#but it forever amuses me that my brain is just that absorbed in things about them.

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Just had the weirdest/funniest moment of quoting/saying something and then being like. Where is that from where did I get that from... oh! From Grem!! Grem says that!!! And then after like one or two seconds I'm like. NO. NO HE DOES NOT. HE DOES NOT EVER ONCE SAY THAT IN THE MOVIE THAT IS. SOMETHING I MADE UP IN MY HEAD THAT HE SAYS. Good grief.

[silasea]

Jasper,

Words can only do so much to describe what I’m feeling right now. Part of it i think is denial— and disbelief that you’re gone.

I remember the day you were born. I remember telling my mom that you were the cutest thing in the world. The head the size of an orange and eyes the size of grapes. You were so small, a premie my aunt explained. You came fighting into this world from day 1. You were the most adorable baby. Your cheeks would turn red from the amount of times I kissed them. I felt so protective of you like the others — from the start. You grew up to be wild free and rebellious, and you always needed to have the last word. All the tough love in the world couldn’t tame you — I learned that the hard way. As a child you were always calm. I jokingly would call you my favorite to tease the others. It’s funny how certain moments in life come full circle. I remember being very young and hearing my aunt cry late at night. A wail that I never wanted to hear again. Your sister had jokingly texted her that you had passed away in a car accident. I remember your mom’s sobs and cries, they’re etched into my brain. It had only been about 10 minutes until we found out that the whole thing was just some inappropriate joke, made by an innocent child who didn’t understand the depth of her words. I remember you coming home that night fine and healthy as ever and I remember hugging you so tight. God forbid anything ever happening like that I prayed. That night I had nightmares of losing you, and I’d wake up each morning making sure you were ok, hugging you extra tight.

I felt so protective of you. More like an older sister than a cousin. From our roast sessions to our Mario kart sessions to spontaneous trips to the amusement park, and your crazy pranks. I’ll choose to remember you in that light. And although we grew apart and life has its way of throwing shit at us, you were still my favorite cousin.

I remember the night last year, my mom finally broke the news of your accident. I froze and blanked out for a bit phasing back to that dreaded night of our childhood. This could not be happening. I remember reaching out to your sister and all she told me was to pray.

You were in the ICU and touch and go for a while and then you were better, and then you were sick again and then you got better again. You fought hard for almost a year. There was no doubt in my mind you were going to make it, you made your way out so many times. I was sure you would show up at my doorstep one day and everything would be in its right place. With you making your witty remarks and spreading your laughter. You had to make it. There was no future I had imagined without each and every one of you. Your mom was distraught and didn’t know how to handle it all. We were kept away from seeing you. She blamed my brother a lot for what happened. You loved to follow his footsteps. So when my brother got a motorcycle of course you wanted your own. I could understand her pain and her reason to blame us, as misguided as it was. But it killed us all not knowing how you were. Grief has strange ways of manifesting itself. I only got updates of you from my mom— whatever she could manage to find out from your grandmother. Your mom completely shut us out.

I can’t imagine the grief she must be going through now. All I can remember is her wails that dreaded night. Child loss is the hardest grief to experience. They teach you that in nursing school. All I want to do is hug your mom and sister—just to help absorb some of their sorrows. But time heals all, and that’s my only solace.

I can only end this by saying I will remember you forever in my heart. You’ll live through my thoughts. I will remember you by your laughter, your witty remarks and your rebellious and strong nature. I love you Puru. Forever and always.

Your favorite cousin,

— Jassu

[goldenraeofsun]

Enhanced Extraction Techniques

Also available at AO3

“Cas?”

Cas whirls around. If he was standing on a normal floor, his shoes would have squeaked with the abrupt turn. In the Empty, though, his feet don’t make a sound. “Dean?” he calls back, his heart soaring in his chest.

“Cas? Where are you, man?”

Cas spins in another circle, his eyes straining against the darkness. The oppressive blankness of nothing presses against his eyeballs like an almost tangible film. He tries again, “Dean?”

“Cas?”

“Dean!” Cas takes off in the direction of Dean’s voice.

“Are you there?”

 Cas walks faster, anticipation quickening his heels. “I’m coming!”

“I can’t find you!”

“I’m here!” Cas calls back desperately.

“I’m running out of time here, buddy! Spell’s not gonna last forever. Where the hell are you?”

Panicked, Cas breaks out into a run. “I’m coming, Dean!”

“Are you?”

Cas stops dead. If he was back on Earth, he would have fallen flat on his face with the momentum. He turns to his right, where Dean’s voice just came.

“Cas? You there?”

Dean’s voice definitely came from his left that time.

“I need you.”

Cas swallows. Dean’s voice is coming from directly in front of him now. Icy dread creeps up his spine, but he feels hot all over.

“You make it too easy, Castiel.”

Dean never calls him by his full name, not in more than a decade. He is not talking with Dean.

“Nobody is coming for you.”

Cas doesn’t respond. Shamed beyond reason, he just stands there because there is nothing else to do. He can’t hide from the Empty. The Empty is everywhere.

Black ooze, blacker than the surrounding darkness, bubbles up from the floor. The Empty resolves into Cas’s own face, to his surprise. He’d been expecting Dean.

It shrugs, a knowing smirk playing on its lips. “What can I say? If you’re determined to keep me awake, I might as well amuse myself.”

“Your sense of humor leaves much to be desired,” Cas says as tonelessly as he can manage.

The Empty crosses its arms over its chest. “My options are limited, aren’t they?” it says snidely. “I can’t put you to sleep, so I can’t sleep. I might as well make this experience as hellish for you as it is for me.”

Cas frowns. “You could always negate our deal. Send me back to Earth.”

The Empty laughs. “That’s not how it works. That was a one-way trip.”

Cas grinds his teeth. “Then it seems like we’re at an impasse.”

“An impasse requires two forces of equal power,” the Empty tuts. “And you, my little gnat, have no power in this equation. You are my plaything. What was it that Gabriel said? A thousand channels and nothing’s on. Except you.”

Before Cas can respond, the Empty disappears, dissolving into a tarry splatter and absorbing into whatever passes as the floor in this place. 

 * * *

Cas wanders. He used to sleep while he was bored, but the Empty truly reigns supreme in his dreams. Cas killed Naomi’s Dean facsimile a thousand times, a million times. He watched Dean rake leaves, Crowley whispering poisoned promises into his ear. He walked away as Dean hurts and rages silently behind him in the Bunker.

So Cas stays awake. He’s an angel. It isn’t hard.

Dean’s voice occasionally calls for him.

Cas ignores it.

He wanders for what seems like miles, like hundreds of miles. Nothing ever changes in the Empty. With every step forward, he meets the same bleak blackness. The closest comparison in his long memory is the fraction of a second before the Big Bang - there was emptiness then too, but it was filled with a pregnant sense of promise. In the Empty - nothing.

Until.

Dean is running towards him.

Cas blinks a few times to make sure, even though his vision is perfect.

“Cas,” Dean breaks the silence first, “I found you.”

“Dean,” Cas breathes - any louder, and Dean will hear the trembling. “You’re here.”

“The real deal, sweetheart,” Dean says with a wink. “Now, come on. We’re getting out of here.” He takes off in the direction he came from, glancing behind him to check on Cas.

“We are?” Cas asks, following.

Dean throws him a disbelieving look. “Of course, dude. Sam and Jack are prepping the spell to get us back to the Bunker. We got Chuck by the short and curlies, but we’re one power player short. So we gotta get a move on.”

“So you need me?” Cas asks.

“Your mojo is the ticket,” Dean says with a little grin. “Chuck wiped all the angels off the Earth except Michael. And that dick isn’t answering our prayers, so you’re our next best bet.”

The joy at seeing Dean wavers. “I am?” he asks haltingly.

Dean shrugs. “We gotta work with what we have. And we just remembered you were here, out of Chuck’s reach. Our own spare angel!”

Cas barely holds back his flinch. Hunching in on himself, he mutters, “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Don’t worry,” Dean assures him, misreading his reaction completely. “We have a plan.”

Cas sighs. “Of course you do. What is it?”

“Sam found a spell,” Dean says. “It’ll rip Chuck apart, and, since Amara’s inside him - which, gross - it’ll maintain the balance when the spell takes her apart too.” 

Dean stops walking.

Cas looks around, but nothing sets aside this patch of emptiness from any other. No illuminated rift, no magic symbols, no X marking the spot - nothing.

“The catch is,” Dean says as he turns to Cas, his face regretful, “the spell needs an angel’s grace.”

In a blink of an eye, an angel blade drops into Dean’s palm.

Cas blinks. No beings but angels can manifest that particular weapon.

Dean raises the blade, fingers flexing on the handle. “You know,” he says conversationally, “Now that I think about it, we don’t actually need the angel himself - just the battery.”

Cas stands his ground, his eyes darting over Dean’s face, taking in every nuance and tell.

“I told you once,” Cas says warily, a horrible foreboding coming over him, “I’m always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.”

“Happy to hear that, Cas,” Dean says, his face impassive, “because you’re gonna bleed a lot, not gonna lie.” He shoves the blade in Cas’s chest, right above his heart.

Cas staggers back from the blow, pain and shock radiating out from the bloodless wound.

Dean raises his eyebrows, his mouth curling into a mocking smile as Cas meets his smug face. “What, were you expecting to go poof? We’re in the Empty,” he throws its hands wide, “everyone’s in stasis here, including you.”

Cas yanks the blade out of his chest, but it - and Dean - turns into black goo before he can stab anything with it.

 * * *

The Empty doesn’t mimic Dean next. Instead it takes Meg’s shape, Samandriel’s, Duma’s. Every one of the thousands of angels Cas killed up in heaven.

And there’s no escape. Cas can do his best not to listen, but if he retreats too far into himself, it almost counts as sleeping. With the Empty’s nudging, his thoughts will veer into his worst regrets, sooner or later. 

The Empty is in the middle of lecturing him in the form of Balthazar, when it explodes in a burst of light and sound.

Dean Winchester stands in the aftermath.

“Come on,” he says roughly. He strides forward to grab Cas’s hand and tug him in the other direction. “That bomb doesn’t last forever.”

“Dean?”

“Who else?” Dean yanks him sharply to the left. “This place didn’t turn your brains to scrambled eggs, did it?”

“I don’t think so,” Cas says shakily. “Dean are you really...”

“What?”

Cas can’t help looking down at their clasped hands. A fleeting thing, barely more than a glance. Still, Dean drops Cas’s hand like it burned him. “You good to run?” he asks shortly.

Cas barely nods before Dean takes off. They hurtle through the Empty, their rapid footsteps impossibly silent. Dean’s breath comes in sharp pants, and Cas’s useless wings ache, not for the first time, to fly them to their destination.

“Dean,” Cas starts, and Dean slows. “Where are we going?”

“Where I left my stuff,” Dean says shortly. “The spell to get us out of here needs a shit-ton of crap, and I couldn’t haul it all over this goddamn place while I was trying to find you.”

“How did you know your way back?”

The corners of Dean’s mouth lift in a faint smile. He points to the floor. “M&Ms.”

Cas squints at the ground, and, sure enough, they are following a trail of tiny candies. “Ingenious,” he murmurs.

“Hey, it worked with a Wendigo,” Dean says, shrugging. He directs them in a few more twists and turns before Cas sees Dean's duffle bag in the distance, topped with a bright yellow bag of M&Ms.

As they get closer, Dean pulls out an angel blade from inside his jacket.

Cas balks. 

Dean shoots him a puzzled look as he hands it to him. “It won’t kill anything here, obviously,” he says, unzipping his bag. He pulls out a copper bowl and bundles of herbs, “But having a weapon’s never a bad idea in unknown dimensions.”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas surveils their inky surroundings, already on high alert for any trespassers.

“Watch my back, okay?” Dean glances over his shoulder. Various ingredients get dropped into the bowl with outsized clangs and dribbles that seem to echo in the void around them.

Cas stays vigilant.

“This was easier than I thought it would be,” Dean mutters as the bowl’s contents start to smoke.

“Don’t jinx it,” Cas mutters out of the side of his mouth.

Dean chuckles under his breath. “I didn’t think angels believed in jinxes.”

It’s not like Cas has been especially angelic these past few years. He says shortly, “I’ve found you can never be too careful.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Need your blood for this part,” he says, shuffling over to make room. “Wait,” Dean says before Cas can press the blade againt his skin.

“Yes?”

“This is the last step,” Dean says seriously. “Once your blood goes in, it’s liftoff. So I wanted to get a couple things straight before we’re back in the Bunker.”

Cas doesn’t need to breathe, but if he did, his breath would have hitched in his chest at the closed-off look on Dean’s face. “Of course.” 

“What you said - what you told me,” Dean starts, his voice hard, “before you got sucked to this hellscape.” He drops his gaze to the bowl cradled in his hands, “That’s not me.”

Cas presses his lips together, struggling to keep his face impassive. Once he regains control of himself he says, “I did not expect you to reciprocate when I told you about my feelings for you.”

Dean actively recoils at the mention of feelings. He gives the bowl a little toss, and a few of the contents spill onto the floor. “Just, forget it,” he says brusquely, gathering everything up again.

“Dean-”

He turns to Cas, his eyes blazing. “But - you know what? I can’t forget it.”

Cas opens his mouth, but Dean is not done.

“How could you offload all that shit on me right before you fucked off to parts unknown?” he demands, voice rising in anger and volume. “Of all the goddamn things you could have said to me - that takes the fucking cake. You were my best friend -” he breaks off, shaking his head. “Worst moment of my goddamn life.”

Cas takes a step back, a sickly horror trickling down his spine. “I didn’t think-”

But Dean’s not listening. “I had serious doubts about coming here at all,” he continues, and the last Dean had stabbed him in the chest - how is this so much worse? “But Sam gave me those goddamn puppy dog eyes, and don’t even get me started on Jack-”

“I understand,” Cas interrupts stiffly. He inhales a deep breath he doesn’t need and continues, “Once we return to the Bunker, I’ll stay out of your way.”

“Probably for the best,” Dean mutters.

Cas cuts his forearm, watching with perverse fascination as the blood wells up and drips into the bowl waiting below.

There’s a violent burst of light and sound.

In the aftermath, Cas can only make out Dean’s mocking laughter. Before Cas can say a word, it turns into Meg’s delighted giggles. And then Gabriel’s howls of mirth.

 * * *

Cas sleeps after getting deceived for the third time. Anything is better than seeing the smug face of the Empty, whether it’s wearing Dean’s face, Gadreel’s, or Ruby’s. 

He breaks the wall in Sam’s head.

He lets Lucifer possess him in a futile plan.

He beats Dean to a bloody mess for the Angel Tablet.

Occasionally, the Empty grants him release, and Cas gets to deliver a bad joke to Uriel in Mesopotamia or Dean calls him a baby in a trenchcoat in a diner.

Time passes. Cas has no idea how long. There’s no sun - no moon - no cycling of the heavens. Only emptiness.

He gets shaken awake.

Cas blinks up at a pair of very familiar green eyes. “Dean,” he says, more or less resigned.

“Jesus,” Dean says as he sits back on his heels, “Way to make a guy feel welcome. I’m here to save your sorry ass, in case you were wondering. A full week of tearing my hair out over how to get you outta here, and this is the thanks I get.”

Cas sits up. “My apologies,” he says tentatively as he studies Dean’s face. There’s no sign it isn’t really Dean.

Then again, none of the others showed signs either.

Cas gets to his feet, asking, “Are you alone?”

Dean glances around them warily. “Yeah, Sam and Jack are keeping the portal open in the Bunker. They wanted to come,” he says, his eyes raking over Cas’s face, drinking him in. “They’ll be over the fucking moon to see you again.”

Cas swallows. “And you?”

“I -” A dull flush comes over Dean’s cheeks. He looks away.

Cas’s face shutters. “Right,” he says as he stands in front of Dean. “Now what?”

“Hey,” Dean says, reaching out to grasp his left shoulder, a mirror of the mark Cas left on him so long ago and so recently. “I missed you too. You have to know that.”

Worst moment of my life.

Cas looks away, Dean’s own raised voice echoing in his head.

“Hey,” Dean says again, gentler this time. His green eyes bore into Cas’s face. “What’s going on in that celestial brain of yours?”

The words catch in Cas’s throat, a lump of embarrassment and fear keeping them there. Embarrassment that the Empty deceived him. Fear that the Empty was right.

“Look, I know we didn’t leave things on great terms,” Dean says awkwardly, “and maybe this isn’t the best place to talk about it, but I’m so fucking happy to see you, man.” He chuckles ruefully. “’S making me lose my goddamn mind.”

Even if it’s only a facsimile of Dean - and there’s no way to tell for certain - seeing his face not contorted in anger or mockery is like a balm on Cas’s soul. If he had one, that was.

“About what you said before you got taken-” Dean starts.

Cas’s heart sinks.

“No,” Dean says, his voice low and gentle, “listen to me. I get that happiness for you might just be in the being, but for me-”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas interrupts. “I meant that, truly. You don’t have to-”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, smiling slightly, “You’re not making this easy are you?”

Cas bites his tongue to keep from contradicting Dean again.

“As I was saying,” Dean continues pointedly, his green eyes shining, “For me, happiness isn’t in the being - whatever the hell that means. It’s in the goddamn having.”

Cas bites his tongue harder, the pain hardly registering against the burst of hope fluttering wildly in his chest. “Dean,” he forces out, “You can’t mean…”

“Cas,” Dean starts, and Cas’s heart breaks - or mends. He can’t tell. He has no idea who he is talking to, and it’s, to borrow a phrase from the real Dean, an epic mindfuck.  

“Cas,” the Dean standing in front of him repeats, and Cas’s gaze automatically draws back to his face, “Good things do happen.”

Cas chuckles wetly. He has no choice but to say, “Not in my experience.”

Dean takes a step closer, far into the personal space he’d shown Cas so many years ago. Brows drawing together, he raises a hand to cup Cas’s face. “Someone told me a while ago that having faith was important. Seems you’re a little short there, buddy.”

Cas tries to duck his head, but Dean won’t let him. Eventually, he admits, “My faith has been tested recently.”

“But you didn’t give up, right?” Dean asks, leaning in close enough that Cas can feel the warmth of his breath in the air between them.

Cas shakes his head minutely. “No,” he murmurs, “not entirely.”

“Good,” Dean says, pausing just shy of Cas’s mouth. Waiting.

Cas steels himself and closes distance.

Just before their lips touch, Dean implodes in a burst of inky ooze.

 * * *

Cas breaks several knuckles on the floor of the Empty. There are no walls to punch, no blade to send heads rolling. Cas works with what he has.

The real Dean would probably approve.

Dean shows up again before too long. This Dean goes so far as to tell Cas he loves him.

Cas turns his back on Dean’s heartbroken face. He refuses to engage.

He wanders instead.

* * * 

Cas hears the footsteps before he sees his next Dean.

“Cas!” he pants, “Thank fuck. I thought I was never going to find you.”

Cas merely sighs.

Dean makes a face. “Way to roll out the welcome wagon,” he says, clearly offended. “I would’ve thought you were sick of this place by now.”

Cas purses his lips. “I am.”

“Shocker,” Dean says with a little smile. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time, so you gotta follow me.”

Cas doesn’t budge. He’d rather roam this place for eternity than suffer at the hands of another Dean facsimile. And he had thought he saw enough of them under Naomi’s tutelage. He’d been so naive.

Dean stares at him like Cas just stripped naked and danced the macarena. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not real,” Cas says bluntly.

Dean gapes. “Of course I’m real! Chuck’s de-powered, and Jack… well, it’s a long story. Bottom line: nobody’s pulling our strings but us.”

Cas lets out a derisive laugh.

Dean’s eyebrows rise, but he barrels on, “So it’s time to get a move on. Up and at ‘em, sunshine.” He jerks his head off to the right. 

Cas stays where he is. “No.”

“What the hell?” Dean has the gall to tug on Cas’s sleeve like he’s a wayward toddler. “Come on. You’re not making any sense.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Cas retorts. It’s not his best rejoinder, but he’s been very stressed lately.

Whatever Dean was about to say dies on his tongue as he stares at Cas in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?” He shakes his head before Cas can respond, saying, “Doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out later. But now, you’ve gotta come with me.”

Cas levels him a flat glare. This one is more stubborn than the last, more like the real Dean. “Why should I?”

“Because you don’t deserve to be stuck here?” Dean says, gesturing to the void around them. “You saved the world, Cas.” He swallows. “You saved me. Getting you out is the least we can do.”

“Because you need me to take on Chuck,” Cas says.

“No?” Dean says, his eyes narrowing. “I already told you, Chuck’s off the playing board.”

“Because you feel guilty about leaving me here.”

“No - wait, I do, but,” Dean breaks off, irritated, “you know what I mean.”

Cas doesn’t, so he continues in the same vein as before, “Because you love me.”

Dean hesitates. “I’m working on it.”

Cas snorts. At least the last Dean had the balls to say it. Many times. While crying.

“What?” Dean throws up his hands. “You just sprung it on me, dude! I didn’t even know angels could feel things like that, and it took me by surprise, okay? I’m only human, and sometimes we need time to get used to ideas. Like when we found out Snooki was a demon. Yeah, the signs were there, and it makes sense, but still - you sometimes need it spelled out for you.”

Cas pauses. None of the other Deans had referenced pop culture. “How long ago was this for you?”

“Since we summoned Snooki?” 

At Cas’s icy look of disdain, Dean hedges, “A month? Give or take.” He glares. “First we had to deal with Chuck, and it took a while to find a spell to get here. Remember, we didn’t even know this was a place before you died the last time. The Men of Letters weren’t a shit ton of help, for once.”

Cas crosses his arms over his chest.

“Just… hear me out,” Dean says. “There’s a portal to get us home. Sam and Jack can’t stall the Empty forever.”

That was new. “Jack and Sam aren’t in the Bunker?”

“No,” Dean says as he takes off in the opposite direction, all but forcing Cas to follow to find out more. “They’re up in Heaven.”

“Why?”

“Because the Empty can’t get to Earth without a summoning spell, which, as far as we can tell, doesn’t exist?” Dean says, checking over his shoulder to make sure Cas is still within earshot. “But you made that fucking stupid deal in Heaven, so we knew it could at least travel there. Jack zapped Sam to the Pearly Gates, and they’re hopefully making a distraction while I get you out.”

Still not entirely convinced, Cas asks begrudgingly, “And where are we going?”

“A portal,” Dean says confidently. “This place is a little like Purgatory, apparently. If it senses a human here, it’ll create a portal to spit them out again.” He flashes a grin over his shoulder. “So here I am, 100% genuine human to bail your ass out.”

“Thank you?”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean says with a wink.

Cas scowls. The first Dean had winked at him too.

“Jesus, tough crowd,” Dean mutters as they head further into the Empty.

Cas scans the ground, but there are no small candies lining the way. “How do you know where to go?”

“Turns out, Sam could find a spell for that,” Dean says as he holds up his left hand - clutching his amulet. The Empty must have really hunted around in his memories for that one, even more so than the Wendigo case. He hasn’t seen the real amulet in nearly five years. “It heats up when I’m on the right track towards the exit.”

“So no M&Ms?”

Dean turns to him. “I told you about that?”

Cas stares straight ahead, willing his face to fall into an expressionless mask. The real Dean had told him about the Wendigo over dinner with Sam and Mary while she was still alive, or the Empty wouldn’t be able to use it as inspiration now.

Dean shakes his head, smiling. “Man, I haven’t thought about that case in forever.” He glances at Cas, his face sobering. “You really don’t believe this is real?”

“No.”

He can’t. Not again.

Dean sighs as he steers them slightly to the right. “Come on, I’m almost getting third degree burns from this thing. We must be close.”

Sure enough, a blue swirling portal comes into view, a pinprick of light in the distance at first, elongating into an exact replica of the Purgatory exit as they approach. 

“Finally,” Dean mutters, his face impassive. He  turns to Cas. “Just… don’t stay behind,” he grimaces, “again.”

This version has been the most true to Dean - less callous than the first, more caring than the second, more guarded than the third. It will hurt the most when this one falls apart. Maybe it would be better if Cas heads it off at the pass instead of letting the whole painstaking ruse play out all the way through.

If the Empty could get it over with, Cas will go back to sleep. Anything is better than this torture.

Cas takes a step back, away from the portal. “This is pointless-”

“Jesus Christ, Cas!” Dean throws his hands in the air. “I don’t get it at all. You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

Cas gapes at him.

Dean continues heatedly, “If an ex-demon with anger management problems and rap sheet a mile long deserved to be saved, I think a legit angel should get the same.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m hardly a prime example of an angel anymore.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Have I ever cared about that?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Glad we can agree on something,” Dean cuts him off. “Now, are you going to go through the portal or am I gonna have to drag you? I’ll do it,” he threatens. “Don’t test me.”

Cas wavers. Everything in him says to follow Dean. But this isn’t the real Dean - this is the Empty waiting for the glorious moment when it can yank the illusion away, leaving Cas a little more broken than before.

Dean’s eyes narrow. “Fuck you,” he spits, “You can’t trust me just a little-”

“Trust?” Cas echoes as he strides forward to grab the lapels of Dean’s jacket, his voice rising in a mixture of outrage, desperation, and heartache, “You want me to trust you? After you’ve lied to me, deceived me - after you stabbed me, after you told me I put you through the worst moment of your life the last time you saw me, after you made me think you returned my feelings only to - only to-”

Dean shakes his head slowly. “But I didn’t do any of that.”

“You did,” Cas says fervently, shaking Dean a little - or maybe that’s his trembling hands. “You did - you’ve been putting me through hell since I got here, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you.”

Dean’s expression hardens. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, I do,” Cas swears. “I’m done pretending.”

Dean his eyes flicking down to Cas’s mouth. “What do you know,” he breathes, “so am I.”

Cas freezes, waiting for Dean to dissolve into a puddle of goo in his hands.

Dean kisses him instead.

At the first touch of Dean’s lips to his, Cas jerks back in surprise and horror.

He falls straight into the portal. 

The Empty vanishes in a blur of too-bright light.

 * * *

Cas comes to in the middle of a field. The sun shines overhead. Noon, Cas registers distantly as he looks around. Dean’s sprawled on the prairie grasses next to him, already waking up judging by the groaning noises.

“Dean?”

Dean opens his eyes, glances at the sky, and closes them again. “Oh great, we made it.”

Cas tentatively picks his way closer to Dean’s side. He stands over him for a moment, shuffling to the side so he doesn’t block the sunlight falling on Dean’s face. “We’re on Earth.”

“Well, it’s sure as shit not Mars,” Dean grumbles, eyes still closed. “Are you watching me right now? I feel like you’re watching me right now.”

Cas stares around the field. “Not anymore,” he says, and a genuine breeze blows against his face. What a marvel.

“‘S okay,” Dean says as he wiggles a little on the grass, getting more comfortable, “’M used to it.”

Cas turns to him. “It’s really you.”

“The real deal, sweetheart,” Dean cracks his eyes open, one corner of his mouth lifting into a lopsided smile. “You believe me now?”

“This could be the most elaborate ruse yet.”

Dean lifts his head up. “Seriously? You dick, I did not haul ass all the way-”

“I don’t really believe that, however,” Cas says before Dean can work himself up too much.

“Good.” He meaningfully thumps the grass next to him. “Sit. You’re giving me serious Law & Order vibes.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “I don’t get that reference. I know about Law & Order-”

“And how does every episode of Law & Order start?” Dean interrupts, “With someone standing over a dead body in a field.”

Cas takes a seat. “Not always a field. Most episodes show corpses in urban areas, or, once, a yacht.”

“Pretty sure it was more than once. I hate procedural cop shows.”

“They are very formulaic,” Cas admits, stretching out his legs, “and lack the drama of soap operas.”

“I’m just saying, if a long lost sibling doesn’t pop out of the woodwork or if the main character isn’t killed off at least six times, is it really worth watching?”

Cas levels him a flat look. “Dean, all those things have happened to you.”

Dean snorts. “At least none of us got amnesia.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Speak for yourself.”

Dean turns his head to stare at him, a wide grin spreading across his face as he laughs. “Oh shit, you're right. How the hell did I forget?”

“Because of supreme irony, most likely.”

It takes Dean a moment to get it, but when he does, he laughs even louder.

Cas doesn’t have anything to add, so he lets the conversation peter off into silence, listening to Dean’s even breathing and the grass rustling in the gentle wind.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” Dean says in an undertone.

Cas turns to him. Dean’s eyes are closed again, but everything else about him radiates a quiet tension Cas might’ve missed anywhere else. But here, in this field, nothing prevents Cas from honing on Dean’s whole being with everything he has. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

“I dunno,” Dean says, his face scrunching up, “I thought it would be more awkward. But… it doesn’t feel any different.”

Cas blinks. “Why should it?” he asks, and though he’s not definitively sure what Dean means by ‘it’, he has a very strong suspicion.

Dean shoots him a pointed look. “Because you don’t tell someone you love them and expect everything to be OK after.”

Cas lays down next to Dean. Staring up at the wispy clouds overhead, he says, “If it changes anything, I didn’t expect to be around for the after part.” Dean’s head turns to look at him, but Cas can’t bring himself to see whatever expression is on his face. “If you’d like for us to go our separate ways after this, I understand.”

“You stupid bastard,” Dean mutters vehemently, “for the last goddamn time, I did not piss off the immortal Blob just to tell you to go fuck yourself in person.”

Cas inhales a slow breath, breathing in the dirt, wildflowers growing nearby, and Dean. “You kissed me,” he says.

“You said you loved me,” Dean shoots back.

“Did you mean it?”

“Did you?”

Cas grimaces as he turns his head to face him. “I thought it was obvious.”

Dean swallows. “No, it wasn’t,” he says quietly, “but I’ve never been good at that stuff.”

Cas squints at him. “You are the most emotionally intelligent man I’ve ever met.”

“What?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You expertly navigate and manipulate people’s emotions to get them to talk to you, open up to you, have sex with you,” he lists. “It’s extraordinary to witness.”

Dean makes a choking noise. “Dude,” he says, which tells Cas absolutely nothing. A few more clouds pass by before Dean speaks again. “I guess the signs were there - with you. But I didn’t want to put them together.”

“Why not?”

Dean shrugs, his shoulders scraping almost inaudibly against the soil and grass stems. “Just didn’t.”

“Then that’s why I didn’t tell you. But, Dean-” Cas breaks off. This part of the conversation, despite what Dean said earlier, does not feel the same as others between them. 

Dean’s eyes flick to his. “Yeah?”

“You kissed me.”

Dean inhales a sharp breath. “I did,” he says at last.

Cas waits, but Dean doesn’t elaborate. “Was it just a ploy to get me to leave the Empty?”

“No.”

Cas grimaces. Not for the first time, his life would be so much easier if Dean could communicate without speaking in riddles or hiding every third word he wanted to say. “Dean...”

“I told you I’m working on it,” Dean says defensively.

Cas closes his eyes. “What does that mean?” he asks, his voice strained.

“It means I’m working on it,” Dean says shortly. But before Cas can press him further, he lets out an explosive sigh. “It means I don’t want to hear any more goodbyes from you. It means - it means that kiss wasn’t too bad, right?”

“I thought you were a fake version of yourself created to torture me for eternity,” Cas says flatly.

Dean props himself up on his elbows. “So all I’m hearing is there’s room for improvement.”

Cas rolls his eyes as Dean scoots closer, peering down at him. “I suppose that’s one way you could look at it.”

“Would you wanna... do something like that again?” Dean asks, his expression confident while his voice is anything but.

“Only if you want to,” Cas says seriously.

Dean licks his lips. He nods once, the movement stilted.

“Should I sit up?” Cas asks, frowning, as he half-lifts his head. “Or do you want to lay back down-”

“Cas,” Dean says impatiently, “it’s kissing we’re talking about here, not Twister.”

“I have played that game before.”

“Yeah, I remember now,” Dean says, a tentative smirk hiding in the corners of his mouth. “You ever do it naked?”

Cas frowns. “There was a strict policy against nudity in the psychiatric ward.”

Dean ducks his head, laughing silently. His forehead lands on Cas’s sternum, his breath warming Cas’s chest from the outside in.

“You were trying to say something arousing,” Cas says, a beat too late.

Dean shakes his head, grinning. “Something like that.”

“I would like to play naked Twister with you.”

Dean’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “Glad to hear it,” he says as he leans over Cas. Cas goes a bit cross-eyed to keep him in view until Dean murmurs, “Relax. ‘S just me.”

In the instant before their lips meet, Cas half-expects the whole world around him to splatter apart in a tidal wave of black, otherworldly goo. But Dean is gloriously solid, gloriously human, as he cradles Cas’s half-raised head, his fingers tangling in his hair. 

The midday sun shines; the grass whispers in the wind; and Cas is saved.

[unbridgeabledistances]

okayyy so i had something heavier/hurt-comforty in the works as a gapfiller about mickey processing (bc we all need that!!!) but this fluffy little 3+1 about ian and mickey singing to each other happened instead— i hope u enjoy💞

a 3+1 of 3 times ian sang to mickey, and one time mickey sang to ian (to give context to the absolutely wild 11x09 serenade)

also the biggest shoutout to @southside-forever’s 80s gallavich playlist which has SO many bops and inspired bits of this😌

--

1.

Mickey didn’t really know when it all started— Ian was always fucking humming these days, always whistling or singing some tune under his breath when he came out of the shower. He was more buoyant recently, lighter— the security gig was going well, and these days it felt like something looming and heavy had lifted, releasing the crooked hunch out of Ian’s shoulders that had taken root the sour morning weeks before as he shoveled Fruit Loops and Jameson into his mouth. Since then, it felt like he and Ian were finally on the same goddamn page for once— like they had a purpose, like they were moving forward.

Or at least, moving forward on the weekdays— but today was a slow, lazy Saturday, and Mickey was still laying in bed in a tank top and boxers, sweaty and entangled in the crumpled sheets, laying back with his head on the pillow and playing some overly-gory sharpshooter game on his phone. He’d been trying to beat this fucking level a million times, but his thumb couldn’t move quickly enough at the pivotal moment when he had to shoot a bunch of enemy forces— he’d been at the game for a good half hour, since when Ian had sleepily stumbled off of the mattress sporting a full bedhead to go take a shower, and Mickey was starting to get a tinny, sharp headache from staring at his phone screen for too long. He was just starting to consider getting up, to peel off his sweaty tank top and head downstairs to grab some coffee— when Ian came into the room from his shower, a fraying towel wrapped around his lower half and his torso slick with excess water droplets. Mickey flickered his eyes up from his game for a moment, taking an… appreciative glance, and then quickly focused his attention back on his pixelated mission as Ian stood in front of the dresser in the cramped bedroom, and started to rustle through the drawers for a t-shirt.

Mickey maneuvered his buff video game avatar through a minefield, biting his lip in concentration— when his sharp focus was suddenly infiltrated by Ian, singing under his breath in an airy tone.

“Ooooooh we’re halfway there.”

Mickey gritted his teeth slightly and tried to pour all his attention into the pivotal moment of the level, but half of his mind was being pulled to listen to Ian’s gravelly voice, continuing to softly murmur to himself in a tone that was ridiculously off-key.

“She says we’ve gotta hoooold on, to what we’ve got—”

Mickey’s phone screen flickered. GAME OVER.

Mickey wanted to throw his phone at the fucking wall. He inhaled, then pressed “Start Game” again, one last time— and again, his focus was disrupted by Ian, singing under his breath as he pulled on his jeans and gently pattered his hands in a rhythm on the top of the dresser— which was endearing and sappy as fuck, sure, but it was not helping Mickey with the task at hand. Mickey puffed out a sharp, frustrated breath, keeping his eyes on his phone screen.

“The fuck are you singing for right now?”

Ian suddenly gave a sheepish smile over his shoulder as he rifled through their sock drawer, like he’d been caught in the middle of doing something wrong.

“Don’t know. Song was just stuck in my head I guess.”

Mickey glared at Ian, pressing his thumb to the screen to pause his game. “Cut that shit out.”

Ian rolled his eyes fondly, sitting on the edge of the mattress to pull on his socks. “You should be thanking me for serenading you with your fucking eighties dad music. I could be singing Carly Rae Jepson right now, or some other pop bullshit that you hate.”

Mickey felt an involuntary, amused smirk split onto his face, and he tried to turn it into a scowl. Fucking adorable motherfucker.

“Okay, tough guy. If anything you should be thanking me for cleansing your ears from the techno garbage that you used to listen to.”

Ian gave a soft smile, shoulders turning fully towards Mickey now that he’d finished pulling on his socks— and then he turned and clambered into the bed, hovering above Mickey and causing Mickey’s fingers to go slack around his phone case. Mickey could smell the warm, freshly-showered scent of him, all cheap bar soap and Old Spice deodorant, and felt the soft press of his t-shirt through Mickey’s thin tank top— an overly worn t-shirt, one of Mickey’s, that stretched just a little too tight over Ian’s torso.

Ian looked down at Mickey, fucking beaming for some reason, his eyes light. He swooped down, pressing a soft, quick kiss above Mickey’s eyebrow. And then—

“Take my haaaand, we’ll make it I sweeear”

Mickey felt an involuntary, uncomfortable chuckle bubble up out of his ribcage. Was Ian fucking… singing? To him? It definitely seemed like it. And as much as he didn’t want it to, because this was fucking sappy and ridiculous and… well, gay— Mickey couldn’t help the fact that his husband leaning over him, breathily singing the tune of one of their goddamn wedding songs in his husky tone-deaf voice, made Mickey’s blood run a little bit hotter; which was bullshit, because absolutely nothing about this should be hot, and it was probably the most disgustingly married thing that Mickey could think of— but apparently everything about Ian, every dorky and fucking god-awful cringey thing that he did, was a turn-on, or at least according to Mickey’s thudding heartbeat and sweaty palms right now.

Ian’s face was still hovering centimeters above his, his eyebrows raised triumphantly and sporting a sappy fucking grin, like he knew how affected Mickey was by this, no matter how much Mickey grumbled and complained and tried to hide it.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You’re fucking soft, Gallagher.”

Ian just leaned down again, kissing up the slope of Mickey’s neck and biting at his earlobe—and, okay, maybe Mickey could get behind Ian’s singing after all.

 2.

Ian’s singing was starting to get fucking ridiculous— and as much as it made something deep inside Mickey feel a light pang of relief, to see Ian being his old bubbly self again in the rhythms of routine and held by the safety net of financial stability because of the security gig that made the air between them less stale, it also meant that they were also around each other pretty much 24/7, and Ian’s serenades were starting to get relentless.

While they pretty much had a common ground in liking nostalgic 80s music, they would still inevitably argue about what music to play in the ambulance every morning— and whatever shitty album they eventually chose to put on, whether it was Ian’s pop garbage of Mickey’s mellower 80s tunes, Ian’s brain would apparently absorb all the songs like a fucking sponge and he’d start singing them all day long—in the kitchen, in the shower, even when they were just laying in bed on their phones and Ian would constantly hum absentmindedly.

Today they were driving to some bougie dispensary in Glencoe, near a bunch of ridiculous mansions on the very outskirts of the city, and it was Ian’s turn to pick the music— Mickey usually elected one of the well-loved CDs that he’d jammed into the glove compartment as they were refurbishing the ambulance, CDs that he’d kept since he was a kid when he piled them high in the corner of his grimy room next to a half-broken boombox— but as much as they were Mickey’s comfort CDs, Ian could only listen to Bon Jovi so many times before he started to slander 80s music as a collective genre.

“Can we just listen to something by someone who isn’t older than us, just this once?”

“Easy for you to say, Gallagher. At least the music that I like has fucking words.”

When it was Ian’s turn to pick the music, he usually picked more modern stuff with heavy beats and a thrumming bass (though more often than not he also appeased Mickey’s tastes with some “80s throwback” playlist he’d found on Spotify that he’d noticed Mickey would bob his head along to)—but on longer drives, like this one, it was easy to butt heads about the soundtrack. Ian had allowed Mickey to play through one of his Queen CDs that morning, and then Ian had put on some whiny indie bullshit from a playlist on his phone for the other half of the drive— now they were heading home after a long day, with the stereo turned low to a local radio station.

They’d settled into a comfortable silence, as they often did at the end of the day when their energy faded— Ian had stopped pattering his hands on the steering wheel like he usually did when he was amped up and buzzing with energy in the mornings, and Mickey could tell they were both ready to collapse onto the couch the second they set foot in the door.

Mickey blew out a deflated breath and reached to turn up the radio, tuning in to some middle-aged host with a cheery voice chattering about the heat wave in Chicago that upcoming weekend—and then the airwaves went silent, and there was the overdramatic sound of a slamming door and a gospel choir.

Ian’s ears nearly fucking perked up at the sound as the opening chords began.

“Life is a mystery… Everyone must stand alone…”

Ian immediately raised his voice to join in, the tired slouch leaving his shoulders.

“I hear you call my naaaame”

He turned to Mickey and pointed overdramatically, causing Mickey to shove his arm away but unable to quell the overly fond grin that he knew was blooming on his face.

“And it feels like… home.”

The beat dropped, rolling into the chorus, and Ian energetically drummed his hands against the steering wheel once more.

“C’mon, Mick!” Ian laughed, throwing his head back dramatically as he sang while still trying to keep his eyes on the road.

“When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer, I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there.” Ian’s pitchiness clashed with the melody, but he was too focused on singing and bopping side to side in this seat to really care.

Mickey rolled his eyes, his lips still turned upwards at the corners while he watched his absolute dork of a husband jamming to Madonna. “Isn’t this song about giving someone a blowjob or some shit?”

Ian gave an easygoing laugh. “Technically, yes. And it’s also definitionally a gay anthem, which means you have to sing with me.”

Mickey scoffed and flipped Ian off. “Fuck off.”

Ian raised a playful eyebrow, and continued to sing with relentless eye contact:

“It’s like a dreeeeam, no end and no beginning”

Mickey felt heat rise into his cheeks against his will. No fucking way was he going to sing a Madonna song about a blowjob stone-cold sober at 2pm on a Tuesday while driving home from work with his fucking husband—which, wow, that was probably the gayest sentence that had ever crossed Mickey’s mind in his 26 years of existence (which was definitely saying a lot).

This wasn’t ever a place Mickey thought he’d be in— sitting beside Ian so comfortably, singing fucking songs while they drove home from their daily commute; getting to soak up all the warmth, all the brightness that had always radiated out of Ian so intensely that it nearly blinded him, a warmth that he’d always wanted to lean in closer to even when they were just scrawny kids in a shitty neighborhood still figuring everything out.

Maybe, just maybe— it was okay to lean in a little more.

By the time the chorus rolled around the third time, Mickey was begrudgingly humming along, like he usually did whenever the songs that Ian was singing on and endless loop got stuck in his own head and popped up while he was brushing his teeth or making toast for breakfast— by the time the final rhythmic chorus faded to silence on the radio waves, Mickey glanced over at Ian, singing at the top of his lungs, face slightly flushed and grinning ear to ear.

“Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there.”

3.

Ian and Mickey were walking down the moonlit sidewalk, veering back home after an evening at Lip’s— the night had honestly been weirdly enjoyable, which was definitely a welcome reprieve from all of Lip and Debbie’s intense back-and-forths about the house over the past few weeks. Tami and Lip had needed to go over to Brad and Cami’s for some bullshit crisis management about the stolen bikes, and Ian had readily agreed to watch Freddie— which meant that whether he liked it or not, Mickey had spent his Friday evening at Lip’s half-packed apartment watching Ian coo over a one-year-old, which was… not a totally unwelcome sight.

Trying to keep his shit together, Mickey had snapped a picture to send to the Gallagher family group chat, and everyone had immediately given them shit about being so eager to babysit and get their hands on a toddler like a couple of baby-crazed newlyweds—which had caused Mickey to start overzealously complaining in the groupchat to compensate while Ian occupied Freddie. Kev had noticed the texts and swung by Lip and Tami’s house after closing the Alibi to keep the two of them company, bringing by a pack of beers—and now he and Ian were warm and happily buzzed, relieved of their babysitting duties and walking the chilly city streets back towards the Gallagher house.

Halfway through the walk Ian had interlaced their fingers, and now their arms were swinging slightly as they turned the final corner to walk down the last stretch of pavement towards the chain-link fence—when suddenly, Ian stopped cold a few houses away from the Gallagher front porch. He looked down at Mickey, raising their entangled hands and pressing a kiss to the inside of Mickey’s wrist.

Mickey raised an eyebrow in confusion, and Ian just looked back at him—his cheeks glowing pink from the few beers, his eyes light and unguarded under the streetlamps.

“This spot reminded me of something.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. Of fucking course it did. Ian was a sappy motherfucker on the best of days, but with a couple of beers in him he was practically uncontrollable.

“What?”

All of a sudden Ian let go of his hand, punching into the air dramatically.

“Cause love is a battlefiiiield”

Mickey laughed, feeling warm hot blood rush to his cheeks in delight—and fuck, he loved his husband so goddamn much. And just this once, mostly because of the own alcohol running thick in his bloodstream, Mickey made the lurching decision to join in, stepping closer towards Ian and raising his hands equally as dramatically.

“No promises, no demands”

“Woooooah”

Ian had practically doubled over with laughter, tears welling in the corner of his eyes—and Mickey let himself get lost in it, the warm feeling buzzing through his body, of love and joy and fuck knows what else, getting to sing on a fucking street corner with his husband a decade after everything had gone so gut-wrenchingly wrong, leaving him bleeding on this same pavement.

They stumbled over their own feet up the stairs, fumbling out of their clothes and collapsing into bed—and later, just as Mickey was on the brink of fading into unconsciousness, Ian mumbled the same refrain into the crook of Mickey’s neck in a sleepy voice, like the song was still stuck in his head and he just couldn’t help it.

“Love is a battlefield.”

4.

It was late— it was one of those slow, tender nights when the past was hanging heavy over them, laying pressed together in bed as thin streams of moonlight poured in through the blinds, pressing whispers into each other’s skin about all of the hurt and the doubt that had been seeped up and healed with time.

Ian was sprawled back on the bed and Mickey was laying with his head resting on his chest, feeling his ribcage expand and contract each time he took a breath. They’d absorbed so much the past few weeks— the sick, twisted blows of a loss that felt all the more jagged and painful because of how muddled the grief for Terry was—but after a few days had passed they’d found a place to settle, in the comforting press of the silence in their bedroom.

Mickey was mindlessly playing with Ian’s fingers, listening to his steady breathing—and without thinking, he ran a finger over the cool silver of Ian’s wedding band, letting out a breathy chuckle.

“I still can’t believe we’re married sometimes, man.”

Mickey could feel Ian’s lips curve upward into a smile from where his mouth was pressed against the top of Mickey’s head.

“Yeah, me either.”

And Mickey felt something bubbling, something welling— and he didn’t ever fucking sing, not unless Ian made him, but Ian was always fucking dropping song lines into sappy moments like this.

So he took a breath, and, half-singing but mostly talking, in a way that sounded almost mocking if it wasn’t so soft around the edges, he let out into the dark silence of the room:

“At last….”

He wasn’t even singing, not really—he was just sort of… saying the words in a singsongy way, but he knew that Ian could tell what he was doing, what he was trying to do. He was trying to be as fucking sweet and soft and pliant as Ian was, as Ian always was in moments like this, in a way that sometimes made Mickey feel brittle and hard in comparison. This time, Mickey wanted to breathe out the love he had for him into this moment, the love that made his ribcage feel like it was going to fucking burst— a love that he felt erupting outwards when Ian had played this song for him for the first time a few weeks before the wedding, and had asked with a shy smile, “D’you think it’d be okay if you walked down the aisle to this song?”

Ian’s chest shook with laughter, and he carded a hand through Mickey’s hair. And then, in his gentle, sleep-soft voice, in a breathy tone that tickled the shell of Mickey’s ear:

“My looove has come along”

Mickey rolled his eyes fondly, just to prove something to himself, even though he knew Ian couldn’t see him—and then he reached a hand upward and leaned back, drawing Ian’s chin forward to press his lips to his for a brief, lingering moment.

Mickey settled back against Ian’s chest again, and felt Ian press a kiss to the top of his head. He smiled contentedly, closing his heavy eyelids.

Maybe being a couple of sappy motherfuckers wasn’t so bad.

[tiaragqueen]

Yandere azul, crowley and vil headcanons please

… I just realized that I’ve made the worst pun in Crowley part, and I feel weirdly proud of it.

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

Yandere! Azul Ashengrotto

🐙 Azul is greedy yet insecure. He absorbs every drop of your affection and is always thirsty for more. He isn’t above whining and guilt-tripping you when he feels that your attention has strayed. All of this happens behind the closed door since he can’t risk ruining his reputation. Nobody will believe you that the shady Azul is actually very sensitive and clingy except, of course, the eel twins.

🐙 If you’re immune to his whines and inky cries, then he can always blackmail you. Azul might be charming, smoothly bringing up your favorite topics and getting you to talk for hours, but it’s just the good part. The bad part is he knows almost everything about you, thanks to Jade. It’s unnerving to hear him listing off things that you thought nobody saw or should’ve known with that calm and calculated face. Well, you don’t want other students to learn about your ‘little’ secrets, do you? Even if they seem insignificant, it’ll definitely impact your reputation, you know? Do you want the others to know how ‘scandalous’ the new student is?

🐙 Azul isn’t very athletic, so in the instance where you’re able to escape him somehow, he’ll order the twins to get you. And that’s how he lured you in the first place, with their freakish charm and seeming kindness. He’s very reliant to them, and although the twins aren’t the most reliable people around, Azul's love life is certainly interesting enough for them to lend a hand once in a while. And honestly, with them as your pursuers, how high is the chance of you leaving the Octavinelle dorm – let alone asking for someone’s help? Most students are probably more afraid of them to bother assisting you, and even if one of them pities you, he’ll either suffer in their hands or being ordered by Azul to return you.

🐙 Despite his notoriety, Azul is very hardworking and organized. Regardless of how far you flee, you can guarantee that he’ll give it his all to search for you. Land, water, or air, it doesn’t matter. He’ll use his vast connection and big brain to keep you with him. And if you, for some reason, choose to go to the ocean – well, that just makes everything better, no? You can run however fast you are at land, but in water, he’s the king. And there’ll be nowhere for you to go other than his grasp because, surely, you don’t want to know what kind of horror that waits for you in the trenches, right?

Yandere! Dire Crowley

🎭 You can bet that he’s gonna prolong your stay and spout every excuse possible when questioned, regardless of how vague or downright ridiculous, it sounded. Despite how useless he can be, especially in dire situations, he holds the most authority at school. And what can an ‘alien’ like you do against him when he’s the only one who can return you to your world? No matter how many times he boasts about his so-called kindness, he can’t deny the sadistic pleasure of having you dance in his palm.

🎭 But yandere Crowley will be a little more attentive, such as bringing you food, asking the teachers to be a bit lenient towards you, and questioning your well-being and life in NRC. It’s not enough for people to start suspecting him as playing favorites, but it’s apparent that he’s nicer to you than to others. And obviously, he’ll dismiss it as him being ‘kind’. Isn’t it his job to care for his students, especially a magic-less one like you? You’re basically the weakest, after all.

🎭 He’ll stalk you, too. Sometimes he appears before you out of nowhere, almost resembling Lilia, and sometimes he transforms into a crow to avoid unwanted attention. He’ll watch you mind your business and occasionally chuckles to himself whenever you do something amusing. Oh, how cute you are, struggling to execute things that an ordinary magician can easily solve! He truly pities you... sometimes.

🎭 Once your patience finally ran out due to his vagueness and overall unreliability, he’ll swoop in and destroy the mirror right before your eyes. Where do you think you’re going? The lessons aren’t over yet. Don’t you want to become a great mage? It’s not good to half-ass things, you know, especially when he’s sacrificed so much to get you to this prestigious school with your lack of magic. So shouldn’t you thank him for his efforts? Doing odd jobs doesn’t count, you know? The only way to repay him is to stay here forever and be a good student for him. You’ll do that, won’t you? He’s your headmaster, after all. Therefore, his orders are absolute.

Yandere! Vil Schoenheit

💜 If he’s already strict to his dorm mates, then how much more strict can he be to you? Vil is a perfectionist in beauty, so it’s already expected of him to fuss over you, too. No more eye bags, sleeping late, sitting with your back hunched, or God forbids late-night snacks. You have to keep your appearance because the lover of Schoenheit has to exalt him as well. Even a stray hair is absolutely unforgivable!

💜 He’ll drill into your tiny brain all sort of manners only royalty would learn. Keep your back straight! Stand tall! Maintain your composure at all times! Don’t skip your meals! Don’t fidget! He has no problem repeating this until your ears bleed. You wonder what kind of things have you done in the past to deserve this, and frankly, it’s not even the worst part.

💜 Vil won’t hesitate to poison you if you prove to be more handful than he thought. He already has Epel to deal with; he can’t afford anymore nuisance, especially from his lover! It comes as a great disappointment for him to see you fighting him as if you know better than him. He’s not a dorm leader for nothing, you know? And he’ll ensure you learn this fact as he spills a few drops of purple liquid into your drink. Have you forgotten how he earned his title in the first place? Or how powerful Pomefiore students are when it comes to making potions?

💜 You thought you have little freedom with him, but in a love-struck state, there’s no such thing as autonomy anymore. This situation only comes when he becomes weary of your rebellion, so ensures you don’t anger him too much. It’s hard and probably challenging to your mental health, but at least, it’s a bit better than being a living doll for him to decorate as he pleases. Literally.

[aceofspadegrass]

Bedazzle the Arsenal Aguni. Come on Aguni I know you want to.

Characters: Aguni Morizono, Hatter

Genre: Fluff. Just two dudes being bros while bedazzling weapons.

900 words

I'm tired but also wanted to write something quick before perishing for a bit. Anyways, have some friendly bonding with rhinestones. Also, I wasn't aware that this picture below was..... a thing. Interesting, eh?

“ So, explain to me again what going on here?” Aguni asks as he stands in the corner, watching Takeru wait for the hot glue gun to heat up. Takeru looks up at his companion with a smile, and gestures to the table.

“ Isn’t it obvious?” Aguni looks at the table, which besides the glue gun held several new weapons that a group had managed to obtain from some shop, then back up at Takeru. In a bowl near the glue gun was a bunch of plastic and glass rhinestones and gems, shining a little in the light. Aguni looks back to Takeru, who was checking if the glue gun was hot enough yet, squeezing the trigger a few times.

“ So why am I here then?”

“ Well I didn’t ask for you to follow me back to my room, but here you are, standing oh so stoically in my room, watching me bedazzle a bunch of weapons.” A spurt of glue came out the tip of the gun, Takeru grinning excitedly and pulling the bowl closer and examining the rhinestones inside. “ Good question, should I go for a tropical Piña Colada look, or perhaps a simple gold stone appearance? Ooh, better yet, rainbow.” Takeru does a little bit of jazz hands, Aguni just staring at his friend before sighing.

“ I don’t exactly recommend bedazzling the weapons.” “ Why not? I’m sure some of your little militants would love it.” “ I’m not entirely sure about that.”

Takeru huffs, and beads some glue onto a decently sized red stone, pasting it onto the handle of a switchblade. “ Life deserves some sparkle, Aguni. Come on, anything can happen here, no charge or fault for a little fun! That’s one of the rules here at the Beach, after all.” He picks up another stone of the same size, putting it right next to the first.

Aguni just silently sighs, and continues to stand there watching Takeru bedazzle that one switchblade for quite a while, Takeru rather absorbed in this task. There wasn’t going to be anything Takeru needed to show up for in quite a while, so Takeru really could do this all day if he felt like it.

After an hour, Takeru finally finished the first weapon, which Takeru apparently decided to colour in a red and white sort of candy cane pattern. Now he was putting rhinestones onto a pistol, which Aguni believes is supposed to look like a cherry blossom on the side, considering how long Takeru kept looking at the browns for ones of an appropriate size, and occasionally setting aside pink ones for later.

“ Come now, sit down! I’m sure it’s getting boring just standing there~” Takeru chirps as he examines his handiwork of the branches on the pistol, occasionally holding it to check how comfortable it felt. “ I don’t mind standing.” Aguni responds, and Takeru scoffs lightheartedly, gesturing to the couch.

“ Nonsense, this’ll take forever, and standing that entire time and not enjoying yourself just sounds like a bore. Why don’t you drink something while you’re here, loosen up a little?” Aguni politely shakes his head, but he does take up on the offer to sit, although it was just to continue watching Takeru paste rhinestones and flat-bottomed gemstones onto weapons mindlessly. Takeru again offers him some alcohol, but Aguni declines once more.

“ Suit yourself!” Takeru continues to slowly bedazzle things, and Aguni just continues to watch. It was sort of peaceful, come to think of it. Takeru didn’t say much since he was more focused on his art, and Aguni never had much to say in the first place.

More time passes by the both of them, and Takeru proudly holds up the pistol. It was now covered muzzle to handle with small and medium stones that caught the light hitting them, and Aguni could easily notice the brown branches and pink stones meant to be the blossoms against the simplistic red base. “ Look at this, Aguni! Isn’t it a stud?” Aguni offers a small grunt as a reply, and that was all Takeru needed, setting it aside so it could completely dry. Takeru looks at Aguni with a smile, Aguni looking back at his friend.

“ Wanna at least try one? Come on, it’s easy for the mind! Let your brain spill out all over the ground and into the gems!" Aguni was just about to deny him again, but Takeru wasn’t having it, handing him a knife, Aguni recognizing it as a balisong. He idly swings it open with one hand, staring at the sharp edge, when Takeru hands him the bowl, still smiling like a dork. “ Come on! Join me in the bedazzlement!”

Aguni looks to his friend, then down at the weapon and small stones. Takeru scoots the gun so that it rested a little closer to Aguni whenever he needed it, now onto making a rifle into what seemed to start with pink at the top.

Aguni quickly shuts the knife, and with a slightly defeated but amused sigh, he picks up a small blue gem and grabs the glue gun, applying a bead onto the back and sticking it to the knife’s handle carefully.

“ That’s the spirit, Aguni!” Takeru chirps happily despite not looking up even once, too busy finding more pink rhinestones. Aguni just roughly hums, and slowly bedazzles a knife next to his friend.

As friends do.

[thebigqueer]

Prompt: Catradora in a Camp Half-Blood Au 👀

pawing Adora this one’s for you babe <3 i hope you like this cursed content <3 this is possibly an even more cursed concept than bilco <3333

thank you for the prompt (/s) and as always: i rarely do any editing on these fic prompts, if at all. this won’t be my absolute best work, so please don’t be too judgmental about it!

also welcome to my first catradora fic ig?????? HAHAHAHA

A strong light bears down over the palace floor, glinting off of the shiny metal object in Bow’s hands. He watches over the three girls cautiously, a look of determination in his eyes. Silently, Adora feels as if she’s being tested. She stands straighter in the hopes that she’ll seem more responsible. 

Catra’s hand grasps hers, fingertips against fingertips. Adora’s chest warms at the mere feeling of Catra next to her. They’ve only been together for a few weeks, but each touch, each embrace, each word and motion and sound seems like a new story. She smiles, despite knowing that Bow’s watching her. 

“Okay,” the archer says, eyes glued to the product in his hands. “So, here’s the plan.” Bow begins to pace, his footsteps lightly tapping against the shiny floor. There’s a nervous edge to him; Adora suspects he’s anxious about the mission. 

She reaches out to stop him in his tracks, but Glimmer beats her to it. The queen balances her fingers gently over his shoulder, a smile sparkling over her lips. “Hey, it’ll be cool.”

“What’s going on?” Catra asks, pulling her fingers out of Adora’s grasp. She opts to cross her arms over her chest, pushing a curious yet bored expression over her features. “Why is Nerd Boy over there so anxious?”

Bow stops in his tracks suddenly and sighs. The metal item shivers in his trembling grasp. The light from overhead flashes over his face, illuminating a look Adora knows so well: feral, anxious excitement. 

A small smile covers his face. “Okay, so I was doing some experimenting, and I got Entrapta to work on this with me. We were talking about that portal thing that Hordak had made a while ago.”

For a moment, he pauses, a darkness sweeping over his eyes. Adora’s heart stutters by the sudden mention of the fateful day. Catra looks away as a flush blows through her cheeks. A shiver takes over the four in the room. 

I almost lost her, Adora thinks in despair. Her fingers itch for Catra’s again, just wanting to make sure she’s really here, that she’s really alive and breathing and really, really Adora’s. 

Thankfully, as if understanding Adora’s silent request, Catra slips her fingers into hers again. 

Bow clears his throat. “Uh, anyway. We got to thinking... what if there are other realities? Things outside of our own universe?” Excitement seeps into his voice and his eyes glimmer with energy. He’s practically bursting through his seams. Adora can’t help but to smile; she’s just happy to have things go back to their normal, casual ways. 

Catra groans. “Oh, god, are you serious? Another alternative-reality thing? Didn’t we already live through enough of those for a life time?”

Bigger holds his hands out in a placating gesture, tipping his head. “Yes, technically, we have. But... I think this is going to be so cool! I think we figured out the logistics of it, and we made this little...” He gestures vaguely at the item in his hands, then shrugs. “I don’t know what to call it. I’ll need to come up with a name later. But the point is that I want you guys to adventure into it.” 

“What?” Catra shrieks, her voice cracking. The fur over her arms stands on end as she stares at Bow, an astonished look coming over her feline features. “You want us to go?”

“Look, I know it sounds bad, but-”

“Absolutely not!” she protests, stamping her foot down on the floor. A frustration creeps over her as she steps towards Bow, jabbing her finger in his direction. “Didn’t we just go through a whole universe-ending ordeal with Horde Prime? What do you think this will do to us?”

“Okay, I know it doesn’t sound very promising,” Bow admits, his eyes tense with understanding, “but just trust me. I think this would be really important to future negotiations.” 

“Let me guess,” Catra mutters, rolling her eyes, “you want us to try it out?” 

All of a sudden, Bow drops to his knees, hands glued together as if praying to the girls. “Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?” he pleads, a pout on his lips. “We have backups ready for you! If anything goes wrong, I’ll teach you what to do. We’ll still be in contact, so you can easily tell us if something’s up and we’ll bring you back.” 

Catra merely scoffs as if the entire idea is wasteful of her time. She stares at Adora, her blue and yellow eyes peering at her as if asking if she can even believe all this. “Adora, what do you say? Should we do it?”

Adora will admit, there’s a bubble of excitement in her chest billowing up. As much as she loves that things are more relaxed now, she’s getting bored; she’s going after new adventures but has found none. This entire plan may be stupid, but she’s willing to do it anyway.

Catra, watching her features shift from curiosity to excitement, groans. “Of course. I knew you’d want to do something stupid like this.” 

“Hey!” Adora protests, leaning towards her. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I want to go, though.” She steps closer to Catra, a mischievous smile stretching across her mouth. “I won’t force you to do anything, but I’m just saying... If you come with me, we get to have some more time together.” She raises her eyebrow. “You know, like old times. Do some trouble around the place.” 

Adora knows it isn’t fair of her to use their past together to convince Catra to come with her, but she really wants to do this with her. It’ll be their first adventure together in forever.

After a moment’s of hesitation, Catra sighs. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

~

About an hour later, the girls stand in the palace grounds courtyard. Darkness spills over the sky, fighting a battle with the golden light seeping from the palace. 

Bow hands Adora the metal item, gesturing to the several buttons as he instructs, “Press this one when I tell you to. Then press this one when you get there. I don’t know where it will take you exactly, but if my math is right, it’ll be a little bit far from here. Don’t worry.” 

Adora found that ironic, since Bow looks plenty worried. 

He swallows, eyes shaking, then keeps going. “Okay, and if you need help or need to contact us, just press this.” He gestures to a small red button on the side of the box. “We should be able to communicate at any point. And this thing can last hours, so don’t worry too much.” 

Catra shivers next to Adora, a pout over her lips. “I still don’t like this plan.” 

“You could easily step out of it,” Adora points out, nudging her. She grins. “But you love me, so that’s stopping you, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” Catra grumbles. 

Bow clears his throat. “If you guys are done...”

The blonde girl throws her arm around Catra, feeling the other girl’s warmth under her skin. Catra pretends to struggle but Adora doesn’t miss the way she leans into her. A glowing smile blooms against her lips. 

“Okay, now, press that button on my count,” Bow informs, nodding towards the metal box in Adora’s hands. 

Her stomach flutters with nervousness, beating and battering against her insides. It seems that only moments ago she was prepared for this, but now, with her friends staring at her, with this cool metal in her hands, she feels only a dread. 

But she pushes through that. She bites her bottom lip and nods. Slipping her fingers through Catra’s again, she tips her head at Bow. “Let’s do it.” 

Bow counts down from three, his voice trembling. Catra’s muscles tense under Adora’s fingers, but she keeps holding on.

“Three,” he mutters, “two.... one!”

Adora presses the large blue button on the box. The world disintegrates around her.

~ 

If Adora could explain the experience, all she could say is that it’s crazy. That’s it. Because she can’t really remember anything except for the whirlwind of chaos, the vibrant purple of the hole in the universe, the speed of being thrown across dimensions. 

It feels as though it’s been hours and microseconds at the same time; time doesn’t exist but surrounds her. Her body stretches out and shrinks in, her very cells tingling with pain. 

And then, all of a sudden, it stops. Catra crashes into her, and together they slam against something hard. Adora’s body bursts with pain with the sudden contact. Nausea roils in her stomach and she feels as though she’s still hurtling through the abyss. 

The faint murmurs of voices drift into her ears, but she can barely understand them. Pain washes over her in waves and she only lets them crash against her. She’s too exhausted to move. 

Catra shuffles next to her, groaning. A faint breeze brushes past Adora, its calmness significantly more relaxing than the pain still racking her body. 

It takes her a few moments before the world stops spinning out of her control. Another groan spills from her and she rubs her head. She absorbs the cool breeze in the hopes that it will calm her. 

Her eyelids flutter, dapples of light spilling into her eyes. She’s momentarily blinded by the golden rays, but after pawing at her eyes, they adjust to the brightness. Green trees surround her, practically glowing in the light. Grass scratches underneath her palms.

“Where are we?” Catra mutters next to her, slowly sitting up.

“I don’t know...” Adora admits. Her brain feels fuzzy, static, confused. She feels as though she’s still trapped in-between dimensions.

Voices drift through her ears again, and she turns. A scream almost escapes from somewhere deep within her chest when she realizes the amount of beings standing by, watching her and Catra. 

Catra gasps and scrambles next to her, her breathing ragged. The beings stare at the two girls in their own shock as well. 

“Is that a... cat girl?” a blond boy asks, his voice dripping with amusement.

Another person steps forward, their dark hair sweeping over their eyes. They’re clouded over with something dark, something deep. They seem as though they’ve seen a lot of things. 

“It’s coming,” he says. “The universes are colliding.” 

[pugh-bug]

Scott Lang x reader

Chapter 2

I apologise this is a long chapter but domesticated Avengers makes me happy. If you’re reading this it’s meant to be a slow burnnn so enjoy the burning, the Tony x reader friendship and Thor being domesticated. If you like unsmashed lamps this chapter may be hard for you to read I’m sorry.

Warnings: none. unless you count archers breaking things.

You opened your weary eyes but everything was still black. Something warm was brushing against your face. You were warm... and in bed. ‘Please tell me I’m in my own bed.’ Without moving your splitting head you had no idea who could hear you until the unmistakable voice of Thor replied ‘It’s your own.’ He sounded amused. Somehow you felt well rested and more tired than you’d felt since Scott kept you up all night showing you card tricks, all at the same time. Although out of all the occupants in Stark Tower, Parker tired you out the most. The child. He was lucky you liked him.

Groaning you rolled over and face dived into your pillow clenching your eyes closed. Of course it was your bed. No one else’s smelt this good. Unless you’d gone nose blind as that weird advert went. ‘What day is it?’ You felt ridiculous asking but wasn’t this how you were supposed to behave? Youth? because Peter was in the minority being so morally well adjusted.

‘Sunday.’ That voice woke you up. ‘Y/N we can leave if you really want to sleep for another hundred years,’ you finally opened your eyes to see a much happier Scott smiling at you. Next to him was a smiling Thor glancing outside at the blue sky like a bird and a Peter looking apprehensive. You weren’t sure what as wrong with him he didn’t have the worst hangover of all time.

‘Come on get up,’ Scott spoke to you like you were five which just made you scowl... like a five year old. Looking mockingly scared Scott raised his hands up in ‘defeat’. ‘Okay don’t get up. I’ll just eat all the delicious pancakes Thor made myself.’

Thor snapped out of his bird watching trance to grunt before nodding ‘Yes. I’m afraid they are delicious.’ What did you do to deserve such generosity? And how could you resist pancakes? Oh but bed or pancakes?

‘These are amazing!’ You exclaimed (you had chosen pancakes). Thor grinned at your compliment as you ate like a rabid dog. Scott closed all the kitchen cupboards - he was such a dad sometimes - before leaning on the worktop facing you. ‘I’m glad you like them ,’ Thor remarked before finishing his breakfast and going to presumably get a shower leaving you with your favourite ant and third wheeling spider.

‘S- so I have an assignment due next month which is gonna take forever but Mr Stark-‘ as Peter launched himself into a long winded story about homework Scott caught your eye and smirked. You felt as if you were speaking in code. He watched you listen to your friends tangled tale with as much enthusiasm as you could muster despite your hangover. It seemed to amuse him.

‘And I was thinking who do I know that knows a lot about this sort of stuff? Y/N but I didn’t know how to ask y-‘

Scott gave you his best: can-you-believe-this-shit look and chuckled quietly keeping his eyes on yours. You smiled back but tried not to laugh - not wanting to upset Peter. Scott wasn’t as used to him as you were. He must have felt ancient beside someone as young and sprightly as the kid because even you felt middle aged in comparison. Luckily Peter had the attention span of a little child so before Scott could even try and think about asking him to leave he was off. Where? Chasing butterflies and doing something you did not need to know about.

You swallowed your words before they came out once Peter had left you and Scott alone. He was washing up and you weren’t even bothering to offer to do it instead. The hangover brain was strong and you didn’t even remember drinking never mind being pissed. Just as you watched him wash the final plate Scott turned to look at you. ‘You don’t even remember what you did last night do you?’

Oh fuck. Shit. What did you do? What could you have done? How could Scott tell you didn’t know? Was he turning into a psychic because of the quantum realm? It wouldn’t surprise you. Less and less shit did since moving to Stark Tower.

‘No. How can you tell? Have you absorbed Charles Xavier’s powers?’ Thank god the panic didn’t show in your voice for a change because otherwise all those oscar worthy performances you gave in the shower would have been a waste of time. Scott’s face pulled into a smug smile as he sat down at the breakfast table you hadn’t left.

‘Oh poor Y/N,’ he pulled a mocking sad face and used his creepy high pitched voice you hated. ‘Is someone confused?’ He was revelling in having the upper hand for a change.

‘Funny. You’re funny. Now tell me what I did or didn’t do last night before I throw this plate at you.’ You both knew you would never throw a plate at his cute face. It wouldn’t be worth the lecture of Steve on manners either. Steve. What could he possibly teach you about manners - they were fucking impeccable?

‘That’s not asking nicely.’

Your stomach contracted slightly as you could almost visualise the two pathways the conversation could lead to. His eyes were burning into yours with a new intensity you’d never seen in Scott before. It made your mouth dry and you cheeks burn up slightly. You felt like you’d been shoved into an oven without warning.

‘Fine,’ he refused to break eye contact with you and it was infuriating in a way. You willed him to stop as if he could in fact mind read. ‘Please just tell me what happened.’ Normally you only took this tone with Tony, you couldn’t help but wonder if in a weird way it meant you were getting closer to Scott. Atleast more comfortable. That would help you make less of a spectacle of yourself on a daily basis (not that that wasn’t fun but- ).

He told you that it wasn’t as bad as everyone was making out but you had decided to play beer pong with Thor and lost. Badly. You’d apparently cried when Clint said he didn’t want to play just dance and stormed off like a grumpy toddler who couldn’t get her own way.

‘Jeez,’

‘I know. You’re classy.’

‘I can be classy!’

Scott snorted at your outrage, downing the last of his orange juice while you sat in mock disbelief. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’ Okay noted. Scott didn’t think ripped fishnets were classy. Interesting. His ex wife was classy - ah let’s not open that door.

‘I didn’t throw up did I?’ You finally asked the burning question every hungover Gen Z member had to ask. He ran his hands through his dark hair but you refused to let your eyes linger for too long. ‘No you didn’t.’ This was followed by a cat like stretch he seemed to revel in performing. You heard the bones in his wrists crack and narrowed your eyes at him because you couldn’t think of what else to say. He didn’t seem interested in speaking either, he was blank. Fuck it. You knew when to let a conversation end.

‘I’m gonna shower.’ and as you left Scott alone in the kitchen to find the bathroom empty you smiled: if Scott had been 18 he would have said ‘without me?’ and thank god he wasn’t. You liked your older men immature in some ways (the fun ways) but pick me boys you could not abide. Scott was certainly not one.

After you’d sucked any joy out of showering dry by obsessing over how sad Scott may or may not be about his ex wife (or if he wanted advice) you dried yourself. You were 18 what advice could you have for the man? Middle aged men did seem to come to you for advice despite your own doubts and lack of experience. When Steve had been left out of a mission because of another fight with Bucky you practically became his mother consoling the drama queen. Tony called it ‘hilarious’ but you had a different word for the experience. That being said you wouldn’t mind listening to all of Scott’s problems on a loop on a fucking tape but bias is bias.

The walk to Tony’s obnoxiously large living room was short from the bathroom. The sound of the cold tile against your bare feet was all you could hear for a moment before the sound of-

‘Shit. Shit!’

Clint.

You entered the crime scene cold and confused, your wet hair was dripping cold down your back making you shiver. Stood in front of the tv flaming at the nostrils was a pissed off yet guilt ridden Clint Barton looking down at his handiwork. Lay on the floor was the lamp you’d bought Tony for his birthday. Smashed.

Nat was scowling at the archer lecturing him on how to carry things like a cross teacher. Wanda, Vision, Bucky and Steve were less concerned. You weren’t concerned at all it was a fucking £10 lamp. ‘Nat it’s fine it was an accident it’s just a lamp.’ You interrupted her scolding which gained you a sympathetic smile from Clint. His eyes said thank you. Nat did not seem convinced but swallowed her pride and calmed down anyway.

You scanned the room until your eyes met Scott, which you knew you needed to stop doing so often. There they were. Pointing back at you : a mixture of humour and the sadness you couldn’t stop noticing even if no one else did. You caved first and smiled at him. It was impossible not to.

‘Are we forgetting he’s a millionaire?’ Scott laughed at his own comment.

‘Excuse me, billionaire.’ Tony revelled in correcting people on how much money he had. How many cars he owned was a fun one too or how many times he’d redesigned everything in the house because he was ‘bored.’ Nat rolled her eyes in your direction which you quickly returned.

‘Really? Billionaire?’ Scott couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His voice was so high and his eyes were so wide you just grinned at his adorable face. Bless him. He knew nothing about Tony’s empire. What no one wanted was Scott’s lack of knowledge to end in a long speech from the billionaire about his life story. No one would stay for that.

‘I bought you churros. You said I had to pay for everyone’s.’ Scott sounded as if he could cry, so naturally everyone laughed. Even Vision. You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen him laugh before, it was so sweet. ‘Well I’m sure you’ll survive.’ Tony’s signature eyebrow raise was code for I’m-better-than-you.

Once everyone got up to get drinks and choose a film Scott snaked his arm onto your shoulder startling you. Everyone was on the other side of the room and no one was looking. There was a chance Tony was to see if you made a fool of yourself but you could live with that. ‘You jump so easily,’ he was not wrong. Everything startled you. ‘Did you know how much money Tony made?’

His hand left your shoulder, making you fight the urge to sigh in disappointment from the lack of touch. He sounded genuinely curious. Why he was fixating on Tony’s money you did not know. He didn’t steal anymore.

‘Everyone does. Why are you so interested? Are you planning a heist?’

Scott’s face changed. He was stood so close to you if either one of you moved there’d be no space to breathe. You wondered if he would ever fucking notice your ‘little crush’ on him or if it would continue like this forever. Would that be so bad? No. It would make more sense.

‘If I was you could be my accomplice.’ He sounded so confident. Of course it was a joke but still .. you? A criminal?

‘Hmm ... I think Nat would be a better choice.’ He smiled down at you as his hand found its way back to your shoulder. His touch, even in a non sexual way, made you feel like putty.

‘Sure she can come too. You’d be better company though, she’s a bit scary.’ You both laughed and then he was back to the sofa with the others. It took you a moment of standing around like an idiot taking Scott’s words in before you could join them.

Better company. Better company. Better company that a Russian assassin? Did that really mean much?

Taglist: @supraveng

[fanfuckingfic]

You Move Like Real People Do

(Choreographer!Jimin x Ecologist!Namjoon x Singer!Reader)

Summary: Sometimes loving someone is just too easy. It just sinks into you so deeply or floats you away so high either way it shouldn't be hard to hold on to.

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings: (Sappy fluff, polyamory, lots of talk about bog bodies, excessive amounts of admiration, the songs are literally Hozier’s and you should listen to them if you haven’t, oh my god this is so self indulgent)

A/N: I haven't written in like 3 years and I've never tried bullet fic style so please be nice :( also I love Hozier so much oh my god I literally just built a whole universe in my brain around his music + bangtan and I think Movement fits Jimin so well and LRPD is a sick song and Joon is a just weird nerd but anyway please enjoy and lemme know what you think! 

--------

Namjoon is an ecologist and Jimin is a choreographer and Y/n is a famous indie-rock blues singer/songwriter (literally just fucking Hozier because I love that man with every bit of my heart).

You and Joon are early risers and spend mornings sipping coffee and reading together on the couch while you wait for Jimin to get ready for the classes he teaches alongside being a choreographer so they can kiss him good morning and wish him a good day when he leaves.

You’re sure to put extra honey in his green tea to-go cup, and he kisses you both quickly on the cheek before scurrying out the door.

They both kind of fiddle around with their day cause Joon is a professor at the local university and only has classes twice a week and finished grading that last assignment yesterday.

So now he's watering his plants and terrariums in the greenhouse porch you all have and your sitting there fiddling with your guitar, messing around with some chords sometimes writing them down sometimes not.

Casually you ask Joon which student had the best paper.

“One student went out of their way to be a kiss ass if that counts.”

You ask how he means with a chuckle.

“Well you know how I've been writing a thesis about bog bodies and what-not?”

“Yes of course, love, you only remind me of the phenomenon every chance you have.” You look up at him with mock disdain. 

His eyebrows furrow, “I thought you liked talking about the bog bodies” He pouts and you honestly can't even try to deny it.

“I do, I think it's kind of beautiful- not like dead people that's shitty- but when you describe how the swamps and bogs preserve them and how they’re found.” You take in a deep breath mulling over your words for moment.

“You make things like that sound so beautiful, Joonie. Even if I don't get half the big sciencey words you say. It sorta sounds like people falling in love with something they shouldn't but doing it anyway.” You smile to yourself thinking of him talking to (mostly at) you.

Namjoon still gets flustered easily by your and Jimin's creative ways of declaring your love.

He hears Jimin's tinkling laugh in your music and his own words in your songs, sometimes he feels like he doesn't love you both back enough but you both are quick remind him that he doesn't show love through notes and twirls

He shows them through flowers he picks and the way he's always willing to interrupt himself to explain something when he sees confusion in either of your eyes, because he knows you want to but wont stop his train of thought, you both want to understand what he's babbling on about because you love him.

(And he looks so fuckin hot when he goes on his passionate rants about certain bacteria being the back bone for an entire ecosystem how could you not?)

He blushes and clears his throat.

You always find the beauty in everything, can turn just about anything into a love story, a poem.

He loves that about you and Jimin you're both so able to make the world more beautiful with your bodies and minds. You both love that he adds so much sustenance to that beauty. 

“You're right, bog bodies deserve love, just like any real person does. But a student wrote their paper on them and used me as a source in their reference page.” He huffs, still amused by the students' tenacity. 

“Any real person, huh? You gave them an A didn't you?” You absorb his words before deadpanning.

Namjoon doesn't answer and instead bends down to kiss your lips then your forehead before he goes back to being very interested in how his Venus fly trap is doing.

Some days when your writer's block is extra bad and you've been struggling to come up with lyrics that mean anything or chords to go with them, Jimin asks if you want to come with him to the studio.

He's just experimenting with some new choreography so it's just you two. 

He notices when you get into these slumps you can't quite reach your way out of and staying in the house all cooped up trying to get inspired by the same things you see everyday isn't going to help. 

It's a classical piece a dance company hired him to choreograph, wordless dancing was always his forte.

Feeling the music move through him and around him, throw him to and fro. He likes to feel like a tool of expression- like an instrument to be played. 

You watch him work and think and move, over and over again, something just slightly different each time just slightly closer to what he wants. 

He's breathless by the time he comes to sit next you against the back wall he saw you staring the whole time and loves how he can still make you and Joon speechless and swooning even after all the years together. 

“Sometimes I forget you're real, you know, when you dance.” You murmur head on your knees still in a daze after watching him.

Jimin quirks an eyebrow and smirks.

“The hell does that mean?” He simpers, knowing you're probably about to say something that will completely floor him and make him fall for you even harder. 

“You just stop looking real I guess, you look like if I reached out to touch you, you would still just be barley out of reach, like driving towards a rainbow or a mirage, ya know?” 

He quirks his head, not really understanding what you mean but trying to.

“You're just so good at using your body to show a concept you almost kind of become one. I don't know, mostly, I just feel like I'd chase you forever if you really were unreachable like that, I don't think I'd mind.” You shrug and reach for his hand to fiddle with. 

He exhales in surprise. He was absolutely right. Floored.

“Would you dance with me? Running after me doesn't sound as pretty as us dancing together forever.” He asks twisting you fingers with his.

“I don't think I'd have a choice not wanting to dance with you would be like not wanting to breathe.”

He sighs dramatically. “Babe! How am I supposed to be okay after you say shit like that? Huh?” He laughs and shoves your shoulder playfully.

You laugh and fall over pulling him with you. 

Namjoon comes by later with drinks from the cafe he knows Jimin loves and finds you both slow dancing in the middle of the empty studio.

You both pull him in between you and continue to sway back and forth. It's sweet and romantic and your drinks go cold before any of you are ready to let go of each other.

Your latest album was amazing and you're about to go on tour and you're nervous to be away from your guys for so long cause last time you went on tour you weren’t as famous and such didn't go to different countries to perform. 

You're gonna miss them terribly and they miss you twice as bad and they definitely bawl their eyes out when your tour bus is out of sight.

They tried really hard to keep up the smiles for you cause you deserve the success and the recognition without guilt or reservations but wow the house is so quiet without your absent-minded humming and strumming and no knew pieces of paper with potential lyrics scattered around the countertops. 

You all keep in touch of course- face-timing at least once a day with both or either of them and you ask them not to watch any recorded performances cause you don't want them to spoil it for when you come back and do your final home concert. 

Your reason being: you left two songs off the album you wanted to perform on tour.

So now it's your last concert before you get to sleep in the same bed as your loves again, they arrive early but you're still too busy with sound check and your drummer having boyfriend problems to get more than a hug and kiss to each of them. 

They don't mind though they know how concerts are for you. You love them- you get to give your fans a bit of your soul and they all give a bit right back. 

They meander through the crowd towards the front not too close though. Your manager tried to get them to stay backstage but they both wanted to get the full experience since they did as promised and had steered clear of any footage of the concert. 

When you walk out everyone lights up and the energy in the whole concert hall shifts.

You smile so bright and they're close enough they can see the surprise on your face when you look down into the crowd and see them. Your eyes soften and get a little misty but ever the professional you trudge on. 

Song after song you work the crowd into the comfort of your melodies and words have people screaming, crying and eating out of the palm of your hand so easily. 

You get to the end of your set, Namjoon and Jimin know- you'd asked them for help when planning the show. They knew which songs you were gonna sing and when but it didn't occur to them it seemed just a bit short until now when you're clearly your throat and asking for the house lights to be brought up just a bit. 

“The next two songs are love songs, I would sing about political injustice and grieving a metaphorical loss all day if I could-” the crowd hoots a few times with their chuckles and Namjoon and Jimin feel surprised grins growing on their faces.

“but I'm just too in love to not write a song or two.”

You strum a tune he’s only slightly familiar with, its something he’s heard you tweak for the past year or so.

“The lyrics of this one are a bit odd and terribly specific to a certain person so bare with me.” 

The auditorium murmurs a laugh again knowing your lyrics more often than not are. 

“I had a thought, dear, however scary

About that night, The bugs and the dirt

Why were you digging?

What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask you, neither should you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do”

The piano sounds and the haunting harmony from your back up singers makes Namjoon’s heart race. 

He knows what you're singing about, Jimin knows too he might not get it as well as Namjoon does right now- some of the things Joon talks about are just slightly too icky for him- but he does know that if he could dance about Joon’s brain he would. 

He smiles when Namjoon's hand squeezes his, his eyes unable to look away from you and the little story being told between you two right now. 

“I knew that look dear, eyes always seeking 

Was there in someone, that dug long ago

So I will not ask you, why you were creeping

In some sad way I already know

I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask you and neither would you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do”

Noli timere Namjoon hears the words being dragged and stretched in your vocals and his heart clenches.

“I could not ask you where you came from

I could not ask you, neither could you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We could just kiss like real people do”

Your voice tapers off and the strums slow as you open your eyes and hold his gaze meaningfully. 

Namjoon is left feeling like he's floating.

You wrote a song about something he cares about, you wrote him a song about one of his favorite things even if it is a very creepy weird thing.

You took all the thoughts he poured into your ears and made it something people could love just a little bit easier. He almost thought he couldn't love you more than he already did.

“This next one might be a bit less niche but if you've ever seen your lover dance you would know exactly what its about.” 

The heavy dip of bass vibrates their feet and a resounding clap comes to fill the air as the surprise and tears come his eyes. 

“I still watch you when you're groovin'

As if through water from the bottom of a pool

You're movin' without movin'

And when you move, I'm moved”

Jimin’s hand comes to his mouth and you smile mischievously into your mic.

“You are a call to motion

There, all of you a verb in perfect view

Like Jonah on the ocean

When you move, I'm moved

When you move I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be

When you move I could never define all that you are to me”

You look directly at him making sure he knows this is his song. 

“So move me, baby

Shake like the bough of a willow tree

You do it naturally

Move me, baby

You are the rite of movement

Its reasonin' made lucid and cool

I know it's no improvement

When you move, I move”

Jimin laughs wetly at your joke. You’re wrong- he thinks- your body is absolutely and improvement of any situation. 

“You're less Polunin leapin'

Or Fred Astaire in sequence

Honey, you, you're Atlas in his sleepin'

And when you move, I'm moved

When you move I can recall somethin' that's gone from me

When you move, Honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free

So move me, baby

Shake like the bough of a willow tree

You do it naturally, move me, baby

So move me, baby, Like you've nothin' left to prove

And nothin' to lose, move me, baby

Ooh, ooh, ooh

Oh baby, oh baby

Move like grey skies

Move like a bird of paradise

Move like an odd sight come out at night”

The sudden crash of the band coming together to put music to your declaration makes goosebumps rise on Jimin's skin, Namjoon looks between you both and his heart melts softly in his chest. Just the admiration between you both enough to make him fall all over again.

“Move me, baby

Shake like the bough of a willow tree

You do it naturally, move me, baby

So move me, baby

Like you've nothin' left to lose

And nothin' to prove, move me, baby

So move me, baby

Shake like the bough of a willow tree

You do it naturally, move me, baby”

The calls and hums of you and your back up singers echo quietly before applause assaults their ears, the cheering nothing short of deafening. 

You bow and wave backing away from the mic for a few moments- taking in the last show you'll be doing for a while- before walking off stage.

Namjoon knows he should be pulling Jimin with him towards backstage so they can smother you with love properly but hey can't move Jimin has tears streaming down his face and Namjoon is too awestruck about you remembering him going on about the last words of a poet who had written about the bog bodies and how you always just cared so much about him and Jimin.

Eventually they do move through the leaving crowd towards security, the guards already aware of their faces escort them.

They knock on the green room door with your name next to it. 

It swings open so quickly they flinch back and the woman barreling into their arms throws them back at least a foot. 

“I missed you so much” you all but sob into their chests. Clinging tightly to their shirts.

They share a look over your head all too endeared with your clinginess having missed it terribly for the past months.

“We missed you too angel.” Jimin sighs into your hair, much closer to your head than Namjoon. 

Namjoon hums in agreement then sniffles making you both turn your faces up to look at him, Namjoon crying was a really rare thing well maybe in comparison with you and Jimin who will cry at an emotionally manipulative commercial without hesitation. 

You're both slightly shocked to see tear tracks on his adorably reddened face and him struggling to control his breathing.

“Ooh Joonie.” You coo then pull them both into the green room and start wiping at his cheeks. He sniffles again and it's absolutely precious.

“Y-you sang about b-bog bodies!” He sobs hauling you off your feet pushing the air out of your lungs. 

Jimin laughs and sniffs wiping at his now wet face too. 

“You guys liked them? They weren’t corny?” You wheeze as he sets you back down between them.

“Are you kidding?! You referenced Sergei Polunin, that's so corny, babe.” Jimin pets your cheek and kisses it tenderly. “Of course we loved them.”

“I'm gonna put my song in my thesis, its gonna open a whole flood gate for the romanticism of them.'' Namjoon says, mostly to himself, still shaky with tears.

Jimin pulls you both in for another hug and in a similar state to Namjoon says, “I’m gonna choreograph both of our songs. I’m dropping all my projects for it- right now.”

You laugh and shake your head before pulling back to take them both in again still not over how long it’d been since you got hold them. 

“You wanna go somewhere? Get a welcome home drink or meal or candle or something?” Jimin asks, putting your hair back into place as best he can. 

“That diner with the shakes on 5th is probably still open-” Namjoon starts but you shake your head.

“Can we just go home? I missed you so much.” They both nod with the softest smiles and each grip a hand.

Your tour bus dropped off most of your stuff at home earlier that day so Namjoon just takes your backpack and Jimin pulls your guitar over his shoulder. But not before asking with a smirk-

“Did you say Fred Astaire in sequins?”

--------

Thank you for reading <3 Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this! It’ll lets me know if I should write more or not

[shewantedtobeasecretgirl]

The Backstage Pass (Out)

Hey everyone... this is still not an update of Do You Wanna Dance? but another pathetic attempt of me to provide you with PJ-related reading material... Sssooo, there was this post of @gardenofstoney... and I’ve always taken tags verry seriously. I felt addressed since the situation she described sounded absolutely like a perfect fanfic material so I ended up playing with the idea. One thing led to another and a Stone Gossard one-shot happened, which I hereby share with you (with her and @mookiebaelock’s consent). Disclaimer: may contain traces of Jeff Ament!

Ps. I solemnly swear I get Judy out of the shower soon.

„Are you sure you don’t want to move towards the side of the stage? These Vedder-fanatics seem pretty dangerous, I’m not sure I want to be here when they go wild…” Mel asked fidgeting with the setups of her professional camera.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m fine here…” Maggie answered leaning her forehead against her arms that were resting on the barrier. She was dog-tired; she and her best friend, Mel were cueing the whole day to get there at the show of their favorite band, Pearl Jam. Actually, Pearl Jam was their second favorite band but it was the rock group that brought them together. They saw each other’s introduction in the “Pen Pal Wanted” column of Footsteps, the band’s fanzine and the rest was history... And finally, they were there, standing at their precious front row places, waiting for the show to begin…

They agreed on standing in front of the center of the stage since they both had different preferences… Mel was dying to make close shots of her bassist crush (and maybe steal a few smiles and glances from him), while Maggie was interested in the other side of the stage… to be more accurate, in the person who regularly ruled it. Stone Gossard. The absent-minded, aloof alien who played the rhythm guitar parts and who, unfortunately, wasn’t the most responsive member of the band. He was said to be a sarcastic, hilarious and nice guy but at shows he just… didn’t give a shit about the crowd. He was usually absorbed in the songs, following the rhythm with his entire body, marching to the beat or just bobbing his head… but that was all. No interaction, no communication, just the chords. If Maggie had been alone there, she would have picked his side and stayed there as if she had been pinned to the ground… but Mel wanted to stand near Jeff so they made a compromise. Of course, Mel tried every kind of dirty trick to lure her closer to Mike’s and Jeff’s territory and Maggie begged desperately with her irresistible sad puppy face to move in the other direction, after all, if the mountain won't come to Muhammad… and Jeff would bounce around, anyways, she argued. But neither of them could convince the other one so they were stuck in front of the place of Eddie Vedder and they knew they would have to fight hard to be able to keep their position.

“You will defend me, I know.” Maggie cuddled to her friend, letting herself be pulled in a bear hug. She was short and slim, the top of her head barely reached the level of the tall Mel’s chin, that’s why they often joked about themselves being two dogs coming from different species but being allies and best friends forever.

“I’ll defend you just… not now, oh my god, ohmygod, they’re here, that’s him!!!” Mel suddenly let her go frantically taking one picture after another of her main target.

“Okay, I can’t win against Jeff Ament…” Maggie shook her head with a forgiving smile only to discover the object of her admiration appearing on the other side of the stage, walking around with a deadpan on his face. She couldn’t help chuckling when she noticed he was wearing a black socks-dress shoes combo... with light brown shorts. She’d already got used to these weird testimonies of his terrible fashion sense but he always managed to surprise her with a newer unacceptable outfit.

When the singer finally showed up too, the crowd moved forward, pressing the girls against the barrier… and from that moment on, they only had some rest during the slower songs. Not that they wanted to complain, they were singing along the lyrics, screaming, laughing, crying or just squeezing each other’s hand making sure they were not dreaming, they were finally together, having the time of their life, really living their favorite songs. Mel was overly contented with seeing the bass player’s manly moves in the tight tank top he was wearing and the passionate solos and dazed-off moments of Mike pleased both of them too, even if they were within the spitting range of Ed. But as time went by, they both started feeling the depressing thought that this would be over soon, even if they tried to fight against it by bouncing and screaming twice as intensely as before…

When Stone started playing the opening chords of State of Love and Trust, the crowd went completely nuts and Maggie had to tighten her grip not to be drifted… the pressure behind her eased for a second but at once, she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head and lost the touch with the outside world…

***

Mhmmmm… what are these bright lights? I must have died and got in that shining corridor about which people who experienced clinical death always tell…

“Jesus, I go blind…” I mumble… or am I just hearing my own thoughts? Shit, this splitting headache, I’m definitely alive, I must have fallen asleep after taking in my migraine pill.

“Do you prefer low light?” a nasal male voice asks and as I look around, I find myself lying on a couch but I’m not in my own apartment, I don’t know this place. Oh, so I’m in a dream, nice, let’s see where it’s going…

“Yes, please!” I groan covering my eyes.

“Clouds roll by… sorry, bad joke, here, is it better his way?”

I take away my hand from my eyes and let them adjust to the pleasant half-light provided probably by a standing lamp somewhere out of my sight. When did I learn how to change the setting of my dreams? Cool… The owner of the voice takes place opposite me only to make me realize, I’m in a Stone dream, moreover, this time it’s a new one.

“Are you okay?” he’s checking me with the inquiring but still expressionless stare of a toad.

“More or less…” I mumble helplessly. Interesting, I’ve never had such a vivid dream about him, it’s somehow different, like I was in charge, I’ve never felt like this before while dreaming… Familiar melodies provide the musical accompaniment, I have to listen for a few bars until I recognize Yellow Ledbetter… but he’s here… and the music comes from…?

“Are we… at a show?” I ask suspiciously, I’m afraid that despite the realistic surrounding, it’ll turn into an incoherent screenplay written by my subconscious.

“Yes, we are…”

“But how come you’re not playing? You should be on the stage with the others…”

“I don’t feel like playing… I mean in that song, I have basically not much to do, I strum the same chords as Mike, it’s boring. At sound checks, sometimes I beg until I can play the drum parts, I’m a desperate drummer but I love it. But the rhythm guitar part is just… nah. Plus, I had to pee, anyways.”

“Fair enough.” I snicker. He’s such an awkward dork, even in my dreams. “Well, that happens if a musician is too busy with drinking beer at gigs instead of playing”.

“Excuse me?” he startles offended. That’s my favorite thing in dreaming, I can do and say what I’d never dare in real life.

“Do you think we don’t notice when you’re just fudging, walking around with the guitar and use the change of amplifier setups as an excuse to take a few sip of your booze? That doesn’t really count as musical contribution.”

“Ugh, busted. I try not to drink before the show though. Right as soon as I get onstage I start drinking. But come on, I never belch out of key, what’s this if not musical humility?”

I snort shaking my head and keep grinning from ear to ear. If he’s such a hilariously funny guy in my fantasy, how adorable he can be in the reality… I know he used to be an annoying, sarcastic little shit but when PJ got really successful, he mellowed down and made himself to the main target of his irony… The mixture of this down-to-earth humbleness and calm confidence was one of the main reasons why he became my favorite member in the band; in the band that only consists of great, relatable people, by the way.

Maybe I should use the occasion to have a chitchat with him, I could ask him questions about stuff I’ve always wanted to know… even if the answers are only the products of my mind…

“Do you see the world in yellow?”

Okay, maybe that’s not the best start but the colored lenses of his spectacles somehow distracted me and it just slipped out. He reacts with that short, amused eyebrow twitch I love… good job, Maggie.

“It’s a good question! It’s funny, nobody asked that before… but to answer it, I do, it’s like being trapped in that moment of sunset when everything is glowing in that golden light… but to be less poetic, it makes everyone look as if they were Lego figures, they have yellow head, y’know…”

The mentioning of my favorite toy brings back old memories about the times when I was building my own town with eclectic houses that served as the scene of the made-up action stories crafted by my cousin and me.

“I you were a Lego figure, you’d be a bad boy.” I remark with a timid smile and try to ignore the fact that my cheeks are in flames.

“Only if I were a Lego figure? That’s offensive. I was the member of the gang Newton Street Boys. We were the most dangerous guys on whole Capitol Hill, we terrorized the district by taking protection rackets from kindergarten pupils. They were scared to death when we showed up riding our bikes, I liked the banana-seat ones with the high handlebars - maybe a card in the wheel could have been part of it.” he chuckles playfully. “Anyway, why a bad boy?”

“It’s because of the scruff.” I giggle and reach out to pinch his neck but he leans away.

“Please don’t touch me.” he grunts.

Hey, brain, we had an agreement: if I behave decently enough in real life, you won’t throw any obstacles in the way of my naughty tendencies at nights. So if I want to touch Stone’s perfect neck, I’m gonna to do it. Period.

“I said no!!!” he repeats this time angrier when my fingers approach his skin again. What the hell???

“Sorry. I… I just wanted to say that there were those bearded figures… and you could get them mostly from the pirate or the police station series.”

“You mean they had an attachable Lego beard?” he inquires confused and excited at the same time; I’m sure he’s already forgotten the embarrassing intermezzo and is now desperately trying to recall the look of the little yellow dudes.

“Haha, no, it was just painted on their face. There was the moustache, the regular beard and the scruff that basically meant black dots on their face. And the scruffy guys always played the role of the bad boys in my stories. You know, the bank robber, the fleeing prisoner…”

“… the fucked-up musician… we should definitely have a Lego party once!”

“We should…” I repeat and we’re smiling silently at each other for a few seconds… I clear my throat and swallow hard since my mouth got completely dry, shit, it must be that damn gum-shield I have to wear at nights to prevent myself from gnashing.

“You want some water?” he asks walking to a fridge standing at the door.

“Fuck, yes, I’m dying of thirst.” I moan and I mean it.

“Here.” he hands a small bottle to me while he opens a beer can. I rather don’t make any remarks, the show is over, after all… But now that I think into it, maybe the other band members will show up too… I can’t wait!

I lower my head and press the ice cold bottle against my forehead. It feels incredibly good, that blinding pain is still pulsing in my head. As I direct my gaze onto the ground, I can’t help laughing again when I spot his dress shoes and the black socks tucked into them. The hem rolled down around his left ankle making the socks look like they were unmatched.

However thirsty I am, I can only take small sips since I’m already snorting at the next part of this weird vision.

“Anyway… before the others would arrive, there’s one thing we have to discuss.” I begin when I finally manage to force my facial muscles into a serious expression.

“Something that stays between us? Like a dirty little secret?” his face lights up with a boyish smile.

“Kind of, if your socks are dirty…” I roll my eyes. “It’s the footwear.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Of course yours, mine is normal. Matching boots, a totally adequate choice for a rock concert. But yours is just… criminal.”

“Don’t be rude with my shoes, they look good and they are comfy as fuck!” he circles with his feet comically.

“They do but man, look in that mirror!” I point at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. “You look like the mixture of an elementary school boy and a bachelor dressed by his mother. Shorts with dress shoes? How? Why? It’s an obvious no-no!” I scream.

“I have only these ones, sneakers and flip flops with me, which doesn’t leave much variation.” he shrugs briefly.

“You should have chosen the sneakers… as for the “f” word, I’m not even willing to pronounce it.”

“I always wore hiking boots in the earlier times, they were the most comfortable choice but they weren’t compatible with the heat on stage. And then, I got introduced in the magical world of orthopedic sandals but the band somehow vetoed them, I don’t really understand why... I was only allowed to wear them between shows and at soundchecks but at gigs, I had to wear the boots… Once, before a show, maybe in Atlanta, I can’t remember exactly, the sole of my boot separated so I could only wear my sandals… the guys freaked out about my velvet shorts-sweatpants-white socks-sandals outfit and obliged me to wear Jeff’s shoes during the show.” he recalls but I can barely listen to him, his hand talk and the fidgeting alien fingers are definitely more appealing than the image of Birkenstocks worn with socks.

As my eyes are glued to him, I involuntarily start playing with my hair but my fingers land in something sticky. I check them and glance at him helplessly, as if he could help me find out why blood is the next nonsense feature in this scene.

“Fuck, why didn’t you tell me earlier that you’re bleeding?” he shouts and rushes to the fridge.

“Because I didn’t know…” I mutter and can’t form further coherent sentences since he steps back to me with an ice bag and presses it to the back of my head… and he keeps standing opposite me with his arms laced around my neck. I’m desperately trying to look at the ceiling, the ground and the four walls at the same time, anywhere but him…

“This is too embarrassing, I want this to finally end… this is terrible.” I whisper in pain, fixing my gaze on the ugly shoes and working on calming down my hyperventilation with all my nerves.

“Hey, I just wanted to help! Just for the record, we don’t often let passed-out fans in the backstage, you were in bad shape and…”

“No, I mean, thanks and all but this dream… it’s going nowhere, it was funny but you entering into my personal space creates a tension that needs resolution, like a hug or a kiss or anything, this makes just no sense!” I blurt out, basically arguing with myself, the director of the movie.

“What? That doctor could finally arrive, you must have a concussion!” he gently tries to push me back onto to the couch but I shake his hands off me.

“What doctor... wait… the pain… the blood… is this… real?” I flail still hoping he doesn’t exist and suddenly disappears or turns into my real crush or Edge from U2 or whatever.

“You got hit with by a half-empty beer can and you passed out so the security personnel fished you out of the crowd. Since I came back anyway, I suggested that they should lay you down here until they get a doctor. You got a backstage pass by passing out. A backstage pass out.” he tries to ease he situation with a pun but I’m not really in the mood.

“No… the scruff… the shoes… the ki… I can’t believe I said all this bullshit, this is worse than a nightmare…” I bury my face into my palms completely mortified and stumble back towards the couch dizzily. Suddenly, I hear a familiar voice… Mel!!!

***

“I’m not going to repeat this again, my best friend is in that room so if you won’t let me in immediately, I’m going to fuckin’ sue you!!!” Mel pointed with her index finger outraged at the huge guy standing in front of the door of the dressing room. Actually, instead of suing, she wanted to headbutt him in the chest but she knew it would feel like running into a concrete wall. She’d already been arguing with him for like fifteen minutes but the guy was just standing there with folded arms, stoically bearing the threats and the various spells casted on him by the furious girl.

“Hey, Ernie, I think you can let her in, her friend has just woken up, it’d be better if she’s with her when the doctor arrives…” a top of a head with ruffled hair peeked out of the door. The security guard obeyed and silently stepped aside.

“Maggie!!!” Mel shouted and tossed the young man in the door away to get a free way to her friend. “I was so worried about you!!!” she captured her into a rib-breaking hug.

“I’m… I’m okay… Stone took care of me…” Maggie mumbled against Mel’s chest trying to point at the guitarist under her friend’s arm.

“Stone???” Mel screamed making both of them turn around without breaking the hug.

“Yup.” the guitarist waved clumsily with one hand at her, digging his other hand deeply in his pocket.

Maggie managed to tiptoe enough to rest her head on her friend’s shoulder, which allowed her to saw the door opening… only to recognize the other members of the band arriving back from the stage. The small group was guided by Jeff who stopped at the door exchanging a surprised look with the embarrassed guitarist standing in the room.

Maggie started silently shaking of laughter because she could already imagine what’d happen next…

“Uhm… Mel… I’m choking… please let me go…” she acted patting her friend’s back a few times. “I think you should turn back… slowly…” she recommended biting her lips to hide her amusement when she pulled away to see the girl’s reaction.

“Why… what…?” Mel looked back over her shoulder and… due to the bassist’s excellent reflexes, she didn’t land on the ground but in his arms. Jeff stared shocked alternately at the unconscious girl and the other ones, begging for help with his eyes.

“Jesus, not again… “Stone sighed facepalming.” She’s yours, I’m out.”

[quickspinner]

WIP Wednesday 4/15/20

I’m in the home stretch on this one (nearly 12k words so far, remember when these were supposed to be short?) and I’m trying to finish it so I’ve been pretty focused as far as my writing goes (aside from the occasional break to write more smooches). So, more reverse crush/pro gamer AU.

Marinette sighed and dropped her head back, rolling her eyes. “Stop with the kicked puppy look, give it here.” 

“Huh?” Luka looked up at her. 

“Give it to me, I’ll fix it,” Marinette said, with a wry smile. “You big baby.” 

Luka’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Really, you think you can fix it? I’d hate to give it up, I’ve had it forever.” 

“Obviously,” Marinette snorted as he stripped off the hoodie and handed it to her. She examined the torn seam, and then the other seams. “All of these need reinforcement,” she commented, and saw Luka’s face fall as she looked up. “It’s okay, I can do it,” she said, with some amusement. “If you trust your beloved pile of rags to my possession. I don’t deny the urge to chuck it overboard is strong. Do you want the repairs to show or should I try to hide them?” 

“I don’t mind if it shows,” Luka said, ruffling his hair. “But whichever is faster. I know how to sew a button back on but that’s it so whatever you say works for me.  Are you sure you want to do it now? We’re supposed to be practicing and I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“It won’t take that long and we’re due for a break anyway,” Marinette shrugged. She draped the hoodie over her shoulder and picked up her purse, pulling out a small (well...smallish) plastic box and handing it to him. “Pick a color.”

“Wow, you carry this stuff with you all the time?” he asked, opening the box and looking at the neatly arranged box. He deliberated a moment and then selected a spool. 

Marinette took the kit back and pulled out a needle and a pair of folding scissors. “Really?” she said, holding up the spool of bright red thread. 

Luka shrugged and grinned. “That way I’ll think of you. I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid, but it’s kind of what you said about putting a piece of yourself in the things you make. If you’re doing that for me, I don’t want it to be invisible.”

Marinette’s face turned as red as the thread in her hand, she was certain, and she was equally certain that Luka saw, with the way his grin widened and he averted his eyes, trying to pretend that he wasn’t holding back laughter. “Anyway, I owe you big, thanks for doing this,” he said after a moment. “Above and beyond, even for a teammate.”

“Please, you’re already helping me out.” She snorted, and then she dared to dart a smile at him. “Play for me while I work and we’ll call it even,” she added as she sat down and arranged the hoodie in her lap. 

“Really, you want me too?” He sounded so happy, Marinette was afraid to look at him. She firmly told the butterflies in her stomach to settle down and waited until she was sure her voice would be steady before she answered. “Yeah, I’d love to hear it. You sounded really good before.” She shrugged one shoulder. “A little bit of you for a little bit of me, right?”  

“Well all right then,” he said, still grinning as he went to get his guitar. “Sounds like a fair trade to me.” 

Instead of going back to his perch in the sunshine he sat down in the deck chair next to her, and true to his word, he played while she sewed, occasionally asking if she had a preference, but she just shook her head. “You pick,” she said around the needle clamped between her lips as she unspooled and cut a length of thread. 

She glanced to the right only once and nearly stabbed herself with her needle at the sight of Luka’s bare arms moving as he played Stairway to Heaven, too absorbed in the music to notice her choking on her own spit, thankfully. Penchant for video games aside, Luka clearly led an active lifestyle and his arms were toned and defined without having the bulk of somebody who worked at getting that way, and that subtle swell of muscle was more than enough to send her thoughts scattering to the wind. 

Fortunately Marinette was more than capable of sewing with only half of her brain online. She fixed her eyes on the fabric and resolved not to look at Luka again. She failed only once, glancing up as he softly crooned, “ooh, it makes me wonder…” She met his eye and the soft look and the crooked smile he gave her made her drop her gaze again, hoping he wouldn’t see the blush rising to her cheeks.

[starryknight09]

Unforeseen dangers ch. 4

Summary:  As Peter recovers from his capture by Ross, a photo of him with Tony and the Avengers leaks and is splashed all across the media. Luckily, no one can figure out who he is and everyone thinks the buzz will die down. However, the public’s interest has been ignited. While Tony worries it’s only a matter of time before Peter’s identity is exposed, Peter isn’t as concerned. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen anyway?

Read on AO3.

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A knock sounded on Peter’s bedroom door just as he finished the last equation of the problem set in front of him.

“Kid, can I come in?” Tony’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Sure.” He answered.

His dad walked in, a tense expression on his face.  He wondered if it was from the same thing that’d put a similar look on Pepper’s face.

“Doing your math homework?” Tony asked when he got close enough to see the open textbook and the sheet of paper with the completed problem set to the side of it.

Peter nodded.  “I just finished it.”

Tony ruffled his hair.  “Want me to check your answers?”

“No I got it.” Peter said, trying to fix his mussed up curls.

His dad watched him fondly for a moment, amusement warring with worry on his face.

Peter frowned.  “Is everything ok?”

“Everything’s fine,” Tony answered quickly, “but there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Peter’s heart leaped to his throat.  Had Tony figured out Peter’s plan to change his name?  Was he unhappy about it?  But how had he found out?  Pepper wouldn’t have told.  Had someone else?  Or was it just his dad’s uncanny ability to somehow know everything that happened in his Tower?  Maybe FRIDAY had squealed?

“Um what-what’s up?” He asked, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt.

His dad sighed, sliding his homework off to the side so there was a clear spot on his desk where he could sit down.

“Watch any TV recently?” Tony asked.

Peter blinked.  That was not at all what he’d been expecting.

“Um I watched a few episodes of Love it or List it last night.”

“I thought I told you that show would rot your brain.”

“I like it.”

Tony shook his head with a sigh, but Peter could tell he didn’t actually care.

“What about today?  Did you watch anything today?”

“No.  Why?  Did something happen?”  Had some sort of world catastrophe occurred that he was unaware of?

“Yes…and no.” Tony answered.

“Wow that’s cryptic.” Peter joked, trying to lighten the solemn mood that’d fallen over his room.  “Are you actually going to tell me or am I supposed to guess?”

Tony took a deep breath as if to bolster himself before he answered, “Someone leaked a photo.”

“Ok…” That answer was just as vague.

“A photo of us.”

Peter’s mouth fell open as he tried to absorb the words and what they meant.  “What?  But who would—?  When did—?”  He could only get out clipped, incomplete fragments, but his dad seemed to understand all the same.  

“Some government aide leaked the photo of us together on the couch after the Accords signing.  The press is having a heyday with it.” Tony answered.

Peter winced.  Oh.  That was bad.

Tony continued, “It’s playing on all the major network stations.  Everyone wants to know who you are and what your connection is to me.”

Peter frowned, staring blankly at his math homework for a moment as he tried to process the news.

“What-what does this mean?” He asked, looking up to meet Tony’s worried eyes.

Tony licked his lips and answered slowly, “It means…we’re going to have to be a lot more careful in the future to not be seen together.”

“But why?  If they already know who I am?” Peter didn’t really understand.  Why did they need to be careful if the cat was already out of the bag?  

“No.  They don’t know.” His dad shook his head.  “The photo isn’t very good quality.  I can barely tell it’s you.  They just know I was sitting with some kid.”

Peter scrunched his nose, not really loving that description.  “So what are we going to do about it?”

“Nothing.  We’re going to do nothing and let it run its course and eventually it’ll die down.  We’re not telling anyone who you are or what your relationship with me is.  But like I said, we’re going to have to be careful.  We can’t go out in public together for the time being.  One good photo and they might be able to figure out who you are.”

“And that would be bad.” He said, but it came out more as a question.

Tony frowned as he answered, “Yes Peter, that would be bad.  If the press found out you were my son, they’d hound you nonstop, and it wouldn’t be for only a couple weeks.  It’d be forever.  The unfortunate curse of being a Stark.”  

Peter swallowed hard, thinking of the paperwork he’d just signed to officially make himself a Stark.

“And that wouldn’t even be the worst part.” Tony explained, looking stricken.  “Certain people might see you as a tool they could use to try to get to me.  You’d never be safe, and I don’t want that for you.”

“They could try,” Peter smiled, trying to reassure his dad, “but I’m Spiderman.  I’m not so easy to get to.”

“Don’t underestimate the crazies.” Tony shook his head.  “It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“So, if we’re not going to do anything about it, then why are you telling me?” He asked.

“Because I want you in the loop.  In case things come up or go wrong, I want you to know how serious it could be.”

“Ok.  I guess that makes sense.” Peter’s brow furrowed as another thought struck him.  “Wait.  Is this the emergency Pepper got called back to deal with?”

Tony nodded.  

Peter immediately felt guilty.  Because of him, because of something to do with him, Pepper had needed to run back to work to deal with the fallout.

Tony must’ve seen the guilt on his face.  “Don’t worry kid.  Compared to some of the things I’ve put her through, this is nothing.  And the game plan’s simple.  We’re doing nothing.  We’re not confirming or denying anything or making a statement.  It’s literally no extra work for Pep.”

“I don’t know.” Peter mumbled.   “She looked pretty stressed.”

Tony waved a hand in dismissal.  “She’ll be fine.  Believe me.  The woman’s as tough as nails.”

That got a smile out of him.  “I know.”

“Good.” His dad ruffled his hair again and he groaned in fake complaint.  “You’re done with your homework, right?”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.  He’d done the problem set he’d been working on, but he still had a mountain load to do by the end of winter break.

“What do you say we go down to the workshop and work on the new updates to my suit?”

“I’m in.” He stood, always eager to work on the Ironman armor.

Tony got off the desk and wrapped an arm around his shoulders as they walked out of his room and to the workshop together.  It should’ve been comforting but Peter still didn’t feel completely at ease.  Even though Tony had tried to reassure him, he couldn’t shake the troubled look on his dad’s face from his mind.

“Hey Ned.” Peter answered his phone as he laid on his mattress.  Tony had sent him to bed an hour ago but he still hadn’t been able to fall asleep.  The phone call was a welcome interruption from staring at the ceiling.

“Dude you’re on TV!  You’re famous!” Ned erupted in excitement.

Peter groaned and rubbed his eyes.

“Have you seen the news?  Like literally everyone is talking about you.  I’m friends with a celebrity!”

“I haven’t seen it yet but I’ve heard.” Peter sighed.  “And no one can know it’s me Ned.  You have to keep it to yourself.  You can’t even tell your parents, got it?”

“Oh man.” Ned whined.  “Are you serious?”

“Yes.  I mean it.” Peter reiterated.  “Tony will flip if someone finds out that I’m the one in the picture.”

“You don’t think someone’s going to figure it out?”

“I don’t know.  Tony didn’t seem to think so.  I guess it’s not that great of a picture.”

Ned hummed.  “Yeah it is pretty blurry.  I might not have even known it was you except I knew it was you.”

Peter snorted.

“That sucks though dude.  I thought I was going to be famous by proxy.” Ned said with disappointment.

Peter grinned.  “I don’t think it works that way.”

“I already had an awesome tag line idea for my twitter.”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you want to hear it?”

“Sure.  Why not?”

“It was going to be, ‘Best friend of Ironkid.  Friend of the Avengers.’  What do you think?”

“I think maybe keep working on it.” Peter laughed.  “And my name wouldn’t be Ironkid.”

“Are you kidding?  The media’s not all that creative.  If they found out you were Ironman’s kid I’m pretty sure they’d dub you Ironkid.”

Peter made a face in disgust.  “Oh god I hope not.  That’s reason enough to make sure they don’t find out.”

Ned laughed over the phone.

“So I guess for now I have to stick with secretly being Spiderman’s guy in the chair?”

“And Peter Parker’s best friend.  Sorry.”

“It’s all right.  I like that role better anyway.” Peter could hear Ned’s honest smile in his voice.  “Besides, we both know I probably do better work behind the scenes than out in the spotlight.”

“Yeah and it might sound fun at first, but it would totally suck to not be able to go anywhere without being recognized.”

“Yeah you’re right.  Although, I bet we could get some sweet Comic-Con tickets if people knew who you were.”

“Tony can get those for us anyway.”  Peter rolled his eyes.  “And if no one knows who I am, we can go and not get mobbed, and actually have fun.”

“I guess you have a point.” Ned agreed.

Peter heard muffled voices coming from across the speaker of Ned’s phone.

“Um sorry dude but my mom says I have to go to bed.” Ned said.  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Ok.  Good night Ned.” Peter said with a smile.

“Good night.”

Peter plugged his phone back into the charger and set it on the nightstand.  Fatigue leadened his eyelids, and he closed his eyes as he settled into his soft pillows.  Talking to Ned had at least helped him finally destress.  Sleep was no longer so hard to find.

“How does that feel?” Ross sneered at him as he stabbed a knife straight into his thigh.

Peter couldn’t hold back a cry of pain.  He instinctively tried to grab the offending object but he couldn’t move his arms.  They were tied behind him as he sat helpless in a chair.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Ross said with grim pleasure as he slowly twisted the knife.

It burned.  Electric shocks of agony danced through his leg.

“Stop.” He moaned and crumpled forward at his waist, but he only had enough slack to make it a few inches.

Ross snorted in amusement.

“You want me to stop?  Oh no.  We’re just getting started.” Ross said and ripped the knife out of his leg.  It hurt almost as much as getting stabbed in the first place and Peter cried out again.  He panted as blood bubbled from the wound, too much too fast.

Ross leaned forward and placed the edge of the blood coated knife on his bare chest.

“No.” He pleaded.  “Please.”

The corner of Ross’s lip twisted up in a crazed smile and he pressed down.

Peter watched as blood flowed out and around the knife as it carved into his skin.

“No!” He tried to thrash away but he couldn’t as Ross trailed the knife across his chest to form a burning line of red.

Peter couldn’t help it.  He was crying now.  It hurt.  And there was so much blood dripping down his chest and out of his leg.  He was going to die.  Oh god.  Ross wasn’t going to stop.  He was going to keep going until he slowly killed him.

The man placed the knife a couple inches below the line of open skin and repeated the process, forming another crimson line of open flesh.  Peter didn’t want to look but he couldn’t help it.  The cuts were deep enough he thought he could see flashes of white bone underneath.

“Stop.  Stop!  Please.” He begged through his sobs.

Ross ignored him and continued the process, dragging the knife over his skin to make a third line.

Peter screamed.  He didn’t want to die.  He didn’t.

“Help!  Someone please!  Help!” He yelled hoarsely even though he knew it was hopeless.  He was all alone with Ross.

“No one’s coming to save you.” Ross taunted.  “Not even Daddy.”

Peter whimpered at that.  He wanted his dad.  Ross carved another slice across his front.

“Dad!” He screamed this time, clenching his eyes shut at the pain.  He knew it was pointless and that Ross was right.  Tony wasn’t coming to save him, but he couldn’t help instinctively calling for him.  “Dad!  Help!  Please.  Dad!”

Ross gripped his shoulders and gave them a firm shake.  Why had Ross stopped hurting him?  Peter’s eyes snapped open in confusion.

Instead of Ross, all he saw was a darkened figure leaning over him, holding his shoulders.

“You’re all right.” The figure soothed.  Not Ross.  Peter blinked and immediately recognized his dad.  He took in the rest of his surroundings.  He was in his room.  In bed.  He spread a hand across his chest but there was nothing there.  His leg was fine too.  Nothing hurt.  It’d all just been a bad dream.  Ross didn’t have him anymore.  Right.  Tony had saved him.  And Ross was dead.

Tony sat perched on the edge of the bed and Peter wasted no time in sitting up and wrapping his arms around the man.

“You’re all right.” His dad repeated softly into his hair.

Peter closed his eyes and melted into the comfort.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled.  He had no idea what time it was, but Tony was wearing pajamas so Peter knew he’d woken him up.

His dad shushed him and rubbed a hand over his back.

After a long minute of silent comfort, Tony said, “You were calling for me.”

Peter knew it was a question as much as a statement.  His dad was offering him a chance to talk about his dream but he wasn’t going to force it.

“I was back there.” Peter whispered into Tony’s chest.  “Ross had me.”

Tony made a sound of displeasure but Peter continued, “He was hurting me and he wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t get free and no one was coming to save me and I just wanted you.”

“I’m right here.” Tony said, squeezing him even tighter.  “You’re safe.”

“It felt so real.” Peter mumbled.

“It wasn’t.” Tony tangled a hand in the hair at the back of his head.  “You’re not there.  And Ross is gone.  He’ll never hurt you again.”

“I know.  It’s stupid.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s not stupid.” Tony said firmly.  “What you went through was traumatic.  Someone took you, held you hostage, and hurt you.  I’d be surprised if you weren’t having nightmares about it.  Hell, I’m having nightmares about it.”

“You are?” Peter pulled back and saw the truth in his dad’s eyes.

“Yeah.” Tony tried to smile as he palmed his cheek, but he just looked sad.  “Of course.  Someone took you from me and hurt you as a way to get to me.  That’s the very definition of my worst nightmare.”

“Really?”

“Yes.  Really.” Tony rubbed a thumb over his cheek.  “You’re the most important thing to me.  How many times do I have to tell you that before you finally start to believe me?”

“Lots.” Peter said and grinned.  “Maybe because I like to hear it.”

Tony let out a short huff of amusement and dropped the hand on his face so he could ruffle his hair.  “You seem better.”

“Yeah.” He agreed.  He did feel better.  With his dad so close, the fear from his nightmare seemed miles away now instead of lurking in the room.  “Thanks.”

“Think you’ll be able to get back to sleep?” Tony asked.  “It’s still pretty late.”

“I think so.” He said even though he wasn’t sure.  The yawn that escaped him a couple seconds later seemed to contradict his doubts.

Tony nodded and stood, fluffing his pillow for him and then gently guiding him backward to land on it.  Once he was settled, his dad pulled the covers up to his chin and brushed the hair off his forehead before lightly pressing a kiss there.

“Get some sleep.” His dad whispered.

Peter hummed in response, eyes already drifting closed.  He expected to hear the door click shut as Tony walked out, but instead, a few moments later, he felt the other side of his bed tip.  Peter cracked his eyes open and watched with a frown as his dad crawled into the other side of it.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Shh go to sleep.” Tony said, reaching a hand across the space between them to place it briefly over his eyes to close them.  “I’m keeping the nightmares away.”

“Mine or yours?” Peter joked.

Tony chuckled.  “Both.”

“Night dad.”

“Good night kiddo.”

“I love you.” He mumbled as sleep pulled irresistibly at him.

“I love you too.” His dad said back and Peter could hear all the fondness and love infused in the sentence.  “Now go to sleep.”

Peter hummed tiredly in agreement.  With his dad next to him, a sense of safety encompassed him, and he had no trouble slipping quickly back to sleep.

[localkatshelter]

Okame’s Underbelly: Humiliation |3rd|

(ShinsoxOC) 

Katsumi’s POV (localvillageidiot#0870) and Shinso’s POV (hecker#8339)

Warning: Contains alcohol consumption, heartbreak, suicidal ideation, emotional manipulation/quirk use

Preview:

| “I feel like she just wants me to disappear...” he said from underneath his arm. “Maybe I’ll give her what she wants.”

He mumbled the last bit to himself, probably not intending for me to hear it, but I did. I felt his sadness morph into something more morbid. Oh shit, he’s taking this really hard. Before I realized what I was doing, a question had already escaped my lips.

“Do you really think that?”

“I don't know...”

I activated my quirk immediately after he responded. |

Beautiful Artwork By: Casentine

1st Chapter - Anticipation 

(Katsumi's POV)

I tapped him on the shoulder. Edgelord grunted, looking over at me through hooded eyes. The physical contact sent a jolt through me as my quirk processed the whirlwind of emotions that were coming from him.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine…” His voice was strained, almost as if he was trying to convince himself that it was true.

As soon as he opened his mouth, I could smell the soju. Oh he’s drunk drunk. I tilted my head to the side in an effort to look him in the eye.

“You sure? You don't seem fine to me.” And my quirk is screaming that you're in pain right now. I’d always hated how I couldn't leave someone once I felt that they were hurting, even when it was a total stranger and none of my business.

He chuckled sourly. “Is that so? Then maybe you’re right…” he slurred, smiling half-heartedly.

“So,” I paused, glancing down towards his feet. There were four bottles of soju on the ground, two totally empty and a third about halfway finished. “What’s the matter?”

“The person that cheated on me took it upon themself and decided we weren’t worth fighting for anymore.” He stated bluntly. He lifted his head and looked me straight in the eye. “Isn’t that crazy?” he asked, laughing bitterly.

“Oh wow, I’m sorry.”

He laughed again and shrugged. “They’re probably fucking as we speak.” he said casually and took another swig of his soju and placed the fourth next to him preemptively.

I could feel his heart crack a little further with every word. I couldn’t help but reach out and rest my hand on his shoulder to comfort him. I felt his entire body flinch and tense at my touch. There was a short silence before I heard him speak in a soft, broken tone.

“F-fuck...” His hands gripped the bottle of soju tightly, squeezing until his knuckles turned white.

I could feel him struggling not to cry. His anger and pain began to tug at my chest as the desire to take it all away crept up on me. I unconsciously began to rub the back of his shoulder. I could feel him break beneath my hand. He started to cry, letting out short sobbing breaths. He tried to hide his face in the crook of his elbow.

“I fucking hate this crying bullshit…” he choked out while he rubbed his eyes with his sleeve clumsily.

“There’s nothing wrong with crying. Keeping it in ends up hurting you more in the long run.”

He nodded reluctantly, his head still buried in his arm. I kept rubbing small circles on his shoulder as he regained an even breath.

“I feel like she just wants me to disappear...” he said from underneath his arm. “Maybe I’ll give her what she wants.”

He mumbled the last bit to himself, probably not intending for me to hear it, but I did. I felt his sadness morph into something more morbid. Oh shit, he’s taking this really hard. Before I realized what I was doing, a question had already escaped my lips.

“Do you really think that?”

“I don't know...”

I activated my quirk immediately after he responded, pulling at his emotions lightly to make him feel a bit more open towards me. He’s so drunk, manipulating his emotions is too easy. It’s like taking candy from a baby.

“She let me go so easily...” he said softly.

I continued to pull the self-destructiveness from him little by little until I had absorbed it all, leaving him with a duller version of the anguish that had been there before. Once I let go of my hold on him, he seemed to get more of a grip on himself. He straightened up a bit and I removed my hand from his shoulder. I watched him begin to fidget uncomfortably with his soju bottle, now almost empty. He started to eye the last bottle.

“You know, I’m not feeling too great myself either.” I said while casually reached around him to grab the unopened bottle next to him. “Okame not performing anymore kind of bummed me out. I basically only ever came to The Squeaky Wheelhouse to listen to their pieces. Now I don’t know what I’m going to do on Friday nights... Wow, that sounds so lame out loud.”

I laughed at myself, trying to lighten the mood a bit and put him at ease. I could feel his anxiety and embarrassment, likely because he cried in front of me, a perfect stranger. It’s no big deal and totally not his fault. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine, but he doesn’t need to know that. He seemed to contemplate my dilemma for a moment.

“Fuck that guy.” he concluded with a hiccup.

“Cheers to that.” I laughed a bit as I opened the stolen soju bottle and raised it to him. Our bottles touched and we both took a long swig.

“My name’s Katsumi by the way.”

“Shinso, glad you stumbled upon my sorry ass.” He held his hand out.

I shook his hand, taking note of his firm grip and the roughness that I had admired earlier.

“Speaking of stumbling on you, what are you doing out here anyway?”

“I’ve been waiting for a bus home but it’s been taking fucking forever.”

The bus? I took out my phone to check the time.

“Um... it’s almost 1 a.m. The last bus came, like, an hour ago.”

“No way,” He started to laugh. “I’m an idiot, holy shit”

“Can I call you a cab?”

“No, my parents cannot see me like this.” he said in a lighthearted tone.

“Well you definitely can't stay here...” I trailed off. Am I really about to offer to take a complete stranger back to my apartment? I mean, he seems trustworthy and I don’t get any malicious vibes from him.... “Why don’t you come back with me? You can sleep it off and go home in the morning.”

“Are you sure? I’m just some scary man.” he joked.

“Oh yeah, that mess of lilac hair is absolutely terrifying.” I teased back, getting up.

He laughed, both shocked and amused by my retort. “You’re funny, also fuck you.”

I let out a laugh and motioned for him to get up off the bench and follow me. He tried to stand and stumbled a bit before I caught him by the arm. He steadied himself but I kept an arm behind him to be sure he wouldn’t fall over. We started to walk back to my place together making small talk and joking with each other a bit. It was surprisingly easy to get along with Shinso. We kind of just, clicked. It was actually really nice. Once we got back to my dorm apartment, I grabbed some extra blankets and a pillow to make up the couch for him.

“Just crash here.” I told him, pointing to the makeshift bed. I turned and walked over to the television. “Do you want me to turn this on for you?”

I looked over my shoulder and saw that Shinso was already knocked out. I smiled to myself. He looks almost cute the way he's hugging that pillow. I went into my bedroom, being sure to lock the door behind me. Sure he’s cute and nice, but he’s still a stranger....

I woke up the next morning and he was gone. The only trace he left behind were the blankets, neatly folded on the couch.

(Shinso's POV)

I didn’t remember much of last night and I didn’t really want to. I just remember me feeling like shit, drinking my heart out, and making a fool out of myself in front of a stranger. I remember them being super nice but even so, I dipped out of their apartment as soon as my aching brain drifted into consciousness again. I had to use my phone to see where the hell I was, but once I did, I googled the nearest convenience store. I kept swallowing hard, trying to keep the nausea at bay. I felt so much like death that I debated drinking again to feel better. But I reluctantly decided against it and instead did the right thing, which was to chug water, eat something light, and suffer a bit. On the bus home, I tried to stop my mind from wandering towards what had happened last night. I can’t say I was successful. In conclusion, this whole heartbreak thing was not going to be easy.

The rest of the summer went by in a pitiful blur, in result the next semester seemed to approach very quickly.

I shoved the remainder of my belongings into my shitty little car before settling into the front seat for my brief drive to campus. I typically only brought the essentials so one trip sufficed. It probably seemed unnecessary to live on campus when I’m not that far from it, but living on my own was essential for my general sanity. Also, I much preferred living with my close friend Denki. He shed a light on my abyssal self. It was a pleasant contrast, even though I’d never openly admit it to him. It was an inside joke at this point for me to pretend that I was indifferent about his company. It had been that way since the beginning.

When I pulled up, Denki was already waiting outside the dorm building with a stupid grin on his face.

“How’s my shining baby boy?” he beamed.

I shook my head, laughing at his typical ridiculous term of endearment, and put my hazards on before stepping out of the car. He ambushed me with a hug, which I stiffly returned. He pulled back and looked me over.

“You look so handsome right now, I could kiss you.”

I chuckled, playfully pushing him away.

“Help me move my shit inside, will ya?” I ordered jokingly.

“Aye aye, boss. That’s what I’m here for.”

He saluted before hulking a huge bin of my junk over his shoulder. He’s a lot stronger than he looks; I learned that the hard way when we trained together. It was a nice outlet for stress and a way to be active without being too deliberate about exercising. It was also fun to just fuck around with a friend and kick their ass...in a friendly way of course. I won’t lie, there were a few times where I left practice more sore and beat up than he was. By a few times, I mean more than half the time. However, that percentage was slowly tipping in my favor, so there’s no use in prematurely developing an inferiority complex. Well, I already sort of have one, but for a completely separate reason. I have always been told that my quirk left me vulnerable because it heavily relied on trickery, if it failed it would leave me vulnerable physically. Except they usually didn't say it that nicely. It was often intended to be condescending. I tried to not internalize the not-so constructive criticism but when you hear something over and over again…well, it starts to stick. To push back, I started combat training with Denki recreationally. He doesn't need to know the details of why I suddenly sprung the idea on him a little over a year ago.

We lugged one round of my things into our snug room, which Denki already managed to decorate with album covers. Besides his PC and collection of questionable manga, his side wasn’t that much more complex than I predicted mine to be. Messiness was a whole other subject, but as long as he kept his stuff on his side, I couldn’t give a shit. As we returned to my car, a girl in front of the entrance caught my eye. She was staring me down, looking confused. I assumed she was looking at my ridiculous gravity-defying hair like most people do and went back to grabbing more things out of my car. Before I could gather too many items, I heard a pleasant voice call out behind me.

“Hey, Edgelord.” it mocked in a friendly tone.

My brows pinched together in confusion as I turned around to follow the voice. It belonged to the petite brunette girl who was staring at me. I looked over at Denki to see if he recognized her, but he looked just as baffled as I was. Well, maybe baffled wasn’t the word. He was uncontrollably snickering at the nickname the stranger gave me. She’s bold.

“Um, hey?” was all I could come up with.

“Funny running into you here. How’ve you been?” she inquired genuinely, continuing to speak to me as if we were familiar with each other.

Huh? How’ve I been? Where do I know her from?

“Uh, I’ve been good.” I responded, now trying to mask my uncertainty as to not be rude to this person that obviously knew me from somewhere.

“Well that's good to hear. You’ve been feeling okay?” She smiled, her eyes questioning me earnestly.

I began to shift uncomfortably at the intensity of her caring nature towards me. Especially since I honestly had no idea who she was. Shit, does she know me as Okame? That doesn’t make sense because how would she know? Is she a friend of my ex? That would be so fucked if my ex really ruined my anonymity for something I care so much about. I know she’s spiteful, but I didn’t think she could be that malicious. As these questions shot at me in rapid-fire, I studied the girl before me, trying to find any sort of familiarity. Despite having a more circular face, her jawline was decently pronounced. She was of olive complexion with a light peppering of freckles concentrated on her round nose. She had dark, arched, brows which complimented and contrasted her otherwise soft features. Her eyes were upturned, embellished with a set of thick lashes. Her irises were a striking amber shade...wait that’s familiar. That detail pulled at a vague memory in me. Her head tilted with increasing puzzlement. Fuck, how long has it been since she asked the question?

“Y-Yeah, I’ve been feeling fine.” I stammered.

She giggled at my rushed response. I felt Denki’s mischievous glare on me. I glanced back at him only to catch an annoying wiggling brow.

“Oh good. So, do you need any help moving in? I got bullied into volunteering anyway, so I might as well be of some use.” She tugged on the logo of her shirt and rolled her eyes with a scoff.

I couldn’t help but laugh a little at the idea of a “moving in crew” uniform.

“Nice, but I think w-”

Denki poked me in the side, administering a slight zap. I clenched my jaw, muting a grunt, before throwing a deadly scowl his way.

“What my colleague means to say is that he’s super weak and could really use your help moving in.” Denki interrupted.

I closed my eyes, rolling them behind my lids, while taking a deep breath and accepting his wishes. I learned early on that once Denki made his mind up on something, you’d be wasting your time if you didn’t give in right away.

She chuckled at Denki’s commentary before gesturing to the car.

“You got it. Is this everything?” She grabbed a box and held it against her hip.

I nod in response and we head upstairs. I kept to myself for the most part, still mulling over the mystery of who this girl was. In the meantime, Denki and ? were getting along just fine, surprisingly well for just recently breaking stranger status. She found him hilarious which was concerning because I didn’t need him getting an even bigger head about it.

“Who knew Edgelord would have such cool friends. I honestly thought he was a figment of my imagination until I saw him again today. I mean, who even likes grapefruit soju?” Denki and Mystery Girl cackled in unison.

Grapefruit soju...fuck. I knew she looked familiar. She was the girl from that night where I completely lost it. After ruminating on it the day after, I never really looked back, because I assumed I’d never see her again. She’s seen me at a low point and I was not comfortable with that. Denki noticed me going still for a moment and he gave me a weird look. I took a deep breath to compose myself.

“Yeah, I think me and Denki got the rest.” I interrupted plainly.

She paused, shooting me a baffled look which morphed into annoyance before settling on a neutral expression. I pretended not to notice the myriad of emotions travelling across her face. She clearly understood the intention behind my sudden curtness. I could feel Denki’s glare on the side of my face.

“Oh, okay cool. I’ll be on my way then.” she concluded lightheartedly and turned to Denki. “It was really cool meeting you though! I’m glad we got to talk for a bit. Hopefully I’ll see you around.” She flashed him a bright smile before heading to the door.

“Hold on there, stranger! What’s your name?” Denki called out.

“Oh, right! It’s Katsumi, but you can call me Kat, everybody does.”

“Hi, Kat! I’m Denki, but you can call me anytime.” He topped off the corny line with some finger guns.

She laughed softly to herself. “Okay, you got it.”

She brushed right past me and made her way out the door, disappearing around the corner. After waiting a few seconds, Denki closed the door behind him, leaning his weight on it.

"Dude," he exhaled heavily "What the fuck was that about? You got all weird at the end."

"Did I?" I muttered dismissively while unpacking one of the bins.

"Uh, yeah" he exasperated at this apparently obvious observation. "She obviously knew you from somewhere so there has to be a story. You're a shit story-teller but I'm a whore for tea so my standards are very low."

I moved on to a new box, tuning him out.

"Hellooooo? She clearly cares about you to some extent so there's history." He emphasized the last word. "She's definitely a lot nicer than She-Monster." He casually threw in his charming nickname for my ex.

My body stiffened, and I turned away from him and began to fidget pointlessly with office supplies on my desk. Denki has known me long enough to pick up on my subtle tells no matter how hard I try to suppress them.

"Something happened." He instinctually adjusted his voice to a more solemn tone.

"Yeah…" I sighed, giving in. "I guess I accidentally left that part out about my summer."

"Sure you did." Denki rolled his eyes, already scrolling through our texts. He defeatedly threw his phone on the bed, obviously failing to find any hints as to when it happened.

"But regardless," He hopped on my bed, despite having his own. "I'm all ears." He gave me a warm smile, patting the spot next to him on the bed.

[turtlepated]

Beetlejuice x Reader - Lonely Like Me

Part 4 - Final

[Something weird happened when I reblogged the original and I think I accidentally deleted it. So I’m reposting. It’s not in order anymore but... feh]

-------

You drop your phone on your bed with a startled gasp when the strange man (or wait, didn’t he say demon?)  from the supermarket suddenly appears in your bedroom, striped suit, green hair and all. He looks every bit as garish and shocking as he did that day at the store, but now that you’re paying attention and have him up close you notice details that you missed in passing. Like how his hair is dark at the roots, that there appears to be moss or algae growing on the lapels of his jacket, and that his smile is just slightly too wide and too pointy to be completely human. How could you have possibly mistaken him for just some random, if outrageously dressed but otherwise normal guy? 

  As you behold the full effect of his appearance; the shabby, dilapidated state of his too-large suit, the chipped black paint on his fingernails, the pale skin splotched here and there with splashes of green and purple, you realize that you’ve been staring at him in open mouthed silence for enough time that it’s awkward. For his part, the man/demon/ghost (Betelgeuse?) is staring just as avidly at you, still grinning his enormous Cheshire cat grin. “See something you like? You should know, babes, the first five minutes are free, but after that I start charging,” he says in that raspy, gravelly voice. There is a lurid, salacious tone to his words and he meaningfully waggles his dark eyebrows. 

 You feel warmth rush to your cheeks and avert your eyes, pretending to be very invested in rearranging the bedclothes in the hopes that he won’t catch you blushing. After taking a moment to compose yourself you turn back to him, clearing your throat to speak but finding your mind completely devoid of anything to say. There’s a grinning dead guy in your bedroom, you’re not really sure where to go from here. Betelgeuse appears utterly incapable of being still, he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet and still positively beaming at you when not peering curiously around your room. You flash an awkward smile in return, your hands fidgeting with your sheets and the hem of your nightshirt and one another.

 “So,” you begin, seizing desperately on the first thread of conversation your brain offers. “You’re… you’re really dead?” Betelgeuse snaps his heels together and bends at the waist into a dramatic bow, tilting his head up to shoot you another rakish grin. “Sure am, babes. The Underworld’s leading bio-exorcist, at your service.” He rights himself and, with a flourish, presents you with a battered and yellowed business card. You take it and read, your eyes skimming the slightly faded black lettering. “Betelgeuse,” you murmur to yourself, finding that you rather like the way the syllables roll off your tongue. “Careful with that, sweets,” says the specter. “I just got here, after all.” You frown, not quite understanding what he means, but he did say there were rules about his name. If just saying it out loud three times summoned him, or whatever, then saying it more times might do something else. And, strangely, you dislike the idea of losing this unusual connection so soon. 

 “What should I call you, then?” you ask. “Just to be safe.” He lights up at your question, almost literally. You could swear that the tint of his vibrant green hair has intensified before your eyes, practically glowing like a neon sign. “My first name’s Lawrence!” he replies cheerfully. “But I’ll answer to almost anything; B-man, Bug Beverage, Mr. Juice, I went by Your Eminence for awhile. My BFFFF forever usually just calls me Beej or BJ. But whatever you’re cool with, babes!” His exuberance is equal parts overwhelming and catching and you find yourself smiling as he rattles off other monikers to apply to him. It takes you a few moments to realize that as he’s been talking, he’s risen impossibly into the air and is now floating with his boots several inches off the floor. You raise your palm in a “whoa there” gesture, still smiling so he won’t think he’s annoying you. “I think I’ll go with Beej, if that’s ok with you. Though I do like the sound of Lawrence.”  

  You blink in surprise when strands of his gravity-defying hair abruptly shift to a brilliant bubblegum pink that quickly fades back to green. Well that’s unusual, you think, but it’s oddly charming. At least it’s no stranger than the ghost/demon thing or the levitating. And speaking of the ghost/demon thing, you have questions, several of them, and when you voice your interest to Betelgeuse he is practically bursting at the seams to answer. 

 It is truly amazing how many words are coming out of his mouth and how quickly (apparently he doesn’t need to breathe), and you rather feel like you are clinging to the wing of a cruising plane. But he does his best to explain what he calls “the whole, y’know, being dead thing!” and what his job as a bio-exorcist entails. Some of your questions are answered, but they are quickly replaced by new ones. You get the gist, though, and by the time he’s finished his lengthy dissertation Betelgeuse is sitting cross-legged in mid air and your brain is approaching critical mass. You exhale slowly through pursed lips, unfolding your legs and letting them dangle over the edge of the mattress. “That’s…. a lot to take in,” you admit. Betelgeuse’s eyes widen and a devilish grin splits his face as he exclaims, “That’s what she said!” You groan in exasperation as your head lolls limp to one side, amused by the juvenile joke but not willing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “Oh, God, Beej, that was terrible!” You hear him snort once before he replies, “That’s what she said!! You can’t just keep settin’ em up for me so perfectly and not expect me to take the shot!” 

 He winds up staying with you the whole weekend. Mostly the two of you spend the time just talking, making junk food runs to the nearby convenience store and hanging out together on the couch watching TV. Despite the highly irregular circumstances that brought him into your life, you really appreciate having Betelgeuse around. He tells you about the Netherworld and his living family and he promises to introduce you properly sometime soon. When Monday inevitably rolls around again, you’re surprised to find that the usual bone-deep dread does not reappear. Betelgeuse practically begs to come to work with you, assures you he can make himself totally invisible to everyone but you. You convince him to stick it out at your place until the end of the day. You do still have to get your work done, which will be difficult if you’re trying to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t feed any of your coworkers into the shredder. 

 The day passes quickly and uneventfully and as you commute home you find yourself smiling. Not just smiling, but hardly able to contain your excitement. Someone is waiting for you at home, and he will be just as excited to see you as you are to see him. This isn’t something you’ve ever really experienced before, but it feels nice. It’s warm and comforting and exactly what you wished for. 

As soon as you walk through the door Betelgeuse is there, wrapping you in an almost-too-tight hug and lifting you off the ground. “Babes!” You laugh and slip your arms under his to hug him back as he floats you both into the air. As far as you’re concerned, you could stay like that with him all night. But then you have to go to the bathroom...

The following weekend he directs you to a house on the other side of town, far removed from the Winter River city limits. It’s unassuming from the road, a classic Victorian. Betelgeuse doesn’t hesitate at the door, barging right in over your startled protests. “Attention, jerkwads: new breather coming through!” You almost physically shrink before the eyes of the strangers who appear from different parts of the house at Betelgeuse’s shout. “She followed me home and I’m keeping her,” he announces, throwing an arm around your shoulders and squeezing you against his body. And it is with that illustrious preamble that you meet the Deetzes and the Maitlands. Adam, Barbara and Delia are all consummate hosts and hostesses, welcoming you warmly. Charles is gentlemanly and polite, in a long-suffering but resigned sort of way. Lydia, whom you’ve heard a great deal about, it more reserved but appears curious at the very least when you finally introduce yourself. “Bout time,” she states with a smirk, gesturing at Betelgeuse with a jerk of her chin. “He hasn’t shut up about you in a month.” At her remark you turn to the ghost with the most with a coy smile that he doesn’t see because he’s fiddling with his tie while tell-tale pink bleeds into his hair. 

In practically no time at all you are absorbed into the unconventional Deetz-Maitland-Shoggoth family, as though you always have been and when you’re around them you feel like you are home. 

[niallismymuse]

Chapter 3

Tessa spent the days leading up to the camping trip working as hard as she possibly could. She needed to finish the projects she had already started, because if she left without completing them, a tight knot of anxiety would squeeze her chest until she couldn’t focus on anything but the work that needed to be finished. It would ruin her trip.

She ignored the roommate problem entirely; it was something to worry about after the trip, purely because she didn’t have enough time to interview applicants until she was home anyway. And even if she did, she didn’t want a practical stranger living in here when she was gone.

It had nothing to do with the still-cold silence between her and Jess. Nothing at all.

She had texted the group chat and informed them that Niall was coming. Melody had been excited, and Ryan had cheered simply for more testosterone. Lyrica had seemed excited too; apparently Niall knew how to throw down some alcohol, which was mostly what they did on this trip.

Jess hadn’t said a word.

And it was fine. Whatever. The Christmas gift would remain unopened and at her apartment, for now at least.

She kept in constant contact with Niall over text, telling him what he should bring and informing him that he would have to share a bedroom with Ryan. He seemed excited. It’s been a while since I’ve done something as spontaneous as this, one of his texts read.

This wasn’t that spontaneous – he had a couple days to prepare – but she understood what he meant. It was hard to uproot your system when it was work, and mostly just that. Sometimes at parties, she didn’t know what to do with herself, like she had forgotten how to act after hours of being on the computer.

Well, usually she drank some tequila in those situations and got over it quickly enough. Tessa loved to dance; she wondered, briefly, if Niall would dance with her at the cabin. While she hadn’t been an avid listener, she knew enough about his One Direction days; he hadn’t been much of a dancer then.

She could throw it down, though. Maybe that would be enough for the both of them.

Tessa sighed and took her headphones off, before rubbing at her tired face with her hands. She was going to work herself to death. And ever since having Niall over the other night, she felt like her work hadn’t been quality. Her mind was moving in lopsided circles, like a flat bicycle tire. Work. Niall. Work. Niall. Was this video even worth her time? Did Niall like her as a friend or did he like her like her? Did this concept make sense, and would it translate onscreen? Would Niall have a good time at the cabin?

Eventually, she had to stop and take a break from everything – the video she was working on, and her own brain. Tessa tossed her mouse aside and pushed herself up from her desk, rubbing at her temples and closing her eyes. She exhaled slowly, feeling her shoulders slump as she let all of her anxiety filter out of her. Maybe she needed to go to a yoga class, or something similar, and stretch it out.

As she was weighing the pros and cons of heading to the local gym to see if she could catch a class, her phone rang. Curious, she picked it up and bit her lip when she saw who was calling. It was her mother.

With more apprehension than she was willing to admit, Tessa accepted the call and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Oh, so now you answer me. You’ve been avoiding me for days, and you better have a good reason for it.”

She barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Tessa loved her mom, she really did, but she was often overbearing and some people (like her husband) would even say that she has controlling tendencies. She hadn’t spoken to her since before the pictures of her and Niall had blown up on the Internet, though Maria Jenkins had tried her best to change that. She had been calling every day.

Tessa decided to go with something somewhat close to the truth. “I haven’t really felt up to talking to people, Mom.”

Her mother changed tactics immediately. “Aw, sweet girl, I can’t even imagine the stress you’ve been under, especially with what’s been in the news.” She paused, giving Tessa a chance to chime in with exactly what had been in the news, but continued when she remained silent. “But you can always talk to me, and you can always come home for a little bit. We’ll take care of you and get you right on track.”

Maria had been trying to get her back home since Tessa had left to attend college, years ago. She had never anticipated that her only child would want to leave the nest so soon, and she took any chance she could to remind Tessa that she could always come home if anything was too hard, or if she was struggling.

Privately, Tessa was pretty sure that if she agreed and went home to stay for longer than a holiday, she would never leave again. She had a sneaking suspicion that her mother would try to find a way to keep her there forever – visiting while on breaks from college had been trying, at best. She nearly became a fugitive from her mother one winter break, sneaking out of windows at night just to get out of the house.

“I’m good, Mom, thanks. I’ve just been relaxing around the apartment.”

“Good, good.” There was a weighty pause, and then when her mother spoke again, she sounded almost concerned. “That man…he’s treating you good, right? In life and about this whole paparazzi situation?”

Tessa felt her eyes nearly well up. Of course, her mom was worried about her. She loved her, after all, and vice versa. “Oh, Mom, we’re not together…but he’s a very good friend to me, yes.”

She waited to hear how ‘friends don’t kiss each other’s cheeks like that, Tessa’, but her mother merely sighed instead. “Okay, my girl. I trust you. Just…call me, okay? I miss you. And if everything gets to be too much, you can always come home, even if it’s just for a day.”

Tessa hung up a few minutes later, after chatting about some lighter topics. She felt both better and worse. Better, because her mother did truly love her. Worse, because she was a shitty daughter.

With a sigh and a shake of her head, Tessa tried to put everything out of her mind. She grabbed her purse and her wallet and walked out of her apartment. If she hurried, she could make the 3:00 yoga class, and since she was already dressed in athleisure wear, she booked it out to her car.

Tessa just needed some time to think and to absorb.

✩✩✩

Suddenly, it was New Year’s Eve, and Tessa was packed and ready to go. She was just waiting for Niall to pick her up around noon, and then they would drive up to the Big Sur Campground.

They had decided yesterday to drive up together. She was a little nervous – the drive was on the long side, and there would be nothing to do but either talk or sit in silence. What if she said something awkward? What if she accidentally revealed she had been wondering if he liked her?

Tessa used to be the type of woman that would straight up tell someone if she liked them, but she referred to those times as her college years. She hadn’t done that since junior year of college, and anyway, that method had given her Bryan, an ex, who was a fucking loser.

Besides, she just…didn’t feel like Niall liked her back. He threw off so many different signals, it spun her mind around in circles. She didn’t know how to figure him out. All she knew was that she liked him, and that they were driving to the cabin together.

Someone knocked on her door. She didn’t have any more time for internal freakouts. Tessa took a deep breath and did what she did best – repressed everything until she had time to drink some wine and sort it out. She grabbed the straps of her duffel bag and opened the door. Niall was standing there, smiling down at her. “Hey, Tess.”

He nearly took her breath away. He was dressed in dark jeans and a neat, evergreen-colored, long-sleeved shirt. His hair was flat along the top of his head, with minimal styling. His eyes were shining. Niall was, quite honestly, the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

“Hey, Niall. Are you ready to go?”

“I should be asking you that,” he replied, amused, and pushed his hands down inside his pockets. “Are ya?”

“I am.” She smiled and pushed the door open further. “I’ve got my bag and everything.”

“Here, I’ll grab it for you.” Niall paused, holding his hand out – not trying to take her bag, but offering to carry it. She obliged him and handed him the straps. He blinked and adjusted his grip, feeling the weight of her bag. There was the distinct sound of glass clinking together, and his eyebrow shot up. “Is there alcohol in this bag, Miss?”

“Absolutely, Sir, for it is almost time to get lit. It will commence upon arrival.” Tessa replied with a formal air, and Niall burst out laughing. She smiled and stepped out of her apartment, shutting the door behind her and locking it, before setting her key inside her purse.

“This camping is sounding better and better.” Niall shook his head as he grinned like a child in a candy store. He then started off and led the way out of the building, choosing to take the stairs down rather than wait for the elevator. She didn’t mind, trotting along beside and slightly behind him – she was always cautious now walking down stairs, as she had been known to fall down them as a child.

“I prefer to call it glamping, myself.”

They walked out into the bright, but chilly Los Angeles morning. Tessa was grateful for the long-sleeved shirt she was wearing, since the wind had a bite to it, but Niall hardly blinked as he unlocked his Range Rover and popped the trunk, placing her luggage inside of it. He snapped it shut and then gestured towards the passenger seat. “After you, Tess.”

She clambered inside the car, feeling distinctly, for the first time, the acute difference in their lives. Yes, she made good money, but she was positive she couldn’t afford this car. Which was fine, because she dearly loved her own car, but still.

She knew he had money; he was a major popstar, of course, she would be blind not to see it in the little things (like the beautiful watch he wore, his shoes, etc.), but Niall never bragged. He was quite humble, actually. It was only in moments like this that she remembered that he was a step firmly above her financially.

This can only be as awkward as you let it be, Tessa reminded herself, so don’t. You’re not beneath him, in any way.

So, once more, she pushed it away and buckled herself before smiling gamely at the man sitting next to her in the driver’s side. “I’m glad you’re coming, Ni.” She had never used the nickname before, but it felt right.

Niall turned to face her and reached over and patted her on the knee before resting his hand lightly there. She felt her cheeks redden and bit down on her lip, but he merely squeezed her knee and murmured, “I’m glad too.”

He pulled his hand away and started the car; the engine rumbled on with a quiet purr, but Tessa was too busy gathering herself to comment on it. Niall plugged the address to the Big Sur Campground into his GPS and then smoothly reversed out of his parking space before pulling out of the lot and into the LA traffic. And thus, their trip began.

Tessa was silent for a few minutes, as she didn’t want to distract him – the traffic could be, and currently was, quite atrocious. But after a little while, Niall glanced over at her quickly and then back at the road. “Are ya comfortable? You’re awful quiet.”

“Oh! Yes, it’s really nice in here. I just didn’t want to distract you from driving.”

Niall chuckled. “Oh, the traffic doesn’t bother me. We’ll be out of here in no time.” Indeed, his fingers were loose on the steering wheel – there were no white knuckles, which she might have had if she were driving.

“How does this not bother you?” She asked, genuinely curious.

“If you think this is bad, you should see London’s traffic. I would say it’s a bit worse.”

“Damn.” She was impressed. “This is pretty shitty, too. And it’s only 12:15!”

“Well, it could be worse. We could be driving at five in the evening.”

After that, the nervous spell she had been under was broken, and they casually talked and laughed all the way out of LA. It only took about forty minutes.

“And now, five hours until we’re at the campground.” Tessa mentioned after glancing at the GPS on his phone, and then laughed.

“Want to listen to some music along the way? You choose.” Niall told her and gestured towards the stereo.

“I…don’t really listen to much music, really.”

Niall shot her an incredulous glance. “What the fuck? What do you mean you don’t listen to much music?”

Tessa made a face and shook her head. “I don’t spend a lot of time actively listening to it, I mean. I turn on the radio when I’m in the car, but besides that…”

“No Spotify or anything?”

She looked at him quickly. “If you’re worried about it, I’ve listened to all of your music, you know.”

Niall blushed, his cheeks going ruddy. “I…I wasn’t worried about that…I just…music is such an enjoyable experience, something everyone needs to relax or have fun with.”

Tessa couldn’t help it; she reached over and pinched his red cheek, making him scowl. “My favorite song is ‘You and Me’, by the way.”

His scowl softened. “Thanks,” Niall answered softly, his cheeks turning an even darker shade of red.

She could tell he was still a little embarrassed, and she was enjoying it, but she decided to lessen his suffering. “How about you play me some of your favorite songs, then?”

He cleared his throat and then nodded his head towards his cell phone. “Pull up Spotify, and you’ll see a Playlist titled ‘X’. Shuffle that one.”

Tessa did as she was instructed, and immediately a song by Fleetwood Mac popped up. She was familiar with the general tune of it but not the words, so she merely listened. Niall, however, immediately perked up and began to sing softly along, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. She found herself entranced by his voice, by him, and couldn’t stop herself from watching him.

Niall was aware of her gaze on him; she could tell by the little smile that was lifting up the corner of his lips just slightly. But he didn’t stop singing along, and so she didn’t stop watching him, her smile appearing to match his.

Eventually, a song turned on that she knew, so Tessa belted it out as loud as she possibly could – though she was pretty sure Niall was trying to be louder, judging by his cackle of delight – and even started dancing, shimmying her shoulders and generally making a fool of herself. Niall was singing along or trying to; he was laughing so hard she wasn’t sure how he could sing, much less drive.

It was the most fun five hours she had spent in years. So fun, in fact, that she was almost disappointed when they pulled in to the campground and parked by the check-in building. Tessa ran inside and grabbed the parking pass that was provided upon arrival for guests. They were in Cabin F, the last in the first loop of cabins. As they drove down the dirt lane towards their cabin, she could see that it was actually quite secluded – there were trees surrounding it almost entirely, and it was about fifty feet away from the closest cabin.

Two other cars were already parked in the driveway, and a wave of apprehension hit Tessa right in the gut. Jess and Lyrica were already here – as were Ryan and Melody. She had figured that they would arrive before her and Niall, but seeing that they had…yes, it was apprehension she felt. About Jess, none of the others.

Jess hadn’t even spoken to her recently, not even through the group chat that they had all made to keep updated about the trip. Tessa wasn’t stupid – she had posed a direct question to Jess only once, and when that had gone unanswered, she had stopped trying. And now she was about to go on a camping trip with her.

She was going to need a lot of wine to get through this trip. Luckily, she had anticipated that, and all of the wine needed was currently in her bag, plus some.

And, yes, there were some clothes in there too.

Niall parked behind the other two vehicles, and Tessa immediately hopped out. Niall quickly followed suit, and together they took their luggage out of the back of his car. Right as they began to make their way up to the cabin, the front door flew open and Melody rushed outside, Ryan hot on her heels.

“Tessa!” Melody squealed, charging down the stairs and launching herself towards Tessa. She wrapped her in a tight hug, squealing all the while. “We’ve been waiting for you guys! Hi!” The last word was directed towards Niall, who took the whole scene in with a smile. Ryan, still up on the deck, mouthed ‘drunk’ and pointed sharply at Melody. Tessa was already well aware – she could smell the tequila on Melody’s breath.

“Wow!” Tessa replied cheerily, giving Melody a quick squeeze back. “You have had some drinks today lady, haven’t you?”

She saw as Lyrica and Jess came out onto the deck with Ryan. Lyrica waved. Jess did not.

“Well, we’ve been waiting for hoouuurrrrsss for you and Niall! And it’s 5 o’ clock, you know. The drinking hour.”

Tessa laughed. Niall had already met her friends before at that house party Lyrica had thrown back in June, but she thought it might be helpful to introduce him now. “Melody, this is Niall. Niall, this is my friend from college, Melody.” She smiled, and Melody immediately straightened up and plastered her best ‘professional’ smile on.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Melody,” Niall replied formerly, before tossing in a wink. Melody giggled, covering her mouth.

“And up there is Ryan, and well, you know Lyrica and Jess.” Tessa continued to smile, trying her best not to allow any tension to radiate through.

Lyrica started walking down the steps from the deck, and Jess followed, her hand entwined with her girlfriend’s. “Tessa, I’m so glad to see you! And you too, Niall.” Lyrica grinned and came over to hug her, Jess staying a few feet back. “We’ve missed you.”

Really? Tessa asked herself, but she hugged Lyrica back, because she loved her like a sister, and Lyrica was definitely the more mellow of the three of them, the peacemaker, and it was evident that she was trying to fill that role just now.

“Hey, Jess,” Tessa added after a moment, making eye contact with her best friend over Lyr’s shoulder.

Jess smiled and gave a little finger wave. “Hey Tessa, Niall. Nice to see you.” And there it was. There was no warmth in her voice when she said her name, no affection, nothing. But there was no coldness, either; just plain indifference, like she was an acquaintance just met instead of a best friend with over a decade of strong history.

She looked good, though. And when her eyes landed on Lyrica, they sparked with happiness. And despite their current issues, Tessa didn’t begrudge her that.

“Well, let’s get this party started! Get on in here!” Ryan charged down the front steps and took both her bag and Niall’s, grinning widely. “Niall, I hope you don’t mind man, but you and I will be bunking in the same room. Separate beds, of course. Tessa and Melody are sharing too, and obviously, our resident lovebirds have a room together too.” He gestured towards Lyr and Jess.

Tessa, of course, had already warned Niall of this, so he took it all in stride. He reached over and clapped Ryan heartily on the back. “Sounds good mate. Lead on.”

Ryan led the way inside. They entered into a living room, which had a small TV and a couch with some armchairs situated next to it. Just past the living room was the dining room table, already covered with wine and beer and all sorts of other alcoholic beverages. To the left of that room, and out of sight, was the kitchen. Two hallways led from the living room, and Ryan took the one on the left side. At the end were two doors right across from each other, and he deposited their bags outside their respective rooms. He then whirled around and clapped his hands together before rubbing them together. “Tessa, I’m assuming you brought some goodies for us?”

She smirked, and crouched down beside her bag, unzipping it in one fluid motion. Nestled inside were two bottles of wine, a bottle of tequila, and another of vodka. And beneath that, obviously, were her clothes, but no one cared about that.

Melody cheered, reached down into the bag and grabbing the wine. “Our Queen Tessa has brought us gifts!” She called and danced her way towards the dining room table down the hallway, which held all of the other alcohol that was brought.

Niall shook his head, looking both amused and delighted. “You got some good shit, Tess.” He reached down and grabbed the tequila, looking over it and turning it in his hands.

She grabbed the remaining bottle of vodka and lifted it high in the air, a queen ready to knight her warriors.

Niall looked at her steadily, waiting for her to speak.

She smiled. “It is time to get lit.”

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[raendown]

I didn’t even realize it was Sunday, I almost forgot to update this >.<

Chapter: 4/9 Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4161 Rated: M Summary: Walking patrol around a university for mages probably sounded like a wild time but Tobirama has never found it all that exciting. He’s not even technically supposed to be here. When responding to a tripped alarm becomes a desperate attempt to stay alive, however, excitement is the last thing on his mind. All he’s ever wanted is a quiet life alone with his books until he finds himself bound to Uchiha Madara in the most impossible way and finally learns to think about more than just himself - in a way.

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Chapter 4

As soon as he stepped foot in the library Tobirama took a deep breath in and held it, savoring one of his favorite smells in the whole world. Madara eyed him strangely and gave a little sniff of his own. Underneath the dust kicked up by dozens of bodies shuffling around there hung the scent of old parchment, ink, leather bindings, the stink of the glue from cheaply made tomes. If peace and relaxation had a scent it would be this. Already Tobirama could feel the tension sliding away from him and he deliberately ignored the look Madara was giving him as he dragged them towards his favorite table in the far back corner where most people knew better than to disturb him. Just because he’d agreed to let Madara do his own thing with whatever students found him here didn’t mean he had to make it easy for them to do so. One or two at a time was one thing but he was really hoping this didn’t turn in to a full blown class right next to him.

On their way back to the table he snatched a few books off the shelves, handing most of them over to his partner without thinking much about it. He only had one hand available to him at the moment and it was busy pulling down new worlds to explore. Madara only really seemed to realize that he was placidly accepting them all when the pile grew so high it obstructed his vision and the weight of them all became painful where their hands were clasped under one side of the stack.

“I think that’s enough for now, don’t you?” he asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“Perhaps. If I want more later I can always drag you along.” Tobirama snagged some of them back and together they trundled on over to the table he liked best.

As soon as they settled in to adjacent chairs Tobirama disappeared behind two books at once, furrowing his brows and determined to ignore the adolescent boy he could already see approaching them. He hadn’t expected anyone to find them so quickly, although he supposed they hadn’t made much of an effort to hide their entrance.

“Uchiha-sensei, it’s good to see that you’re okay! You’ve been out of class for days but no one will say why!” The boy even sounded earnest in his worry. Madara preened next to him while Tobirama rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“I’m fine, Kiba. Where’s Akamaru?”

A quite woof caught Tobirama’s attention, popping his head over the stack of books to see a cute little puppy grinning happily from his place inside the student’s book bag. He preferred cats himself but dogs had their own allure in some cases. The one hiding there was certainly cute with his tiny pink tongue and his floppy ears, not the sort of puppy one turned down a chance to pet.

“Don’t tell, please,” Kiba begged them. “He’s not supposed to be in here but he promised not to chew on anything! He just stays in my bag!”

“Familiars are supposed to stay out of study areas,” Madara reminded the boy. Kiba drooped sadly in time with his dog. “I won’t tell if you let me hold him for a bit, though.”

“Alright!”

Tobirama did a quick mental check to make sure his jaw hadn’t dropped entirely off his face as Madara maneuvered their hands apart while pressing their sides together so he could accept the little puppy and greet it cheerfully. Akamaru, as was apparently its name, greeted him back with another polite woof and a few licks up the center of his face. Instead of getting mad or jerking away in disgust Madara only chuckled and settled the pup in his lap for a good scratch behind the ears.

It was at that point that Tobirama began to question if this was really Madara that he’d been bound to or just a really close lookalike. Where was the uptight fool who never took so much as a step out of bounds or did anything unexpected? What happened to the man whose temper flared up at the slightest hint that someone might be breaking a rule? It was like he was holding a complete stranger’s thigh.

Which was kind of creepy and not a mental image he wanted to focus on.

He noted Madara giving him a look from the corner of one eye that would have been inscrutable if not for the connection between their minds. Even then it took a minute or so to work through the confusion and unravel everything, from the slight offense at being assumed so uptight to the mild smugness at having disproved such an assumption and even the mostly suppressed happiness to have Tobirama recognize that he wasn’t that bad of a person. That last bit they both ignored.

Despite his insistence that he would be spending their little outing doing his own thing, Tobirama found himself ignoring the book propped up in front of him while instead he observed the way Madara interacted with his students. He was a far cry from the warm paternal type but neither was he cold and aloof the way most of the other teachers assumed him to be. When one of the little buggers stopped by with a question he answered it with no sugar coating, explaining things further when they asked, and although he never held back on telling them they had something wrong he was never cruel about it either.

As much as Tobirama hated to admit it, the man was apparently a descent teacher.

Over an hour after they sat down he finally managed to peel his eyes away from the disturbingly heartwarming sight of Madara hunched over a half finished essay with a tearful young girl and pointing out all the parts where she was on the right track. Clearing his throat as quietly as possible, he forced himself to focus on the book in front of him and not the feelings of pride rolling off the man at his side. Giving his attention to some ancient dead man’s account of a water based summoning he may or may not have gotten to work one time was clearly a better use of his time than speculating over how all of those adolescents could simply ignore it whenever their professor’s fingers began to smoke with frustration. Much more interesting, obviously. It meant nothing that it took forever to convince himself to concentrate on the proper thing.

Like always, once he’d actually managed to sink in to the texts he was reading time seemed to pass him by in a great wave without him noticing in the slightest. It felt like only five minutes later that he felt a shoulder bumped pointedly against his own and resurfaced to discover that he’d gone through four different books as easily as turning to the next page.

“We should eat,” Madara said. When Tobirama looked around there were no students in sight and Madara’s body was turned at such an angle that it looked like he’d been reading the book over Tobirama’s shoulder.

“The hell are you doing?”

“Shut up! You were so absorbed and you felt so happy reading it, I just wanted to see what was so interesting!” He leaned back in his chair with a scowl but it did very little to cover his embarrassment at being caught. Tobirama wondered what was so bad about giving in and finally understanding the draw of research but he didn’t ask. Understanding this man’s brain seemed like a good step on the path to crazy town and he was already farther down that road than he would have liked.

Now that it had been brought to his attention, though, he realized that he was actually starving. Getting some food sounded like a marvelous plan.

“What time is it?”

“Almost noon,” Madara said, checking the shadows coming in from a nearby window.

“If we hurry we can be back in my rooms by the time Hashirama gets there to deliver us some food.” Convincing his brother to hand deliver their meals until they figured out what to do about the whole stuck together situation had actually been pretty easy. All he’d had to do was point out that it would a good excuse for them all to spend some quality time together. Unfortunately for his brother Tobirama had also already come up with a backup plan for sending the man away when he got tired of the company. A headmaster shouldn’t take too much time away from his work, after all, and he delighted in pointing that out every time.

“You, uh, I don’t suppose you were planning to check that one out?” Madara asked. When Tobirama lifted an eyebrow at him he balked. “What! It was interesting, okay? So sue me!”

He did indeed check that one out, along with a couple others that covered similar subjects, but not without projecting as much cocky amusement as he could. Still, Madara helped him carry them back home so he refrained from making any comments out loud.

The two of them had just enough time to find the right spot in Tobirama’s chaotically organized front room to store the new books before Hashirama arrived with a bright smile and three trays of food.

“Room service!” he called out cheerfully.

“Go service your wife,” Madara snapped back reflexively. Tobirama scrunched his face with disgust and shoved his partner against the wall.

“I didn’t need to picture that!”

“Well I didn’t mean it like that!”

Using the excuse of maintaining contact to keep the other shoved against the wall, Tobirama scoffed. “Of course you didn’t, you’re a prude.”

“Hey! I- I have dirty thoughts sometimes!”

“Oh sweet spirits, I didn’t need to picture that either.” He sniggered as Madara shrieked and squirmed with embarrassment under his hold, smoke all but pouring out from the tips of his fingers, while Hashirama hovered by the doorway with a sad little pout on his lips.

“And here I thought you guys had started getting along better,” he mourned.

Tobirama ignored him.

Not wanting to upset his carefully organized mess, he let Madara stand up away from the wall and – after dodging a half-hearted revenge swipe – led them all in to the next room so they could eat lunch. Hashirama had their food packed up in neat little bento boxes that he had clearly sat down and made from the food provided in the common dining hall. Working in sync without having to talk it through, Tobirama perched himself on the arm of his favorite chair while Madara sank down in to the cushions, their bodies connected but their hands free to reach for their meals.

In a show of incredible restraint, Hashirama managed to stay quiet and observe the two of them until everyone had taken at least a few bites each. Halfway through a mouthful of fried chicken he leaned back in his own seat and tilted his head to look at them from a different angle.

“You know, I’m surprised at you Tobi.” His words had Tobirama pausing with food raised halfway to his mouth.

“Don’t call me that. Surprised why?”

“Because you’ve been finishing all the food that I’ve been bringing every time. I only just thought about it now but I know usually you bring a bit of food back here and leave it out for those raccoons that live outside your window. Did they leave? I thought you said you were trying to help them through the winter!”

Trying very hard to convince the ground to open up and swallow him, Tobirama ignored the stare burning in to the side of his head as he leaned forward to hiss at his brother, “They were squirrels, not little trash goblins, now shut your face.”

Hashirama ducked his head like a chastised child.

“Now hold on a damn second.” Madara set his bento down and Tobirama could almost feel the smirk on his face through their link. “You? Feeding the little squirrels outside?”

“You can shut your face too.”

“What, were they helping you with an experiment or something?” He scoffed at his own joke until Hashirama tossed a chopstick at him, sending Tobirama in a coughing fit when it pinged off the center of Madara’s forehead.

“Don’t be mean to my brother! He’s nice! They were little baby squirrels and Tobi was worried that they weren’t going to make it through the season so he was leaving food out for them to stock up for the winter!”

Tobirama immediately stopping choking with laughter, mirth giving way to an embarrassed frown. “Brother! I said shut up! And stop calling me that!”

Snatching up the weaponized chopstick, he threw it back at his sibling and huffed irritably when the man dodged just in time. No one was ever supposed to know about the squirrels. They weren’t important. They were no one else’s business! Hashirama had no right to out him like that right in front of Madara who now had one hand in front of his mouth to cover the sight of his half chewed food while he laughed.

“Aww, has the cold hearted man gone soft?” he teased.

“Madara! I said don’t be mean to my brother!”

Picking out a piece of chicken from his bento, Tobirama threw that too. “Don’t you have work to do, brother? Go bury yourself in paperwork or something. And clean up the chicken!”

“But you threw it at me!” Hashirama sniffled but he did still lean over to pick up the chicken that had just bounced off his shoulder. “Why are both of you always so mean to me? I just wanted to come hang out for a bit! I mean, yes, I should be working on the admission slips for the next semester but still! So cruel!”

His feet shuffled on his way to the door but it wasn’t enough to make either of them feel bad for sending him away. After seeing him three times a day for several days in a row they had certainly spent enough time together not to feel guilty over cutting one lunch short. They both knew he’d be over it in less than five minutes anyway, off to find some other excuse to avoid the work he should be doing.

Alone again, Tobirama avoided looking down at his partner and considered the irony that they had been so looking forward to some kind of company and still ended up chasing away the one person always willing to provide it. Madara pressed at the barrier between their thoughts, the feeling of him still heavy with amused disbelief, driving Tobirama to concentrate as hard as he could on the bento in his lap. Chicken had never been his favorite but it was better than getting made fun of for having a soft spot for animals.

They were defenseless! And tiny! Only a monster would hate little creatures like that. Evidently Madara had thought him a monster but it was hard to find that offensive when he’d thought the same in return until recently. Being wrong was the worst.

“I think that’s the record for the fastest we’ve been able to chase him off,” his partner said out of the blue.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“Should I be saying something else?”

When Tobirama peeked down Madara was looking back up at him with a knowing light in his eyes, more than aware that he was waiting to be made fun of.

“Just shut up.”

“Always putting your best foot forward,” Madara snickered.

By now Tobirama had learned enough about the man beside him to know that if he said anything more he would just be asking for trouble and, while that normally wouldn’t bother him, he had never been a big fan of setting himself in the line of fire. It would be best to just eat his meal quietly and let them both go on about their day.

After lunch they spent the rest of the afternoon doing more tests trying to figure out the exact limit of how far apart they could separate now without pain and for how long. For the first couple of hours they only managed an inch or so for a couple of minutes at a time and always they needed a little while of solid contact to recover from it. Mostly they filled those stretches by sitting together and devouring one of the library books. After a while, though, they managed to stretch the distance to almost two feet and last for nearly ten minutes. It wasn’t much but for two people who had spent the past forever holding hands it was like a taste of freedom.

Hours after he had left with his tail between his legs Hashirama returned bearing three dinners and a smile.

“Guess what? I went back to my office and Mito was already there working on the admission slips! Isn’t that amazing? I just don’t know what I would do without her.” For a few seconds he was gone in to dreamland and Tobirama used that time to swap their meals around so he got the larger portion.

“Drown under your own responsibilities?” he suggested, bringing his sibling back to earth. Madara offered him a fist to pound before opening his own food.

“Tobi–”

“No!”

“Stop being mean to your big brother. I promise I helped her as soon as I saw that she’d started the work herself! It’s not like I actually just sit back and let her do all my work for me all the time. That would just be…well. We’d fight for sure.” Hashirama shuddered at the very thought – and rightfully so. Mito made an imposing figure even when she was in a good mood; when angered she was terrifying.

Half the meal passed by while all three of them were busy reliving their worst nightmares, all of which featured an angry Mito. The silence lasted until Tobirama stood up to brush the crumbs off his lap and Hashirama gasped with shock when he saw the lack of contact between them.

“Oh! Does this mean you two are all better now?” he asked.

“What? No.” Tobirama pinched his lips together disapprovingly. “Did you not listen when your daughter explained what happened to us? This isn’t something that’s going to ‘get better’ as you say.”

“But you guys aren’t touching! So does that mean everything is back to normal?”

Madara scoffed. “Afraid not. I don’t know that we’ll ever get back to normal, per se, but we do have a bit of leeway now and I must say it’s nice to have my own person all to myself again.”

Despite the confidence in his expression and the complete relaxation in the way he was sitting, Tobirama only needed one look at his partner to realize that the man was lying. He refrained from calling him out, however, because that would mean drawing attention to the fact that he felt the same way. Freedom was the jewel they had spent every day chasing after since this whole fiasco began and now that they had it they didn’t like it.

Freedom meant being apart and it was as wonderful as it was terrible. The more Tobirama learned about the man at his side the harder it was to keep insisting they hated each other. Irritating he might be and rough around the edges but not nearly as bad as assumed. Antagonistic and snarky for sure. Heartless dick not so much. Getting some space in between them at last was great when Tobirama thought about all the times one of them was restless and wanted to pace but the other didn’t. It lost a lot of its shine when he thought about how if they kept getting more space Madara could eventually move back in to his own rooms, a subject neither of them had even bothered to bring up since that first day.

“Oi, are you listening?” Tobirama blinked. He had not, in fact, been listening. Had not even been aware the conversation continued after he got lost inside his own morbid thoughts.

“Did I miss something important?” he asked instead of admitting to anything. Madara snorted but Hashirama forgave him with an easy smile.

“Well Madara was saying how nice it was to get out and see something other than these rooms for a change and we started talking about things that could get you guys out again. Just for a little while! I know how much neither of you want people staring and wondering why you’re holding hands.” Something in Hashirama’s smile looked hopeful for a few terrible seconds until Tobirama glared hard enough to make it go away again.

“Go on…”

Waving his friend off, Madara took up the recap. “I told him I was anxious to get back to class and he suggested you sit in with me. You wouldn’t have to do anything and you could sit at my desk where we would be close enough to touch; I’m sure we can manage to be subtle about it.”

“About as subtle as your hair,” Tobirama snapped. Then he wrinkled his nose and grumbled, “Habit. Sorry. That’s an interesting idea, actually.” It would be fascinating to compare how different the man was when faced with dozens of students at once rather than one on one, if his lectures were as boring as Tobirama remembered from when he took the class. If he tried very hard he might be able to convince himself that was the only reason he was agreeing to this.

“Excellent! If it becomes a regular thing maybe Tobi can be your teacher’s assistant! Oh, that would just be so cute!” Hashirama clasped his hands together with joy – then yelped when Tobirama leaned over to shove him sideways.

“Not likely.”

When he sat back down Madara was staring at him with a worried expression. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“I – what?”

“You said ‘as subtle as my hair’, what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, I guess? It’s just…puffy. All that volume, it basically arrives everywhere five minutes before the rest of you does. I’d ask if you brush it but I know you do.” Tobirama lifted one eyebrow in judgment as Madara patted the sides of his head anxiously. He would never understand why anyone bothered to grow their hair out. After spending his childhood watching Hashirama nearly choke to death every time he forgot to braid his hair before bed Tobirama had decided that he would never grow his own out, not even as long as his shoulders. How Madara avoided the same fate was a mystery.

“Of course I brush my hair! You brushed my hair for me yesterday!” Madara crossed his arms in offense and turned away. It would have been more believable if he hadn’t then leaned back in to Tobirama’s side like an angry girlfriend desperate for attention.

Hashirama watched them with wide eyes and a smile that could not spell anything good.

“Brother…you brush his hair for him?”

“It was only a couple of times!” Tobirama protested. “And only because he was too lazy to do it for himself and I couldn’t stand the rat’s nest!”

“That is just so sweet of you! Aw, you guys really are getting along better!” Clasping his hands together again, Hashirama beamed like the annoying little sunshine he was, determined to find any excuse to shine.

With their minds melded the way they were Madara and Tobirama were able to look at him in perfect sync, wrinkle their noses, and grumble, “Ugh.”

Then they both turned away in silent agreement to ignore him for the next few minutes until he apologized for getting unnecessarily mushy. After that he made sure not to mention anything about how much nicer they were treating each other and instead started chattering about who had been covering Madara’s classes while he was away and how happy the students would be to see him back.

Used to spending most of his days alone with ink and paper, Tobirama eventually checked out of the conversation and let the two best friends carry on without him, subtly dragging one of the books towards him that they hadn’t had time to put away when Hashirama showed up. Neither of them seemed to notice when he cracked it open across his lap but before he could get lost in the knowledge awaiting him he peeked over at Madara with his eyes narrowed curiously.

Hopefully Madara wasn’t paying enough attention to the link between them to feel how interested he actually was in going to sit in on the man’s class. After learning so many new things about a man he once thought he understood inside and out, Tobirama found his attention piqued.

What else did he not know about Uchiha Madara?