention like a playground shoving contest. Pushung him to the edge to try and unlock that potential that Rhea knew was hidden in there somewhere. She’d dragged him kicking and screaming from beneath the shadow of his legendary father. If he was the monster, she was the one who created him, and he’d turned and sunk his claws into her.

That’s what it felt like, claws dug deep into her skin, beneath her ribs, squeezing the breath out of her. She pressed her forehead against the steering wheel, letting the tears roll down her cheeks and further displace the already smudged makeup. Dom had told before the match that she looked beautiful, kissed her sweetly on her perfectly painted lips, knowing on that entire walk to the gorilla position that he would be the cause of her ruined makeup. She briefly wondered if he was nervous, if he had any second thoughts, if he even for a second looked at her and thought he was making the wrong choice.

The phone Rhea had thrown into the passenger seat as she had climbed into the car lit up with a text notification, probably Priest, back in their clubhouse, wondering where the hell she had disappeared to. As much as she wanted to ignore him, to ignore everyone outside of this truck, she wasn’t going to do that to him, not when he too had lost something. Rhea sat herself up and took a deep breath, scrubbing her face of the tears and picking the phone up. She was right, it was a text from Priest, but it wasn’t a ‘where you at’ text, or not even a ‘don’t worry kiddo, we’ll get him.’ promise from her best friend. Eight simple words that knocked the last of her breath out of her, whilst also at the same time made the most sense of anything that had happened tonight.

‘balor screwed me. it’s just us two now.’

Finn had been jealous, he’d been desperate to be in charge for a long time now, to prove he wasn’t below Damian, it was obvious. She’d seen the look thrown Priests way whenever he'd turned his back on Finn. The sneers that he’d thought Rhea hadn’t seen. In the quiet moments between the two best friends, she had tried to warn Damian, but his response had always been the same. ‘He's family, I trust him. You gotta trust him too’. The same way Rhea had trusted Dominik, believed his desperate promises. Where had that trust gotten either of them? Both betrayed by the people they loved the most. A different kind of love between Damian and Finn, sure, more familial and less romantic, but a love nonetheless.

On Monday an angry Rhea would step out into the world with Damian. A bloodthirsty Rhea, ready to paint the walls red, to wreak havoc on the ones who betrayed them. The weakness she’d shown in the ring after the bell would be the last time she ever showed weakness in front of Dominik and Liv Morgan. Saturday night Rhea would cry herself to sleep in an empty bed, devoid of warmth, in a hotel room devoid of ridiculous cow print boots by the door and ridiculous moustache care products on the vanity. She would get her revenge, that was without a doubt, and once that was doled out, Rhea would move on. In time she’d forget the smell of his cologne, the way his fingers would trace the pattern of her tattoos in the morning, the smile on his face when she’d press a kiss to his cheek and leave a lipstick mark on his skin. They would become distant memories, just another era of her career. But she’d never forgive him, not in five years time when they’d have some ill fated reunion, not in twenty years time when maybe they’d find themselves in a hall of fame. She’d forget, but she would never forgive.

-

And in plain sight you hid,

but you are what you did.

And i’ll forget you,

but I’ll never forgive…

..The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived.

[liolet]

repression, and the guilt it causes when you're not with me - an annie x reader drabble

Feelings are easily ignored one would think, especially if the aggravator is locked away in a stone made of clear crystal. When you can see her but not touch her, talk to her but get no reply, overthinking sets in and guilt surrounding your relationship with Annie is embedded to to bone.

The stone floors all look the same. From room to room, the bumps and lines are all in the exact same place. Dents and crevasses paint a marble of patterns on the walls, almost identical to the room next to it, and the one opposite. Even if we move into a different room, they all look the same. The beaten, worn stone turns more battered the more you’re in the room. Like your mere presence is enough to make stone regret and cave into itself. Like your mere presence causes confident stone to pull away and retreat into dirt.

The guard that frequents this room pays attention to more than just her stone. She hears, she listens. Every word spoken is captured by the guard’s ear. She knows everything, she sees it too. Their watchful eyes burn into your back when you visit her. You can’t say more than simple ‘hellos’ and ‘I’ve been good’. Their sorrow glares and the glances full of regret and shame. Every movement shows what you really are. Every shift, every stance - it gives you away. Shows your true self to them and they can’t help but look away, filled with disgust. They ought to have you removed from her care.

All of the lingering feelings. All of the thoughts about her that never leave no matter how much you focus on other things. It all leads back to her. Your stupid Annie. So, you vowed to leave them in this room. You vowed to not think about her unless you were with her. You vowed to not smell her hair, to hear her laugh, to say her name. Unless you were with her.

Her lifeless expression seen under the stone never wavered. Her face never moved, not an inch. Her shoulders tense and her legs stiff. For even she knows what you are. You never hid it with her. Despite her mundane choice of words and her nonchalant attitude, the shame and guilt vanished in the moments you were with her. Those perpetual, repulsive thoughts seemingly disappeared when you were with her. She let you get it all out, “Repressing feelings is never a good thing”, she would say, to try and coax more feelings out of you. It’s ironic now. All that talk about being free and letting go, and she went and suppressed herself inside a stone. One that can’t be broken. At least she’s free from all of your guilt.

But the guilt and shame hunts you down. The knowledge of your moments together, all your hushed sighs and the rustled bed sheets, always found you. Like a poltergeist with a nasty attachment to you. It pushed doors open, the creaks reminding you of the bed bouncing. It opens windows and the wind blowing in howls like a subtle moan. You’ll never escape it.

And everyone knows. They see it clear as day. They whisper about you in the dining hall. They gossip and glare as you walk past, heading for the cold, dark room. Where else would you be? No other room holds your heart inside it. You follow the everlasting hallways to her room. The abstract patterns in the stone ways start to bend and form words. Even the walls know. They’ve seen everything. Every touch, every fuck, and every stare, even those not reciprocated. The words etched into the walls bore back at you. They scream, they holler, they shout. They’ve seen the guilt and heard every repressed thought of her. No act of reconciliation goes unnoticed. Every attempt to get her out of that god forsaken stone.

You come to the door, but it’s broken open, hinges barely holding onto the wall. The room sits empty, no guard to listen in on all your intimate and private moments with her. But where is she? Her stone lays shattered across the floor. The pieces scattered everywhere and the stone concrete floors are drenched in wet slime. The feeling disgusts you, it’s all too familiar for you to handle. Yet, she’s gone. But you mustn't think of where she could be. She isn’t with you anymore, so you cannot think of her. You vowed not to.

Down the hall, in yet another dull, gray room, shouts emerge and thuds vibrate the floor. You don’t bother to deal with that issue. You’re too preoccupied with the dilemma you face currently. For you are forever guilty without her. The room that encompassed your safety has vanished. Those repulsive thoughts flood back to you, clouding every corner of your mind. The shame can finally hunt you down and finish the job off. Footsteps come chasing towards you. They grow louder and louder as they inch closer. Finally, you’ll meet your end and be set free. A life without her is not one worth living. The walls spill out all of your secrets. The people gossip and whisper. The guilt grows louder.

Every inch of the building shakes. The walls, the floor, the door - everything. It rattles and rumbles. The walls finally start to crumble and break. The dirt seeps from the corners and the beams start to fall from the ceiling and crash onto the floor. You back out of the room. All your secrets being left in that room, setting you free. Freedom finds you, not guilt. The room has fallen and all your tainted vows fall with it. It’s all destroyed. You’re free to think. About her. About it all. Free to think about every touch, every fuck, and every reciprocated stare. And the smell of her hair, her laugh, and her name, Annie.

You hope, you dream that you get to be with her. To finally be free of the shackles you put yourself in. that room is no more and neither are your perpetual, repulsive thoughts. Simple eye contact is all you need. All the remnants of shame, guilt, and fear have since left you. You touch, you hold, you feel. She grabs you and you feel weightless. Her arms wrap around your neck and you two collapse to the floor. Her existence is enough to make you feel free.

[clancycosmic]

Cry Little Sister

Summery: it looked like something out of a fantasy movie, purple energy swirling inside the dark abyss of the open portal, the noise it was making was unexplainable but it did send a chill down my friend and I's spine.

We just kept walking.

______________________________________

They say home is where the heart is.

While that might be true but this wasn't home to me it was my own personal purgatory that doesn't exist.

I still remember that day like it was yesterday, I was walking home with a friend of mine after a concert, I remember me enjoying that concert as it had been my first time going.

But that night was when things had changed, it was anything I had ever seen before in my entire life!

I remember my friend screaming in shock and terror letting me know that she was seeing exactly what I was seeing in that moment.

It looked like something out of a fantasy movie, purple energy swirling inside the dark abyss of the open portal, the noise it was making was unexplainable but it did send a chill down my friend and I's spine.

We just kept walking, even though we were scared we tried our best to pay no mind to it, thinking that it was our brains playing tricks on us.

The further we walked the less we heard the eerie sound coming from the portal, but I did feel something tugging at my body as if pulling me towards the entrance, I began to thrash around, screaming in panic as whatever that was pulling me continue to drag me towards the purple, swirling abyss.

And the next thing you know, I was swallowed whole, my friends screaming was the last thing I heard and it still haunts me till this day.

And that's how I ended up here. In this unknown place that is so unfamiliar to me.

I got sucked into a portal.

That happened only two days ago, and in those two days, I've been wandering around this forest, looking for any sort of civilization that could help me get out of here.

So far my search was futile.

I paused my walking; my legs were sore from days of searching, and my lack of sleep wasn't getting me anywhere either.

I sat down on a tree stump and as I rested, I watched the sunset over the horizon.

[chimerickat]

For the trope question, interrupted kisses are always fun if a little frustrating !

Five times Seto Kaiba seems like he wants to kiss you, and the one time he kisses you.

Either keep reading below the cut, or on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43853316

One.

When you hear a knock on the front door of the store, you're ready to disappear into the backroom. The store is closed, and you’re just cleaning up for the night.

But then you glance at the door and see Seto Kaiba standing on the other side of the glass. He isn't just any customer so you hurry over to unlock the front door and let him in.

"Hi Kaiba. Yugi isn't here at the moment." You know he and Yugi are friendly, but Yugi is on a date. It's why he asked you to close up the shop for him.

"I'm aware." Kaiba stares down at you. "Yugi said I could still come by to pick up some new booster packs."

“Oh cool.” It would have been nice if Yugi had mentioned that plan to you. “Let me check if he has anything set aside for you.”

Kaiba follows you to the register. Underneath sit the special orders, but you don’t see anything with Kaiba’s name on it.

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I can try to text him if you want?”

He grunts and stares at you. After a moment, you assume that, yes, you should text Yugi.

“Kaiba is here after close expecting booster packs? Please help! I didn’t agree to this!!!”

After you hit send, you realize that you need to stand around waiting for Yugi to respond. “Are there any cards you’re looking for with the new boosters?”

Kaiba raises his eyebrow. “Why else would I bother buying them?”

“Right.” You sigh. “Well if you don’t want to participate in polite conversation, I’ve got a register to deal with.” You wave at the rest of the store. “Feel free to wait wherever.”

You ignore him, not wanting to see his reaction, as you open the cash drawer and begin to close for the night. The task requires your focus as normally Yugi or his Grandpa do the job, and you don’t want to screw it up. By the time you’re done, Kaiba is working at a table and Yugi has responded to your text.

"sorry!"

"told him i wouldnt be there"

"thought he wasnt going"

"just let him get w/e from back room"

Right. Well you can't be too mad at Yugi. His date tonight had been his focus. "Hey, Kaiba?" He looks up. "Yugi says you can collect your packs from the back room."

"Fine." His focus turns back to his laptop. He keeps typing. You wait for him to put his laptop away. He doesn't.

"You can pick out the booster packs now."

"I'll do it once I've finished this," he says without looking up.

You look at the time. Yugi absolutely owes you overtime, but you won't ever close the shop for him again. "Kaiba, I'm leaving. You can either let me unlock the storage room for you now, or you can hang out here and wait for Yugi."

He looks up and narrows his eyes. "I waited on you, and my time is worth significantly more than yours."

"Are you trying for insulting or a guilt trip? You can't do both."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm pointing out that you're being unreasonable."

You stare at him. The sheer audacity of Seto Kaiba calling you unreasonable has you shocked into silence. He wouldn't know reasonable behavior if it showed up in a Blue Eyes White Dragon car.

You are about to say as much to him, but he shuts his laptop and puts it back in his briefcase. Then he stands up and waves his hand forward, inviting you to lead the way.

You bite your lip and lead him to the back storage room. The new booster packs technically aren't supposed to launch until later in the week, but of course, Kame Game already has their shipment.

You look through boxes for the new boosters. Most of the boxes sitting out are already half-empty. Yugi restocked the floor this morning, and you intended to restock after close before Kaiba crashed the party.

"He must have put the boosters out of the way," you say. "Let me get the step ladder."

"I could still be working, but again, you're wasting my time."

"Next time, make sure you come when Yugi is here then." You pull the step ladder out from the closet and over to the main shelves. Then you start pulling the boxes out just enough to check their contents until you find one full of booster packs. "Got it!"

You hold the box with one hand and the shelf with the other as you ease yourself back to the ground. Then you hand the box out to him. "Okay, Yugi says take whatever you want."

He grabs a bunch of packs. "Add them to my tab." Then he lifts the box and places it back on the shelf.

"Show off," you mutter.

He smirks and looks down on you. He's already standing close, but he takes a step closer. "Next time, I'll be sure to come when Yugi isn't around."

You have to think twice about what he's saying before it clicks. Even then, it doesn't quite make sense. He leans toward you, still smirking.

Then one of the disturbed boxes tilts, and you watch as a bunch of action figures fall onto Kaiba's head. Some of them hit you as well, but he gets the majority of the damage.

He curses and storms out without looking your way.

Two.

When Kaiba walks into your favorite coffee shop as you're waiting for your drink, you wonder if you should pretend that you don't see him. You've replayed the moment in the storage room over and over, and you think he had been about to kiss you.

You're also sure that you're making it all up. Seto Kaiba would have no reason to kiss you. Especially not after you'd spent the whole time being rude to him.

He notices you before you can make up your mind. The moment his eyes meet yours, you know that you can't ignore him. You smile and wave. Then you turn back to the bar, hoping your drink will be ready soon.

Kaiba walks over to the bar, briefly speaks with the barista, and is presented his drink. Of course he orders ahead. You're not even surprised.

Then he approaches you instead of leaving.

"So you'll wait for a drink but not for me to finish my work."

"Waiting for your coffee is pretty standard practice for most people, Kaiba. We're not all important men who run the city like you are."

He raises an eyebrow. "The app to order ahead is available to everyone."

Right. Of course he used an app. You don't know why you thought his assistant called ahead to ensure his drink would be ready.

He smirks. "This isn't the way I imagined shutting you up, but it'll work for now."

Oh. He couldn't possibly mean...? You can feel the surprise showing on your face, but you can't help it.

Then you hear the barista calling out your name. You dart around Kaiba, grab your drink, and dash to the door. He doesn't move from his spot, and you don't look back as you leave the shop.

Three.

When Mai throws a party, she goes all out. It seems like everyone she knows is present, whether she likes them or not.

But still, you're surprised when Kaiba walks up behind you and puts one hand down on the bar. He's sideways so his body is facing you, and you worry that if you turn toward him, your shoulder will hit his chest. So you turn just your head. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Kujaku blackmailed me into coming." He gets the attention of the bartender and asks for a brand of beer that you've never heard of before. Then his attention shifts back to you. "She even had the audacity to demand an expensive birthday present."

You're intrigued. "What blackmail does Mai have on you?"

"Emotional." Then he changes the subject. "This party sucks. We should leave."

"Emotional blackmail?" You consider the words as you say them out loud. "Like she made you feel guilty about not wanting to come?" It was the trick she pulled on you. You frown. That just doesn't seem like Kaiba, but maybe he likes Mai more than you thought.

"No." He doesn't say anything further.

You turn on your barstool, ready to hop off in search of the birthday girl. Maybe she'll let you in on her secret blackmail.

Then Kaiba blocks you. "Where are you going?" he demands to know.

His hands lean on the bar on either side of you. You would have to duck underneath his arms to get away. Instead you put a hand on his chest, ready to push. "I was going to look for Mai?"

"So she can introduce you to someone?"

"What...?"

He's leaning forward on the bar. His face is close to yours. His blue eyes seem to be studying you. "Leave the party with me."

"Are you asking me to go home with you?" you blurt out before you can think about the words.

He's looking at your lips. You can tell he's looking at your lips. Then one of his hands comes up to cup your chin. "Yes."

"KAIBA! Give 'er some space."

Kaiba stands upright and spins around to face Jonouchi. "Mind your own business, mutt."

You slip off the barstool and disappear into the crowd, intent on avoiding their fight and finding Mai.

Four. 

You look up from your book to see Kaiba standing in front of you. He startles you. "Hey, Kaiba. Yugi is upstairs." 

"Hn." He steps closer to you and looks at your book. 

You pull the book closer to your body, keeping the cover out of sight. "It's just something Anzu loaned to me." That's true. She did loan it to you, insisting it was amazing. However, you don't want to defend your reading choices to Kaiba. You hope throwing Anzu's name into the mix will keep him quiet. 

"A treaty on friendship?" 

You stare at him for a moment, trying to understand... then you realize he's making a joke. You smile. "I think she saves all of her friendship pamphlets for you."

He raises an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware she wanted my friendship."

"She probably doesn't." You shrug. It's no secret that Anzu is one snarky comment away from trying to deck Kaiba. "But you and Yugi are friends so I'm sure she'd like to get along." 

"What about you?" He's suddenly in your space, leaning on the chair you're sitting in. His eyes lock onto yours.

You look for an escape, but short of sliding down between his legs, you have nowhere to go. "What about me?" 

"What kind of relationship do you want with me?" 

It's a bold question. You can hear Mai in the back of your head, saying he likes you. She said the only reason he came to her party was to be sure she didn't set you up with someone. Yugi even mentioned that Kaiba talked about you more than anyone else. 

And now he's leaning down like he's going to kiss you. 

"Hey, Kaiba--WHOOPS!" 

Kaiba steps back at Yugi's shout. You take that opportunity to stand up from the chair and back away. 

Yugi's face reddens as he looks between the two of you. "Did I interrupt?" 

"No," you say before Yugi can finish, before Kaiba can say anything himself. Then you hurry away for the backroom. You can pretend to be busy there. 

Five.

As you push open the front door for Kame Game, you feel the chilly night air rush past you. Yugi keeps the shop warm and comforting so it's an unpleasant surprise. You step out of the shop, wishing you had warmer clothing. You keep forgetting to bring a jacket for your evening walk home, and you know you'll be freezing by the time your bus arrives.

Still, you carry on to the bus stop. If you wait inside the shop, you run the risk of missing the bus if it shows up early. As much as you like Yugi, you don't want to hang around waiting for another bus if you miss your usual line.

At the stop, you try to curl into yourself as much as possible to keep warm. It doesn't work.

Then a car pulls up to the stop. The windows are tinted so you can't see who is inside, and thoughts of kidnapping rush through your brain. Do you have a weapon on you? Can you just run back to the game shop?

The window rolls down. Kaiba is alone in the car. "Get in," he says.

It's late and cold. Kaiba isn't a stranger. You don't waste time pretending to protest. You pull open the passenger door and get into his car. "Thanks for the ride home."

"We're having dinner first," he says as the car pulls away from the curb.

"Generally you ask people to go on dates with you. I think abducting them off the street is frowned on."

He frowns. "You willingly got into my car."

"I think it made sense to assume you were driving me home."

"Well I'm driving you to my home."

Your eyes narrow. "I thought you said we were going to have dinner?"

"Yes, in the privacy of my home, with the best chef in the city."

The car stays silent. You study Kaiba while he drives. He glances over and catches you staring. You try not to look away even as you feel your face warm up. He doesn't comment on it and focuses back on the road ahead.

When he pulls up to his mansion, he stops his car in front of the entrance. After he turns the engine off, he reaches for his seatbelt. You put your hand on his, getting his attention. "How long have you wanted to ask me out?" You're teasing him. He deserves it for not properly asking you on a date. "Please tell me you haven't been stalking me, waiting for a chance to lure me into your car."

"Of course not!" He pulls away from you and gets out of the car. You push open your door and get out.

"What if I'm already seeing someone?"

He glares as he approaches you. "Are you?"

"No." You shrug. "I'm just pointing out that you haven't asked me out yet so you're making a lot of assumptions here."

He cups your face with his hands. "No. I don't think I am." Then he leans down to kiss you.

"Seto!" He pulls away with a groan. Then he turns to face the building. Mokuba bounces down the stairs toward the two of you. His long hair is tied up in a ponytail and he's wearing an oversized sweatshirt.

He stops with a grin. "I see you've finally brought your girlfriend over."

"I'm not his girlfriend."

"You are," Kaiba corrects.

"That's news to me. Since when?"

Kaiba glares at the ground for a moment while Mokuba tries to hide his grin behind his hand. "Since right now."

"We'll see." You smile at Mokuba. "Do I get a tour?"

So Mokuba leads you on a tour of the mansion. He shows off the movie theater and game rooms, clearly his favorite rooms, but also the massive kitchen and library. Then he insists on sitting next to you at the dining room table.

Dinner turns into more of a hang out with Mokuba rather than a date with Kaiba. Kaiba doesn't say much and allows Mokuba to interrogate you.

"Mokuba, isn't it your bedtime?" Kaiba says once the table is cleared.

"I don't have a bedtime!"

Kaiba glares at his brother. "Tonight you do."

Mokuba rolls his eyes. "You can just tell me you want to be alone with your girlfriend."

"Just go to bed."

You interrupt their argument. "Actually, I need to get home." Kaiba never said he would drive you home, but you hope he intends to help you get there. His mansion is too removed from the city for public transport to be an easy option this time of night.

"I'll take you." Kaiba stands and offers you his hand. You take it as you stand as well. 

As you say goodbye to Mokuba, he smirks, looking just like his brother. "Don't let my brother sleep over. He's a bed hog." 

"MOKUBA!" Kaiba grabs your hand and tugs you out of the dining room. He mutters something about his brother being grounded, but you're too shocked to catch his exact words. 

Once the two of you make it back to his car, he opens the door for you and waits for you to get in before closing it and walking around to the other side. He gets in the car and starts the engine. As he speeds out of the mansion grounds, you wonder if his staff has ever failed to open the gates in time. 

Then you wonder exactly what he's said about you to his brother. "You know, you still haven't asked me to go out with you or date you or anything." 

He frowns. "Fine. You're free to object to dating at any point." 

Your eyes narrow. What is his objection to asking questions? "Fine. I object." 

The look he shoots you is offended and shocked. As if he can't fathom anyone objecting. 

"We've never even kissed," you point out. "Tonight really doesn't even count as a date." If he's going to be difficult, then you can be difficult too. 

He grits his teeth. Then he pulls over and the car jerks to a stop. For a moment, you think it's because of what you've said. Then you realize he's just pulling up to your place. 

When did you give him your address? You must have at some point. 

He opens the door for you and helps you out of the car. He holds your hand as he slams the car door shut. 

Then he pins you against his car. Your back is against the car door. His body presses against yours. One hand holds your head while the other slides down your side until it reaches your hip. 

He kisses you. His lips press against yours, and he controls the angle by adjusting your head with his hand. 

He pulls away with a smirk. "Now we've kissed, and tomorrow night, I'll take you out." 

He walks you to your door. You have your key in the lock before you realize he still hasn't asked you anything. You turn to see him walking back to his car. "I never agreed to anything!" 

"I'll still be back tomorrow." 

Then he gets in his car. He starts the engine, and you expect him to drive off, but he just sits there and waits. 

You realize he's waiting for you to get inside before he leaves. Just like a boyfriend. 

[technically-a-writer-technically]

remember to do the biphobia/queer hangout post!!

i rlly wanna read it!!<3

Assumption Make an Ass Out of You

Prompt by @whomst-the-hell: steve always knew he was queer fic where steve keeps trying to invite himself to Queer Hangouts w eddie and robin and they keep being like “uhhhh this isnt really your scene…” until steve is finally like “listen i get it ok theres all this fucking stigma but you two are the last people i expected this from!” and eddie and robin are like “youre a very good ally and we appreciate it but the truth is you just cannot relate to some of our experiences and you need to accept that!” and then steve is like “woooaaaahhh hold on i think we’re having two different conversations. i thought you were doing that thing gay ppl do sometimes where they treat bi people like we arent really queer or whatever. did you guys genuinely think i was heterosexual? lol that’s embarrassing”

Gave it a spelling and grammar check before putting it on A03: Assumption Make an Ass Out of You - technically-a-writer-technically (RegularRainbow) - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Eddie calls Robin: Birdie

Tags: Angsty, probably a bit ooc, they mean well, their tough love is tough though. Original Male Character/Steve Harrington. I tried learning 80s Slang for this, it lasted several hours and then I wrote this all-in-one sitting, so probably not 80s accurate, especially towards the end. Not beta read, we die like men.

1. Never met an Ally so Good

Tall, Olive Skin, Green Eyes, passed Steve a drink, something pink and yellow, blended ice, with a tiny umbrella and a cherry.

“I didn’t know what you were drinking, but I took my best guess” He said, smile bright as fluorescent lights. The guy was cute in a clinical type of way, clean cut, clean-shaven.

Steve smiled, took the straw from his melting ice in a cup, and gave it a taste, twisting the straw around his tounge. “Ah. Tastes Perfect,”

“Oh, you’re a real maneater aren’t you,” He slipped between Steve’s legs, resting his hands on either side of Steve, boxing him in, “Come on Pretty Boy let me take you for a spin.”

Steve smiled, red decorating the tips of his ears and nose. “Sorry, can’t stay that long gotta drive back to nowhere-ville”

“Alright, Just one dance then, and maybe your number?”

Steve bit the corner of his lip, and smiled “Maybe …” All doe eyes, looking up from under his lashes,“ … maybe you could kiss me?”

“Hey, why don’t you back off” said Eddie, stepping between the two, pushing the guy back with an extended hand.

“Really! I don’t see your name on him” The guy squawked, Steve hadn’t even gotten his name.

“That’s not,” was Eddie’s reply, he sighed “look I’m helping you, trust me, he’s just being nice.”

“Looks like a fucking Belle to me,”

Eddie tilted his head and fixed him with a look, throwing his hand up as if to shrug, and said, “He’s just too nice to tell you to go away.”

“Look there are better ways to get dudes off your guy, you don’t gotta lie,” Then he peeked behind Eddie to get a good look at Steve one more time, and with a wink, he said, “If you ever find yourself in need of French lessons you know where to find me.”

Steve giggled, twirling his straw. (Fucking Flirting.)

Then, Steve said, “You really didn’t need to do that Eddie, I was fine, he was fine.”

“No, he was not fine. He was hitting on you, Steve” Robin chimed in.

“Isn’t that, like, the point of all this. Aren’t we here to get hit on? Flirt a little,” Steve leaned in and whispered, “Wave the white flags, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, but it’s not cool to lead people on Steve, especially not here.” Eddie said.

Steve winced a little, his smile falling slightly, before he picked it back up, “I mean, there’s no harm in flirting, I didn’t know you guys were gonna get all riled up because I didn’t want to take him home.”

“Look it’s not all about sex, this is about community.” Robin said.

Steve sucked his teeth, and took a swig of his beer, “Okay, uh, whatever, I’m gonna pay for my drinks, and uh, sit in a fucking corner I guess.”

“Grow up, King Steve” Eddie said.

“Fuck you, Eddie, King Steve thinks you should find your own ride home.”

“I mean, we should probably leave.” Robin said.

“No, Rob, if it’s gonna be like that, I’ll just wait in the car.” Steve said. He gathered his things, throwing his coat on, fluffing his hair up and out from under the collar of his a letterman style jacket.

Steve stepped out into the cool night air, face hot with fury. He sighed, trying to release the tension that had begun to build.

“Hey, Pretty Boy, I didn’t get your name before your guard dog cock-blocked.”

“It’s — He’s just a friend. And, Uh, It’s Steve, Yours?”

“My friends call me Ian,”

“Well, Ian, thanks for the drink”

“Really,” Ian said, and it was almost a laugh, “I just had the bartender throw something together, I don’t like that fruity shit, I mean not like that, I just don’t like fruit juice, from fruit,” His talking tapered out. “You’re super cute, and it kind of fries my brain. I mean those pants are too tight.” (Ian say too tight, like he doesn’t mean it, like those pants make him think of something else.)

Steve laughed and looked down at himself, before smiling back at Ian. “Still want my number?”

2. Lavender Menace

Steve dyed the bottom layer of his hair purple. The faintest shade of lavender, barely it, In fact, it was practically silver. But, still, he was sure that everyone who needed to know that it wasn’t silver, would notice. They would notice.

“Did you dye your hair, Steve?” Robin asked, leaning across the Book Store counter to get a good look at his peek-a-boo dye job.

Steve resisted the urge to shake his head and show off. It took a long time to get his hair all nice, he wasn’t gonna mess it up for five seconds of Rob’s appreciation, not after the stunt she and Eddie pulled with Ian.

“Joyce helped,” Steve said, and brushed his fingers through the thick of his hair to show off the dye, just a little bit.

“Don’t you think you should have gone with another color,” Rob said, “You don’t want people to get the wrong idea about you.”

“I —“

“The hoard has arrived,” Eddie declared, as Mike, Will, and Dustin ran in straight for the new comic book section. “Whoa, your hair.” he said.

“Yeah, my hair.” Steve felt the weight of a frown pull at the corners of his mouth.

“You sure that’s the right color?” Eddie grabbed a lock of Steve’s dyed hair, and twirled it between his fingers, “You let the toner sit too long, it’s all purple-y now.”

With a huff, Steve said, “I was going for purple-y”

“Yeah?” Robin said.

“Why?” Eddie said.

“Because I want people to know I’m down with Dorthy” Steve said.

“You shouldn’t have dyed your hair purple, though” Eddie replied.

“Yeah, I agree, I think it’s a bit much … you’ve gone a bit too far this time, and after the bar” Robin said

“W-What do you mean after the bar that was all you guys, I was just having a good time.”

Eddie sighed and looked away, throwing his head back, and disappearing down an isle. “You explain it to your pet jock, Birdie, my head hurts.”

“Look Steve, people don’t need to know you’re ‘down with Dorothy’ it’s better if your not loud about it actually, keeps everyone safer anyway.”

Steve gets hot in the face, bright white-hot red in the cheeks, breaks into a sweat, he’s so mad. Then he’s close to crying, clearing his throat some, but it’s closing in on him. He’s so furious, he’s near tears about it. Dancing around breaking into tears.

If they didn’t like his hair, they could have just said that.

“Whatever you say, Robin” he said, wetly.

“Steve come on, it’s not your life, it’s ours” was Robin’s reply.

He doesn’t speak to her for the rest of their shift.

When Steve got home, he dialed Ian’s house. Ian was there in five minutes flat (He lived 15 minutes away).

“Wow,” Ian said, “Your hair”

“Yeah, I know it’s awful” Steve said, the memory of his earlier conversations brought up sour thoughts.

“No, no, you look pretty, a real bodacious babe.”

Steve smiled, for the first time since he got of shift. “Shut up,”

“Kiss me about it,” was Ian’s reply.

3. Steve’s House Doesn’t have a Purple Door.

“You could have your party at my place?” Steve said, “My parents aren’t gonna be home for another like month anyway”

Eddie smiled at Robin,

“Plus, I’m great at throwing parties, you remember my parties.”

“I don’t think we,” Eddie gestured between himself and Robin, “Were ever invited to King Steve’s famous parties.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Steve said, “But they were famous for a reason. Have it at my place, it makes sense. The venue is like 50% of a party.”

“I was thinking, no allies though” Eddie said, “Just queer deviancy,” Eddie brought the devil hands up to his head like ears and smiled at Robin. They fist bumped.

What they meant was no Steve it seemed.

“Hey, can you pick us up? Robin voice came through the phone loud, like she was shouting on her end of the line.

“From where?” Steve asked.

“A party,” Robin said, Steve felt her wiggle her eyebrows, and she giggled softly.

“I need the location?” Steve said.

“Oh, um, were near Byrock Ct,”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a few.”

Steve got in his car and drove to the Byrock Bar, with its purple backdoor. Ian took him there once, and they danced. Steve loved dancing, it was nice letting go.

This didn’t feel nice.

Robin and Eddie crammed into the backseat of his car, laughing, tipsy, and maybe a little high. Covered in glitter. Eddie had red lipstick on and smeared down his chin. Robin was wearing, glitter gloss and a silvery highlighter.

“You guys look like you had fun,” Steve finally said, before he pulled off.

“I thought you guys were gonna stay in tonight,”

“Steve,” Robin said, it seemed with no real purpose at all, except maybe to stop Steve from going on.

“No, I remember you guys saying that nothing fun was happening tonight so you guys weren’t going out, that’s what you told me!” Steve said, he was white-knuckling the steering wheel.

“Look, Steve, Birdie’s not gonna tell you, but sometimes we’ve got to leave poor ol’ Stevie at home.” Eddie said, kicking his feet up on the block of an armrest between the driver’s and passenger’s seat.

“Not every night is meant to include you, sometimes daddy’s got to come out and play” He said with a smile and a laugh.

Robin sputtered, “Ew, ew, I never want to hear you say something like that again.”

The drive home consisted of laughter and chatter between Eddie and Robin.

Steve pulled up to the entrance of Eddie’s trailer park, it was a short walk, maybe two trailers in was Eddie’s home. Usually, Steve drove him right up to the entrance, any closer and Eddie would fall into his home after opening the door.

“We’re here” Steve said, and put his car in park.

Eddie balked, “Really, are you being serious right now Stevie?”

“Shut up, don’t call me that.” Steve said, quickly, afraid he sounded like a petulant child, but angry enough that it didn’t matter much. “Get out of my car.” He said each word, one by one.

“Okay, King Steve, I’ll never ask for a ride with getting you your invite.”

“You’re a real fuck head, Eddie.”

“Whatever,” Eddie said, and slammed the door.

“That wasn’t fair dude,” Robin said. “How are we supposed to trust you if-”

Steve turned around, giving Robin a death stare, “Nothing, I don’t want to hear it, I, fuck Rob, I trusted you guys”

“Steve?”

“Shut. Up. Shut up.”

He dropped Rob off in front of her house, didn’t even pull into the driveway. He watched her get home safe, same way he did Eddie.

4. Steve’s Queer Agenda

Steve hasn’t been talking to them. He’s not gonna apologize first. And he’s not gonna speak to them until they apologize. Even if he felt like a bitch laying the silent treatment on thick.

Ian was rubbing his back, letting him lay all over him.

He mumbled into Ian’s lap.

“I can not understand jibberish.”

“Play with my hair, loser”

“Ooh, be nice.” Ian said, threading his finger into Steve’s hair.

There was a knock at the door, nice and sweet. Then another, practically knocking the door off its hinges.

“Okay, okay, coming” Steve shouted.

“Harrington residence, how can I help you?” Steve said.

Eddie smiled, pushing himself and Robin into the Harrington homestead.

Ian leaned up, peering over the sofa. He was looking for Steve, evident by the smile on his face, that fell quickly when he saw the culprits making Steve so, well, sad. Sad was the only way to put it. Beneath the quiet anger was hurt, and it hurt more than it made Steve angry. “Well, well, if it isn’t the terrible two-some”

“Bar guy?” Eddie said.

“Ian. My name is Ian.”

“Well, what are you two doing here because I don’t hear enough ass-kissing.” Ian said.

“Look,” Eddie said, looking from Ian to Steve “Maybe we all have the wrong idea,”

“Steve, I’m sorry we told you not to come out with us, and then had you come pick us up,” Robin said.

“Me too, I’m sorry” Eddie said.

“You’re a good ally” Eddie started.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Steve interrupted. “Why even come if you’re just gonna fucking invalidate me to my face, what’s the point? I get it, I’m bisexual. I’m not gay. Fucking, Steve’s not queer enough to come out with us and get shitfaced. Whatever, call me whatever you want behind my back, but in my house? Really!”

“What?” Robin and Eddie said, practically in unision.

“Look, be biphobic somewhere else, okay. I don’t feel like dealing with this ever again.”

“No, no, I thought you were straight,”, “We,” Eddie gestured between himself and Robin, “thought you were straight.” Eddie practically tripped over his words, he was speaking them so fast.

“Are you fucking with me?” Steve said, “You thought I was straight.”

Eddie hesitantly nods, “We maybe thought you were straight.”

“Fucking, fuck you guys,”

“Yeah, fuck you guys” Ian said, repeated from the couch, laying down ergo he wasn’t visible anymore. “You made my boyfriend cry”

Robin looked horrified, “Steve, I didn’t know, I’m so so sorry. I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t have a community.” She quickly wiped away her tears, evidently determined not to cry right now, as she got red and sniffly. Robin walked toward Steve arms out like she was going to try to hug him. She was.

Robin said, “Can I hug you, Steve”

Steve, who had been trying to keep it all together, sniffled. He wasn’t going to cry if she wasn’t. He was supposed to be mad. He wrapped his arms around her, and buried his head in her shoulder.

Steve wanted to be angry, or he felt like he should be angry. Yet, he wasn’t, he was mad at them for making assumptions, for excluding him.

But, they were family. He’d been mad at them for as long he could, and then he’d taken to gray, blah, sadness. Not crying, but like trying to stave off a rainstorm. There was nothing he wanted to hear more than: we accept you.

It helped take the edge off. He could be mad about it later, take in all their forgiveness now.

“I’m really sorry, Steve, really, really, sorry” Robin said.

“We fucked up, Steve, I fucked up. I’m sorry too. I’m really sorry.” Eddie said.

“Now kiss,” Ian chimed in.

Steve laughed.

[maraudersmary]

I can’t hide from you like I hide from myself - Aaron Hotchner

who ~ aaron hotchner and jennifer jareau (platonic, could be romantic if you read it that way)

content warnings ~ panic attack, anxiety, depression, grief… Aaron is not okay

word count ~ 720

a/n ~ my favourite ever episode of holby city is group animal part one, so i decided to steal it and write it with Hotch as Jac Naylor, and JJ as Fletch. I doubt there is any Holby and CM fans, but if there are others, this is for you! Holby was my first ever hyperfixation, so i feel like this had to be done.

summary ~ Hotch isn’t able to hold himself together anymore, luckily JJ knows the signs.

~

‘Hotch?’ JJ asked with concern, despite knowing that what was coming was not going to be fun. She could run away now and leave someone else to deal with it. But she cared for this man too much. She couldn’t let him break alone.

‘Leave me alone.’ He said before even turning around. Hotch couldn’t do this now. He had to even himself out, present his façade again, despite how the steadily forming cracks had been exposing him more and more for weeks now. And he needed to be alone to do that. ‘Leave me alone.’ He repeated, with no real conviction behind it. He couldn’t stop this now, but he didn’t want anyone else seeing it.

JJ entered the room and moved up slowly behind him, not wanting to spook him and make things worse. ‘Okay breathe.’ She muttered, unsure of how to approach this.

‘You’re stressed, you’ve been through a lot.’ No one could deny that, not even Hotch himself. But the media liaison could never understand. Hotch valued her greatly, she kept the team running more than he did, but she wasn’t the one who made the calls that determined whether a victim would live or die. She wasn’t a profiler.

‘What would you know about it, you can’t understand.’ His breathing was becoming more erratic, fighting for air to get the words out.

JJ refused the sentiment, knowing this was a lot deeper than the case. She might not be able to read criminals like her colleagues, but she can read the people she loves. ‘I know you.’ She replies simply and quietly.

Hotch just couldn’t accept it. He knew what this was about and it wasn’t what JJ was thinking. It was just this case. ‘You’re not a profiler. You don’t know what it’s like!’

He was sobbing now, crying uncontrollably and battling his lungs to allow just a gulp of air. Everything he had been suppressing for months, years, was coming out, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

They were now facing each other, and JJ could see the exhaustion lining her boss’s face. She could see the hurt, the anger, the despondence, the sadness. The sadness was the worst. It was so ingrained in his features that she wasn’t sure he could ever look happy again. It broke her heart. ‘This isn’t about profiling.’

‘Everything’s about this! This job! If i don’t have profiling, I don’t have anything!’ Hotch rasped between gasps for breath. He was no stranger to panic attacks, but that didn’t help prevent the clawing at his chest and the desperation from oxygen.

JJ had to prove to Hotch that he had more than one reason. ‘You have Jack!’ JJ’s immediate response. But she knew it wouldn’t be enough. She reached out and grabbed his waist, steadying him. It was more intimate than they ever were despite the years of working together, but she knew it was what he needed now. ‘You think this is about the unsub? It’s not. This is about you, about what you’ve put yourself through.’ She knew it wasn’t his fault, he was hard wired to suppress in order to protect himself since he was a toddler. But he needed to unlearn these coping mechanisms. He needed to feel again. ‘Hotch this is everything! This is Jack! This is your father! This is Sean! This is Foyet!’ She paused, contemplating whether her next words would be her boss’s breaking point. He had collapsed onto her chest, fighting with his tears and his gasps. ’This is Hayley! You need to acknowledge it! You haven’t grieved! You haven’t let yourself process anything! You need to let yourself feel it!’

It was his breaking point, but that wasn’t a bad thing. She was now supporting Hotch’s whole weight as he let go of everything that had been pushed back and discarded. He needed this release more than anything. It had been building for weeks at least, and JJ had done everything she could to keep him together. Now she needed to let him crumble.

Rubbing small circles across his back, she uttered soft words of comfort, almost as she would Henry post nightmare. But right now it was all she could do as she watched someone she loved purging himself of his pain.

‘It’s alright. It’s okay.’

[bijoumikhawal]

Hebitian Language: terms for family

(Disclaimer: I'm not good at conlangs, so this is more vocabulary than anything else)

Let's look at three Hebitian languages here! The majority langusges of the Alåsh, the Thav, and the Qåmtsu. The Alåsh are from the somewhat isolated Valley of the Hebitians, the Thav from the similarly isolated northern regions of the Helta Highlands, and the Qåmtsu from the delta and hills near Lakarian City and Central City. The Alåsh and Thav are interesting because they're traditionally considered "conservative" cultures, having less cultural exchanges with other groups and the Thav being prideful in this regard, and the Qåmtsu having had good and bad relations with Cardassians for a long time. The Alåsh had relations with the Anìjb’èawa /ˈanɪʄˈɓɛɔa/, who lived on the coast north of the Valley, as well as the minor Hebitian groups in the delta north of the Valley and their neighbors. Their language is thought to be the "oldest", or closest to any idea of proto-Hebitian, which has lead to faulty academic study.

As a general rule, Hebitians family terms are broader than Cardassian terms, which are more specific. The word for grandmother and mother are the same, and aunts may be called the same word as well. The most accurate definitions are:

Older female relative - Alåsh: Adzi̊ /aʣɨ/, Thav: Assai̊ /assaɨ/, Qåmtsu: Atzú /aʦy/.

Older male relative - Alåsh: Datsa /'daʦa/, Thav: Dassa /ˈdassa/, Qåmtsu: Dai̊ss /'dɑɨss/.

Older Relative - Alåsh: Påhmú /ˈʙɑhmy/, Qåmtsu: Vahm̂m̂ad /ⱱahɱɱad/.

Older female relatives not directly related to you (i.e. not your parents or their parents) - the Qåmtsu have a word for this concept, but the Alåsh do not. For the Qåmtsu this is shoad /ʃoad/. The Thav typically do not refer to female relatives this way, possibly because their bias is in favor of women. If they do, the Qåmtsu word is borrowed in.

Older male relatives not directly related to you (i.e. not your parents or their parents) - the Thav and the Qåmtsu have a word for this concept, but the Alåsh do not. For the Thav this is shop /ʃoʙ/, and the Qåmtsu, shov /ʃoⱱ/. This was borrowed from the Qåmtsu by the Åv first, who passed it north.

Older relative not directly related to you - only a feature in Qåmtsu, the Thav historically being uncomfortable with gender variance. Pumyad /ˈʙumjad/.

Fem. Relative of the same generation (i.e. siblings, spouses, cousins) - Alåsh: Mai̊dú /maɨdy/, Thav: Måpåp /mɑʙɑʙ/, Qåmtsu: Mavi̊ad /maⱱɨad/.

M. Relative of the same generation - Alåsh: fúi̊ /fyɨ/, Thav: ifúla /ɵˈfyɫa/, Qåmtsu: i̊úyi̊ /ɨyjɨ/

N. Relative of the same generation - Alåsh: dåĝú /dɑɣy/, Qåmtsu: doåyi̊å /doˈɑjɨɑ/

Spouse, partner, lover- sometimes used in conjunction with the previous 3 terms also being used. In Thav, this is related to the word for ink, tús /tys/, with a feminine or masculine affix as appropriate. In Alåsh and Qåmtsu this is related to the word for braided cord, and is a neuter gendered word. Alåsh: huri /huʀɵ /, Thav: Yatús /jatys/, Qåmtsu: gůlti /ˈgʌɫtɨ/

Fem. Relative of a younger generation - Alåsh: åmo /ɑmo/, Thav: om̂oj /oɱoy/, Qåmtsu: åmmush /ɑmmuʃ/

M. Relative of a younger generation - Alåsh: khi̊ng /χɨŋ/, Thav: qi̊q /qɨq/, Qåmtsu: khi̊q /χɨq/

N. Relative of a younger generation - Alåsh: i̊vyå /ɨvjɑ/, Qåmtsu: i̊úy /ɨyj/

Your daughter- only a feature in Thav. Other Hebitian languages would use the appropriate possessive paired with the appropriate word for a relative of a younger generation. (Many Hebitian languages have a word meaning "my (belonging to an individual)" and a different word meaning "my (belonging to a group the speaker belongs to, such as a family, village, city, etc). Dzův /ʣʌv/

Your son- see above. Shmo /ʃmo/ 

Relative more than two generations removed from you (great grandparents and on), ancestor- Alåsh: umi̊yång /ˈumɨjɑŋ/, Thav: omi̊yån /omɨjɑn/, Qåmtsu: um̂m̂uyång/'uɱɱujɑŋ/.

These are not the only terms for family or other persons in society.

Hag, Auntie, old woman, nursemaid, midwife- thanks to Cardassian records, this word is often translated as hag, which does match to how it's used when said derogatorily, but in intention is more often used as a somewhat affectionate title for an older woman who is not necessarily related to you. Laad /ɫaad/ in Qåmtsu, Loådú /ɫoɑdy/ in Alåsh, Låp /ɫɑʙ/ in Thav.

The above has been very incorrectly translated as wet nurse in Vulcan studies of Hebitian culture in an attempt to convey the idea of a particular relationship between adults who share in parenting a child without adopting them, being closely related to one of the parents, or marriage to one of the child's parents, known in Hebitian as håmdafi̊ /hɑmˈdafɨ/. Nursemaid is an alternative to this, but wrongly implies this relationship is always transactional- traditionally, this is an intimate relationship, almost like a godparent. That translation is rarely used in the Federation and carries incorrect connotations. It could be somewhat transactional, such as in Hebitian aristocratic families, but this relationship always conferred kinship rights and expectations onto the "outside" party being brought in, not just between them and the child, but the rest of the family too. A newer translation is "nest warmer", as one of the duties in early child care is keeping the infant close to you near constantly until their thermoregulation develops fully, and even after this many children find cosleeping and extensive body contact comforting. This term is still not without controversy: Hebitians on Vulcan have criticized it as likening them to animals, bluntly pointing out they sleep in beds, not nests. The Hebitian preference- among those who speak on it publicly- is to leave the word untranslated with an explanation, with discussion of similar relationships, but to not try to replace the word with words describing those relationships.

Cardassians have a similar concept, but the relationship is entirely between the adult and the child they care for, typically a partnered couple, and less commonly a single woman, and even less commonly, a single man. By contrast, no particular tendency of this sort was implied in many Hebitian permutations of this practice.

Guy, Uncle, "male auntie", old man, nanny- see above, though the derogatory translation was "male auntie" in Cardassian because of different perceptions regarding gender (Cardassians still putting high value on there being a hard distinction). Lodi̊ng /ˈɫodɨŋ/ in Alåsh, Mi̊or /mɨoʀ/ in Thav, Lov /ɫoⱱ/ in Qåmtsu.

Guy, older person- neuter of former two terms. These three terms are usually used by the children to refer to the adult in the case of the nursemaid/godparent/etc relationship. Adults in that relationship may use these terms for the other person, or may use "relative of the same generation" + an affectionate suffix, much like one might for a spouse. Suffice to say, it's a relationship not neatly described as platonic, romantic, or anything else. Lasi̊m /ˈɫasɨm/ in Alåsh, Låtzi̊ú /ɫɑʦɨy/ in Qåmtsu.

Unserious partner, person you're having sex with, the partner you have before you're really mature: adzu /aʣu/ in Alåsh, madzol /maʣoɫ/ in Thav, atzúa /aʦya/ in Qåmtsu.

[auduux]

Under Stars And Plum Blossoms

Hand in hand they lay under stars and plum blossoms. It had been many years since Macaque had last visited the Sage's mountain. He never wanted to see it again--it was filled with too hurtful of memories to bare. Yet here he was, laying in the grass under the same trees that still only bring agony at the sight, five fingers interlocked with five in turn.

It had only been recently that Wukong was able to convince Macaque to trust him again, a fragile thing that somehow turned into this just two months later. Though, they never were ones to follow the rules, including their own. With the newfound trust came other emotions--older emotions. Ones Macaque had locked away long ago, deep in his heart so they may never resurface. But he was always weak against the sage, after all.

The soft snoring emitting from beside the demon only made his thoughts falter slightly. Wukong had invited him, for whatever reason, to a "picnic". By "picnic" Wukong had meant simply laying the grass and talking. Neither of them noticed how fast time slipped away and soon the sage was asleep, hand interlocked with Macaques. He did want to move, to leave, but he didn't. He didn't want to leave Wukong alone or risk waking him to move him, so he stayed, wide awake.

The demon didn't sleep much after all.

The sage rolled over, closer to Macaque, after the thought. They were now nuzzled perfectly against his side, face quickly buried in the crook of his neck with a content sigh. The movement startled the demon but not by enough, turning his head for a better angle and placing the hand that was once being held around the other's waist. He closed his eyes after, drifting away to the same place Wukong was in.

The demon didn't dream much after all.