#anyway the first card was rocky but the second one was a lot of fun!!!

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

y'all i may or may not have hyperfocused for like twelve (12) hours today and come out of it with 5,627 words, on this, the first of nano

[thedamageofherdays]

This week's (16-08-2021 - 22-08-2021) reading log is here. This week's reading log is super duper long and filled with lots of good things (my apologies for the long post, I really could not find a good spot to do a read more). I discovered some new favourites and re-read some old favourites and while I had an intense week personally at least the fics I read were absolutely phenomenal. I do recommend checking out the warnings as some fics are a bit heavier/angstier and you might wanna be prepared. Most of these fics are Stucky but there are a couple of other ships in between.

If you are looking for more fun and/or good things make sure to check out the @marveldisabilitycelebration as well to see all the awesome art, fics, meta, etcetera people created! And while I am mentioning events I am a mod for let me also just quickly mention that sign-ups for the @stuckygiftexchange are still open until the end of the month <3

Favourites are marked with a 🌻 Fics that are only available to AO3 users are marked with a 🔒 and Tumblr fics are marked with a 🍀

🌻 The Bends by dreamsinthewitchouse @dreamsinthewitchouse [Danbeau, side Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

Memory is not a house you can just walk back into after finding the key you thought you’d lost. It’s a thing you wade into and out of, rewriting it as it rewrites you.

It’s not without its rewards, either - recovering a memory about Maria and Monica, about her life, feels better than socking a thousand bad guys in the face, better than all the photon blasts in the world.

Then again, realising there’s still memories she can’t access, even after all this time, feels like drowning in space.

Not the one out there - the one inside her.

🌻 Sweet & Salty by musette22 @musette22 [Stucky, 3k words, Teen]

Idiots in love. That's it. That's the fic.

When life gives you lemons by moonythejedi394 @moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 34k words, Explicit] (11/15 chapters)

Or 13 Terrible Things to Do With Lemons Other Than Making Lemonade

Steve Rogers is a home health nurse. He works for an agency, which assigned him to the aging Winifred Barnes, the one and only Silent Era Hollywood darling. As her needs increased, she requested the agency assign Steve to her full-time. She could pay for it, so she got it. Steve then moved in with her, becoming her caregiver; he cooked, he cleaned, he managed her medications, he made sure she was comfortable.

Winifred's children treated him less than ideally. He was the help, after all. And then Steve had the audacity to go and turn out to be eldest son James Barnes's soulmate. No one saw that coming.

🍀 SamRhodey Tumblr Fic by ipoiledi [SamRhodey, ? words, Teen?]

“Wilson, this is Rhodey; Rhodey, Wilson,” Tony Stark says, and suddenly some six foot tall sexy guy is shoved right in front of Sam, and they both stumble a little, bumping into each other. This is a crowded party. “You guys have things in common, right?” Stark asks. “Uh, Army stuff. Talk about that. I hate wallflowers; stop wallflowering and talk to each other.”

Shorteralls by moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 6k words, Explicit]

The first time Bucky ever saw Steve Rogers, he was struck by how Neanderthal-like his response was. It was immediately followed by a bout of mental scolding. The second time was just about the same. The third time, it was actually appropriate for Bucky to start a conversation with him, at which point he was determined to be the gentleman.

No such luck. Steve Rogers is, always has been and always will be, a relentless flirt. These days, Bucky's Neanderthal-ist feelings about Steve are consensual and highly appreciated. More so now that they're having a baby.

what the fuck are perfect places anyway by tigerlilycorinne [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

Steve clears his throat and stands. “Well, I should head in. I might want to begin packing.”

Bucky stills. “You won’t,” he says, trying to sound commanding. It only comes out uncertain. “Don’t.”

Steve shakes his head. “Maybe not tonight,” he says, and Bucky knows they’ll be discussing this again soon.

“Then stay. Play… play cards with me or something.”

Steve’s eyebrows jump up, his mouth tugging up in another of his bemused smiles that do things to Bucky’s insides, but he drops his hand from the doorway and steps back into Bucky’s room. Somehow, Bucky feels as if he’s won—not the war, just the battle.

Steve won’t stay forever. But he’ll stay for cards.

Steve and Bucky, on the run after Civil War (with a few alterations to canon), are laying low in Wakanda. But they can’t stay there forever.

🌻 honestly thought i’d be dead by now, but what you can trust is that i need your touch by moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 105k words, Explicit]

Bucky is 37 years old; he’s unmarried, hasn’t had a Sub of his own, is definitely not ripped, comfortable at his job as an Advanced Practice RN at Brooklyn General ER, and just got his Five Years coin from AA.

Steve is 26 years old; he’s unmarried, his last and only Dom has Alzheimer's, he's worryingly muscular, uncomfortable in his job as the government’s poster Alpha for masculinity and strength, and worries more than he should about his BMI.

Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky meet initially in a not-cute moment. Bucky’s tired as shit thanks to the sudden alien invasion that shook New York and Steve is tired as shit because he hasn’t slept more than 20 minutes at a time in – well, since 1936, probably. Bucky’s Alpha instincts get irritated at the sudden presence of another "Alpha" into his territory and Steve’s suppressed submissive tendencies latch onto this grumpy bachelor Alpha and he only suppresses it further.

Bucky’s grumpiness and Steve’s duckling impressionism aside, both of them are a mess. But since both of them are a mess? Their messes seem to fit pretty well together.

Deep Sea Diving by Aida Ronan [Stucky, 5k words, Explicit]

Steve's wallowing in heat-related misery under a shade tree in Central Park when a man walks by in bright red booty shorts and a crop top. RIP Steve Rogers. It was nice knowing you.

honey, make this easy by steebadore [Stucky, 8k words, Explicit]

Bucky likes the way he looks. His silk button up with the tiny gold polka dots feels soft on his skin and is tailored perfectly; no pulling at his chest or belly. His hair falls in shiny dark waves and his skin is smooth and dewy. He looks expensive. He looks taken care of. He looks like Steve’s.

🌻 let's take it back to the start by howdoyousleep @howdoyousleep3 [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

How it all began.

This sleepwalking through my life. by barthelme [Stucky, 1k words, Explicit]

The internet is an interesting place and when Bucky came home (or, when he came to live with Steve), Steve did a lot of research. Apparently, it’s not safe to wake a sleepwalker. He assumes that waking a sleepwalker with traumatic dreams and PTSD is beyond just being frowned upon.

And he tells himself--has told himself--that this is safer for Bucky. That if he were to stop him and wake him up, that Bucky would be mortified to be slurping on his best friend’s cock. That all of the improvements he’s made would be lost, would be repressed, would be just--

They’d be back at square one.

So he lets Bucky do it.

🌻 the way i've been craving by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

"Lunch break at 12:30. My office. Hope you’re hungry…"

It’s the ellipsis that sends Bucky’s insides swimming warmly, his heart beating twice as fast against his ribs where he sits in class. Senator Rogers is concise, direct, to the point. Without an ellipsis this is lunch, this is a meeting. With it though?

This is a booty call.

nasty but classy by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 4k words, Explicit]

“No, you don’t have to know the purpose, that doesn’t matter. Nat showed me this challenge where couples drink a lot of wine and get drunk together but they can’t touch each other. And whoever touches the other first has to...has to give the other head.”

🌻 Put It on Repeat, It Stays the Same by giselleslash [Stucky, 20k words, Explicit]

Steve and Bucky have a one night stand that turns into a friends with benefits situation. A weekend snowed in at Bucky’s apartment brings to light how much that really doesn’t suit either one of them.

Greetings to the New Brunette by victoria_p (musesfool) [Stucky, 10k words, General]

"You said he should have a hobby. That it would help."

"I meant, like, knitting or coin collecting. Motocross, if he was feeling antsy. A baby's not a hobby. It's lifetime commitment."

🌻 Rogers & Barnes: Partners by triedunture [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

Steve and Bucky have to pose as a couple for a mission. Nat insists it really is the only option. She's checked.

The complication: unbeknownst to even Natasha, Steve and Bucky's friendship has been rocky ever since Bucky confessed his tender feelings and Steve left him out in the cold. Can asexual, completely-in-love-with-his-angry-best-friend Steve complete the mission and win Bucky's heart?

(The answer is yes. Yay!)

this will be our year (took a long time to come) by biblionerd07 [Stucky, 4k words, General]

Bucky's therapist is worried he's using Steve as a crutch and wants him to try going on outings without Steve. It wouldn't be terrible, honestly, if Bucky could just manage to open his mouth and say something to Steve.

I'll hold my breath by Little_Lottie (tfwatson) [Stucky, 8k words, Mature]

Sometimes Bucky’s hands flex in Steve's direction. Neither of them knows exactly why, but at least one of them has a hunch.

Bucky touches everything but Steve, even though Steve is all he really wants to touch.

Start from the Beginning by Mumble_Bee [Stucky, 13k words, Explicit]

What about a sex pollen fic where the pollen-ed one doesn’t remember getting hit in the face with a sex flower, and wakes up midway through the depollenating?

Or: the one where Steve wakes up on his back with a stranger buried balls-deep in his ass.

Match by emphasisonem [Stucky, 4k words, Mature]

The situation’s actually kind of funny from the right perspective, Bucky thinks as he reads the message for what feels like the hundredth time. He’s finally matched with a hot, funny guy. Tall and broad and clean cut. An absolutely breathtaking smile. Bucky’s walking wet dream. And he’s good. They haven’t messaged on the app, but Bucky already knows him.

He knows him because Steve Rogers is an art history professor at his university. His art history professor.

Best friends and married since childhood by StuckySituation [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Inspired by @/peterssquill's post in tumblr: "bucky and steve got married on the playground when they were like eight and though neither of them would ever admit it to anyone, even each other, they still consider it official"

~♥~ ♥~ ♥~

“Natasha, stop trying to set me up with every woman you meet, I’m-”

“Too shy? Too scared?”

“No, I’m-”

“Too busy? You’re mostly retired these days, not a good excuse anymore.” Natasha smirks and then drawls: “Or just too gay?”

Steve flushes at that, even if isn’t true -- he’s bisexual, not gay. “Let it go, Nat, I’m not looking for anything. I’m already married, for fuck’s sake.”

Clearly not what she expected. “What.”

Steve grimaces. He didn’t mean to tell anyone that, ever.

“Sorry, can’t talk about it right now!” he says and jumps out of the plane.

Nobody Should Be Alone on a Holiday by emphasisonem [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

“So, um-” Bucky begins speaking again, pulling Steve from his less-than-work-appropriate thoughts. The brunet has shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks, and he’s shifting from one foot to the other as he smiles shyly. “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” Steve grins, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his broad chest. Bucky swallows deeply as one of his hands comes up to pull at the collar of his button-up, and Steve can’t help following the motion of his Adam’s apple.

“I was, uh-” Bucky continues- “That is, I heard you don’t have Thanksgiving plans?”

In which Bucky finds out that Steve's going to be alone on Thanksgiving and invites his coworker to spend the holiday with him.

🌻 It's Been A Long Season Through by thiccbuckybarnes @thiccbuckybarnesfic [Stucky, 49k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes is in desperate need of a change in scenery, which is why he makes the foolhardy decision to quit his job, leave his asshole of a fiance, pack up his life, and move to his grandfather’s old farm all within a single day.

He expects confusion, hardship, and maybe even failure. But love? He wasn’t expecting that.

--

Or, a Stucky Stardew Valley AU that nobody but me wanted and that’s ok.

oh, peach pit, where'd the hours go? by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 10k words, Explicit]

Can't see the forest for the trees.

--

Or, Steve learns that just because he and Bucky got their happily ever after, it doesn’t mean the past won’t come back to bite them.

I'll find my way by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 725 words, Teen]

Steve had watched Bucky fall, and nothing had been the same since.

AU-gust day 19: Daemons

special delivery by glim @glim [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

It's not that Steve's bad at taking care of himself when he gets sick; he just wishes he didn't have to all the time.

At least he can order most of what he needs online. That's some small comfort, that he can have soup and ice cream and everything else brought to his door.

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by spacebuck @spacebuck [Stucky, 8k words, Explicit]

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

🌻 Rock On! by millesable @marvelousescapism [Clintasha, 700 words, General]

“Hey, Romanoff!”

He lifted his hand, index finger and pinky finger raised, thumb out, all other fingers tucked. Their secret sign; their confession for the world to see, safe in the knowledge that the world wasn’t listening.

“Rock on!”

🌻 You Like the Way I Look by dontcallmebree @iamthe-wo-manwhocan [Stucky, 2k words, Explicit]

Bucky sidles up to him, hand boldly coming to rest on his chest. “What about you, big guy? Care for a dance?” Steve watches Bucky’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction, somehow already knowing he’s got Steve on the hook.

A decade out of the ice, Steve Rogers returns to New York. Reeling from a battle against the Chitauri, a night with the troublesome Bucky Barnes might be just what he needs.

Join the Rebellion by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 765 words, Teen]

Bucky knew he shouldn't be out after curfew, but he couldn't resist the urge. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew it was where he wanted to be.

AU-gust day 20: Dystopia

🔒 Five Days in December by mywingsareonwheels @mywingsareonwheels [Evanstan, 4k words, Teen]

“Shit shit shit shit...” muttered Chris to himself, glad that the sound of piped Christmas carols was drowning out his swearing amid the picture books. Most of the store was heaving even though it was Sunday, he’d been recognised at least three times, finding presents for all of his nieces and nephews was proving far more of a headache than expected, and he’d just sent a pile of copies of "Strictly No Elephants" tumbling off the bookshelf.

He scrambled about trying to pick them all up, and then dropped them again as someone bumped right into his backside. He lost his balance, caught himself against a bookcase, and a landslide of "Carter Is a Painter’s Cat" joined "Strictly No Elephants" on the floor. He yelped.

“Ah fuck, I’m so sorry… Chris!”

* * * * * * * * * *

London, December 2021. Amid cats, books, and the cold English drizzle, Chris finds everything he was hoping for and thought he would never have.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Reaching for Fire by dixons_mama @dixons-mama [Stucky, 7k words, Explicit]

Bucky has always felt a fire in his heart (and other body parts) when it came to his boss, Steve Rogers, but he's made sure to never feed those flames. When he finds out about Steve's second job, though, he's tempted to let that fire out.

i've been dreaming of a face like yours by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

Bucky is about to busy himself with making a small dinner for himself when he stops in his tracks at the figure drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and smirking at him.

It’s Steve.

“Surprise, sweet boy,” he says before setting his cup down.

--

Or, PWP reunion sex

🌻 Somewhere, Under Your Skin by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 16k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes treats himself to a one-night stand after having a very bad no good day.

The sex is good--great, even. Might be the best sex of his life.

But Bucky wouldn’t have slept with the guy if he had known that he was going to continuously run into him every day for the next fucking month.

--

Or, a Big Grump Bucky has a hot one night stand with a college kid who is popping up everywhere in his everyday life and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

(Written for HYBB Bingo Square: Grumpy Bucky)

i've played heartstrings before but not in your key by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 11k words, Explicit]

He glances down, seeing a folded couple of papers, before peering up at Bucky. The older man is biting his bottom lip, making it pretty and red. Steve wants to run his tongue across where his teeth are digging into his flesh.

"What's this?" Steve asks, setting his phone down, emails forgotten. Bucky shrugs and looks away.

"I dunno. You tell me, genius," he says, sounding bratty enough that it makes Steve's dick twitch in his pants. Jesus, there has to be something wrong with him.

Steve glances once more at Bucky, who now has his arms crossed against his chest and is pointedly not looking at Steve, before picking up the stack of folded papers. He opens them, seeing a collection of maybe five or six sheets of paper. His eyes immediately land on the list of familiar words with negative next to each one. -- Or, Steve Rogers is a jealous, possessive little shit that wants nothing more than to mark up his boyfriend and stake his claim. And Bucky knows it. (And he likes it.)

🌻 I'm Home (With You) by BonkyBornes @padfoot-and-the-marauders [Stucky, 2k words, General]

In any other circumstance, the apartment would've been perfect. But it was today, and the fact that he was here meant he wasn’t out searching. He knew they hadn’t had any leads for weeks and he knew Natasha was right; all three of them were exhausted and a break would do them good. It just felt wrong to Steve that he was comfortable while Bucky was still out there—somewhere. Probably cold. Probably hungry.

The knock came again. Sighing, Steve unwrapped his hand from the dog tags and remembered how to move. Cold wind and snow greeted him when he opened the door. The solitary figure was walking down the steps, collar popped against the chill.

“Did you need something?” he called.

The person stopped. They were still. And then they turned. *

Or, the Christmas Steve deserved after Winter Soldier.

The portrait by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 915 words, General]

Steve Rogers has a Gift. He can help people find their soulmates, all he needs is some art supplies, a quiet place, and eye contact.

AU-gust day 21: soulmates

Maybe A Muse by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 2k words, Mature]

When Bucky Barnes needs extra money, he’s appalled that his best friends think he should become a model for the art department on campus. Shy, nerdy, and socially awkward, he’s not sure that’s something he feels comfortable doing. Still, he needs money, and he likes the idea of becoming someone’s muse. The problem is he had no idea two things would happen. First, one of the students in the class is exactly his type; second, he has to model nude.

[cheeriecherry]

hi!! how are you? can you write for baku, deku, & todo where they meet their s/o family for the first time & they’re super scary? they’re all super tall, buff, full of tattoos, loud, aggressive, mean & the fam is super overprotective over s/o & the 3 are just freaking out bc s/o is the opposite? s/o is super sweet, calm, bubbly & short so the last thing they were expecting was this & they’re just freaking out & trying to get on their s/o’s family good side? sorry if that sounds complicated 😭

The more specific the ask, the better! I’ll see what my brain can come up with, I’ve just had couch medicine so

Requests are temporarily closed so I can catch up on them!

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

-Loud boi isn’t gonna let anyone know that he’s intimidated.

-He’s already a little nervous to meet your family for the first time, though he’d never admit it. You were so hesitant to ask him to come over, and at first he thought it was because he was the loud and aggressive one.

-But that Saturday afternoon when he walks up to your house and your dad answers the door, he’s like ‘oh’ and it all clicks into place.

-He loves you a lot, so he wants to make a good impression, but he also never backs down from a challenge. So he and your dad have a stare down in the doorway, until you stroll around the corner and see them.

-You scold your dad and tell him to stop being rude to your boyfriend. Your dad doesn’t say anything, but he sighs and lets Bakugou in.

-The fun doesn’t stop there, though. You tug Bakugou around the house from room to room introducing him to your family, and every single one of them gives him the same cold, mildly threatening stare.

-Ngl your uncle who lives in the basement apartment kinda scares him, but he doesn’t say anything and tries to play it cool. The guy is built like a brick house and covered head to toe in intricate tattoos.

-He doesn’t mention it, but you can tell that your boyfriend is wondering about potential ties you have to the mafia, with a guy like that living in your house. But you assure him it’s just your uncle’s quirk that gives him the art on his skin, and that he’s actually pretty shy about it and doesn’t like going out.

-The last person he meets is your mom. With everyone being so much taller and physically stronger than you, he assumes that your mom is gonna be the person you got your tiny genes from.

-Lol no

-She’s at least six feet tall, and without a doubt the most intimidating person in the house. She’s got the face of an angel and the grace of a butterfly, but behind her smile Bakugou can see the willingness to kill anyone who hurts her baby (you).

-Lunch with the fam is a little awkward at first, until your younger cousin goads Bakugou into a spice eating contest. Then the shouting at the table begins, everyone placing their bets on who they think will win. You’re the only one who bets on your boyfriend, and you get like a hundred collective bucks out of your family members when he wins.

-He’s earned the respect of your cousin, who’s like eight maybe and now deems Bakugou a respectable opponent. Bakugou is torn between yelling and patting the kid on the head, so he probably does both and shouts at the kid to keep practicing so they can try and beat him one day.

-At the end of the visit, your boyfriend is surprisingly calm. You’re walking him home, arm in arm, not really saying much. Though you do tell him that he’s taking your living situation pretty well.

-He’s like wdym? And you explain to him that most of your friends and potential partners are scared of your family and refuse to come over because of them.

-Bakugou just scoffs and is like ‘of course they are, because they’re chicken shits. As if I’d be scared of a bunch of-’ and he pauses because you start laughing, not at him, just about the situation.

-Your family actually really likes him and find him a suitable boyfriend for you. They know you’re strong, but they want someone who can protect you and who’s loyal to you, and they see that in Bakugou. They probably invite him to the next family gathering.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

-A nervous boi

-He wants so badly to make a good impression on your family, to get their approval of your relationship. He knows you’re close with them, so he doesn’t want their potential opinions of him to sway your desire to be with him.

-He dresses casually but tidy, and while he waits at the door he fiddles with his shirt a bit.

-Almost has a heart attack when your sister opens the door and glares down at him with the rage of 1000 suns.

-He does his best to introduce himself formally and be polite, but your sister is making it awfully hard for him to stay focused. She doesn’t say anything to him, so he just continues chattering until he’s off on a tangent and saying way too much.

-And you’re like ‘I feel my boyfriend danger senses tingling’ so you go downstairs and lo and behold. 

-Ofc he’s not in any actual danger, just the danger of making a fool of himself. You set a hand on your sister’s arm, and the moment you do it’s like all the anger in her body dissipates and she turns into a sweet, smiling bean. Then she skips away to go do her homework.

-You pull Midoriya inside and give him a once-over anyways, just to make sure your sister didn’t burn holes in him with her glares. But he assures you he’s alright, and he’s a lot more relaxed now that you’re around.

-Probably says something like ‘I can see why you were so nervous about bringing me to your house, your older sister seems really protective of you’

-and you’re like ‘um,,,,actually she’s my younger sister’ and he’s like ‘wot’ and you’re like ‘also she’s the least scary of everyone’ and he’s like ‘wOT’

-You waste no time parading him from room to room to show him off, all while his soul slowly escapes his body.

-Your parents actually scare him the least, like, of course they’re protective of you, but they have the common courtesy not to exaggerate their scary qualities. They still tower over both you and Midoriya, but they’re mostly civil in terms of interactions.

-Your older brothers scare him a little bit more. They share the basement suite, so you drag your boyfriend downstairs to introduce them all to each other...and interrupt their poker game with their friends.

-All of them have some kind of tattoo visible, nothing Midoriya recognizes as any gang symbol, but he’s still wary. However, he manages to say hello and all the pleasantries, and actually gets a smile out of one of your brothers, who tries to rope him into a game of cards.

-Thankfully you save him with the excuse that you still have more family to show him off to, but he’s left with the promise of ‘later, then’.

-Lastly is your sister, who he’s technically already met. She’s arguably the scariest of everyone. She’s easily almost six feet tall and looks like she could bench press the two of you with ease. You promise him that she’s a literal sweet pea, but when the two of you walk up to her room, Midoriya isn’t so sure.

-She glares at him hard, like she’s judging him about everything and if he doesn’t pass she’ll snap him in half. He has to swallow the lump in his throat, and quickly looks around the room for some kind of thing to ask about that might get her to open up.

-And he sees it. One of the rarer All Might figures from an old merch line, one that he also has, so he’s like ‘do you like All Might’ and it’s like a switch is flipped.

-You breathe a sigh of relief as the two of them start nerding out about their favourite hero, sprouting facts and recalling films and old news videos. When he mentions that All Might teaches at his school, your sister honest to god squeals, and starts asking all kinds of questions about what kind of teacher he is, what he’s learned, what it’s like to be a protogee of such a great hero. He answers everything with glee, all his former fears forgotten.

-When it comes time for dinner, your sister insists that your boyfriend sit next to her, which is apparently a very high honor because one of your brothers sulks off to the other end of the table. (You assure your brother later that it’s just temporary and that your sister just really likes your boyfriend).

-But seeing the two of them interact warms your heart, it’s usually hard for your sister to make friends because she’s so intimidating, so you’re glad they’re getting along. And so does the rest of your family! They see Midoriya’s kindness and hardworking attitude, and they warm up to him pretty quickly.

-It ends up being a really enjoyable night, despite the rocky start. Though sadly yes your boyfriend does eventually get roped into a game of poker, and yes your brother’s cheat, but you cheat too, and you’re all betting in chocolate coins. You share your hoard with him.

TODOROKI SHOUTO

-He goes into it being not nervous, and ends up being Quite nervous once he meets your family.

-When he arrives, you’re thankfully the one to answer the door, so he doesn’t get hassled, so everything seems pretty normal right off the bat. Until your cousin walks through the room and is like ‘???? who’s this pipsqueak???’ and Todoroki is torn between being his usual snarky self and being polite.

-He wats to throw shade right back, but for your sake he wants to make a good impression. You’re used to his manners (or lack thereof) but he doesn’t want your family to think he’s not worthy of you. He really loves you a lot and wants to stay with you.

-So he goes for a formal introduction, even going in for a handshake. It’s kind of funny, because your cousin is like ‘lol what are manners’ but your glare forces him to return the gesture. His hand completely dwarfs your boyfriend’s, and you have to hide a snicker.

-And then the guy awkwardly wanders out of the room.

-You and Todoroki kind of just stand there for a second, and then he’s like ‘is this what you meant when you said your family was intimidating’ and you’re like ‘:3′

-You give him a tour of the house, a nice modest place with traditional aspects. It’s nowhere near as big as his, but he like it that way, it makes the place more homey and warm.

-You introduce him to family members as you come across them; your younger twin nuisances cousins, who are more mischievous than dangerous, your aunt and her wife, who look like they could get away with murder, your brother and his friends, who mostly only glare at Todoroki to try and make him uncomfortable.

-Thankfully he’s used to the stoic and slightly scary expressions, thanks to his dad. He wonders momentarily if you’re safe here, but then he realizes that everyone in the house is especially kind to you, and very affectionate when they think he’s not looking. He doesn’t even bother asking the question.

-Lastly are your parents, who are in the kitchen preparing dinner. They’re a little perturbed that you’re both in the kitchen when they’re working, but they seem to be less purposefully intimidating than everyone else. They’re still a little scary though.

-Then he notices that your parents are making soba. From scratch. Which is particularly difficult to master, so he figures they must be pretty well practiced if they’re so good at it.

-Without thinking, he asks if they’ve made soba before, and soon your parents are sprouting off about their culinary careers and the restaurant they run. You were supposed to take over one day, but you ultimately chose a different path in life, even after they taught you so much.

-Todoroki didn’t even realize you could cook, but now he wants more than anything to try your meals someday, or learn a few things from you and make dinners together.

-It startles him a little that he’s thinking so far ahead in your lives, but honestly if you’ve managed to get him as a boyfriend then you’re likely to have him for your whole life, if you want him.

-He talks a little more with your parents about the food, expressing in his way that he’s looking forward to a dinner that’s had so much hard work go into it. And you can see the little light go on in your parents’ heads, the light that signals they approve of your choice in boyfriend and have started making room in their hearts for him.

-Dinner is nice, pretty peaceful aside from your twin cousins causing their usual trouble, but he’s nonplussed by it. he still wonders how you managed to come out so small in comparison to everyone else, but it doesn’t bother him too much. He can see that you’re loved and well cared for, and a little piece of him hopes that one day he’ll be able to get to know your family even better.

[bomberqueen17]

weekend

well on saturday we went to ithaca, which was cool, and we looked at the farmer’s market, and i spent All The Moneys on weird shit for Christmas for my family, including $100 on non-archival art prints to give my niblings because I thought they’d rather like that, along with the money gift cards I’m gonna start giving them to support their crafting habits LOL.

cut for length

I bought myself a t-shirt out of the seconds bin too, it’ll need refashioning to actually fit but it was also cream-colored, and that awesome design only came on a cream-colored shirt, and I don’t really wear cream-colored clothing much since I am a Whole Disaster who can’t not wear her fucking food on her boob. (Left boob, always. IDK. Ruins every shirt. I should make myself a fucking bib.)

We met some friend-friends for lunch, and one of them excitedly pulled up the leg of her shorts when we asked for recommendations for which of Ithaca’s gorges we should look at for waterfalls. She had the Taughannock tattooed upon her thigh, and this seemed like a really cool way to be given a quest, so we decided to do that.

First we went and saw Buttermilk Falls, because that required no hiking. But then we went and saw the Taughannock Falls, because they’re fucking cool. And yes, it was-- well the signs at the site say 3/4 mile, but the online map says .96 miles, and it is in fact .96 miles. At least it’s mostly flat. And yeah it’s cool as hell once you get in there and can see the falls. Also there’s a lot of geology nerd shit on the informational placards so that’s fun.

[img desc: the main falls at Taughannock, which are rad as fuck. The land comes down in a V with a dramatically-cloudy sky above it, and at the bottom of the V, a narrow band of water falls like a veil for 215 feet to a rocky, shallow streambed littered with boulders and edged with greenery.]

I realized that at lunch I’d gotten too much sun, apparently-- I broke out in hives on my arms, which hasn’t happened in years, and I can only think it was sun. I’m not sure, but. It was less itchy than it could’ve been but it wasn’t good.

Anyway.

We hiked back out, wearied, and got in the car and went back to the AirBNB, where I tried to rinse off whatever was giving me hives but the sad answer is that it’s my skin and there’s no cure for that. LOL.

We went the opposite direction for dinner, driving out to Corning instead, and unfortunatelyish, Corning was just finishing having some sort of street festival, which meant it was suddenly tricky to find parking and all the restaurants were busy. But we did find Thai food, which was lovely. I chickened out and got mild, which I never do, but I am delighted to report that their mild Panang curry was approximately like a medium here, instead of the flavorless thing I was worried it might be, so I enjoyed it greatly.

Then Sunday we packed up and left. I’m not great at AirBnB etiquette yet; I stripped the bed but left everything piled on it, so it’d be obvious what came from where, and then I collected all the bathroom and kitchen towels we’d used and threw them in the washer, since the washer that came with the place was the kind of fancy one that takes a fucking hour to do a simple load of laundry. I figured it’d be easy for the host to come by and put the towels in the dryer and be able to be confident they were clean, y’know? Better than having to either wait for a load to run there, or to take all the laundry back to some central location where she must just be doing laundry all the fucking time, and then haul the sheets back to the house. IDK how it would work. She did leave a good review afterward.

On the way home we drove through Letchworth, because if that ain’t waterfalls I dunno what is. Hilariously, we hadn’t realized that our visitor would be so interested in waterfalls specifically, and so this tour did not include a stop at Niagara, which is like. The Waterfall. But. Listen. We did our best. Next time.

Takeout pizza and wings for lunch, then I just had to hold the cat nonstop for the rest of the day. I got up early this morning for Visitor To Airport purposes, and Chita assumed I had arisen so early solely to Hold The Cat, so I did hold her for a solid fifteen minutes while she purred. All is right with the world, she thinks, except then I left and am now at work swearing at the 8mm machine.

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

So hero Deku, vigilante Deku, and villain Deku are all canon this week. Fun stuff! Hori really be going all in on the fanfic tropes… you love to see it.

Anyways, time to finish up this chapter. 

[No. 14 - Encounter with the Unknown]

We return to another dark portal opening up, with Izuku being dumped out of it over what turns out to be the flood zone. Luckily, it wasn’t high enough for him to take damage on impact with the water, just make a large sploosh. As Izuku reorients himself in the water, he quickly parses through everything that just happened - the teleportation quirk, the goal to kill All Might - but he still is trying to figure out everything going on.

Then we see our first villain in the flood zone, a guy with a shark mutation and… scuba gear? 

Yikes, if he was gonna get a shark mutation, he could at least have gotten the underwater breathing too. I wonder if he’s also part eel or snake or something, because the way his jaw opens up to attack Izuku is like Not A Shark Thing (as far as I am aware, I know I don’t know every shark species so.)

[IMAGE CENSORED]

Well then. Yeah, the villain makes his threat to kill Izuku, then gets absolutely bodied by Tsuyu stomping him in the head with both feet, Minetsa under her arm. She then grabs Izuku with her tongue and shoots away at high speeds only possibly with an aquatic quirk. Also dskgkld

Tsuyu you little savage I cannot even. 

Tsuyu surfaces by the boat we saw in the flood zone earlier, using her tongue’s reach to deposit Izuku up on the deck. Mineta, still out of it, makes a comment about Tsuyu’s boobs, which gets him slammed on the deck by her tongue right afterwards. Tsuyu climbs up the side of the boat as Izuku thanks her, and Tsuyu tells him to call her Tsuyu, before noting that they seem to be in trouble. 

(Also her quirk is noted to be Frog, which lets her do whatever a frog can.)

Izuku flashes back briefly to Kurogiri’s question about the schedule being revised, which Izuku realizes means the villains know the schedule, and that the simplest reason for that was that they caused the media rush in order to get their intel. Like Shouto said, they were waiting for their chance, and prepared for it well.

Mineta is skeptical, saying there’s no way the villains could ever kill All Might - he’ll thrash them once he gets there! He even makes a little show of punching the air to emphasize his point. 

Tsuyu points out that the villains must have figured out a way to kill him, otherwise why bother to show up just to get beaten? Mineta is stunned silent in growing fear as Tsuyu calmly goes on to explain that she wouldn’t put it past the villains, especially since that one guy promised to kill the students as well. She then ask whether they, the students, can hold out until All Might arrives, and that even when he does show, whether he might not end up killed after all.

Mineta, complete shook, turns to Midoriya for I guess some kind of denial of her claims? Which he doesn’t give. 

The shark villain surfaces, calling Tsuyu a brat and declaring that he’ll kill her. We get a wide angle view of the boat, showing a lot of villains surfacing around it. Mineta is freaking out even more, noting that it’s a whole school of them. 

Izuku is caught up in a muttering storm mixed with flashbacks, and I just. His face, the worry and fear at the thought of losing All Might. You can practically see the nausea crawling in his gut as he tries to figure out their motivations. 

And that ending panel before we transition to the other rescue zones, where we can’t see his face as he determines that if there’s even a chance the villains have a way to beat all might, then they need to do, well, something. Though that something is cut off with the scene shift to another zone. I am just, such in awe again over Hori’s use of facial expressions to convey what isn’t being said here, I just. Izuku’s so terrified of losing his mentor. Both Mineta and Tsuyu are worried for him. 

On a closer look at the transition panel, we see the landslide zone being iced over, with the panel after that showing Shouto having encased all the villains in his area in ice in one move. He calls them pathetic for losing to a kid, while the villains struggle to try and break out (and fail at it). Shouto taunts them a bit, point out how they’re adults, which adds back to that ‘you seriously lost to a kid’ thing just a moment ago. 

Next we get two shots of the other groups - Katsuki and Kirishima in some ruins, and Yamomo, Jirou, and Kaminari in some rocky area, surrounded by villains. There’s some narration stating ‘we’ve got a job to do’ in between the panels with the groups. And- wait, is that Jirou getting a fucking sword from Yaomomo?

Also, I just noticed Katsuki’s gauntlet here is on his right hand, which is the opposite of what we see in the title card page at the beginning of the chapter.

Weird! I suppose it’s not a huge deal since the chapter itself is consistent with Katsuki wearing the gauntlet on his right hand, but still. 

Our last page is another couple large group shots. The first panel is Tenya, Ochako, Shouji, and Mina all alert to the shadow villain as he recondenses. Next, we have Aizawa standing his ground in the middle of the group of villains while Shigaraki watches on quietly. And finally, we go back to Izuku, Tsuyu, and Mineta, with Izuku declaring out loud that they have a fight to win. 

Huh, that was a shorter second half than expected. Probably could have fit all the chapter into one update, but alas… 

Anyways, come back next time, where we get to see more student trauma develop! :D

[wienerbarnes]

Play Dead Until You’re Dead

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 3,149

Warnings: Lowkey angst ngl but nothing too bad

A/N: YAY im so excited for this part bc I've had this in my head for a while now and it gonna change so much for the story but I'm so excited for one shots in the future! also this is kinda not edited ill go through it again tomorrow :) enjoy!

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

A slow knock interrupts your plant watering and you glance at the time. Bucky said he’d be by in the afternoon, not the morning. You place your cup of water down and walk over to the door and open it cautiously before your eyes widen and a gasp escapes you as you see who awaits you on the other side.

Sam Wilson, dressed in civilian clothing, shoots you a smirk, “Why don’t we go for a drive?”

You don’t have time to answer. You don’t have time to think. Your blood is cold, your hands are cold, and your feet are cold as they slip into the sandals you keep by the door. You silently - and anxiously - step out into the hallway and shut the door behind you, never taking your eyes off of Sam.

“After you.” he gestures with a smile. You walk.

…

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes have a lot of unspoken conversations. Although the rocky start they got off too all those years ago, they’ve grown incredibly close and trust each other like no one else.

So when Bucky calls him late at night, sounding confused, nervous, and unsure, Sam notices. Especially when Bucky then suddenly forgets why he called and what he needed to talk to him about.

Sam’s first thought was that he was drugged. Bucky was given something that clouded his mind. But when Sam saw him the next day, he seemed perfectly fine. So, he proceeded to his second thought.

Bucky was keeping a secret from him.

When Sam was passed the shield, there was one thing each of them asked of each other. Bucky asked to not be a part of the Avengers full time. Sam asked for no secrets and no lying (which he later asked the same from Sharon).

And since then, Bucky has been solely tasked with training new recruits for their seven week training which occurs twice a year, as well as to help on especially difficult cases called to them by the government. And in return, Bucky has not told a single lie to him or kept a single secret. Until now.

So Sam begins to get unimaginably curious. Bucky hasn’t picked up any new hobbies, and after a quick and encrypted check up, none of his extended family have passed away or had anything big happen to them, either. The last thing that Sam can think of to have caused such an odd change in Bucky is a girlfriend. But, if it is a girlfriend, why wouldn’t he tell Sam? Unless, it was someone he knew Sam wouldn’t like.

And that’s when he knew he had to figure out who it was.

So he waited. Until the perfect clue presented itself.

“No, I can’t tonight, man.”

“Why not? I know it’s Friday night, but, what, you got a hot date, or something?”

“Something like that - look, I just have plans I can’t cancel tonight. How about next Friday we go out?”

That was all Sam needed. The plans he couldn’t cancel. So, he waited until later that night and went over to Bucky’s apartment. He’d figure a harmless cock-blocking will teach him not to keep secrets from him anymore.

Until when he put his car into park and gathered his belongings to put them in his pockets, he noticed someone exiting the front of the apartment building; specifically a head of fiery red hair.

Imagine his surprise when he recognizes the face as you.

It doesn’t take long for Sam to figure out where you were. Everyone had already assumed you to be dead, or at least be far away from the country. But now that he knew you were still in New York, a few hours digging into your past and your file led him to a few key locations. From being so separated from society for so long, chances were that you’d find a place you were familiar with, if not the same place, the same area.

Kathleen Grover’s apartment is the first place he checks, but it’s since been turned into higher end condos, a place you probably wouldn’t be able to get away with staying at considering that you probably don’t have an ID or any money. So he checks for the absolute cheapest and low-lying apartments in the neighborhood. Which gives him two results. He just so happened to be lucky on the first one he chose to look into.

Which leads to now, the two of you riding in complete silence, on the way to the Tower, unbeknownst to you.

The only thing that’s going through your mind is Bucky. You hate the idea that he sold you out, because not only would it hurt your feelings, but it would mean those annoying voices in your head would’ve been right.

Yeah, time to put your big girl pants back on. What, you thought you’d live a normal life at some point? Buy a big house? Go out to fancy, populated restaurants? Maybe DisneyWorld? Get a grip! You were always a mistake and a failure. And you’re going right back where you belong, in that box! And Bucky will be right there in that observation room when they stick the needle in your arm and end you for good.

You swallow down the bile that comes up at the thought of going back to prison.

It was fun while it lasted. Decorating the apartment. The tattoos. The new recipes. The movie nights with Bucky. The sleepovers with Bucky. The list with Bucky. The long road trips with Bucky. The music playlists with Bucky. Bucky.

You’ll miss Bucky the most in prison. You’ll think about him everyday. You won’t be able to write him and he won’t be able to write you, not that he’d want to given the fact that he ratted you out, but there was no paper or writing utensils allowed, especially for you.

You’ll dream about his singing when he’d clean, his hugs after waking up, still warm from the sheets, and the unbelievable comfort his eyes provided.

...

“Hey, Sam, how are you?” Bucky absentmindedly answers as he finishes up watering the plants in his living room.

“Hey, man. You busy? Mind meeting me at the tower?” Bucky can hear his car in the background.

“Uh, yea, sure I can. New case?” He asks, setting down his watering kettle and walking towards his room to put on a fresh pair of socks and sneakers. If it’s a new case, there’s no point in getting all done up to listen to Sam debrief him.

“Something like that. Just get here, yea?”

That’s odd.

Normally when Sam calls Bucky about a case, he gives him at least some of the details. That was a part of their plan, their deal. Bucky only joins on missions on special occasions and with specific circumstances. So why wouldn’t Sam give the tiniest hint of what’s going on?

Unless it’s something Bucky’s involved in.

Is Zemo dead? Has he escaped? Some other big Hydra villain that’s come to light?

Bucky’s mouth goes dry like cotton at the thought of something involving you. Did someone recognize you and turn you in? Did Sam find you? No, no, he couldn’t have. The both of you had been so unbelievably careful, there was no way anyone found you.

Bucky lets out a shaky sigh before grabbing his keys and his wallet and heading out.

…

That phone call hurt. Hearing Bucky’s voice, for what will probably be the last time in a long, long time. Even if he betrayed you, even if he turned you in, even if he used you, backstabbed you, whatever. That fifteen second phone call caused an excruciating pain in your heart and it was so hard to hold back tears.

You didn’t want to cry. Captain America and Bucky Barnes had humiliated you enough for you to be crying on the way to the Avengers Tower. They don’t deserve your tears, and you don’t even deserve to be shedding them. This is exactly what you had coming to you.

Although the car ride felt like it lasted hours, the two of you arrived at the Avengers tower sooner than you would have liked.

Sam drove the car up though a back entrance, the back of the building opening up like recognizing Sam’s car. The ride in the elevator was quiet as Sam flashes a crystal-looking card and presses one of the thirty-seven buttons of the building.

He hadn’t put you in handcuffs and it seems he’s chosen a rather secretive way of transporting you here. Granted, you know you wouldn’t win a fight against Sam Wilson, even if you had Marine and HYDRA training under your belt, but, who knows what if you had a knife? Or were secretly an incredibly skilled fighter? What if your powers allowed you to, like, melt people’s brains and he had no idea? That’d probably be your best bet anyway, considering you're in custody at the Avengers Tower in sandals and no bra under your shirt.

The two of you exit out into an empty hallway, quiet, too, you notice. As the two of you approach the end of the hallway, swaying towards the door on the left wall, an interrogation room you deduct from peeking into the small window, a voice stops you.

“Hey, Sam? F.R.I.D.A.Y. told me you’d be here, what’s-”

His voice catches in his throat seeing you and Sam turn around to face him. He feels his eyes widen, his skin pale, his hands become clammy. This can’t be happening. This can not be happening. He walks closer and his steps slow as he’s standing in front of you. He’s literally speechless and as much as he wants to talk, to scream, to question what’s going on, he doesn’t.

His mouth hangs open even though no words come out, and you spit in his face before he gets the chance. He flinches and Sam pushes you into the room before you can react any further.

Bucky wipes your saliva from his cheek and he wants to cry. He wants to choke. He wants to throw a fucking tantrum in the middle of the hallway because he has absolutely no idea what’s going on. He feels a panic attack coming on and uses all of this strength to push it down as Sam exits the room. Relax. Figure out what’s going on so you can fix it; so you can get her the fuck out of here.

“You are going to tell me everything. And I mean everything. Absolutely no one knows that she’s here, or that she’s even alive. Sharon will remain unaware until you give me an explanation.” Sam tells him, his Captain voice taking over, and Bucky silently nods because he’s scared.

This is all so fucked up. And he hopes the truth he’s about to tell Sam will help you more than hurt you.

…

It’s funny how being in a familiar place affects your mind and body, regardless of how long it’s been. In the time that you’ve been in this interrogation room, your nerves have been completely on edge in a way that they haven’t been since being in prison, the voices have returned in your head, chatty as ever, and you haven’t been so angry since you killed that guard all those years ago in that first prison.

You pick and pull at your cuticles until they bleed and chew at the inside of your cheek until you taste metal.

Think they’ll let you decorate your cell this time? Or do you think they’ll just strap you straight into the medical chair and tie your arm up? No need to waste food, water, and a cot on you. Maybe they’ll bring back the electric chair or the firing squad just for this special occasion! Maybe they’ll have Bucky pull the lever-

“Shut up.” You mumble audibly, already feeling a headache coming on.

Spitting at Bucky felt good and bad at the same time. Good, because he deserves it, and more, after doing this to you; giving you the best and freest two and a half years of your life before snatching it all away from you in a second. Did he do it for fun? Did he like the game, the teasing of befriending you, taking care of you, all because he knew he’d do this and have the last laugh in the end?

It felt bad because as much as this sucks, you can’t find it in you hate Bucky. He’s become your best friend, your only friend, someone you actually trust in this new life you’ve been living. You want to forgive him, hug him, tell him it’s okay, that you’re not mad, that you could never be mad at him. Because you couldn’t. And that might actually be the worst part to all of this.

A click interrupts your thoughts and you stare at the Captain as he pulls out the seat across from you and sits down at the small table. How you wish there was a clock in here; how long had you been waiting for him here?

“What are you feelin’ right now?”

“Sorta like how your little wingman Riley felt when he fell out of the fucking sky.” You snap.

Sam doesn’t react. He remembers the way you’d act during the investigation years ago when they would question you in prison; he’d see the way you snap at them, at the guards, at the other inmates, how you’d really dig deep into people feelings and thoughts to say the worst thing to them in order to bring up bad memories. So, he was kind of already expecting that.

You’re upset, that he can tell from your attitude, your chipped and chewed fingernails, and you slouched sitting position, arms crossed across your chest as you lean against the back of the chair. He doesn’t blame you though, he’d probably be pretty upset, too.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., stop all audio and video recording from this room from today and erase it completely from every system, please.”

“Clearance level 1 or 2 necessary for that, Captain.”

“Clearance level 2; Wilson, Samuel T.”

“Thank you, Captain. All recordings have been erased and stopped.”

Huh?

“I have a proposition for you.” Sam begins. Your confusion clouds your mind and you don’t process his statement fast enough to respond before he continues.

“I will announce to the press that your body has been found along the coast of the Pacific after following a lead on your whereabouts, I will clarify that you have been found dead and that you drowned, closing the case looking for you. I will provide you with a new identity; that includes a false birth certificate, passport, and other forms of identification with a new name, new birth date, new everything.”

“Is this a fucking joke?” He ignores you.

“There will be a few rules you will have to follow in return. You will have to stay completely hidden out of the populated public for one full year after this announcement is made. You will have to change your appearance; cut your hair, dye it, whatever. You will stay here at the tower where you will be monitored.”

He pauses, like he knows this will be the part you hate most.

“And you will be required to use your abilities to help on future cases the Avengers are tasked with; the same way you did when we came to you with those two cases in the past.”

You’re silent for a moment, “And if I say no?” Your voice is small. You really don’t want to do this. You want to go back to your apartment, you want your clothes, your plants, your blankets, your mugs.

“Then you will be arrested and sent back to prison, in the same exact place on death row you were before.” Your eyes shut, the headache hitting fully.

“Why.” You demand.

“I talked to Bucky,” A roll of your eyes. “He didn’t rat you out, if that’s what you're thinking. I found you all by myself. And I made Bucky tell me absolutely everything. And from there I’m making the decision myself to offer this to you. It’s not my first time helping a globally wanted criminal. Or my second. Or my third. And it honestly probably won’t be my last at this point.”

Do you believe him? Does it even matter if he’s telling the truth or not? You clearly don’t have a choice here.

He knows this. And depending on how deep he spoke with Bucky, he knows you won’t go back to prison.

“I’ll show you to your quarters. You’ll have your own bathroom and kitchen. Tomorrow morning you will be briefed with your new identity by myself, Bucky, Agent Carter, and Director Fury. F.R.I.D.A.Y will help you with that in the morning.”

The walk was just as miserable as it was when you arrived. You wonder where Bucky is. Does he have a room here? Is he back home in his apartment? Is he coming back? Is he thinking about you? Is he mad that you spit on him?

I mean, probably a little bit. I would be at least.

You take a moment to look around your new room; your new living quarters for pretty much forever. There’s so much stuff; a large bed covered with folded blankets and soft pillows, a folded pair of clothes, a rug beneath your feet that sits under a desk and a large bookshelf, filled with books of differing genres and notebooks, the desk is bare except for a small lamp and a cup of pens and pencil. The kitchenette is to your left and seems to be pretty modern, you can’t imagine it’s missing anything you’d need. The closed door against the wall you assume is your promised bathroom, but you don’t feel like settling in.

It’s strange, living almost all your life with nothing; as a child being poor with your family, having less than that in the Marines, and having nothing in Hydra. When you had your apartment, you had nothing, you cleaned the apartment building to make money to pay your cheap rent, you’d steal your clothes, food, and decorations, everything that Bucky didn’t buy you, anyway.

And now, you’re standing in a room that has everything you’d need, no need to pay rent, supplies and resources at your request; all that’s needed in return is the use of your powers.

But you hate it. All of it.

The colors are dull. The decor is boring. There’s no light. Nothing happy. No colorful blankets, no wacky mugs, no cute earrings, no mismatched socks and labeled underwear with the days of the week. No Bucky.

No Bucky.

[arandompostarchive]

SALEM - Ch. 7

SAVED WORK

Summary: In all the centuries of your existence, you had never been dragged out of hiding by another god, put in a superhero team and forced to save the universe. But it seems your luck has run out.

“So, let me get this straight. You, a person known for your cunning and intelligence put the Tesseract, something people have fought and died to get, on a foreign planet known for its bounty hunters and soldiers?”

Loki only shrugged a bit. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Really? It really seemed like a good idea? Hiding it with people who would probably sell it first chance they got?”

“Well when you put it like that—”

“Loki.” He looked directly at you. “We have to get to it before my sister does. If anyone uses it she’ll probably find it somehow. You do know how to get to Kalan, right?

“Of course, except for the major problem. We have no way to get there.”

You smiled. “Oh, that’s not a problem. I mean, Tony has to have the Quinjet prototypes somewhere right?”

He frowned, “I believe the reason they are ‘prototypes’ is because they didn’t work.”

“Exactly! It’ll take Tony a lot less time to notice. Though I’m pretty sure most of them are scrapped, there’s gotta be at least one that actually flies.”

He sat down on your couch. There was a small pad of paper on the table in front of it, your messy handwriting all over it. Some ideas were circled or underlined, all in dark ink. At least you were thinking this one through, even if there were a few flaws. He’d never admit it, but he’d prefer to have the team’s help with this. But with how slow they were going to even acknowledge the fact that there’s a serious threat… you may not have much of a choice.

“Alright. You find a ship, I’ll gather supplies. If you say you’re willing to watch me, they’ll probably leave us alone for a few hours. Then we can leave.”

“That’s the spirit!”

You smiled at him. It was nice to be there heroes for once. Both of you. Lies and darkness teaming up to save the day? Talk about rare.

Admittedly, you were nervous. Kalan was a planet full of trained soldiers. What they were training for was never exactly clear. They were anticipating a war that didn’t exist yet. Unfortunately, that made for very jumpy Generals. People who’d shoot at anything without an army badge. Although, part of the planet was known for its bounty hunters. They steered clear of the soldiers and even got a few insiders to steal from the armies. Not fun.

Either you try to steal an extremely valuable object from people known for being expert thieves, or steal from an army who wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through your head. It might not kill you, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like hell.

That left one question, which side should you start with?

Loki stood up, “I’ll see if my brother will help, you find the ship and speak with you teammates. As much as I hate to say it, you should probably leave a note behind. Just in case.”

You nodded. Of course, you had no intention of losing any sort of fight but he had a point. Just in case.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” He smiled sadly before leaving the room. He had a point. It just wasn’t a point you wanted to think about.

You sunk down into the couch and grabbed your pad of paper. You tore away some of your ideas and scribbled down a small note. After searching for probably twenty minutes you managed to find an envelope and stuff the letter in. You wrote a small message on the front.

“Hi Tony. If I’m not back in exactly two weeks, open this envelope. I know you’ll probably open this before that anyway, but I’ve never asked for anything. Just do this. Please.

-Y/n

Ps, I really do need a nickname, huh?”

You weren’t sure if that would work. Maybe he’d wait. Just in case, you didn’t give him enough info to find you. Just in case he tried before two week were up. It probably wouldn’t take that long, but better safe than sorry. You left the note on the table in front of your couch. He’d probably come to your room first after he found you missing, so that guaranteed he’d find it after you were long gone.

Now to find that prototype.

Tony had a garage, he’d keep most of his cars in there, but he needed somewhere to keep it right? You knew he had a small space to work on the cars, improve them. And if you had a prototype, that’s where you’d keep it.

Getting into the garage was a slight issue. Tony didn’t like just anyone strolling in and messing with his stuff (He’d decided that after someone spray painted one of his cars). Whoops.

Obviously Tony gave himself access, along with Bruce. He was probably one of the more responsible Avengers, and Tony trusted him with that sort of technology. That and Bruce helped out once in a while.

Since Tony would most definitely not let you in, you opted for Bruce.

You (unsurprisingly) found him in the lab working on something or other. It was fairly safe to assume that Tony used some sort of key card, which means in would probably be in his pocket.

Great.

“Hey Bruce, I really like that shirt, by the way.

He turned around and smiled, “Oh hey! Wait. What do you want?”

He stopped working on whatever it was, it looked like a phone or something.

“Can’t I just compliment my friends because I feel like it?”

He sighed, “Well of course you can, but it usually means you want something.”

“Really, this time I don’t want anything. What are you working on?”

He clearly didn’t believe you, but he turned back to his project. “It’s a tracker Steve wanted me to work on. He’s thinking of trying to find that Ker woman and track whatever energy she’s putting off. But it’s kinda hard to do without having any of that ‘energy’.”

You nodded along, slowly slipping your hand into his lab coat pocket. He didn’t seem to notice.

Damn it. Wrong pocket.

You moved to his other side.

“Does Steve really think he can take her? I mean, Loki was losing when we got there.” You slipped your hand into his other pocket. Definitely a key card.

“I think we’ve got a good chance. Besides, all we know is that Loki doesn’t like her and that ‘Doom is rising’ which basically tells us nothing. And uh, it’s not like we were given a time frame. What can we do really? I doubt Loki would ever tell us the truth. He might want to save the Earth for whatever reason, but it’s a pretty good way to get rid of us.”

You nodded slightly. You knew when Loki lied. Granted, it wasn’t exactly easy, but you’d gotten fairly good at it.

You grabbed the card and glance down quickly. A small ‘A’ was on it. You slipped it into your own pocket before responding.

“Yeah well, hopefully he’s right. Anyway, see you later!” You walked out of the room leaving a confused Bruce behind.

You immediately went to the elevator and scanned in Bruce’s card.

It started going down and eventually opened into Tony’’s garage. You walked across and opened a back room. It had a large door that led outside along with a few cars and ships. Well, that explains why his garage is so big. You always assumed that was Tony being Tony.

You ran to one of the ships, it definitely wasn’t perfect. The outside had some chipped paint, but there was a key card next to it. Seems like Tony didn’t always have the same security he has now.

You opened the garage door that led outside. Tony was upstairs and probably wouldn’t be out of his lab for a few hours. It would be a while before anyone noticed. Perfect.

You left Bruce’s card on one of Tony’s work stations and stuffed the ship’s key card in your pocket.

Now it was just a matter of talking to Tony.

***

Tony wasn’t difficult to find. He was in his lab talking to Peter about something or other.

“Hey Tony, Pete. How are you?” You sat down on a stool across from them and they looked up. It seemed like they were working on the other half of Bruce’s tracker.

“Well if it isn’t the Maleficent herself.” Tony smiled.

“Maleficent, huh?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I’m not crazy about it. We’ll get there.”

You smiled. “Hey, I did want to mention. It seems like I’m the only one up for watching Loki, I’m okay with doing it for a while.”

He smiled, “Alright then, taking one for the team.” Peter had a small smile on his face.

“Also, Tony?” He cocked his head to the side slightly.

“I guess, well. I got a little existential today, so if anything ever happens to me, I’m really glad we could be friends. You too Peter.” You smiled, resting your hand on Peter’s shoulder for a second.

“Well okay.” Tony said. “A little random but I’m glad we’re friends too? Any particular reason or are we just worried about the apocalypse?”

“No, no reason. Just introspective I guess. I’ll see you later.” You walked out of the lab. Peter looked over his shoulder and smiled. You smiled back.

***

“Okay, you got supplies and weapons, I got a ship. Ready to go?”

Loki nodded, walking through garage with you. “You did talk to your teammates, correct? It would be much more helpful if they didn’t try to follow us half-way across the universe.”

You nodded, “Yeah. I mentioned it to Tony. Unless there’s a mission he probably won’t check in for a bit.”

You reached the ship pretty quickly and climbed in, dropping the two bags full or mostly weaponry on the ground.

“So, what do you think? Tony must’ve made it years ago.” Loki looked around. It really wasn’t a bad ship. Almost identical to the Quinjet, even if it was a bit smaller. You sat down in the pilot’s seat, Clint would flip.

You took the key card out of your pocket and put it in a small slot next to your chair. You knew most of the controls from watching Clint. Until he told you to leave so he could focus.

You started it up, get yourself out of the garage and into the air. You take off was a little rocky, but hey, at least you know it flies.

“Um, C-Y/n, I mean. You do actually know how to fly this, correct?”

You shrugged. “I mean, it can’t be that hard, right?”

Loki rolled his eyes and sat down next to you. “Let me help, at least I know where we’re going.”

“Fair enough.”

***

Traveling through space was nothing like you remembered. Olympus was a bit like Asgard. There are easier ways to get there, but space travel would probably work. Tartarus on the other hand was a little harder to access. The Tesseract would hopefully help with that. But for now, Loki was steering your towards Kalan. You had never really been there yourself, but he said it wasn’t too far.

He was right. It wasn’t long before Loki found a fairly safe place to land. (He really couldn’t drive the ship much better than you, but that might just be the ship itself)

It was on a hill past any sort of town. Looking out of the window you could see lights in the distance. It was dark, a purple sky and dark plants covered some of your view. There was some light smoke from some sort of fire. Loki opened up the door and you grabbed the key card, putting it in your pocket and stepped out behind Loki.

There were plants on the ground, it felt like grass but much softer. There was light from a moon behind you. You could see two other moons behind it, but they didn’t give off the same blue hue.

It was beautiful. The small town with curling smoke was in front of you, and when you turned around you could see other lights in the distance. They were more organized. The spaces between each of them looked exactly the same.

“You should grab a weapon, Y/n. Just to be safe.” You nodded and walked back onto the ship. You knew your way around a gun, that’s for sure, but you were much more old school.

Loki had grabbed a few of your weapons, likely from your room. You had no doubt Thor showed him where it was, good to see he was helping you, even if he wouldn’t come with.

One of your main weapons was a scythe. Part of it folded into a smaller staff about the size of your forearm with a blade on one side and a handle on the other. It was sort of hard to handle at first, but you liked it. Granted, you still had a long way to go. You only picked up weaponry a year ago. Magic was much easier.

But still, a physical weapon was nice.

“Your choice, Y/n.” You looked up at Loki. “We can try the bounty hunters or the soldiers. I know not where it went, just that it is here.”

“You sure you should leave this up to me? If we got to the bounty hunter, we’ll have to steal it, if it’s even there. If we go to the soldiers, we’ll have to find a way to get into their base without fighting everyone off.” Talk about a rock and a hard place.

“Yes, neither option is ideal. We could always try getting to Tartarus without it?”

You shook your head, “No. That’d take a hell of a lot longer. And we’d have to think of an easy way out. Not happening.”

You sat down in the grass, sighing lightly at the soft feeling beneath your hand.

“Okay then. Let’s try the soldiers. If it’s not there, they probably have more technology for us to locate it. Let’s go.” You stood up and closed the ship before you started down the hill to the much more organized lights. “We’re going to have to find a way in. You can shape shift and I’ll try and find some sort of disguise.” Loki nodded and started down the hill after you. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t silently praying that it was there somewhere. But things are rarely easy, huh?

***

[immabethehero]

Egotober #2

I made an Egotober story based on the prompt Stone! Thank @huffletrax for organizing event! Also thanks to @anneliis18​ for kind of inspiring it? IDK I saw your art and suddenly had to write. IDK if you want to be tagged though. I’ll untag if you don’t.

TWs: Nothing too big, but mild manipulation (mentioned) and death (though it’s a red card) This also deals with a bit of ego shipping, so if you’re uncomfortable maybe don’t read this then.

“Come on! I know a place where we can rest!” The young girl, no more than 18, drags the magician up the barren hill by the arm. Marvin the Magnificent, too shocked and disoriented to comprehend his surroundings and too exhausted to complain, follows her up the hill, where only one willow tree lays. Its leaves have disappeared, leaving only grey branches and small icicles. Underneath its limp, deadweight limbs stand three statues as grey and still as the wasteland around them.

All around the highest hill, the valley is nothing but rocky terrain on uneven grounds. Trees barren of leaves show their sharp branches off, as if hoping to scare the intruders away.

The girl kneels down on the floor and flips her book open. She quickly scans over the text. Everything is in place. Now for the spell to be cast.

She turns to the statues. They’re as lifeless as rock, but she knows there’s still life in them. Chase reaches out in mid-scream. Henrik glares, eyes fierce and hands curled into fists, refusing to show any fear as he was turned. Jameson’s eyes are closed, resigned to his fate.

She turns around and faces Marvin. The magician has crashed onto the ground, eyes threatening to droop. Despite his sleepy state, his posture is impeccable. Slowly, he blinks away his fatigue and looks around, taking in the valley for the first time. He turns and notices the statues for the first time. He tilts his head, confused, but says nothing.

The apprentice bites her tongue to keep from spilling the truth. She needs him to be as calm as possible. Jackie should appear soon. She just has to distract the magician until then.

Marvin hasn’t spoken the entire journey. In fact, he looks like he might faint any second. Despite his weak and disheveled appearance, he’s alert and awake.

“Where are we? This place looks haunted,” Marvin finally says. The valley looks familiar, but he’s given up trying to remember places. He needs to rest.

The last hour has been nothing but fear and uncertainty, and a whole lot of running. Running from the sorcerer who tried to force the magician to marry him, running from the angry mob who rushed to defend the sorcerer when Marvin left the altar, and transporting with the girl to get far away from human contact.

On any other day running from trouble, Marvin would sleep, but the valley is way too sketchy for him to rest. There are no leaves giving them shelter, so they could be spotted any moment! He needs to stay awake. The girl is here beside him. He can’t risk her getting hurt.

In the short time that he’s known her, he has grown fond of the girl down the street who promised that he would not marry the sorcerer. She kept her promise and now he is free. He owes her. He can’t risk losing her. Not after he lost Jackie and everyone else...

Marvin’s heart sinks. It felt like only yesterday he woke up in the hospital, shivering and starving, only to find out his family had apparently died by the hands of a mysterious stranger. He spent the entire day sobbing in bed, refusing to get up or eat. It wasn’t until the sorcerer had arrived to pick him up did he finally leave the bed.

The girl plops down beside Marvin, big brown eyes boring into him. She’s hiding something, he can tell by her too wide smile and the book in her lap.

“What are you smiling about?” he asks. The girl’s smile fades and she looks down awkwardly.

Marvin realizes how rude he sounded and shakes his head. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

“No, it’s cool, I was probably starting to look like a creep, anyway,” the girl says. She falls silent.

Marvin closes his eyes again. A chilly breeze whisks by, making him shiver slightly. There is no sound but the wind. He hasn’t felt this peaceful in months. He begins to hum softly, letting his voice be carried off by the wind.

“Will you sing for me? Please?” The small voice awakes him from his trance. He opens his eyes and looks down at the girl.

“What?”

“Will you sing, please? I hear you have such the loveliest voice!” the girl pleads.

Marvin’s stomach sinks. How can he break it to her? “Those days are behind me. I haven’t sung in so long. The sorcerer… he made me sing for hours on end… it became a chore rather than an escape.”

The girl’s face falls. “Oh… okay. It- it was just a suggestion.” She turns away, hiding her book behind her back.

“But… he’s not here anymore. I don’t belong to him… He thought he could break me…” Marvin puts a fist over his chest. “But I won’t let him.” He stands up. “What do you want me to sing?”

The girl’s face lights up and she stands up as well. “Oh! Well.. anything! Maybe something fun and light-hearted! I’ve had enough sad ballads.”

Marvin laughs. “Alright then!” He takes a deep breath and warms up his vocals. Even though there’s no audience, he still wants to be prepared.

Behind him, the statues begin to vibrate and the tree begins to rustle. Tiny bits of rock and stone crumble and fall off. The apprentice gasps. Marvin startles at the sound.

“What was that?!”

“Don’t worry about it! It was just the tree!” the girl quickly says. “Keep going. Just ignore everything around you and sing!”

Marvin frowns at her insistence but turns back and continues warming up. The apprentice opens her book, heart thumping loudly. She was right! A wizard’s voice can break stone! Who knew?!

Behind her, Marvin takes a deep breath and sings. “You will be my wings… you will be my only love! You will take me far beyond the stars!”

The girl watches amazed as grass rises from the ground and icicles fall off the willow tree. Just how strong is this guy?! The statues shake again and more stone falls off.

“It’s working! Keep going!” she yells.

“What are you doing back there?!” Marvin demands.

“You’ll find out! Just sing! Please!” She is almost desperate. Marvin rolls his eyes.

“You will lift me high above! Everything we’re dreaming of will soon be ours!”

She squeals as the branches of the willow branch sprout leaves and flowers sprout from the ground. A large chunk of stone falls off Chase’s arm. The arm begins to move. She gasps in delight. Marvin sure has a lot of magic!

“Anything that we desire, anything at all… Everyday you’ll take me higher…” Marvin trails off.

“Why’d you stop?!”

“I… I’m tired and I just want to sleep. I’m far from home and I’m a mess and I don’t want to sing right now-”

“AND I’LL NEVER LET YOU FALL!!!!” The two whirl around to find Jackie underneath the tree. More icicles shatter.

“Jackie! Oh, Jackie, you’re alive!” Marvin runs over to the superhero, who grins in delight. He scoops Marvin up in his arms and twirls him around. Marvin buries his face in Jackie’s shoulder to hide his sobs.

“I missed you so much!” Jackie cries.

“They told me you were dead!” Marvin exclaims.

“They lied,” Jackie says simply. “I’m here now… You’re safe!”

Marvin laughs at last. It’s a lovely sound, one that hasn’t been heard in months. Jackie begins to sing again.

“I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s kiss! And a man I’m hoping comes with this!”

“Pure and strong and waiting to complete my love song!” Marvin continues.

The flowers are in full bloom. The willow tree’s branches dance in the wind, pink blossom petals falling off and swirling around the two lovers. The girl grins and turns around. The statues crack and the stone falls off its prisoners. Chase, Henrik and Jameson gasp and stumble out of the rubble.

“GUYS!” the girl throws herself on Jameson, who laughs gleefully and hugs her back.

“You did it, I knew you would!” Chase cries, joining in the hug pile.

Marvin gasps and turns around. “Chase?! Jameson?! HENRIK?!”

“Marvin!” Henrik is the first to reach the magician. He hugs Marvin, only to get a small squeak in return.

“Marvin? You okay?” Henrik asks.

“How did- I thought…” Marvin mumbles.

“They told him we were dead. They weren’t completely wrong,” Jackie says, expression darkening. Marvin frowns.

“The sorcerer dude turned those three into stone and threw Jackie in the lake when he tried to escape!” the girl explains. “I saved Jackie and had him transported the statues here while I went to get you!” She opens her book to the marked page. “The book said a wizard’s voice could break stone, and since you’re half wizard, I figured it would work! And it did!”

She gestures to the three men, who gather around Marvin for a group hug.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get to you in time…” Jameson signs. “We tried to fight him off, but-”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re all here, we’re together again,” Marvin says, gripping Jameson’s hand. Jameson squeezes back.

The girl bounces on her toes. Chase pulls her into the circle.

“It was just luck that she arrived, clever little thing! Disguised herself as a fly! Henrik told her to go after Jackie and where our statues would be after we turned. She went to get him then they came back to save us!”

“I put the statues in a safe spot, while the girl masqueraded as a wedding-helper until she could break you free,” Jackie says.

Marvin gently kisses her on the forehead. She blushes.

“Thank you. You’ve done so much for us.”

The girl nods. “Happy I could help! So… now what?”

“Let’s go home,” Henrik suggests. “We’ll have a little party to celebrate escaping that horrible place and to thank our new friend.”

Holding each other tightly, the egos and their friend transport home to their friends and family.

Reading Tag (Let me know if you want to be removed or added!): 

@graysun, @florenceisfalling, @miishae, @lonelyseiren, @goldenoceanaart, @egopocalypse, @oasisofgalaxies, @fleecal, @kofi-kiing, @myspatialspace, @jo-ann-ahh-2, @huffletrax, @gemstone6, @dumbasticart, @lunaarmada,@meteorshowersfillthesky, @uhhbeans​,  @the-pastel-kitsune, @bupine,  @climbing-starrs, @the-spawn-of-loki, @jadehowlettthewolf, @obsidiancreates, @rammypaige, @hollenka99, @cest-mellow, @randowaffle, @green-protects, @dezi-popp, @badlypostedeverything, @crystalninjaphoenix, @milo-kno​, @pixelpixie-pix​

[goldenraeofsun]

would you have me, would you want me?

Part I

Part II

Cas chokes on his drink. 

Spluttering, he gasps for breath, his face reddening with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” Dean says, his eyes laughing. “I guess this batch is stronger than the last one.” He gently guides Cas away from the punch bowl, towards an unoccupied corner of the kitchen. “Here,” he says, swapping out their cups. “I only got Jack and Coke in mine.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean sniffs the punch skeptically before taking a small sip. “Yeah, my standards are not high. Jesus Christ, they must’ve poured the whole bottle in there.”

Cas hides his own smile behind the rim of Dean’s cup.

“So, Cas,” Dean starts, “What’s up?”

“What’s up?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “It’s like I hardly see you now we’re done with Cicero.”

Cas takes a large gulp of his drink. “I didn’t realize you noticed.”

“‘Course I did!” Dean says, mock-outraged. He ignores a loud cheer from the crowd around the doorway at the other end of the room. “Tutoring was the best part of Thursdays.”

“You have double-period Latin and Ms. Abbadon back-to-back on Thursdays,” Cas says shrewdly, as he watches Gordon from Calculus brandish two full bottles of vodka. “There wasn’t much competition, as far our tutoring sessions went.”

“How’d you know that?” Dean asks, baffled.

“You complained of both frequently,” Cas says. Before he can stop himself, Cas tacks on, “I always listen when you tell me things, Dean.”

Dean smiles weakly at him before taking a large gulp of punch. “Hey, do you want to go somewhere quieter? I can barely hear myself think.”

Cas nods and lets Dean pull him out of the kitchen.

“So how’re you really doing?” Dean asks as they settle down on the first steps of the forbidden stairs to the second story of Tessa’s house. “Did your old man come through?”

Cas’s expression hardens. “He won’t be able to make it to graduation. I received his response in the mail a few weeks ago.”

Dean studies him, and Cas tries not to fidget under his gaze. “Let me guess, you’ve been skulking in the library ever since, your nose buried in a book.”

Cas bristles. “I do not skulk.”

“Dude, you so do,” Dean says, laughing. “With the face, and the eyes - trust me, you’ve sent freshmen running for the hills and you don’t even know it.”

Cas hunches in on himself. “I haven’t been in… the best of moods lately.”

“No shit,” Dean says as he reaches out and claps Cas on the shoulder. “At least you’ll have Gabriel?”

“Small consolation.”

Dean bumps up against Cas reassuringly. “Come on, he’ll make enough noise for at least four relatives.”

Cas just shakes his head.

“At least you’ll be leaving all this behind,” Dean says, his face darkening. “You’ll be able to start new and shit.”

Cas turns to him, puzzled. “I’m barely going out of state. And it’s only for four years - less, if I can graduate early.”

“Uh huh,” Dean says, not looking convinced in the slightest. He swirls the terrible punch around in its cup before taking a large gulp.

* * *

Castiel swallows nervously.

“It’s good to see you,” he tells Dean.

“Same here,” Dean says. He glances at Charlie. “You know Charlie?”

“Cas teaches Latin and French at Carver Preparatory Academy,” Charlie pipes up. At Dean’s blank look, she explains, “A few years ago, Roman donated a bunch of tech to his alma mater. Yours truly was sent in to coordinate from Roman’s side of things, and Cas here drew the short straw at the high school.”

“I also chair the robotics club,” Castiel clarifies.

“You’re at Carver?” Dean asks, eyes widening. “Teaching those douche nozzles that stole Peppy the Pigeon?”

Castiel makes a face. “Those students were reprimanded and suspended. It was not an… authorized thievery.”

Dean snorts.

“And it’s not like your students’ hands are entirely clean either,” Castiel adds reproachfully. “Didn’t they sneak pot brownies into our bake sale for senior prom?”

“So what if they did?” Dean crosses his arms across his chest. “As far as I’m concerned, they got more bang for their buck. You can’t get a pot brownie for three dollars just anywhere.”

“The faculty bought them too! We were in the middle of midterms!”

Dean smirks. “Extra fun midterms, then.”

Castiel throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know why I even bother,” he says as he spins on his heel. “I need another drink.”

Dean hasn’t changed. Not one bit.

He gets halfway to the makeshift bar before Charlie waylays him. “Dude,” she says, her eyes huge.

“What?” Castiel jerks his arm to throw off her grip and makes as if to step past her.

“That was a disaster.”

“You’re telling me,” Castiel says sourly.

“Why’d you attack him like that?”

“He started it,” Castiel says, eyes flashing.

Charlie throws him a deeply skeptical look. “Are you really incapable of being in the same room for five minutes?”

Castiel sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Most likely.”

“At least nobody threw food,” Charlie says before perking up. “Although that last food fight was epic.”

“He started that one too.”

“You could’ve walked away, literal egg on your face or no,” Charlie says, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Castiel shakes his head. “I’ve never been able to walk away from Dean Winchester. You know that.”

“Sure,” Charlie says easily, “but he doesn’t.”

* * *

Cas swallows nervously. 

“I’ll come back for the holidays,” he offers boldly, the alcohol shoring up his resolve. He isn’t sure Dean would even care, but he needs to say something.

In the beginning, Dean needed help with Latin, so Cas was assigned as his tutor. After a rocky start - Dean kept ditching Cas for reasons unknown - Cas followed him to his car and refused to get left behind again. With Dean in the driver's seat, they picked up Sam at his middle school and drove him to soccer practice.

Cas tutored Dean right there on the bleachers overlooking the scrimmage game.

When it rained, Sam came with them to the library - as happy as a pig in shit, as Dean often said while ruffling Sam’s hair.

To celebrate their last tutoring session a month ago, Dean took Cas to the movies. A film had just opened about two demon hunting brothers. The trailer showed them saying a Latin exorcism, so it totally counted, according to Dean.

Dean and Cas are friends. Probably.

But Dean has a lot of friends. Cas has observed them across the cafeteria, over the pages of too many books to name. They make Dean laugh, far more than he ever has with Cas. They understand his jokes without explanations. Dean doesn’t meet their eyes for only a moment before ducking away.

After a small eternity, Dean speaks. “I’m glad you’re here, Cas.”

Warmth blooms bright in Cas’s chest. “Me too.” He fiddles with his cup before taking a reassuring swallow of liquid courage. “Why did you invite me?”

“I dunno.” Dean stares down at the drink between his hands. “Thought it would be nice.”

“Really?” Cas asks, his voice dripping with skepticism.

Dean screws up his face. “You seemed stuck in this funk, man. And you weren’t getting out of it on your own, so, I guess, I thought it was time to bring in the big guns.”

“A party?”

Dean grins. “Nothing like alcohol and bad decisions to loosen you up.”

Cas chuckles under his breath. “I almost didn’t come.”

“I figured it was a long shot. Why did you?”

Cas swallows down more of his drink. “You asked me to.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean drifts off, brow furrowed.

“You’ve asked me for exactly four things over the past year,” Cas says seriously, ticking them off on his fingers, “One, to let you drive Sam to soccer practice while we were supposed to have tutoring; two, to borrow my flash cards, which I was going to give you anyway; three, to go to the movies with you; and four, to come to Tessa’s house tonight. That’s it.”

Dean knocks back his cup, his eyes dark. “I guess I thought I was more of a drag for you these past few months.”

Cas’s mouth falls open in surprise. “A drag on what, my vibrant social life?”

Dean shrugs, staring out at the empty hallway. “You have this mysterious loner vibe going on. I didn’t think you wanted anyone to mess with that.”

Cas squints at him. “I have a vibe?”

“At first I thought you just thought you were better than the rest of us,” Dean continues as Cas’s heart sinks into the floor. “But I know better now.”

Cas tips back his drink, draining it. He croaks, “You do?”

One corner of Dean’s mouth lifts into a half-smile. “Yeah, I do, Cas.”

* * *

Castiel’s stomach flips at the sound of his name.

Dean catches up with him right outside of the gym, calling again,  “Hey, Cas, wait!”

Castiel turns, dread curling in his gut. But he can’t flee - he still has some pride left. “What?”

“I think we need a do-over,” Dean says seriously.

Castiel bites back the, What gave you that idea? on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he says, as evenly as he can, “I think so.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, wrongfooted in a way Castiel has never seen on him before. “Look, we’re not our students, obviously.”

“Or else I would know what ‘yeet’ meant,” Castiel says wryly.

“Mood,” Dean deadpans, before his face breaks out into a smile as Castiel squints at him, uncomprehending. “I heard down the grapevine you went into teaching a few years ago. Good for you, putting those tutoring skills to better use.”

“It seemed a logical choice.” He eyes Dean, biting his lip as he tries to convey his next thought without offending him. “But I was surprised to hear you went into teaching too.”

Dean snorts. “You and everybody else.”

“Why did you?”

Dean shrugs. “I had this teacher in community college, Missouri Moseley - she said it would be a good fit for me. She convinced me to transfer to a four-year university and get certified.”

Curious, Castiel asks, “Why did she say it was a good fit?” before he thinks better of it, and adds quickly, “Not that I think she’s wrong.”

“’Course you don’t,” Dean says with a lopsided grin. “She said I would come to the role from a position of empathy. That I would be able to reach the troubled kids who need the most help.” He averts his gaze, muttering, “Fancy words for saying I have a soft spot for the outcasts and loners, I guess.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“No?” Dean’s brow furrows as he takes in Castiel’s stony expression. “I told you my dad was never around. Not one teacher noticed,” he says, gesturing around them. “Our guidance counselor was a waste of space. I only went to community college to set a good example for Sammy.”

“Yes, but,” Castiel protests, “you were popular. You weren’t an outcast.”

“But you were,” Dean said, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Castiel grimaces. “I know that.”

“There you go.” Dean crosses his arms across his chest, satisfied.

But, Castiel is far from satisfied. He hasn’t been satisfied for ten years. “I don’t understand you,” Castiel grinds out, frustrated. “You’re saying you went into teaching to help kids like me?”

Dean’s confidence cracks the tiniest fraction. “Yeah?”

Castiel lets out a dark laugh. “I suppose you have changed.”

“I mean, it’s been ten years…” Dean drifts off.

Castiel could use another drink. Or five. He rubs a tired hand down his face.

“Look,” Dean says, “I know I was an ass to you in senior year.”

“Only the last few months,” Castiel says sharply. “For the vast majority of that year, you were my friend.”

* * *

Cas’s stomach flips at the sound of his name.

Cheeks flaming, Cas sneaks a peek at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Nobody called him ‘Cas’ before Dean. Teachers and classmates always used ‘Castiel.’ His relatives, his mother, all called him by his given name.

But Dean - Dean would sooner spend his valuable lunch money on the cafeteria salad than ever call him ‘Castiel.’ From day one, he claimed ‘Cas’ as his.

“I don’t mean to shut everyone out,” Cas says, the words spilling out of him before he can dwell too deeply on them. “I just don’t know how to let them in.”

“It’s not easy,” Dean says frankly. He tips back his cup of punch.

“You don’t seem to have the same difficulty,” Cas says in a low voice, trying not to sound accusatory.

Dean shrugs, his eyes troubled. “It’s all relative, I guess.”

Cas leans forward, resting one elbow on his knees as his other hand dangles uselessly at his side, clutching his mostly-empty cup. “I probably should have done more.”

“If you’re happy kicking it solo, who am I to tell you how to live your life?” Dean asks, and Cas cranes his neck to see him relaxing back, sprawling out so his arms take up the whole width of the stairs.

“But maybe I could have been happier if I had more friends.”

Dean shakes his head. “No way to know that for sure.”

“Really?”

Dean licks his lips. “I mean, I got a lot of people who like to listen to me run my mouth and make stupid jokes. I don’t have a lot of people who would put up with my idiot little brother for a twenty-minute car ride every week.”

“Sam’s not an idiot,” Cas says automatically.

Dean grins. “There we go.”

“I’m sure you have more than you think,” Cas says quietly.

“Leo would rather strip and sing the Macarena in front of the student body than spend one minute with Sam, and don’t get me started on Bela or Gordon,” Dean says derisively. “Look, ‘m pretty sure I got one dude who’s up for it, and I’m looking at him.”

Cas ducks his head, staring hard at the piece of carpet between his feet.

“You’re a good friend, Cas,” Dean’s voice says to his back. “If you want to fuck off after college and live like a hermit in the Rockies, be my guest. But it doesn’t have to be that way. It’s not your fault nobody else sees how awesome you are.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I told you, I’ll probably return after college. My family is here.”

“Fat lot of good they’ve been doing for you lately,” Dean snorts.

Cas turns to look at him. “I think I’ve managed fine on my own.”

“Yeah, but you deserve better than ‘fine.’” Dean sits up, his eyes dark and intense. “You deserve the goddamn world, man.”

Cas stares at him, his eyes wide.

“Fuck it,” Dean mutters before pressing their lips together.

Onto Part III

[svtreasure]

Kpop Fan Profile!

thank you for tagging me siri!! :) <3 @cutiejoshi

Fandoms: carat!!!! aroha, nctzen (sort of? i like their music, but i dont know all of their names yet :( i would love to get into them though!! if anyone has any video/song recommendations please feel free to send them to me hehe), army (??? bts was the first kpop group i found out about but i don’t really keep up with them anymore :( i’m so happy for them though!!!)

Ult Bias(es): j-o-s-h-u-a, spells joshua (he is so sweet omg i love him AH)

Ult group(s)/Soloist(s): seventeen!! 

Other Groups/ Soloists: astro, nct, dpr-live, nu’est, bts, red velvet, eddy kim, gfriend, zico, crush

Kpop Albums I Own: I only own one album, and it’s seventeen’s first mini album, ‘17 Carat’!! i would love to get more albums though (hoping to one day order ‘an ode’ or ‘heng:garae’!!)

Other Kpop Merch I Own: i have a few posters from the 'adore u’, ‘pretty u’, and ‘boom boom’ era’s! i also own some stickers that came with them hehe. i also have a few photo cards from the ‘adore u’ era!

Kpop Concerts I’ve Been To: I’ve actually!!!!! never been to a concert!!! at all!!!! let alone a kpop concert :(( I would love love love to see svt live though!!!!!! it’s definitely a dream of mine to see them in person at least once!!!!

Biggest Wreckers: LITERALLY EVERY OTHER MEMBER OF SEVENTEEN (if i really really really had to choose, i’d probably say minghao and jihoon!! minghao is my fashion icon and i love jihoon’s lyrics ahhhh), probably also rocky, mark, and yoongi!! (i really don’t like choosing tho everyone is so talented!!!!)

Favorite Songs: omg how am i supposed to choose!!!! i have so so many but the first few that come to mind are ‘second life’ (seventeen), ‘mymy’ (seventeen), ‘love paint’ (nu’est), ‘all night’ (astro), ‘highway to heaven’ (nct 127), and ‘spring day’ (bts) oops sorry that was a lot!!

Favorite Albums: 'heng:garae’ (seventeen), ‘an ode’ (seventeen), ‘the manual’ (eddy kim), ‘coming to you live’ (dpr live)

Kpop Doppelganger: i read somewhere that your bias is who you’re most similar to, and your bias wrecker is what your ideal type is! if this is true then i guess i’m similar to josh! i think it’s pretty accurate, i’d say we’re similar personality-wise! we look nothing alike tho LOL i can’t think of any idols that look like me hahah. my fashion is mainly inspired by seventeen though!! (minus all the brand names though because they’re literally millionaires LOL anyway,,,)

yay this was so much fun!! and also the first ask i’ve ever gotten so thank u so much siri!!! i’m tagging @ode2youth  @rinxsvt @excelsi-or (we may have never talked or only talked a few times but i love your blogs and i would love to get to know u better!! u don’t have to do this btw only if you would like to!!)

[rosedavid]

Party at Jackson Street Gym

I kind of hated this by the end but enjoy it anyway lol :)

//

It’s a week before Halloween. The entire town is getting into the swing of things, pasting cheesy looking decorations across town. Jack-o-lanterns guard porches and front doors as you walk past. Some houses even go as a far as hanging up strands of orange and purple lights along their gutters. Grant High School is no exception to the festivities. The student body decorated the hallways last week, lining them with skeletons dancing on the walls and fake spiderwebs hanging from the ceilings (which a lot of students have already yanked down).

Cyrus shuffles through his locker at the end of the day, gathering what he needs to complete his homework. TJ, who he hasn’t seen at all today, sneaks up behind him and taps him on the shoulder. Predictably, Cyrus startles, fumbling to try and save the notebooks in his arms from falling on the floor.

“Sorry! I forget how easily you startle,” TJ apologizes, but the ridiculous grin on his face gives him away.

“Please, you just like scaring me! Admit it,” Cyrus retorts as he organizes his notebooks into the large pocket of his backpack.

TJ chuckles, stepping forward so he’s front to back with Cyrus. He leans in, smacking a kiss to Cyrus’s cheek. “Ok, fine. You’re right. But I can’t help it! You’re so cute when you’re surprised.”

Finishing up in his locker, Cyrus shuts it with a metallic clang. He then turns to face TJ, taking in his boyfriend for the first time that day. Even after a few months, it’s still hard to believe that he’s dating TJ. Despite their somewhat rocky start, Cyrus couldn’t imagine liking another boy as much as he likes TJ Kippen.

“How was tutoring today?” Cyrus converses, trying not to sound too bitter. Of course, TJ has become an expert at picking up emotional cues.

TJ finds Cyrus’s hand, playing with his fingers. “It went fine. I think I’m starting to get the concepts. But tutoring will always suck since I have to miss out on lunch with you.”

Apparently, he said the right thing, as Cyrus bites his lip shyly and glances away. TJ squeezes his hand before a look of recollection passes over his face. Slinging his backpack off one shoulder, he unzips the front pocket. He then pulls out a square piece of paper, obscuring it momentarily with his hands.

“That reminds me! I couldn’t give this to you at lunch, but I have an invitation for you.”

“Ooh, what is it for?” Cyrus asks with curiosity.

TJ rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s kind of stupid and not really exciting. You don’t have to come if you don’t want.”

“Well I can’t answer you unless I know what it is!”

With a nervous exhale, TJ hands him the card in a flash, face burning. Cyrus takes it from him with excitement, looking at the front of it. The paper is orange, colored with black blobs that are probably meant to be bats (although they look more like birds). A cat perches in the corner of the paper alongside a hoard of ghosts and other strange looking creatures. Cyrus’s brow knits together in confusion as he turns it over to read the messy, almost ineligible handwriting:

YOUR INVITED TO ARE HALLOWEEN PARTY!!

“I still don’t get it,” Cyrus admits cluelessly.

“Well, remember the gym I work at? The one where I helped you do the somersault?”

Cyrus smiles as he reminisces. How could he possibly forget a day as monumental as that? The day when TJ truly believed in him to do something he struggled with. And TJ didn’t make fun of him for it, either, he just wanted to help. The memory of that day remains crystal clear.

“Of course I do!”

“Well…” TJ licks his lips, “Um, the kids wanted me to invite you to our celebration this year. They made this card.”

Cyrus cracks a smile. “That’s slightly relieving. I was hoping it wasn’t you who used ‘you’re’ and ‘our’ wrong. But how do the kids even remember me? I came one time, and that feels like forever ago!”

“I kinda talk about you—a lot,” TJ admits with a red tint to his face. “Sorry if that’s, like, weird.”

“Are you kidding? That’s not weird! It’s sweet. I can’t believe you talk about me.”

TJ sends him a strange look. “You’re my boyfriend and best friend! I always talk about you. When I first told my parents I had a boyfriend, the first thing they asked me is if it was you because apparently, I talk about you nonstop.”

“My parents said something similar, although for me the give away was my ‘obvious heart eyes’.”

They two of them collapse into a fit of giggling. TJ braces his hand on Cyrus shoulder for stability. The other students walking by probably think that they’re crazy, although many of them are probably used to their antics by now.

Once their laughter has tapered, TJ composes himself enough to ask, “So, will you come?”

“I’d be honored! I can’t wait to see them again.”

“They’ll be thrilled! And they’ve all gotten so big, too, it’s crazy! Like, I don’t think we were that little when we were their age.”

“Yes, we were. Although, you are super tall, so maybe you were just like an abnormally tall child,” Cyrus jokes, standing on his tiptoes to try and reach TJ’s height. TJ grins, kneeling a bit to shrink down until he’s eye level with Cyrus. The height difference between the two of them has slowly been decreasing with age, but TJ still towers above Cyrus.

“Or maybe you were just abnormally short,” TJ teases, tapping his nose playfully. Cyrus smiles, accompanied by a fond eyeroll.

“So Mr. Tall Basketball Player, do you need help setting up for the party?”

“I suppose I could use a hand.”

…

Despite TJ’s initial hesitance about inviting him, Cyrus can tell how happy TJ is to have Cyrus there. He’s acting like one of the kids in the gym already, bouncing off the walls with energy. After they swing by TJ’s house to pick up the Halloween decorations, they head to the familiar Jackson Street Gym to go set them up. As soon as they walk through the doors, an intense wave of nostalgia hits Cyrus. It’s crazy how much things have changed in his life since his last time in here, yet the gym remains almost exactly the same as if it’s frozen in time.

“The kids should be here in about half an hour,” TJ remarks, dropping the containers he was carrying on the floor.

“What do you need me to do?”

“There’s a little storage area in the back with some snacks. Bring them out for me and put them on the table?”

Cyrus follows his instructions, heading to the back. He spots a container of something on the counter, assuming that’s what he needs. When he sees what they are, he smiles. Little cupcakes decorated like spiders smush together slightly, with licorice pieces for legs and nerds for eyes. There’s also dirt and worm cups, a staple of Cyrus’s elementary school days.

“Did you make these?” Cyrus wonders as he carries them back out toward the front of the gym.

TJ blushes slightly, “Uh, yeah. I know it’s dorky.”

“TJ, you don’t need to do that around me,” Cyrus reassures, stepping toward his position at the wall hanging decorations. “I like you a lot, if you haven’t noticed. You don’t need to feel embarrassed around me, especially for doing adorable stuff like this!”

This statement causes TJ to blush even more. In fact, Cyrus has never seen him this red before. He reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of TJ’s eyes, but his fingers linger on the side of TJ’s face. Then, Cyrus stands up on the point of his toes, getting lost in TJ’s eyes. In fact, the two of them are so lost in the moment, that they fail to hear the door opening until a young voice calls out.

“TJ!!”

They break apart in a flash, just in time for a head of blond hair to barrel into TJ’s legs. TJ leans down to ruffle the boy’s hair with a gentle fondness. The boy pulls back and smiles crookedly at TJ. He’s missing one of his front teeth, and freckles cover his cheeks. Across his chest is the familiar Spider-Man logo, matching his pants and gloves. He almost reminds Cyrus of a miniature TJ.

Then, the kid looks over at Cyrus knowingly. Cyrus doesn’t know a lot about kids, as he’s never really been around them, but he’s amazed out how perceptive this boy seems to be.  

“You brought Cy-rus!” He grins. “You brought your boyyyyfriend!”

“Well, none of you left me much of a choice,” TJ reminds him, “Now, Spider-Man, take off your shoes and drop your stuff off like usual until the others get here!”

The boy hurries to go do what he says, eager to get to playing. TJ then leans in to whisper to Cyrus, “That’s Noah, by the way. He’s a sweet kid.”

Cyrus watches Noah, thinking back to his own childhood years. He remembers how carefree he felt a lot of times, at least before the divorce of his parents. Usually, though, the biggest worry he had was getting enough time to play with Andi and Buffy or making sure he got his favorite colored crayon in class (violet, by the way). As he continues to think about his childhood memories, he glances over at TJ. Butterflies float in his stomach. In that moment, he realizes that TJ makes him feel as happy and content as he felt in childhood, like he has nothing to stress about as long as TJ is there with him. It’s reassuring.

“Hello Mr. TJ!” Another child greets as she comes inside, this time accompanied by her mother. She’s wearing a black cape and plastic fangs.

“I thought I told you to just call me TJ,” he responds with a smile.

“But you’re a adult, so I’m ‘upposed to call you by a proper name!”

TJ laughs, “I can’t argue with that. You’re very smart, Melanie. Why don’t you go join Noah in getting ready for the celebration?”

Melanie’s mother stands on the sidelines next to Cyrus for a second, watching her daughter as she chats animatedly to Noah. She speaks up, and it takes a bit for Cyrus to realize that she’s talking to him. “This place is great, you know? Melanie loves it here!”

“I like it here, too,” Cyrus admits. “I can’t believe how good TJ is with kids.”

She smiles, watching as TJ approaches the children with a roar, causing them to squeal as he chases them around the play equipment. If someone told Cyrus at the beginning of middle school that he’d be watching TJ Kippen running and playing with children at a kids’ gym, he would have never believed it.

“Yeah, TJ is great with them. Melanie always talks about how ‘cool’ and ‘fun’ he is. She mentioned how he has a real life boyfriend, too, that he always talks about.”

At this, Cyrus stutters, trying to find something to say in response. Luckily, she just smiles at him and continues to talk. “Based on what Melanie says, he really seems to like you.”

Cyrus’s heart swells, as he whispers back, “I really like him, too.”

Over the next ten minutes, a bunch of other kids in costumes and some of their parents arrive for the party. Most of the adults stay off to the sides catching up, and Cyrus quickly begins to feel like he’s at one of his parents’ conferences again. He slips back out toward the play equipment, where TJ is supervising the about 15 children as they laugh and frolic with each other.

“Cyrus! Come help me do the monkey bars!” An unknown kid calls out to him who is wearing a princess dress. Almost all of the kids seem to know Cyrus’s name. His eyes flash over to TJ, wondering exactly how much the other boy talks about him. As if reading his mind, TJ looks over at him at the exact same time with a cheerful wave.

The kids are just as adorable as he remembers, except this time the costumes make it even better. Cyrus loves playing with them and interacting with them. It makes him feel like one of them again. The best part of it all, though, is seeing TJ with them. He acts so bubbly and lively with the kids. At one point, he even gives them piggybacks around the gym, acting as a dragon for the little girl dressed as a knight.

There’s one boy that attracts Cyrus’s attention more than the others, though. He’s short with dark hair and glasses. He seems to be off by himself, shy and unsure of how to interact with the others. For Cyrus, it’s like looking in a mirror. Back before he met Andi and Buffy, this was him; scared, shy, and constantly unsure of himself. Cyrus approaches him slowly, sitting down cross-legged beside him.

“I like your costume,” Cyrus says honestly toward the boy who is dressed as a pirate. The boy peers up at him through thick lenses. “Pirates are really cool.”

“I think so, too,” the boy whispers back.

“Did you know that the Vikings are also considered pirates? In fact, there are still pirates today…” Cyrus starts spewing off all the facts he can remember about pirates from the documentaries he’s flipped through on TV.

Soon, the boy (whose name he learns is Adam), is chatting animatedly with Cyrus about pirates and a whole bunch of other stuff. Cyrus has never felt himself connect to a kid this much, not even with his cousins.

“You know, there’s a ship wheel on top of that tower by where those other kids are,” Cyrus points. “Maybe you should go see if they want to play pirates with you.”

Adam seems much more confident than before and decides to take Cyrus’s advice. Cyrus stands up, dusting his pants off as he watches Adam go up to the two girls and start talking to them. Much to his relief, they look eager to play pirates with him.

A hand touches his shoulder. At first, he suspects it’s TJ, but it turns out to be Melanie’s mom from earlier. She’s looking at him with a soft expression.

“I can see why TJ likes you so much,” she says simply. “It was really nice to meet you, Cyrus.”

He doesn’t have a chance to respond before TJ is coming over to them out of breath. He stops at Cyrus’s side, wiping sweat off his brow.

“Those kids are so energetic! A lot more than me, and I play basketball,” TJ laughs. “Melanie loves to climb, too. Maybe you should take her to the community rock wall sometime.”

“That’s a great suggestion, I’ll have to do that. Now, I’ll leave you two boys alone. After all, I think the kids are already missing you both.”

On that note, they turn around to see a bunch of kids heading their way. A few urge TJ to help them make some baskets on the mini hoop they have in the gym, while some others want to race Cyrus up the rope climb.

After what feels like hours of playing, they finally break for snacks. Melanie insists that she has to sit next to Cyrus, as does Noah and Adam and all of the other kids. TJ pretends to be offended that the kids don’t want to sit to him, but in reality Cyrus can tell how happy he is that they’re all getting along so well.

As they sit in a cluster eating their snacks, Melanie asks them, “So, if you two are boyfriends, does that mean you kiss too?”

“Ooh,” the rest of the kids chorus, then begin to chant, “TJ AND CYRUS SITTING IN A TREE K-I-S-S-I-N-G…”

Of course, all of the parents who are there can definitely hear the screaming words. Both of them turn tomato red as they try to shush them. The parents seem more amused than anything, though, especially Melanie’s mom.

By the time they get everyone out the door, it feels like the party’s gone on all week. Cyrus doesn’t understand how TJ can do this all the time along with basketball and school. The two of them are collapsed on the floor, too tired to make it to the seats in the backroom.

“I’m sorry about them,” TJ apologizes awkwardly, “with the whole kissing thing, I mean.”

Cyrus laughs. “They’re kids, TJ. It’s okay. Besides, I thought they were all really sweet.”

“You seemed to bond with Adam pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, I suppose he just reminded me of myself.”

TJ hums. “Well, if he grows up to be similar to you, he’d be incredibly lucky. I can’t believe you actually endured all this chaos today with me.”

Cyrus rests his head against TJ’s shoulder, staring up at the skeleton half stuck up on the wall. “Ugh, I can’t believe you always do this! It’s so tiring. I think I’m going to sleep through Halloween next week!”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me tomorrow, too?” TJ laughs, throwing his head back as Cyrus imminently says no.

They stay there like that, resting on the floor, until the sky grows dark. Cyrus falls asleep at one point, and TJ doesn’t have the heart to move him. Instead, he places his balled up sweatshirt under Cyrus’s head as a pillow as he finishes cleaning up.

[ohsweetflips]

For the fluff/angst prompt thing, 85 and/or 40 for fargo? 🥺🥺

A/N: anon thank you for my life these prompts are a gift and i would lay down my life for you……………… i’m still playing around with ship dynamics and grad characterization but this was a lot of fun!!!! and also this feels a lot more pre-fargo still in that “what are we” stage

post-writing note: i ended up not being able to fit #40 in, but i still hope you enjoy!!! ....... might try to find another fic to work that prompt into

(also just thought i’d say to the general public that, while im doing a lot of taz grad shipping w/ fitzroy/rainer and fitzroy/argo, i am not looking to force anyone to ship anything nor am i looking to start any “””ship wars””” omg, this is all just for fun!!!!)

(so anyways!!!!)

——————————–

85) “Don’t lie to me.”

——————————–

Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Knight in whatever-the-fuck in the Realm of It-Doesn’t-Fucking-Matter-Right-Now was an idiot. A fucking idiot. Only he would get himself stabbed on a mission miles away from the school. Only he would run into the fray of chaos to stop it. 

Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt was an idiot and a bad villain.

But Argo wasn’t panicking. Not panicking at all. 

He was just near dragging Fitzroy down a dark, damp alley as blood seeped through his robes and into Argo’s own tunic. Which would be a bitch to get out. Blood always was. But it was okay. Fine, even! Because Bud had been able to heal Fitzroy… kind of. Not much, because spell slots were an issue, but, hey! It was probably enough to keep Fitzroy from bleeding out within the hour! 

And, yeah, they were supposed to be trying to work out a deal with two rivaling guilds and not getting ambushed by a group of bandits larger than the party they came with, but it was all good! And, sure, Rolandus, Rainer, and Bud might have had to run distraction while Leon and Buckminster try to get in contact with the school’s emergency hotline, and Argo might just be getting more and more lost as he pulled Fitzroy’s semi-conscious body through streets that he already didn’t know, but it was fine!

Completely, and totally, and absolutely, and… and…

Fuck, why did he have to get hurt?

“Argo,” Fitzroy, voice strained, managed out. He was barely walking already but, even so, his feet stumbled over each other and Argo had to secure him tighter. “Wait… hold on…”

Argo wanted to deny him, wanted to say that they needed to keep moving, needed to get somewhere they knew, but he looked down at Fitzroy’s grimace and the sweat on his brow, and found that he couldn’t.

“Okay, okay,” Argo said quickly, his eyes darting around for anything that could support Fitzroy, though the sentiment was short-lived as Fitzroy began to become dead-weight in his arms. “Okay, wait, wait, wait-” And, as carefully as he could (and trying to still his shaking hands), he helped lower Fitzroy down onto the cobblestones and watched him wince as he leaned back against the wall “-I, uh, are you- where does it hurt?”

Fitzroy, as Argo kneeled down in front of him, shot him a tired, pained grin. “What d’ya mean? I’m doing just fine.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Argo hissed, flashing his eyes from Fitzroy’s face to the ever-growing dark patch on his shirt. He ghosted his hand over it, wanting to see the damage but too scared to face it. “Not-” He cleared his throat, shaking his head “-not here.”

Fitzroy watched his face and, after a moment, let his head fall back against the brick wall as his eyes slipped shut. “Everywhere.” He swallowed thickly. “But maybe I’m just dramatic.”

“We already know that,” Argo murmured, hands moving to the buttons at Fitzroy’s collar and then freezing. It was silly, almost: Fitzroy was wounded and bleeding before him, yet Argo froze to unbutton his shirt, but-

“It won’t be a pretty sight,” Fitzroy said.

“Is this okay?” Argo asked, quietly.

Fitzroy nodded.

Argo was careful. He had to be; tact was integral in his line of work before the school, both in stealing and in patching up his own wounds, but now he found himself praying that his hands were defter, gentler.

Leave it to fucking Fitzroy Maplecourt to turn him gentle.

He had been right, though: it wasn’t a pretty sight.

The biggest problem was the actual stab wound in the left side of his stomach. Not particularly large and, wracking his brain, Argo couldn’t think of any organs that the wound would’ve hit (plus, Bud’s healing probably helped in that aspect), but, nonetheless, the wound was still bleeding much more than probably wanted. The rest of his stomach and chest, though, was marked with slash wounds, all varied in length and depth, and even some bruising already beginning to purple along his side.

“Shit,” Argo whispered.

Fitzroy was caught somewhere between a smirk and a grimace. “So, what’s the verdict, doc?”

“That you’re an idiot,” Argo said, though he was already tearing off parts of his own tunic for make-shift bandages. “Fucking villain rushing in to de-escalate a situation. That’ll show up in your report card, don’t you think?”

“Good to know that you care, Argo.” Fitzroy hissed as Argo pressed a bandage to the deepest wound, and Argo tried to not think about it too much.

Of course I do, Argo said, except it came out as, “Well, first time for everything.”

His relationship with Fitzroy was complicated, as most things involving Fitzroy were. The two cared for each other more than either would admit, not necessarily out of pride, but out of the rocky road it took to get them there. Working through their rivalry and stubborness had taken time, taken work, but, before long, Argo found himself willing to do what it takes to help Fitzroy, and, well…

Fitzroy threw himself into the bandits after one barely missed Argo with a throwing knife.

It was a devotion that the school almost expected of them: kicks and henches throwing themselves forward in defense, heroes and villains throwing them into the midst of it all for some big showdown. And, in practice, it was fun. The three of them laughed when Bud used his imposing form to simply block the two of them when Rattles rushed them with a dulled rapier. Argo found joy in sneaking around corners to catch Rainer and Fitzroy off guard in practice scrimmages, only for them both to laugh as Fitzroy charged him and missed at the last moment.

Practice was always fun.

It was when it was real, when there were no do-overs, that Argo realized it wasn’t always such. Maybe Fitzroy did, too. Maybe they realized, too, that the two of them—three of them—were stronger fighting together instead of letting one take the brunt of the damage.

Hell, Argo didn’t want Fitzroy to get hurt while rushing in for some final showdown.

Maybe Fitzroy didn’t want Argo sacrificing himself to take the damage, either.

As Argo’s hands finished tying a secure knot in the make-shift bandage, Fitzroy watched his movements. Even though blood still seeped through, he hoped that it was enough to slow it. All he could do was hope.

“It’s a knight thing,” Fitzroy said, tired, and Argo eyed him, confused. "Rushing into battle. I’m trained to protect people, so... that’s what I did.”

“That’s some pretty sidekick thinking for a villain.”

Fitzroy laughed slightly before quickly, painfully, catching himself. “Well, maybe those stupid human shield games stuck.”

Argo, barely managing a smile, shook his head. “You… you didn’t have to do that. You’re hurt now and… you’re gonna be fine, we’ll find the others, but… you’re hurt.”

“I know,” Fitzroy said. “But…” He released a breath and let his head fall back again. “I just couldn’t hold myself back. They attacked first, attacked you first, and I just…”

Argo wanted to say that he could handle himself, but he knew that wasn’t the point Fitzroy was making.

“Well, thanks,” Argo said. “But next time you’re about to go rushing in, at least give us a warning? A codeword, perhaps?”

“Come up with a cool pirate one and we’ll be golden.”

Argo nodded and, worrying his bottom lip, studied Fitzroy quickly. He was still looking a little pale, and his eyes were scrunched up tight, but his breathing was decently okay, and-

“I can feel you staring,” Fitzroy murmured. “My half-elf senses are tingling.”

“That makes no sense,” Argo mumbled, but didn’t deny it.

Fitzroy cracked an eye open. “Thank you, though, Argo,” he said. “For… helping me.”

Complicated or not, whatever their relationship was, first and foremost, Fitzroy was one of his two closest friends at Wiggenstaff’s, and the last thing he wanted was for his friends to be hurt.

Argo flashed a smirk. “Is that a proper honoring from Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt?”

“Think of it as me, Fitzroy, your roommate, your-” Their eyes, for just a second, caught each other “-friend, appreciating what you’ve done for me.”

Seeing Fitzroy pained like this, vulnerable like this, made Argo realize that he wanted two things: something more, and to never see Fitzroy hurt again.

Argo felt his face heat up, and was almost thankful of the darkness for hiding his flushed face before remembering that Fitzroy had darkvision.

“Well, of course, Fitzroy,” Argo said. “I would never leave you.” He swallowed, his eyes quickly darting around the alley. “Not to bleed out, that is. Or be stabbed by a bunch of sneaky bandits.”

Fitzroy cracked a smile and opened his mouth to say something before he was interrupted by a voice calling out, “Argo! Fitzroy!” which was followed by another saying, quieter, “Where the fuck could they have gone?”

Argo, nearly unable to measure how relieved he was, called back to Buck and Rolandus, “We’re over here!”

“Oh thank god,” Fitzroy breathed out and, at the thought of being able to return to the school, he seemed to sag further against the wall, almost as if he had been trying to hold himself together up until this point.

“You’re hurting, aren’t you?” Argo asked, quietly.

“Terribly so,” Fitzroy whispered. Footsteps, not too far away, could be heard hitting the pavement.

“We should probably get you up, though,” Argo said, feeling ready to hoist Fitzroy over his shoulder and walk back to campus if it was needed. “We… we have to get moving.”

Fitzroy sighed but, upon Argo standing, accepted his outstretched hand, and let himself be helped.

[artificialqueens]

(treat me nice) never let me go [branjie] 7/15 - pinkgrapefruit

chapter 7. i’m powerful with a little bit of tender

previous chapters  1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

A/N - Hi guys, It’s been forever and I am really sorry but I’ve had some rocky times with my mental health recently and I had to take a break from tumblr and from writing. I really hope I can get you another chapter of this in less than three months but I make no promises. In other news we’re almost half way there now! Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this one - it’s an apology <3

ALSO I’VE BEEN DOING ALOT OF READING LATELY AND I’VE REALISED THAT COMMENTING IS SO REWARDING TOO. PLEASE COMMENT. I’VE BEEN ON BOTH SIDES AND IT’S FUCKING LOVELY.

*

When Brooke shakes Vanessa awake, she is already dressed. Vanessa rolls over gently, Brooke’s hand on her lower back as she looks up into the blonde’s eyes, getting lost for a second in her sleepy haze.

“Wake up, time to shop,” calls Brooke, cheery after a coffee and a protein shake. Vanessa sighs with a small giggle.

“You never sleep, huh,” she grumbles, squinting upwards at the ornate ceiling.

“You’re always grumpy in the morning,” Brooke counters goodnaturedly, although without giving anything away as to whether or not she does sleep. She stands straight and appears to dust off the navy blazer she is wearing before reaching into an inside pocket and pulling out her AmEx card. She hands it to Vanessa as if it was a piece of cardboard to be disposed of or something equally as meaningless. Vanessa takes it carefully. “Now, if you have any trouble using it, call the hotel,” Brooke reminds her, hand already on her briefcase. Before Vanessa can say anything, the blonde leans over and places a chaste kiss on her forehead, smiling slightly to herself as she goes to leave.

“So, more shopping?” Vanessa clarifies, causing Brooke to stop at the bedroom door. She turns around, puzzled at the tone.

“Yes,” she confirms as if it is obvious, “frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t buy more yesterday.”

“It wasn’t fun.”

“No?” Brooke drops the briefcase at the door and sits by Vanessa’s legs on the bed, any plans to leave forgotten.

“They were real mean to me.”

“Mean to you? Well then.” Brooke takes Vanessa’s hand and pulls her up out of the bed, her face like a man on a mission, except more pressed and less forgiving. “We’ll see about that,” she mumbles under her breath, hoping Vanessa won’t hear. She doesn’t see the smile that graces the girl’s lips.

*

Vanessa is barely dressed when Brooke comes back into the room. She’s got her hair piled in a bun on top of her head and one of Brooke’s shirts is tied at her waist like a crop top, attempting to bring a modicum more class to the hooker skirt on its third day of wear. Despite looking like a self proclaimed ‘mess on legs’, Brooke still watches Vanessa for a second, eyes raking her soft, toned legs and ass lifted by her red stilletos.

The blonde picks up the AmEx card off the table and slots it into the breast pocket of the shirt, mentally appraising Vanessa’s memory before forcing an iced latte into the girls hand and using the other to almost drag her into the main area. They stand facing each other for a second, Vanessa looking up expectantly.

“Don’t fidget.” Brooke starts, tone clipped. “Drink the coffee.”

“Yes, mami.”

“Ness.”

“Sorry.”

*

By the time they get to the store Vanessa is shaking. It’s in part due to the large coffee she drank in an inhumanely fast time, but mostly the sheer nerves of standing outside a place that managed to make her feel so small. Brooke notices, of course she does, and squeezes her hand comfortingly.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, quietly.

“People are looking at me,” she responds, shifting a little on the spot, hands running along the base of her skirt, nails buried in her palms.

“They’re not looking at you, they’re looking at me.” Brooke’s not wrong. She’s dressed in a white lace bodysuit, tailored navy cigarette trousers and a navy blazer, the outfit accentuating the impossible length of her legs and the gym workouts she does six days a week

“I don’t like stores like these, they’re not nice to people.”

“They’re never nice to people. They’re nice to credit cards,” Brooke counters with a tone that tells Vanessa they are done. She gives her a quick once over, smoothing one side of the shirt. “Quit fidgeting, get rid of the gum,” she commands. When Vanessa spits it out into the nearest street grate, the blonde just sighs.

*

Brooke leads them both into the store with a confidence Vanessa just doesn’t have. It’s been cultivated through years in a competitive field, and it oozes out of every barely existing pore on the blondes skin. Vanessa trails behind, timid and unsure, but immediately feeling the residual anger burn back up in her heart.

This store is painted in taupes and warm beiges, neutrals that extend as far as the eye can see. It even smells expensive, like if you step in without at least a million dollars you will be kicked right back out onto the street. Vanessa’s eyes get caught on the bright reds and golds and the deep sea blues covering the many racks and rails of the store.

They’re immediately approached by a tall woman in her mid twenties, red hair and green eyes that appear to reflect all the greenery Salifornia is missing. She has more conviction behind her eyes than she should when faced with Brooke, but it doesn’t turn Vanessa off in the way it should.

“Scarlet Envy, floor manager,” the redhead says, hand stuck out in greeting. Brooke shakes it in a business-like fashion, but her frown stays put.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.”

“Ah yes, miss,” Scarlett appeases, acknowledging Vanessa for the first time - even with someone like Brooke she is still overlooked - people still don’t treat her like she has a voice.

“You see this woman?” Brooke gestures to the brunette behind her.

“Yes?”

“Do you have anything in this shop as beautiful as she is?” Scarletts smile falters for a second, her face overcome with confusion as she scans the shop floor.

“Oh, yes.” Brooke’s eyes darken. “Oh, no! No, no, no, I’m saying we have many things as beautiful as she would want them to be. That’s the point I was getting at, and I think we can all agree with that. “ Her face now matches her name and it makes Vanessa chuckle in a way that Brooke definitely banned her from doing earlier that day.

“I think,” the blonde tests, “that we’re going to need more people helping us.” Scarlet nods. “I’ll tell you why. We’re going to be spending an obscene amount of money here. So we’re going to need a lot more help sucking up to us. That’s what we really like. You understand that?” She flashes the edge of her black AmEx card and recognition flashes across Scarlet’s eyes. She nods again, this time with more assertion, and turns on her heels to find the appropriate amount of people to cater to the extortionate amount of money due to be spent.

As Vanessa is fussed and tended to, Scarlet approaches Brooke again, the taller woman with a soft smile and a warm demeanour peeking through her cold front. “Excuse me miss? exactly how obscene an amount of money were you talking about?”

Brooke chuckles softly.

“Just profane or really offensive”

“Really offensive Scarlet.”

“I think I like you.”

At that moment, Brookes phone rings and she sighs. The spell is broken, and she hurries past Vanessa, sliding the card into her hand and kissing her on the cheek. She’s halfway through the conversation before she leaves the store.

*

“Brooke Lynn Hytes speaking.”

“Oh, Brooke. Where the hell are you?” Brooke runs a hand through her loose blonde strands, stifling a yawn as her eyes scan the street for her car.

“Busy, Mr Charles.”

“The words all over the street. Cain’s gonna raise the offer.” Ru sounds more excited than Brooke has heard in god knows how long, but she’s unconvinced.

“She’s countering? God, she is a tough old bird. Where’s she gonna get the money from?”

“I don’t know. She, uh– I think he’s throwin’ in with the employees.” Her hand moves to her forehead, no longer caring about her makeup. She is tired and clinging onto the happiness of Vanessa - hoping she can get through the day and just get back to her.  

“She still needs someone to underwrite the paper. Find out who it is, I’m on my way.”

“Yeah, okay. You got it.”

The line goes dead.

*

Back with Scarlet, Vanessa smiles to herself. She feels powerful in a store full of men and women who listen to her every whim. In the men’s section, she spots a red tie the colour of her lipstick. She taps the nearest woman and gestures to it. “Get me that tie, would you?” She asks - it doesn’t sound like a request though.

“Farrah, get miss Mateo the tie.”

*

She finishes up in that shop and orders a taxi to take her home - arms overwhelmed with the sheer number of bags she has. As they are driving down the street however, she spots a shop she has to visit and calls for the driver to pull up. She grabs four or five bags, and hops out, strutting into the store like she owns it.

“Hello.” She calls out as she steps through the door. She drops her bags on the floor dramatically and watches as two women hurry to pick them back up for her, moving them onto a stand ever so carefully. Carson is scurrying around in the back and she calls for him to come down to meet her. “Do you remember me?” She asks.

Vanessa is smirking because she can. She’s dressed like a rich housewife, and she has every intention of acting like one - all prissy and entitled because she can. She can do all of this.

“No, I’m sorry,” replies Carson and he sounds genuine. It’s a wonder what dressing well can do for you, she thinks to herself, dabbing at her forehead with a silk handkerchief.  

“I was here yesterday. You wouldn’t wait on me,” she states.

“Oh.” This time his brow furrows and she watches as her remember exactly who she is.

“You work on commission, right?”

“Uh, yes.” Vanessa wishes Brooke could see her now. She imagines the blonde would look so proud as she slowly pulls off her white gloves to reveal chipped red nailpolish. With her now unclothed hand, she reaches into the breast pocket of her cream pantsuit and pulls out the AmEx card. She tries to embody Brooke as she smrks.

“Big mistake. Big. Huge!” She beckons for her bags and they are placed back in her hands. She gives them one last look and then raises an eyebrow, lip quirking. “I have to go shopping now.”

She leaves and she does not look back.

*

Vanessa stalks through the hotel lobby looking proud, chest out, head high. She has a few bags in each hand with Courtney carrying the rest up to the room and she feels powerful. She could get used to the way people’s eyes are following her for good reasons instead of bad, and yet the grasp of wealth feels scary. It sickens her to know how differently people treat her because of how she dresses.

Nina’s talking to people when Vanessa walks in and she doesn’t notice her at first, but as her clients’ heads turn, hers does too. She sees the short brunette in a cream pantsuit and a small smile grows on her face. She sees Vanessa as kind of her child now and, damn, is she proud.

Vanessa goes out of sight, but Nina’s smile doesn’t change.

*

Brooke enters her office already done with the day. At her desk sits Ru, her boss, looking unimpressed with her lateness as he slams the phone back onto the desk, shuffling his papers and pointing to the chair opposite him for her to sit in.

“Brooke Lynn,” he says, monotone and with little care.

“Mr Charles.”

His facade seems to drop almost immediately, lighting up like a kid at Christmas as he hands her a sheet of mortgages taken out by Shuga Cain. “You were right about Shuga. She mortgaged everything she owns, right down to her walking stick, to secure a loan from the bank.” Brooke feigns surprise before giving him a raise of the eyebrow that can only be interpreted as ‘I told you so.’ Ru’s face replies with ‘and there’s more’ before he says, “Not just any bank, Visage Banking!”

“Uhuh,” Brooke follows.

“I think it goes without saying that this deal means more to the bank than even to Cain. And we‘ve got an in at the bank…” he trails off, like he wants her to end his thoughts, but she refuses with a stare. “So…..”

“We gotta call the bank.” She finally exhales with a sigh. He looks disapproving and a little curious as to her mood.

“Alright Brooke. What the hell is wrong with you this week?” He breaks, leaning onto her desk like he’s supposed to be interrogating her, but with all the power of a golden retriever. Despite this, Brooke cannot find it within her to withhold much.

“You know what I used to love when I was a little kid, Ru?” She doesn’t wait for a reply. “Building blocks, Kinects.”

Ru sighs and runs a hand over his bald head. “So, I liked Monopoly - I don’t get what you’re saying.”            

“In Canada, I help people build things. You don’t build anything, Ru. You destroy it.”

“I make money,” he counters with a stony disposition. “We’ve worked for a year on this deal. It’s what you said you wanted. I’m handing it to you.”

“You’ve worked for it. You want it. You don’t want your hands dirty.” Brooke gets louder as she says it, standing, hands flat on her desk.

“Morse’s jugular is exposed. It’s time for the kill,” Ru finishes, looking angry.

Brooke picks up her briefcase swiftly and has a foot out of the door when Ru calls after her, “Call the bank!” She doesn’t dignify him with a response.

*

When Brooke comes into the penthouse she is exhausted and frazzled, and cannot wait to relax into the sofa with a large glass of red wine and her Netflix subscription. What she does not expect (although it is not unwelcomed), is to find Vanessa lounged on her favourite armchair nude. The woman’s hair is tied in a messy bun on top of her head, single curls falling down to frame her face. The only item she has on (it cannot be deemed clothing), is a vintage red tie. It covers nothing, sitting perfectly between her breasts, and Brooke would be lying if she said she wasn’t fixated.

“Nice tie,” she gulps out, a little speechless.

“I bought it for you,” purrs Vanessa, tugging at it gently, teeth imprinting on her lip. She holds her hand out to Brooke and guides her through the archway into the ensuite.

*

They lay together in a bathtub full of bubbles, Brooke’s head on Vanessa’s chest as she slowly rubs a sponge over her torso, watching the bubbles lather and dissipate as if entranced. There’s something about bathing together that removes any sense of distance, and Brooke feels compelled to open up about things she’s never considered opening up about. She smiles contentedly before she begins to speak.

“My father always wanted me to be a man,” she states plainly, without preamble or caution. Vanessa’s hands stop briefly before a sloshing can be heard and then warm water is back, rolling over Brooke’s chest. “I suppose that’s why he never had a problem with me being gay - thought I’d make a butch lesbian.”

Vanessa chuckles at that and Brooke can feel the vibrations through her own body too. “You ain’t butch, Mary,” she gets out.

“I know,” responds Brooke with a lilt in her voice. “Anyway, back in my early twenties, I competed in Miss Continental. My dad,” she pauses to consider her words, “he was furious.” Vanessa places a warm hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “We fought for weeks, he always wanted me to be something, to follow in his footsteps and make something of myself, and insisted that I couldn’t do so if I won a beauty pageant.”

“Bullshit.”

“Exactly. Anyway, he all but disowned me - called me names I’ll never forget and, god, I was so angry.” She sighs and tries to run a hand through her hair, but it’s wet and knotted, so she settles on running her nails up her thigh. Vanessa notices and drops the sponge in the water, settling them both into a position where she can detangle Brooke’s hair easily. “It took me ten thousand dollars in therapy to say that sentence. I was very angry with him.” She repeats with a smirk as Vanessa giggles behind her. “I say that very well don’t I? I’ll say it again. I was very angry with him.” This turns the woman’s giggles into full fledged laughter as she feels her hair become lighter, until Vanessa’s fingers get back to detangling.

“Hi, I’m Brooke Lynn Hytes and I was very angry with my father.”

“I’d be real mad at the ten thousand dollars, boo, but you do you,” Vanessa chips in and Brooke can hear the smile in her voice, glad they’re both enjoying their bathtub rendezvous.

“I won Miss Continental,” Brooke announces finally, deeming it important to finish the story.

“Damn, babe,” she sounds impressed and it makes Brooke flush under the dimly glowing bathroom lights.

“I won Miss Continental and I used the money to put myself through law school. And then I got a job and opened a firm under RuPaul and the first case of his I took on - I helped buy out the company my father was president of. I helped buy it and then I helped sell it off, piece by piece.”

“What did the therapist say?”

“He said I was cursed.”

“Well, you got even, so that must’a made you happy then.”

“Did I mention my legs are about 31 inches from hip to ankle,” Vanessa asks, suggestively wrapping both her legs around Brooke’s waist and leaning to dot a kiss onto her shoulder. “So, basically, we’re talkin’ about 31 inches of therapy, wrapped around you for the bargain price of…”

“Three thousand dollars,” they finish together, laughing. Brooke turns her head so she can lay a soft kiss on the back of Vanessa’s hand, a ‘thank you for listening’ and a 'thank you for still being here’.

[harvest-honeymoon]

Raining Pitchforks

So,,, this is that Court Verse intro I talked about in the twitter poll I linked earlier. This is a long fuckin’ boy but I had a lot of fun writing it, since I really enjoy these characters.

Just as a note, this fic contains swearing, mentions of the Devil and urban legends, and 2 instances of misgendering, as Orianna/Pirouletta is a transwoman still coming to terms with her identity and hasn’t disclosed it to Sixer/King Dice. I know that subject matter can be triggering for some folks, so I’m putting a warning and ‘#misgendering tw’ for blacklisting purposes.

“Son of a bitch, whose idea was this?”

The question posed was rhetorical and often reiterated. It made Irving smile faintly and shake his head, even as he felt rainwater patter against the inside. Thunder rolled in the background, making his cup-headed brother Rudyard flinch.

Although the two toons lingered under an outcropping of trees, the torrent the sky bore seemed unyielding. The branches that loomed above them did little to shield them from the weather, let alone the handmade box of moonshine that sat at their feet. The rocky outcroppings behind them were slick from the rain. Even the mountains seemed soaked.

“You were th’ one who wanted out th’ house,” Irving replied.

“Well, yeah,” Rudy answered. “I was goin’ stir crazy! I can’t jus’ sit an’ sleep all day.”

The red toon wrung out his shirt, frowning. The bent, striped straw in his head swooped along his rim as he looked down at himself.

Although Irving didn’t pace about or bubble over, he too frowned, brow furrowed. He leaned against the damp trunk of a tree, arms folded over his chest. One hand’s set of fingers drummed on his upper arm.

“Y’think we rushed him?” Irving asked. “Made him nervous?”

“There’s nervous, then there’s leavin’ us an’ our hooch in th’ pourin’ fuckin’ rain,” Rudy said.

“I doubt he was gonna buy any of Ma’s stuff, Irv, even with th’ discount.”

Irving sighed quietly, bowing his head. Rudy picked up the box.

“C’mon, let’s go. We’ll catch our death out here.”

“We’re still fifteen bucks short.”

Rudy had started to take a step out from under the canopy, only to pause. Irv didn’t move a muscle.

“Irv, things’re tough all over,” Rudyard replied after a moment.

“It won’t be th’ end of th’ world if we tell ‘em we need a couple days. Even then, we’ve lived without electricity b’fore.”

The cup toon took the step he’d been planning, then another, starting to walk away.

“We can make candles like we used t’ when we were sippy cups. Bathe in th’ river.”

Rudy flicked his straw, so it sat comfortably at the back of his head.

“Who needs gas power anyway?”

Thunder roared just above them, causing Rudy to jump again and stop in his tracks. Unmoving, Irving glanced to the box Rudy held, his eyes lingering on its smudging XXX label.

“We promised Ma.”

Rudy swallowed, then returned to the tree. The brothers turned to look out over a field of grass beside them, each in thought.

With the heavy clouds that clung to the sky, the night was darker than most. The distant lights of Nib City hardly penetrated the gloom, only catching a set of defunct railroad tracks cutting through the prairie grass. Urban legend told of a ghostly train that had taken residence in place of the old engine, after the railway company dissolved under mysterious circumstances decades back. Nights like this guaranteed its arrival and departure for the unlucky found alone and destitute, or so folks said.

While no train occupied this space, the mere idea made Irving apprehensive. The mug-headed toon pulled out a cracked pocket watch and wiped at the glass face, to give himself something else to look at. The time read 11:59 PM, then 12 AM only a few seconds later.

At the stroke of midnight, the field was bathed in a soft, orange glow. Rudy stared, then nudged Irv to get his attention. Both pairs of eyes followed the light, which seemed to dance across the grass and shadows, to its origin, a cave in the mountainside.

This cave had its own fair share of stories, around Inkwell Isle. Some had claimed it was a bottomless pit, from which none who fell could ever escape. Some had said it was some primordial womb, where all had been born and were to die, should they try to reenter the sacred space. The most commonly held belief, however, was that the cave housed unfettered evi, so vile and conniving, the locals had blocked the entrance with stones for generations. The Devil himself was said to dwell within the cave, and should he find some hapless soul within his domain, they were most certainly damned.

Due to these superstitions and its peculiar resemblance to a yawning mouth, the cave had been dubbed The Devil’s Maw. As times changed, beliefs shifted, and explorers ventured into its depths, the aforementioned stones were removed from its entrance, but hushed whispers still spoke ill of the place and the youth were discouraged from entering its bounds.

By day, it appeared a sleepy chasm, untouched by color or sunlight… But now, it spoke with a tongue of molten silver to the young men, beckoning them inwards.

“...you’re seein’ that, right?” Irving asked.

“Sure am,” Rudy replied, awed.

“...last one there’s chipped porcelain!”

The cup toon took off like a shot across the field. Irving stalled a moment then pursued, shouting his way.

“Rudyard, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“What’s it look like?” Rudy called back. “I’m goin’ lookin’!”

“Like hell you are!”

Clutching the moonshine to his chest, Rudy’s head sloshed liquid onto his shoulders and the ground behind him, but that didn’t stop either of them any.

“We need to sell that booze!” Irving spat.

“We’ve got 4 hours at most before the best bars in Nib close!”

“I know!”

“So why are you runnin’ the complete opposite direction, jackass?!”

Rudy grinned, looking to his brother.

“First off, my head’s gonna roll off my shoulders, with all this rain in it! I need it out, an’ I bet you do too! Second off, I figure if there’s light, there’s somebody livin’ here! If there’s somebody livin’ here, then there’s somebody who can buy our shit!”

Lightning struck just behind the two brothers, causing them both to yelp in surprise. Rudy let out an adrenaline-fueled laugh.

“You can’t tell me you wanna walk home while it’s rainin’ pitchforks out here!”

With these words, the brothers entered the cave and slowed to a halt to clean themselves up.

“I don’t, y’got me there,” Irv admitted. “But I doubt there’s anyone worthwhile here. The only folks you’ll find is at best, squatters, or at worst, a cult.”

“Since when do squatters put up neon signs? ‘R cults, fer that matter?”

Irving stopped and stared, following Rudy’s hand as he pointed. A large grouping of stalactites ahead and above them was emblazoned with a quartet of neon playing cards, each with a unique suit.

“...can’t say for certain,” Irv replied, unperturbed. “But I wouldn’t discount the latter.”

Rudy’s expression flattened, his hands busy straightening his head. He then picked up his box and started walking into the depths of the cave, with Irving in tow. The air had a strong sweet-sour smell to it, but it didn’t take long for them to get used to it.

“Y’were supposed t’ let me be right about people livin’ here,” Rudy snarked.

“Y’know, fer more than half a second.”

“That was a lucky guess,” Irving observed dryly.

“A lucky guess that’ll keep us from, I dunno, gettin’ pneumonia.”

“We probably have double pneumonia already at this rate.”

Despite his annoyance, Rudy chuckled as they walked along. Double pneumonia was another staple of banter between them.

“Triple fuckin’ pneumonia with a side ‘f exposure. It was like Noah’s Ark out there.”

The brothers continued into the cave, looking about as more signs of civilization came their way. Neon arrows pointing deeper into the Maw decorated the walls, as did moving signs depicting showgirls, drinks, chess pieces, dice, and more card suits. 2 more signs reading ‘WELCOME’ and ‘CASINO ENTRANCE’ were embedded into the hanging rock of the ceiling, with a 12 ft gap between each. The air around them warmed, the further they went into the cave.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Irv deadpanned.

“No way,” Rudy beamed. “Noooo fuckin’ way--”

“Who on Earth builds a casino in a cave?”

“Someone who’s real hep an’ happenin’ I bet,” Rudy said excitedly.

“They must have some real big operation, t’ have t’ hide it in here.”

“All the more reason to head back out,” Irving snarked, eyeing the advertising.

The brothers then happened upon a series of tall, rounded steps, carpeted with lush, red cotton and accented with gold trim. Two rows of white topped stanchions marked a path with velvet rope. At their feet read the words ‘TRY★YOUR★LUCK’. Beyond these steps laid a ritzy casino built on the edge of a cliff, unlike anything either of them had ever seen. Volcanoes erupted below and beyond their line of sight, painting the domed walls and ceiling of the cavern with the orange light they’d seen outside.

Dancing on the edge of theme park and luxury hotel, buildings in the shape of archaic chess pieces surrounded the back end of the establishment, giving the resort an imposing silhouette against the newly understood berth of the cave. The main building itself was tall and sleek in design, as it was cream in color with plum windows all down its front. Topped with a reddish dome roof, past a fountain of lava circled by prancing demon statues, and betwixt a pair of oversized game dice, the hotel lacked lighted signage, save for some neon pink cursive above its red front doors.

“The Devil’s Casino?” Irving mumbled to himself.  “That’s awful kitschy,”

Irving stood, contemplating the architecture, while Rudy mounted the stairs, smiling wide.

“I was right! I was right, there’s people here, they’ve got money, I was right--”

In that moment, Rudy reached the top of the stairwell, only to bump into someone who towered over him. The cup toon took a step back and shook his head, only to realize what had just happened. The stranger seemed to have come out of nowhere.

“Aw hell, sorry about that! Didn’t see you there.”

“Y’needn’t worry, my good man.”

The toon Rudyard had bumped into had a game die for a head, a pencil-thin mustache, and a winning smile. Dressed to the nines in a cream zoot suit, shined and spatted shoes, and a pink bow tie, the stranger readjusted his suit jacket after the brush-by, but did so without making a fuss. His voice was sure to smooth over any remaining matters, as it was slick and low, but friendly.

“I was hopin’ I’d bump into you two. I heard y’halfway down th’ cavern.”

“Our apologies, sir,” Irving said, stepping forward. “The echo in here carried further than we thought.”

Rudy rolled his eyes and folded his arms. The die toon let out a short laugh.

“I didn’t say you were causin’ a racket,” the stranger replied. “There’s no need to apologize.”

“Are you here t’ play, gentlemen?”

“Yeah,” Rudy replied with confidence. “We’re here t’ pl--”

Irving put a hand over his brother’s mouth, causing Rudy to grit his teeth against his hand.

“Actually, we’re here on business.”

“That a fact now? Well, I s’ppose I should introduce myself then,” the suited toon replied.

He put forward a gloved hand for Irving to shake.

“Name’s Heath Cesarano. My friends call me Sixer, an’ I own Th’ Devil’s Casino.”

“Irving Biccheiri,” the blue toon introduced himself. “This is my brother, Rudyard. We run a bootlegging business out in the Scapes.”

Irving and Heath shook hands, freeing Rudy in the process. Although he seemed miffed by his brother’s invasion of personal space, the red toon shook Sixer’s hand as well, when it was offered to him. On mention of bootlegging, the die toon’s eyebrow quirked in interest.

“Is that what you’ve got in your hands there?” Heath asked, gesturing to the box in Rudy’s arms.

“Finest stuff on the east end of the Isle,” Rudy boasted.

“We’re looking to sell it,” Irving explained.

“I see,” Heath said, rubbing his chin in thought. “Do y’mind if I sample your wares?”

“Be our guest,” Rudy replied. Irving swallowed beside him.

On choosing a bottle, Sixer uncorked it and took a sip,  hen pulled it away from his mouth. He smacked his lips as he tasted the spirits, then smiled at the young men.

“Say, that’s not half bad,” he remarked. “You boys’ve got somethin’ in the making, definitely.”

“In the making?” Irving asked. “Or worth selling?”

“Hah, you’ve keen ears,” Heath observed. His tone shifted as he spoke, sounding authoritative.

“I’m afraid that while I like what you’ve got, I can’t sell it at my establishment, nor can I let you sell it too close by. Th’ folks in there are lookin’ for high-quality hooch from names they know an’ can trust.”

Irving’s expression saddened with these words. Rudy took note and moved in front of Irving, looking Heath dead in the eye.

“No offense, Mr. Cesarano,” Rudy said. “But we’ve been selling our stuff all up an’ down th’ Isle.”

“We’re in some of th’ bars you’ll find in Nib City, an’ real popular in th’ Scapes.”

“That might be so,” Sixer replied. “But I only just met you boys t’night.”

“I’ve got a certain standard to meet at th’ behest of my landlord. It’s nothin’ personal.”

Rudy looked ready to argue but held off. Irving didn’t speak further, though it was clear he was trying to put on a brave face.

“We appreciate yer business, regardless,” Rudy told their new acquaintance. “That’ll be $3.”

Sixer pulled out four dollar bills and handed them to Irving. Irving paused, looking over the money in his hands, then looked to Sixer questioningly. Sixer winked, then spoke up again.

“If it ain’t too much t’ ask… Why are you boys lookin’ to sell, anyhow?”

Irving’s hands curled, as he folded his arms over his chest again.

“Simple,” Rudy answered, mirroring his brother’s gesture.

“We got bills t’ pay an’ mouths t’ feed, same as anybody. Rent’s comin’ up t’morrow an’ we’re eleven bucks short.”

“Ah,” Sixer replied. “My apologies for proddin’.”

“It is what it is. No need to be sorry.”

“I’m guessin’ you can’t sell much back in th’ Scapes, then?” Sixer prodded. “With yer presence?”

“Well, not right now, yeah,” Rudy agreed.

“We were s’pposed t’ meet somebody from Nib City for a deal,” Irving added. “But he didn’t show.”

“The storm caught up with us not long after.”

Sixer’s expression softened a little as the boys explained their situation. After a moment of thought, this softness faded away, instead replaced with a wily glint to the older toon’s eye.

“That’s a real shame that fella skipped out on ya, but I don’t think you’re out of luck for th’ night.”

Rudy looked on with interest. He had a feeling he knew where Heath was going.

“You could always take a shot at the games here,” Sixer continued. “If nothin’ else, you could dry off an’ get somethin’ to tide yourselves over.”

“I hear that storm ain’t s’pposed to let up until noon t’morrow. You won’t wanna be crossin’ those tracks out front if you can help it.”

Rudy considered the die-head’s words. Irving exhaled breath through his nose.

“You boys ever gambled b’fore?”

“I might be half yer size but I ain't-a kid,” Rudy scoffed. “Course I have.”

“Rudy, we should get going,” Irving muttered. “We couldn’t make a sale an’ we’re dry enough.”

“We couldn’t make a sale, sure,” Rudy replied. “But I could make a wager.”

Irving glowered at the prospect. Rudy frowned in response.

“Irving, if I play here, I could win us the cash we need t’ pay off rent t’morrow! We don’t gotta trudge out there, we don’t gotta get stood up-- It’ll be a cinch!”

The mug-head still didn’t look convinced, so Rudy put both of his hands on his shoulders, turning him away from Sixer so their discussion could be more private.

“Irving… C’mon, Irv. You’ve been workin’ yerself to th’ bone all month.”

Irving’s gaze went half-lidded. In the firelight and neon, the bags under his eyes could easily be seen. All the while, Sixer watched the young men talk to each other, grinning to himself knowingly.

“Let me handle th’ moneymakin’, you take a load off, an’ we can wait this out t’gether. You don’t gotta lift a finger.”

After a moment of consideration, the blue toon sighed.

“...Alright. If you think you can.”

“I know I can,” Rudy beamed. “They don’t call me Big Red fer nothin’.”

Irving cringed, making Rudy snicker. Sixer took a step forward, smiling.

“With a nickname like that, I can’t help but ask; you a craps player, by chance?”

“S’my favorite way t’ gamble!” Rudy answered, slinging an arm over Irv’s shoulders. Irving’s eyes narrowed.

“In that case, you should head on in an’ take a left, then a right,” Sixer advised.

“You’ll find our craps tables real easy.”

Rudy clinked his head against his brother’s as a gesture of affection, then took off into the casino, still holding the box of moonshine. Irving chose not to match his pace this time, as fatigue was starting to weigh on him. Sixer noticed as he looked down at his other pint-sized patron.

“And you?” Sixer asked. “Any preference?”

“I’m a cards guy,” Irving admitted. “But I don’t gamble, let alone in a place plastered with devils.”

Sixer’s grin got tight around the edges as he moved to Irving’s side.

“Aw, wheat, you superstitious ‘r somethin’? Don’t get yer suspenders in a twist, it’s just a motif.”

As the two walked into the casino, the various eyes of the devils in the decorating watched Irving as he passed. Irving didn’t notice at that moment, though he did feel oddly watched.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Irving replied. “What with that train track comment.”

“Hah, I wouldn’t call myself superstitious,” Sixer started.

“More just… Aware. I’ve had my fair share of experiences that’ve made me privy to the goings on around these parts.”

“Uh huh,” Irving replied, a bit distracted.

It was hard to blame him, with the hullabaloo going on around them, but Sixer still had to resist the urge to give him a dirty look. A uniformed toon with a heart for a head moved up beside Sixer to whisper something to him, before departing from the conversation.

The die toon looked down at the mug toon again, giving him an apologetic smile.

“As much as I’d love to continue our talk, I’m afraid I’ve got business t’ attend to. You’ll find our bars well stocked and lounges abound. If y’need anything, keep your eyes out for folks dressed like her--”

The die-head gestured to the heart toon, as she weaved in and out of the crowd.

“Or come find me. Oh, an’ I want you to have this.”

Heath extended a business card between two fingers to Irving. The card was matte and emblazoned with a devil, a pair of purple pipped dice, and multiple red roses. It even had gold trim.

“Like I was sayin’ earlier, you boys’ve got good stuff. I might take you up on the offer we discussed, should you improve yer product.”

“Thank you, sir,” Irving replied without enthusiasm.

“Please, call me Sixer. And if we don’t meet again, Irving, I hope you have a good night.”

“Likewise.”

With that, Sixer blended into the crowd, leaving each cup brother to their own devices.

— — —

By the time Irving supposed he ought to find his brother, an hour had passed. How, he had little idea.

One moment, he was being served water by an orange cocktail toon in a blue dress; the next, swing music roared through the halls, signaling the start of some sort of nightly shindig. Checking his pocket watch, the blue toon got up with a start and nearly fell off his barstool, but managed to tip his bartender and head out of the lounge without further trouble.

The joint reeked of booze, cigar smoke, and metal, with a tinge of marijuana and sweat, no matter what room he walked through. Noise constantly rang in his ears, ranging from vapid conversations and bad pick up lines to the obnoxious rattling, slamming, and pinging of an arcade. Top it off with the crowds of people trying to shout over the noise, and subsequently, each other, and Irving swore his porcelain head was going to crack from the decibel count.

It didn’t help that the damned place was so dark. For whatever reason, the architect had opted for interiors that caught shadows like a hungry spider, coupled with luminaires akin to candlelight. This only made the sounds louder, the smells stronger, and Irving’s mood worsen.

The mug toon’s discontent was so clear, it made Rudy pause just before throwing down his dice in another round of craps.

“Where were you?”  Irving demanded.

“Busy,” Rudy said as he rolled. “What’s it look like?”

The dice hit the wall of the table, revealing a 12. Rudy winced.

The dealer came over and took half a stack of chips, handing them over to a skeleton in a bow tie and a bowler hat. The patron leered at him, making Rudy grouse and pull what little stacks he had close to him.

“I hit a good streak while you were takin’ a break, so I’m ridin’ it.”

”How good?” Irving prodded

“Those chips are worth $1,” Rudy said, pointing to his hoard and across the table.

“Those’re worth $5, an’ these are worth $10. I even managed to squeeze a 25 out of an Aussie on th’ far end.”

Irving glanced up, seeing a skeletal, bipedal horse where Rudy gestured. The equine toon looked mean, even for a dead man.

“This is more than enough, then,” Irving figured, averting his eyes to Rudyard’s chips.

“It was,” Rudy said. “Until you threw me off.”

He shot his brother a glare, as the crowd cheered for another patron.

“Now I gotta win it back.”

“Do you still have what we made outside?” Irving pressed.

“‘Course I do! I ain’t as dumb as I look,” Rudy exclaimed.

“Then... What are you gamblin’ with?”

Rudy rolled the dice again, earning himself a $5 chip.

“My soul. I cashed it out for $75 in chips.”

Irving stared at his brother in disbelief.

“What?” Rudy asked. “I didn’t wanna spend th’ money you got.”

“Rudy, we’re in a casino named after the Devil.”

“Yeah? And?”

“What do you think the cashier meant when they said you could bet your soul?”

“Th’ cashier didn’t tell me nothin’. Some dominohead he was talkin’ to told me it’s a secret transaction unique to this joint. Th’ guy looked like a high roller, so I gave it a try. I didn’t have to hand any money over or anythin’.”

“They just… Gave you the chips?”

“No, I had to sign somethin’ beforehand,” Rudy shrugged. “But that was about it.”

“Did you even read it?”

“I skimmed it,” Rudy admitted. “It was just some casino contract. No big deal.”

Irving looked like he was going to ascend, the longer Rudy went on. Before Irving could chew his brother out, both toons felt powerful hands on their outermost shoulders.

“Hi-de-ho, gentlemen,” Sixer greeted them. “How goes your game?”

“Oh, I’m the only one playin’,” Rudy explained. “But it’s been goin’ alright.”

“I took up that soul deal ‘f yours for these chips. We’ll be eatin’ like kings t’night!”

“Did you now? An’ how’d you find out ‘bout it?”

The look in Heath’s eyes was too pleased for Irving’s liking. The die-head, as if reading his thoughts, moved his hands off them and stood beside Rudy, as the two talked.

“I was talkin’ to some domino guy in a boater hat, at th’ cashier’s booth. He’s the one who clued me in.”

“That’d be my buddy Pippin,” Sixer remarked warmly. “He helps me run th’ joint.”

“Does your ‘buddy’ happen to swoop in on every country boy who walks through your door?”

Sixer was about to say something, only to pause with Irving’s comment.

“Awful convenient he was there to give Rudy the news. Especially since you were the only person we told about our situation.”

The suited toon chuckled lightly. Irving could feel the air chill.

“Pippin doesn’t swoop, Irving. He loves people as much as anybody.”

Rudy, half listening to their conversation, rolled another turn and scored an 11. The table roared in approval, the dealer slipping him a couple stacks for winning the bet. Ironically, the dealer had a head of stacked chips himself, his face lined with horizontal stripes of orange, blue, and indigo.

Irving immediately set to work counting the chips. Sixer eyed him with a sharpening gaze.

“So with that ‘soul swap’ you did and our remaining debt, you’d need... 86 bucks to break even.”

“How much more do I need?” Rudy glanced his brother’s way, catching his worn expression.

“10 bucks.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Rudy swore. “This table’s been colder than a meat locker most of th’ night.”

“Why don’t we raise the stakes, then?”

Sixer said this while motioning to the dealer, shooting Rudy a playful smirk.

“Sharps, get me a stack of fives, wouldja? I’m bettin’ th’ pass line.”

Sharps did as he was told, passing Sixer 20 $5 chips in exchange for a crisp $100 bill. The rest of the table’s players backed away, including the horse toon. Despite the change in atmosphere, Rudy grinned right back, a fire in his eyes.

Irving folded his arms tightly as the two men started to compete, forcing himself to watch the table instead of risking catching Sixer’s eye. There was something about the die-head that bothered him more than most, but he couldn’t place why, and that fact put him on edge.

A litany of rounds passed, but Irving wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone all of what happened. Some rolls got yells in glee, others had people throwing their hats to the floor. Chips went all around the rim of the table every which way, at dizzying speed. People chattered ceaselessly. The room seemed filled with eyes, all boring down on him and his brother.

Eventually, Rudy called out through the clamor, hopping up on the edge of the craps table to stand above the crowd. He breathed hard, face aglow from the adrenaline of gambling.

“Alright, you lot! This’ll be my last play!!”

Irving started to sigh in relief, only for Sixer to speak up. The die toon’s tone dripped with confidence and charisma, as he loomed over the craps’ table.

“If that’s th’ case, then I wager my soul an’ Sharps’! Right here, right now!”

Sixer pushed forward his remaining chips, which totaled to $150. The crowd whooped and laughed, eating up Heath’s enthusiasm like it was an inside joke. Sharps smirked faintly, shaking his head.

“Come an’ get me, small fry!”

The cup toon’s eyes rolled in his porcelain head like slots, turning to a pair of dollar signs.

“You’re on, Cesarano!”

Irving held his breath and lifted his head from watching the table, only to stare at something beyond the mass of people around them.

Across the room, there stood a great tapestry of imps and hellish creatures, galavanting through what appeared to be a monochrome jungle. Stretching high above the heads of the patrons gathered around, Irving would’ve figured it some priceless artifact… If the eyes of its inhabitants didn’t roll as well and fix on him. A chill spread throughout the mug toon’s chest.

“Rudyard,” Irving tried to say. “Rudy, we shouldn’t be here--”

“Irv, step off, I’ve got this.”

“No, you don’t. We need to go, now.”

The people around Irving booed, causing a ripple throughout the rest of the crowd. Rudy grimaced and threw his fists to his sides, midway through blowing into his rolling hand for good luck. His eyes had returned to their normal pie cut irises.

“I mean it, Irv, I don’t need your shit right now,” Rudy said sharply. “Let me do my thing.”

“My shit?” Irving demanded. “My shit?!”

“I’ve been dealing with your shit ever since we got here, Rudyard, and I’ve had it! If I weren’t exhausted from doing all the damn work back home, I would’ve dragged you out of here by your handle!”

The mug toon took a step forward, getting up in his brother’s face and earning more protest from the crowd. Rudy’s expression got dark, the liquid in his head bubbling.

“Well, now whose fault is that?” Rudy seethed.

“You never let me do fuck anythin’! I’m trying to do you a goddamn favor, so if you could sit the hell back and pull yer straw out of yer ass, I’d appreciate it!”

“Gambling isn’t a favor!” Irving spat. “Gambling is you, slacking off, getting into trouble, giving Ma a fuckin’ heart attack--!”

“You leave her the fuck outta this—” Rudy threatened.

“Then fold the damn game!” Irving ordered.

The cup toon clenched his teeth and looked his brother square in the eye.

“Fuck. You.”

Rudy threw down the dice forcefully, making them bounce hard against the back wall. Irving grabbed his wrist hard enough to bruise, but the damage was already done.

Snake eyes.

The crowd let out a low moan of sympathy and dissipated behind them. Now Rudy felt the same cold as his brother, looking down at the craps table. Irving stared down as well, then threw the cup toon’s wrist away, storming through the crowd and towards a doorway leading out of the craps room.

The moment he got a foot through the door, the mug toon collided with something hard enough to make him stumble backward. Irving sat up to protest, only to stop. In the meanwhile, Sixer made his way over to Rudy, putting a hand on his shoulder again, but without the camaraderie of before.

“Well, ain’t that a shame?”

A black sigil blocked the doorway. Looking around the room, similar occult drawings blocked the other doors, effectively trapping them in the room. Irving’s head moved Sixer and Rudy’s direction, hearing the snap of Heath’s fingers. With this motion, the contract Rudy signed appeared in Heath’s hand, which he proceeded to unroll and read over.

“Mhhm. As I suspected. You, my friend, are in debt.”

“Y’don’t gotta rub it in,” Rudy said quietly.

“Oh, I ain’t rubbin’,” Heath hummed. “But I’m gonna need both of your souls, as per our agreement.”

“What?”

Irving got up and stumbled back their way. Rudy couldn’t look him in the eye.

“I said,” Heath repeated. “As per our agreement, I’m gonna need both of yer souls, since that’s what I won in our wager.”

“Our souls?” Rudy asked. “As in… Immortal souls?”

“Mhhm,” Heath agreed. The die toon seemed detached, as if he’d gone through this spiel before.

“Why do you need his?” Rudy asked, pointing to Irving. “I’m th’ only one who signed.”

Heath smiled and shook his head, offering the contract for Rudy to read and reciting the terms off his head for Irving.

“Paragraph four, section one, addendum one. ‘Should the client be unable to pay a debt or a wager, due to a lack of necessary, spiritual capital, souls within the client’s company including, but not limited to, friends, family, pets, et cetera, shall be collected as seen fit, in order to ensure a fair transaction between the associated parties.’”

Rudy’s shoulders sank. Irving stepped forward to stand next to Rudy, though he kept distance between them. He stared hard at Sixer, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“...so we’re damned, then,” the mug toon said eventually

“Essentially,” Sixer replied. “I wagered my soul an’ my dealer’s in th’ form of those chips. Ergo, two souls. Rudyard here only had th’ chips to cover one.”

“I didn’t think you could wager a soul,” Rudy said, with a little laugh.

“I-I thought it was a steal… I… I...”

“Aw, don’t beat yerself up, wheat,” Sixer said, waving his hand dismissively. “Hell ain’t so bad.”

“I visit from time t’ time. It’s a little on th’ warm side, as you could imagine, but it ain’t all fire an’ brimstone.”

“...may I see that?” Irving asked, gesturing to Heath’s hand.

“Sure thing, kid.”

Heath handed over the contract, which Irving proceeded to scour. Rudy looked to Sixer with wide, sad eyes, mouth faintly open as if he was trying to protest. Sixer averted his gaze from the cup toon, opting for Irving instead.

“Here.”

Irving pressed his finger next to another paragraph and turned the paper Sixer’s way, then back to himself, to read.

“...paragraph six, section six. ‘Should a client wish for the return of their immortal soul, they are allowed to perform a designated task for the interested party, according to said party’s jurisdiction. This can include the retrieval of items and other souls, the harm or killing of another person, with or without a body, assistance in correspondence between the party and others, et cetera. Should the task be agreed upon by both entities and completed by the client, the client’s soul, and any souls hitherto collected, shall be restored.’”

As Irving read, Heath’s eyebrows furrowed, then perked, as he thought on these words. He got a wicked smile, seeing Irving’s angle.

“So you wanna work for me to get ‘em back, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” Irving said, with a stony tone. The word ‘sir’ dripped venom.

“Well then you boys are lucky,” Heath remarked. “Cuz you ain’t the only ones who got rent t’ pay.”

The pair of siblings stared, apprehensive.

“I need souls like yours t’ keep the lights on here. My landlord ain’t interested in, ah, standard currency. There’s been a trend ‘round these parts of people comin’ to my place, sellin’ their souls to get chips… Then duckin’ out, whether they win or lose.”

Heath’s expression darkened. As he was 6’6”, he towered over the brothers, who each were around 4’0”, making him appear quite imposing.

“Now boys,” Heath went on. “Think of me what y’will, but I ain't-a cruel man.”

“I have it that my contract necessitates collection, but not immediately so. I let folks say their goodbyes, I let ‘em tie up loose ends… Hell, sometimes I let folks keep their souls ‘til their natural end if it strikes my fancy. I also know these folks are strugglin’, same as you. Everyone’s tryin’ t’ get by, however they can.”

Sixer paced around the cup toons as he spoke, fixing the rose in his lapel. He reminded Rudy of a jaguar, and Irving a cobra.

“But,” Heath concluded. “I believe that when terms like this are broken, they require punishment.”

“These folks agreed, like you, to hand over their souls and they know it. The lot of ‘em raided my casino a month ago an’ made off with their contracts, no doubt to try an’ forge up new terms, conditions, ‘r signatures. Those puppies are enchanted, so they can’t be altered by anybody but me, but I still need the physical copy I signed with my clients. They grant me proof of ownership.”

“So you want us t’ be yer repo men,” Rudy clarified. “Is what yer sayin’?”

“When it comes down t’ brass tacks, yes,” Heath agreed. “But you won’t be killin’ nobody unless you have to.”

“Those contracts have an agreed death date, as does yours. When I cash in, the clients will die as agreed, an’ their souls will be collected.”

“How efficient,” Irving said sarcastically. “How long do we have?”

“I’m sure you can guess,” Sixer hummed.

Irving screwed up his face, then let out a low, pained breath.

“Six days, six hours, and six minutes.”

Sixer smirked in surprise.

“I was right about you,” he said. “You really got a good head on those shoulders.”

“Sixer, all and no disrespect at once,” Irving deadpanned. “But I don’t give a shit.”

“You really should,” Heath purred in amusement. “It can get you places.”

Sixer slipped his hand into his pocket, then extended it to Rudy. Enclosed in his grip was $11.

“Consider this a deposit.”

Rudy took the money reluctantly, looking at Sixer with daggers. Sixer only smiled, like a cat who’d swallowed a canary. Once the money was exchanged, the sigils in the doorways disappeared.

Irving took initiative and walked out of the casino with long, punchy strides. Rudy followed not long after, leaving Sixer alone in the room. Once he was sure the brothers had gone, he called out to the rest of his patrons.

“Y’all can come out now, they’ve up and left!”

Like magic, the room was filled with people again, all getting up to raucous gambling and other forms of sinning. Sixer left the room with an accomplished laugh, dusting his gloved hands off each other. A moment later, he was seized by his bow tie and dragged down to someone else’s eye level.

“Where the hell have you been?!”

His captor was none other than his underboss Orianna ‘The Wheel’ Romano, a golden, geometric automaton in a dealer’s suit. Her nasally New Yorker accent bore into Sixer’s ears, but he didn’t mind at that moment.

“Giraudo, pal, you’re just the man I wanted to see!”

Sixer beamed on seeing her, but Orianna didn’t return the gesture. The name he called her made her uncomfortable, and while normally she could stomach its use, their current situation cut into her patience. She chose to press onwards in conversation and let go of him though, as she knew he meant no harm by it.

“You say dat every time I come sniffin’ you out, boss,” she huffed. “Now answer da question. I’ve been two steppin’ through dis helter skelter all night lookin’ for youse.”

“Sorry about that,” Sixer apologized. “I was outside earlier doin’ some carnival barkin’.”

“Carnival barkin’?” Orianna scoffed with a grin. “What year is it, 1925? Don’t we have people fer dat?”

“Sure, but I’m a professional.,” Sixer said with a sly wink. “Went t’ trade school and everything. I can’t let that degree get rusty.”

Orianna rolled her eyes and shook her head, smiling a little.

“Don’t suppose ya roped in somethin’ to fix us bein’ 19 souls short?”

“Actually,” Heath replied, smug. “The funniest thing jus’ happened.”

Orianna looked his way, tilting her tapered head like some great bird.

“I bagged two souls jus’ now. Pair of cup headed folks from th’ Scapes. One of ‘em signed a contract but got in two souls deep.”

“Oh, y’pulled the old ‘one two’ on ‘em?” the robot prodded, interested.

“Yeah,” Heath agreed. “The one who didn’t sign was onto me, but the other guy? Pff, it was like takin’ candy from a baby. No impulse control t’ speak of.”

“Gee, don’t dat sound like somebody I know,” Orianna snarked knowingly.

Now it was Heath’s turn to roll his eyes, but his smirk didn’t die away. He was used to this line of talk between them.

“So we’re only down 17 now?” Orianna clarified. “Dat’s good, but I don’t get how dat’s a rip-snorter.”

“A what now?” Heath asked with a little laugh.

“A rip-snorter,” she reiterated. “Y’know, somethin’ real good an’ goin’ our way?”

“You sure Kahl didn’t fit ya with a faulty lexicon there, Romano?” Heath prodded playfully.

“It’s a real fuckin’ word, y’goon,” she insisted, gesturing with her thumb over her shoulder. “Ask around town.”

“Alright, fine, later,” Heath conceded. “Still, though, that one who didn’t sign asked t’ see the contract.”

“No shit. An’ den what?”

“He volunteered the two of em t’ get back our receipts,” Heath explained. “Under paragraph 6.”

A beat passed. Orianna’s eyebrows rose and settled, intrigued.

“An’... How old are dese guys ‘xactly?” she asked.

“21 ‘r so,” Heath said.

“Twenty one—“ Orianna rested her forehead in her hand.

“Please tell me dey got magic.”

“...I… Didn’t see,” Heath admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“...we’re outsourcin’ collect fer our boondogglin’ t’ a couple twenty somethin’s,” Orianna summarized flatly. “An’ you didn’t even check if dey got magic?”

“It’s not every day y’get free labor,” Sixer tried to reason with a shy shrug.

Orianna closed her eyes tightly.

“...Heath,” she said. “Why da hell didja agree t’ dat?”

Heath started to speak, only for his underboss to interrupt him.

“We got people fer dat, y’know. Lotsa people, actually, who’d be willin’ to chase down dose contracts for ya at da drop of a hat. Why on Earth didja cut a deal like dat wid a couple a bumpkins too far from home?”

“I know we got people,” Heath said. “But those folks who ran off with our shit don’t fuck around. I don’t want t’ lose anybody unnecessarily.”

“Unneces— Caesar, dis ain’t da minor leagues any more!” Orianna barked.

She grabbed his bow tie again, so that they wouldn’t be so easily heard. Her voice was a sharp whisper.

“Who gives a shit if a coupla card heads die chasin’ down Cagney Carnation or whoever da fuck? We got people all over da place who’d kill t’ be runnin’ wid us!”

“I got that,” Cesarano growled. “But we gotta play this smart, Gira. That last raid got our boys Chimes an’ Pocus killed, on top of a stack of card heads. We don’t know if those debtors are tag teamin’ still or flyin’ solo.”

“Don’t talk t’ me about playin’ shit smart,” Orianna seethed. “It’s my job t’ play shit smart. Or didja forget that while you were tryin’ to be 25 all over again?”

Heath pulled himself from Orianna’s grip, baring his teeth. Orianna gave him a hard stare.

“You watch your tongue,” Heath warned.

“An’ you keep dat bleedin’ heart ‘f yers on a damn leash,” Orianna said frankly.

“Just what the hell is that supposed t’ mean?”

“It means yer not thinkin’ straight.”

Orianna rested her arms on her hips, gesticulating in fluid, mechanical motions.

“It’s a shame we lost Chimes an’ Pocus but dat’s how it is sometimes, Heath. You of all people should know. An’ cuttin’ a deal wit’ dose kids? Dey’re adults, even if dey’re dumber dan a sack a bricks. Dey came here of deir own free will, an’ dey lost da draw. Why negotiate?”

Heath’s expression dipped, as Orianna continued.

“You dink dey can do all dat in six days? Or did one of ‘em give you puppy eyes ‘til ya bent fer ‘em?”

“I think they can,” Heath replied sharply.

“On what merit?”

“...they just…” Heath started. “I felt it, in ‘em. They had strong spirits, I guess. Reminded me of myself, back in those days.”

“If some scrappy kid from th’ Bleed could rise up, why couldn’t they?”

“Cuz—“ Orianna started, but caught herself. She hated being the bad cop in these kind of situations, so she exhaled some steam from her back vents, mirroring a sigh.

“...you really dink these kids got dis in da bag?” Orianna tried again.

“They might need a little help,” Heath admitted. “But I have… 80% confidence they got this.”

Orianna raised an eyebrow. Heath faltered.

“...ok, make that more of a 65%.”

“Dat’s what I figured,” the automaton remarked dryly.

“How do you think we should do this, then?” he asked.

“If I were you,” she said. “I would’ve sent a buncha card guys out dree weeks ago an’ kept ‘em pumpin’ ‘til we got dose contracts. If we needed reinforcements, I’d send dat lughead Iggy, August, ‘r Sharps out t’ finish da job. If we didn’t get any dice by dat point, den I woulda sent da kids as da clean up crew.”

Heath winced. Orianna noticed.

“Ah, sorry, analytic brain got goin’ dere,” she said with a modest expression.

“It’s alright,” Sixer said. “What should we do now?”

“If I were you, Mr. Sentimental,” she restarted. “Den I’d keep an eye on dose kids, either drough other people or checkin’ on deir progress myself, cuz I just can’t stand sittin’ behind a desk all day, drownin’ in paperwoik, an’ hearin’ my underboss tear me a new asshole wid ‘er brass teeth.

Heath let out a laugh, making Orianna smile.

“I’d use dose dorky die houses I got back in 1919 as a temporary base ‘f operations,” Orianna continued, still digging into her boss. “I’d hire somebody t’ trail those cup toons, an’ I’d default control of da casino to Pip.”

“To Pip?” Heath said between snickers.

“Yeah, cuz I’m comin’ with you, jackass!” Orianna said, earning another laugh from him. “Dis is a batshit crazy scheme you’ve cooked up an’ it’s my job t’ see it drough!”

“Alright, alright,” Heath giggled. “If that’s th’ case, you tell Pip he’s head honcho, I’ll handle the dick.”

“‘Course you will,” Orianna muttered playfully.

“What was that?”

“What? I can’t hear you over da sound of all these assholes partyin’! I’ll catch ya later, boss!”

Both of them laughed as they parted ways, with Orianna heading back the way she came and Heath to his office.

Once inside and away from the bustle of the game rooms, Heath sank into a purple leather chair and pulled out an address book. He thumbed through a couple pages, then let out an ‘ah-hah’ when he found the name he was looking for.

He picked up a white rotary phone and dialed the number under the name, the fingers of one hand tangling in the cord connecting the receiver and base. The dial up tone ceased after a couple moments.

“Hello hello! This is Alice, your operator. How may I help you?”

“Alice, doll, it’s great t’ hear from ya,” Sixer said warmly. “I hope you lot are enjoyin’ yer new gear down at th’ station.”

“We’ve never had smoother calls, sir,” Alice cooed. “Thank you. Is there something I could help you with?”

“Yeah, could you be a dear an’ get me Mike Phone?” he requested. “He runs that detective agency by th’ Bleed?”

“Of course, sir. Have a good night.”

“Likewise, sweetheart,” Heath purred. “Don’t stay up too late now.”

The call then transferred over a couple moments later. A masculine voice with a built in crackle spoke up.

“You’ve reached Transducer Detective Agency, Michael R. Phone speaking.”

“Hi-de-ho, Mike,” Heath greeted him through the phone, grinning wide.

“I’ve got a job for ya.”

[hermannsthumb]

i’m catsitting this weekend so i won’t be posting a bunch of drabbles like last week so pls enjoy the wildly unedited installment that falls directly after part two of my absurdly self-indulgent newt/hermann regional AU (which can be found on ao3 and tumblr)

Newt’s running late and it’s entirely his fault, but in his own defense, it’s just because he spent a lot of time getting ready for his date with Hermann. He wants to look nice, damn it. Hermann always looks nice and put-together and collected, whereas every single time he’s seen Newt, Newt’s been covered in literal fish shit and God know what else. So he takes his time, does his hair up with gel, realizes it looks terrible and then has to rinse it out, and then he gets distracted by his phone, and then--basically, he misses the bus that would’ve gotten him to the harbor in time to be there before Hermann finishes up at the center and has to take a later one and ends up half-sprinting over at 5:30.

Hermann isn’t impressed. While Newt hunches over, hands on his knees, and catches his breath, Hermann just watches him. “You’re late,” he says, when Newt finally straightens up and can breathe at a normal pace. He glances over Newt’s corduroys and t-shirt. “But. You’re clean, at least.”

“Stop flattering me,” Newt says. Hermann’s in his usual professor getup, with a sweater vest Newt’s never seen before. How many does the guy have, for real? “You’re clean, too,” he jokes, and flashes what he hopes is a flirty smile. Hermann narrows his eyes. Oh, boy, off to a good start. “I’m sorry I’m late. Buses and all. I would’ve texted, but--” But they never actually exchanged phone numbers. Maybe Hermann will get the hint, take the bait. Newt’s half reaching for his phone already.

He doesn’t. “Where are we going for dinner?” Hermann says. “You were--somewhat vague, when you asked me.”

“Oh,” Newt says sheepishly. He’d been so busy getting ready he hadn’t actually planned where they were going. “Do you, uh, have any suggestions?”

Hermann looks at him incredulously.

They end up at the harbor Noodles and Company with Hermann scowling at him over a bowl of pad thai, and Newt stirring his bowl of macaroni and cheese around nervously. “In my defense--” Newt blurts out. Hermann folds his arms across his chest. “I was nervous about making a good first impression.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “You realize that you already successfully made a first impression the first time you derailed one of my talks?” he says. “A poor one, I should add. A very poor one.”

“But we’re here now, aren’t we?” Newt says hopefully.

“Hm.” Hermann pokes around at his pad thai.

“Next time,” Newt says, “next time I’ll actually make, like, reservations somewhere, and somewhere nice--”

“Next time?” Hermann says.

Newt mentally kicks himself. God, damn, he’s terrible at this, he hasn’t been on a date in years. And Hermann’s so cute, with his little round glasses and cowlick, and it’s making Newt all flustered. He really wants this to go well so he can take Hermann somewhere that isn’t, actually, more or less in a shopping mall. Also, so he doesn’t get depressed every time he sees his Science Center membership card in his wallet. “Can we please just restart this whole thing?” he groans, dropping his fork to the table with a clatter and dragging his hand through his hair.

Hermann clears his throat. Newt looks up. “Good evening, Newton,” he says. “That shirt looks nice on you. I’m excited for our date.”

Newt grasps at the lifeline. “I’m excited too,” he says quickly. “I like your--sweater.” Then, because it’s the truth, he confesses, “I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages but didn’t know how.”

“Is that so?” Hermann says. He looks genuinely surprised. “I admit your methods were unconventional.”

“But they worked?” Newt says hopefully.

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches into a smile. “We’re here now, aren't we?” he echoes.

Dinner is surprisingly pleasant, once the rocky beginning smooths out, and they spend most of the time talking about themselves. Hermann, it turns out, is Oxford-educated and teaching astrophysics at Hopkins via an exchange program of indefinite length. He’s been here since last August. He got bored of England, apparently (though Newt can't tell for the life of him why he picked Maryland out of the entire country). Hermann’s surprised to find out that Newt was on the tenure track at MIT before he gave it up five years back to, also, move to Maryland, and then use his PhD in marine biology at the Aquarium. (“My uncle took me here once when I was a kid,” Newt explains, “and I loved it.”)

It’s cool out when they finish at the restaurant, so they go for a slow walk around the harbor as dusk settles. Newt’s hands are shoved in his pockets, but Hermann’s free hand is dangling a few inches away. He could easily take it. He really wants to take it. He doesn’t. “So you’re still pretty new around here, then,” Newt says.

“I suppose,” Hermann says. “I haven’t ventured much outside of the city. Or much inside the city either, truthfully.”

“I could show you around some more.” Play it cool, Newt thinks. Play it casual. “You know, if you want. There’s a bunch of weird shops, and bars, and movie theaters and shit in the area. Uh. If you like movies?” Hermann looks likes the type who goes to operas or sees depressing plays or shit.

Hermann rolls his eyes. “I like movies, Newton, I’m a human being.”

Just two more things they have in common, then. “Awesome,” Newt says.

Newt fully expects to take the bus back to his apartment, but Hermann surprises him by offering him a ride once they end their walk at the harbor entrance. “You sure?” he says. “I mean, I’m not super close--”

“It’s no trouble,” Hermann assures him. “As you demonstrated, the buses can be quite unreliable.”

Newt recites his address and fidgets in Hermann’s passenger seat the entire drive home. Did Hermann have a good time? Newt did. Enough for a second date, definitely. Hermann likes movies. Maybe he wants to see one with Newt this weekend or something. Is that too soon? That’s probably too soon. He might weird Hermann out. Play it cool. Next week. “Isn’t this you?” Hermann says. He’s staring expectantly at Newt--they’re outside Newt’s apartment. God, how long have they been sitting there?

“Yes.” He scrambles to unbuckle himself. “Yeah, sorry.” He slams the car door behind himself when he gets out, and panics when he realizes he forgot to say goodnight to Hermann. Hermann’s already rolling down the car window when Newt turns around. He looks mildly amused, at least. “I had a lot of fun!” Newt says quickly, leaning in. “Uh. Thanks for the ride. Sorry about, you know. Everything.”

“You can always make it up to me,” Hermann says smoothly, “next time. Goodnight, Newton.”

“I can!” Newt beams at him and takes a step back. “Goodnight!”

“Don’t you get tired of talking about black holes every single day?” he says the follow Wednesday, trailing Hermann out of the planetarium. “I mean, you give the same lecture every single day.” Newt follows a routine and everything too, but at least he cycles between what creatures he’s feeding on any given day. Hermann’s whole spiel is practically word-for-word each time. Even down to the little pauses between topics.

“You seem to have no trouble finding new faults in it every single day,” Hermann says, doing his best to outwalk Newt. He’s a fast bastard, damn him, but it’s nice knowing that their dynamic hasn’t changed too much. “Feel free to stop attending if I’m boring you.”

“Oh, Hermann, I’ll never get tired of your pretty face.”

“Mm.” Hermann manages to make a hum sound sarcastic. “How long is your lunch break, exactly? I wouldn’t want to keep you from what I can only assume is very important work.”

“Long enough. Anyway, important question,” Newt does a half-jog until he’s standing in front of Hermann, and Hermann finally slows down, thank God, “dinner and movie this week? I’ll pay. And, here’s the real bonus, I might even be on time.”

“Tempting,” Hermann says, but smiles. “What movie?”

“I’d say the new Jurassic World, but Jeff Goldblum’s only in it for, like, a minute, so who gives a shit. But the Charles is doing a revival showing for Creature From the Black Lagoon,” Newt waggles his eyebrows, “in 3-D. Sounds pretty cool, huh?” Hermann makes a noncommittal noise. Newt claps his hands together. “Sweet! Friday at seven! I do actually have to get back to work, though, or I might get fired or something, the warning wasn’t super clear, I was distracted, so--”

Newt’s promise to be on time holds up, and he meets Hermann in the lobby of the theater a bit before seven, even, which is a great record for him. He waves at Hermann excitedly through the door, but when he gets to him, he’s not sure what to do. High-five? No, that’s weird, people don’t do that on dates. Handshake? Is it way too early for a kiss? He decides to go in for a hug, but he takes too long and Hermann turns at the last second to look at the concession stand and it turns into an awkward shoulder-pat. Just once, Newt would like to not look like a dumbass.

“There’s a cool place across the street we can go for dinner,” Newt says as they wait in line to buy tickets, “if you don’t mind eating late, anyway.”

They get good seats, but the 3D turns out to be a mistake almost immediately. “Shit,” Newt says, as he tries unsuccessfully to tuck his 3D glasses--the old, retro blue and red kind--behind his real glasses, and then just as unsuccessfully in front of them. “I kinda--forgot why I don’t see 3D movies.”

Hermann, somehow, has managed to balance the 3D pair perfectly with his little nerdy round librarian ones and is watching Newt struggle with a smug look on his face. “Would you like some help?” he says. “You’re making it out to be much more difficult than it should be.”

Newt scowls at him. “I got this, dude,” he says, but then the house lights dim and Newt doesn’t, actually, got this, and eventually just gives up and resigns himself to watching the movie with the weird red and blue lines going over the black and white. The plus side is that he can actually see the screen. And it’s not like he hasn’t seen it a million times before.

Besides: he has much more important things to think about, namely, how Hermann is shyly inching a hand across Newt’s armrest to tangle their fingers together, and how he doesn’t move it for the rest of the film.

He holds Newt’s hand on the way out of the theater, too, and when they cross the street to get to the cool little diner Newt’s recommended. He does, finally, drop it when Newt holds the door open for him, but Newt doesn’t lose his goofy smile, not even when they’re seated at a booth and given menus. “It’s certainly eclectic,” Hermann remarks as he takes the diner all in. His eyes linger over the massive pulp art posters on the wall, the neon lighting, the weird, gaudy sci-fi themed decor. “Very...colorful.”

“Wait,” Newt says, and quickly flips open his menu and shoves it at Hermann, “this is the real reason I wanted to take you here.”

Hermann glances over the page. “Are the hamburgers--”

“All named after planets!” Newt says, nearly bouncing in his seat. Hermann fixes him with an odd, soft look, that just serves to make Newt nervous. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I do,” he says, closing the menu delicately. “Thank you, Newton.”

“Since, you know, you’ve got a boner for black holes and space and everything--”

“Thank you, Newton,” Hermann says, a bit louder.

Hermann drives him home again, and Newt deliberately lingers in the car this time when they get to his apartment. He really wants invite Hermann inside. Is two dates too early for that? Newt hasn’t been on more than one date with someone in his entire life in his very limited dating experience, and--during his undergrad days--a good deal of those ended in one-night stands. He’s probably not the best authority on it. On the other hand, he’s known Hermann for almost a month, so it’s not like that’s totally rushing things. Newt’s gonna ask him.

“May I kiss you?” Hermann says suddenly, and Newt’s suggestive invite dies on his tongue. It’s--bizarrely polite, and professional, like he’s asking if Newt would like coffee or something, but it startles Newt anyway. He nods, and Hermann leans over and kisses him once, chastely. “Thank you,” he says primly, while Newt’s goofy smile returns. Newt’s not sure if Hermann means the date or the kiss or both, but frankly, he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t end up inviting Hermann inside, but he spends the rest of the night deliriously happy anyway.

[asidian]

Daemon!Prompto saving Ignis, Gladio and Noctis and then promptly adopting them because to him, they seem like fledglings in need of caring. He just couldn't leave them alone.

Author’s Notes: This one was a LOT of fun! Thank you so much for this prompt. 8D

===

A Nighttime Visitor

===

The cave’s dark as midnight; out beyond the glow of the flashlight pinned to his shirt, Noct can’t see anything.

All that falls within the lighted circle are Ignis and Gladio’s faces, tense and wary. Their weapons are still in their hands, and blood still smears Ignis’ forehead.

Noct strains his ears to try and catch some hint as to what’s out there, but all that reaches him is the sound of his own ragged breathing. 

“Hello?” he says.

The creature that nearly finished them lies dead on the floor at his feet, tattered clothing and broad-brimmed hat and curved sword slowly dissolving into a pool of murky black. 

Noct isn’t the one that killed it.

One second, that ayakashi was wiping the floor with them; the next, it was dead on the ground, oozing what passes for daemon blood in thick, dark streams.

“Is someone there?” says Noct.

But there’s still no answer, and much as he hates to leave this mystery unsolved, they can’t afford to stick around. They’re out of potions, out of elixirs, and all of them are battered and bleeding. It’s been a bad day.

“To hell with this place,” says Noct. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Advisable,” says Ignis, voice tight with pain. “We would all be well served by replenishing our supplies.”

Gladio hefts his sword again. “I’ll take point,” he says and pushes off down the hall, in the direction they came.

It’s a long way back. In the silence of dark, empty caverns, Noct keeps thinking he hears the sound of footsteps creeping behind them. Twice he turns, swinging his flashlight around, hoping to catch – something. But whatever it is, it’s outside the circle of the light.

When they step out from the crushing closeness of the cave and into the cool, moonlit night, Noct breathes a sigh of relief. 

Whatever it is, they’ve left it behind.

===

Whatever it is, they haven’t left it behind.

Noct hears it again the first night they camp, out toward the edge of the haven: a faint rustling and a low hiss, like steam escaping. In the morning, the proof is spread out on the ground: a garulet, dead and gutted, long gone cold. 

They stare at it for a long time, stunned into silence, before Ignis says, “Perhaps it’s time to press on.”

===

Three days later, Noct’s all but forgotten about their nighttime visitor.

They’re staying at Wiz’s, where there are friendly faces and affectionate birds, and whatever was in that cave is halfway across Duscae by now. With a few hunts under their belt, they have enough gil to restock their curatives. Nothing’s bleeding, or aching, or broken, and there’s an honest-to-gods roof over their heads. Things are looking up.

They play cards till stupid o'clock in the morning, and Noct’s dead asleep almost before his head touches the pillow.

But in the middle of the night, he drifts to groggy awareness again. It takes him a minute, to fight through the last clinging tendrils of sleep. He lies there, in the narrow cot that passes for a bed, wondering what woke him.

That’s when the sound reaches his ears: the frantic warble and squawk of frightened chocobos.

Ignis is sitting up in his sleeping bag, down by the caravan’s kitchen; Gladio’s stirring on the little half-couch crammed up against one wall. But Noct doesn’t wait for them; he’s on his feet already. His sword shimmers into place in his hand, and he yanks the door open, eyes scanning for danger.

He doesn’t even think to look down at the steps.

His first warning is when his foot comes down on something slick and shoots out from underneath him. There’s no time to catch himself – no time to warp. Noct just goes down, hard, smacking the back of his head against the metal of the steps.

He’s aware, before he even opens his eyes, of a briny smell – familiar, but out of place. Then he cracks his eyes and sees it.

Fish. A whole pile of fish, raw and glistening and all over Noct’s pajamas.

“What the hell,” he manages, and struggles to his feet.

Behind him, Ignis and Gladio are picking their way down among the fishy wreckage, now mostly squished by Noct’s fall.

They’ve all got a front-row view of the chocobos in their pens: not dead and gutted like the garulet, oh no. They’re still warbling and chattering, fluffed to approximately twice their normal size in excitement.

Because someone – or something – has dumped an entire sack of greens out on the ground at their feet.

===

They’re staying the night at the hotel at Taelpar when Noct goes to crack the window open. He’s unlatched it and started to push it up when Ignis says, “Perhaps we’d best exercise caution.”

Noct gives a dismissive little huff and props the window open the rest of the way, anyway. “It’s been a week and a half. I think we’re good.”

They idle away the hours, lounging on the beds or seated at the table: Noct on his phone, Gladio with his nose in a book, and Ignis jotting notes in a spiral-bound notepad.

It’s close to midnight when there’s a soft scraping at the window.

Noct goes very still. His eyes narrow, and he puts his phone down. Then he takes his feet, cautiously, and turns to face the sound. Beside him, Gladio’s sword is already in his hands. Ignis’ lips are pressed into a thin, white line.

The noise comes again.

Then something appears in the open window and tumbles inside, falling to the floor with the fleshy sound of impact.

It’s… an orange. The kind you find on trees all over the Duscae region. It sits there, innocuous and out of place.

They stare at it.

Then another orange tumbles from the window to join it. And a third. And a fourth.Soon there’s a small pile of oranges, on the hotel room floor, like the pile of fish on the caravan steps – or like the greens in the chocobo pen.

Before he can think it through, Noct’s on his feet, heading for the door. He wrenches it open and steps outside, circling around to the back of the hotel, where the window faces.

And there’s their visitor, standing by the window. In the cast-off glow from their table lamp, seeping out from the hotel room, Noct can see it’s a boy about his age. His hair’s a bird’s nest of blond tangles, and his skin is pale as a fish that lives down deep, past where the sunlight reaches. He’s wearing tatters of cloth – torn and filthy, shredded past recognition – and his face is smudged with dirt and riddled with scars.

As soon as Noct gets a good look at the hand holding the orange, he knows why. Most of the boy looks human, if pale and painfully underfed – but from the elbows, the skin begins to mottle grey. It’s onyx black by the time it reaches his wrist, and the hands are nightmare sculptures, hard and black and glossy, ending in jagged claws. The palms are the only part that don’t have sharp edges, and it’s the palm that the boy is using to lever another orange up toward the window.

“Hey,” says Noct, and the boy jumps as though he’s been struck – drops the orange and backs away, hissing like a cat. His teeth are as horrific as the hands, needle-sharp and way too many, and Noct notes with dawning horror the open wounds on the boy’s lips, glistening black with daemon blood.

When the boy steps back out of the light, his eyes catch and glint green, like a predator in the dark.

“Oh, Astrals,” says Ignis, from somewhere behind Noct – and that’s the only warning he gets before Gladio’s there, charging with sword drawn.

For an instant, Noct wonders what’s going to break first, the steel of the sword or the hard, dark stuff the boy’s hands are made of – but he never finds out. The boy abandons the orange and skitters off into the night.

===

Three nights later, the boy brings them ginger. The night after that, it’s shallots.

Ignis and Gladio have drawn-out philosophical debates as to whether their visitor is human, daemon, or some third option no one’s seen before.

The boy brings them potatoes, and sweet peppers, and wild onions, and Ignis starts cooking with them. “It seems a bit of a waste, just to leave them,” he says. “I imagine if it wanted to cause us harm, we’d have known by now.”

The food tastes fine. And the boy keeps coming – not every night, but at least one night in three. After that time at Taelpar, he doesn’t let himself be spotted, but in the morning, a tidy pile of some ingredient or another always shows that he’s been and gone.

===

Ardyn stays with them the night before they reach the Disc.

He parks his car by theirs, and he shares their caravan, and he smiles mysterious smiles that make Noct’s skin crawl.

In the morning, every one of his tires are slashed. His windshield is bashed in, and the upholstery is in tatters, and Noct thinks he knows, now, the kind of damage claws like that can do.

===

The gifts keep coming: always vegetables or fruit or spices, never meat or fish. Thinking back, Noct remembers their reaction to the first two offerings, and he’s sure he knows why.

“Hey,” says Noct one night, standing on the edge of the haven, calling into the darkness. “Are you out there?”

There’s no answer. Night insects hum in the long grass.

“No one’s gonna come at you with a sword again,” says Noct. “Why don’t you come talk to us?”

He waits there for ten long minutes, standing very still, but no answer comes.

===

They camp outside of Mt. Ravatogh, and Gladio wakes him early to pick flowers for Iris.

They search high and low, over miles of rocky ground. By the time they’re finished, Noct’s sweaty and sore, and neither of them has anything to show for it.

That night, their visitor brings them flowers.

He lays them carefully on the steps of the caravan, and though the stems have been chopped a bit roughly, there are enough to make up a full bouquet.