#hopefully y'all enjoy?

[mawrrbid]

Touchstarved incorrect quotes as shit I and my friends said (without any context) - pt.6

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3 - pt.4 - pt.5

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

Ais: Logic is meant to be broken. Leander: I can be pretty logical, break me.

--

Mhin: Bitch. Vere: *Twerks* Mhin: Oh my bad, I meant SLUT.

--

MC: I know where the door is, because I am the fucking doormat!

--

Mhin: Vere's astrological sign is the orgy.

--

Leander: You're never happy, are you? Mhin: No, because I'm fucking depressed.

--

Ais: Best friends in bed. Vere: You got a friend in me.~

--

(Alchemist) MC: *Standing with t-rex arms.* Leander: Aw you're doing the dinosaur? :) (Alchemist) MC: No, I'm autistic.

--

Ais: Does anyone wanna see a human getting bullied by a crab?

[glacier-shrimp]

Done with our favorite Spider-Boy! Spiderling? Spider... What was his name again?

Avengers paper cutout 6/?

[analogwriting]

Childhood Crush

Chapter 23: Gold

Killer x gn!reader word count: 3.7k a/n: here it is, folks. the last chapter. it's been an absolutely wild ride and thank you all for joining me in this shit show. no, i didn't make it smutty bc i like to try and keep things gender neutral for all parties to enjoy (doesn't mean i might make two different version of a smutty epilogue tho but that would be down the line) Smutilogue (afab, amab)

After your heart slowed down a bit and you could think clearly, you went to move but Killer tightened his grip on you slightly. You stayed where you were, placing your hands over his. “Killer?” you asked in a soft voice. When did he get up? How long has he been awake? How come you didn’t hear him?

“Just…just a minute. Please.” His voice was gruff from not using it, cracking about halfway through his request. You nodded, letting him hang on to you for as long as he needed. You thought of the night in the kitchen when he held onto you as he cried. You couldn’t tell if he was crying now, but he was definitely a little off. Well, he did almost die, so you needed to let him have his moment.

“Here…let me…” You turned around in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck. He buried his face in your shoulder and held you as you did the same to him. His breathing seemed steady enough, but his heart was racing. 

After a few minutes, you could feel his legs begin to shake. “Let’s get you into a chair.” You pulled from him, grabbing a chair for him to sit. “You shouldn’t be standing anyway,” you scolded gently. He sat in the chair, panting softly. He was already wearing himself out, it seemed.

“Why did you get up? You’re in no position to be walking around yet.” You walked over, grabbing a glass of water from the small hand sink before heading back to hand it to him. 

“I…” He took the water with a small thanks, but just looked into the cup as he thought about his words. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you were real,” he mumbled, sipping his water. You felt heat rise to your cheeks at his words and you refrained from making any other kind of face.

“Well, of course I’m real, Killi. Who the hell else would be able to bring you back from death’s door, hm?” you mused, turning to grab your clipboard. Killer laughed, the fruit amplifying the sound and making it bounce off the walls. You knew that it probably signaled the other’s that he was awake. It was only a matter of time that your brother was here, then.

“I suppose that’s true. Even if some other doctor found us, the question would be not only would they be able to but would they be willing to.” 

You turned to look at him, laughing. “That’s also true.” The Kid Pirates weren’t exactly liked by many. Your brother had a shit attitude, making him easily disliked by others. Honestly, the lot of you were like that. The only people you could really stand were each other. Maybe that was because you’d been around each other for so long. You were all just a bunch of unwanted misfits that found a home in each other. Of course people wouldn’t like the likes of you.

You began to do basic check up procedures, making sure everything was in working order. You changed out some bandages, removing others. His fingers frequently brushed whatever part of you was closest to him as if he wanted to hold onto you but since you were working, he couldn’t.

 “You are healing well, but like I told Eustass, your muscles atrophied while laying in bed.” You looked up from your note-taking. “So, light exercise. I’ll probably just have you do a lap around the ship later to get accustomed to walking around again.”

You reached out, holding his bangs back as you used a small light to check his eyes. “I’ll have to also mix up some medicine later - it’ll help speed up the healing process,” you mumbled, more or less, to yourself. You went to pull away but found that Killer had your hand now.

You blinked, turning to look at him. He pressed a kiss to your palm and your face ignited. What in the world was going on? He was being very touchy and, while you honestly were over the moon, you were a little concerned. 

“Kil-”

“Did I hear what I think I heard?” Your brother’s voice boomed from down the hallway. You rolled your eyes, grumbling. He couldn’t have picked a worse time to show up, honestly. “Let me go make sure he’s not doing anything stupid,” you mumbled, pulling away from Killer. He squeezed your hand softly before finally letting you go. 

Yeah, you two definitely needed to have a conversation when you had a moment.

You walked out of the room, seeing your brother slowly descending the stairs. You folded your arms, leaning against the wall with a smug smile on your face. “It’s okay, tungsten. Take your time,” you mused, watching him. 

That earned you the nastiest glare you’ve seen to date. “You are so lucky I am not at full capacity or your ass would be grass.”

A laugh erupted from you and you walked over as he reached the bottom of the stairs. You knew they probably took a lot out of him. He slung his arm around you, leaning into you a considerable amount. “So, he’s awake?” Eustass looked at you. You nodded at him. “He’s awake and fine. Just-”

“Take it easy. Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes.

When the two of you walked into the room that Killer was in, he stood up, meeting your brother half way as they embraced each other. You started hearing the herd of footsteps as the rest of the crew started running down the hallway.

“Incoming,” you mused, stepping out of the way as everyone tumbled in. 

“Care- oh, forget it,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes. You’ll just have to deal with whatever aftermath they’ll end up being. You let them all have their moment, slipping out to go and start preparing some dinner.

--

You decided that since Killer was finally awake, you’d make his favorite this time. After washing your hands, you started the process of making the dough for the pasta. You had a transponder snail playing music quietly in the background as you hummed along with it. 

Once again, you felt the strong arms of a certain someone wrap around you. You didn’t tense up this time, just letting it happen as you kept kneading the dough. “Are you making what I think you’re making?” he asked into your neck.

“Figured I’d make your favorite since you’re finally awake.” He just grunted in response before falling silent for a moment.

“Y/n?”

“Yes?” 

“There’s something I need to tell you.” You felt your heart almost stop. For the most part, you had a feeling that you knew exactly what he was going to say. After all, he pretty much hadn’t stopped touching you since he woke up. Not to mention the silent confirmation from the festival.

You went to turn around but he kept you in place. “No, no. Don’t turn around. I’ll lose what little confidence I mustered to say this.” 

You stopped, nodding. You were quiet, letting him find his words.

“When I was…dying,” he paused and you winced at his word choice. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean that you liked hearing it. “My life flashed before my eyes. Something that I realized during that time was that every memory and every moment that passed through was you. I know we all grew up together, so it makes sense that you would be a part of them but you were the sole focus of them.” You felt your face heating up, wanting to know what he was getting at. “You’re my life, y/n.”

“There were so many times I wanted to tell you, but never had the confidence. After we found you alive in Wano, I wanted to tell you, but never really got the chance. Especially after you announced that you were staying. I-” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to seem like I was trying to manipulate you into staying. That, and everything with the SMILE fruit, I just didn’t have the confidence anymore. I told myself that I’d tell you whenever you returned.”

His grip tightened on you a bit more, but you didn’t say anything. He wasn’t crushing you, but you could feel his yearning, and everything else that wasn’t being said, through his touch. 

“I regretted not telling you everything from the beginning. Y/n, I-” His words caught in his throat and you were deadly still, waiting for him to just say it already.

“From the moment I first saw you when you barged into the captain’s room that day…” He swallowed hard. You were glad you were turned around right now because your face was on fire. For that long? 

“From the moment I saw you in the captain’s room, you swept me off my feet. The way you took care of all of us without batting an eye. The sacrifices you made to take care of those you cared about. The way you kept saving our asses again and again. You never once complained or talked about how unfair it was. You were so strong in so many ways. You are so strong in so many ways.” You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as he spoke. Your whole body was on fire right now. 

“There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t figure out how to say it but…” He buried his face into your neck a little more as his grip grew more firm as if he was afraid you’d disappear at the drop of a hat. You knew he wasn’t the best at expressing his thoughts and feelings, so you were surprised he’d said this much. 

“I love you, y/n. I always have. From the moment I met you. And it only grew stronger over the years. I never once stopped thinking about you. You were always on my mind. Even in what I thought were my last moments, you were all I could think about.” Your breathing caught in your throat.

He let out a long sigh, finally loosening his grip on you. You were standing there for a moment, letting his words sink in. It was in that moment that you realized you were crying yourself. Mind spinning, heart racing - you might just pass out at this point. You must’ve been quiet longer than you thought because Killer spoke up. “Y/n?”

You turned around, looking up at him. There was surprise in his eyes soon replaced with panic. He took your face in his hands, wiping away your tears. “I-I’m sorry. Was that too much? Did I-” You gently placed your hand over his mouth to get him to stop apologizing for a moment. It was your turn to try and find your words.

“No, no.” Your words were a bit strained with all the emotion that was currently coursing through your body. “I’m just…happy.” You let out a small laugh, sniffling. You looked up at him, smiling widely. “Seems we’ve both been in the same boat. Ever since I saw you in Eustass’ room that day, you swept me off my feet.” Your heart was pounding and you wished it would just fucking settle down because you felt sick.

“I just always assumed that you viewed me as an older sibling just like the rest of them. You were my brother’s best friend, I was sure there was some kind of rule against that? Bro code or whatever.” That earned a laugh from Killer. Still haunting, but you knew you’d be able to fix that soon enough.

“It’s been the same for me, Killer. I’ve been so in love with you for so long. I figured it was always one sided. I honestly thought it was just a childhood crush, but it only grew as the years went on. Hearing you say those words is honestly a dream come true.” You put your hands over his before pulling him down so you could place a kiss on his cheek. 

Due to the SMILE fruit permanently pasting that smile on his face, it made kissing an impossibility. But, you could wait. He didn’t know, but you did. It was only a matter of time.

“I…honestly didn’t think you could love a monster like me after what happened in Wano. I figured you’d be repulsed at the sight of me,” he said, looking at you. “But, you never once looked terrified of me. Nor disgusted. Not even when I was Kamazo.”

You reached up, placing a hand on his cheek and shaking your head. “I could never think of you as a monster. SMILE fruit or not, you’re the same man I’ve always loved. I don’t care what you look like. You could’ve grown a second head or a third arm and I’d still love you.” You smiled up at him, his face warming up.

“Well, it’s about damn fucking time.” Your brother’s voice rang through the kitchen and the two of you jumped, looking over and seeing him with the rest of the crew. There were some misty eyes, some smug grins, and some sniffles. “Heat, Wire, you both owe me 200 berries,” Eustass said, looking back at them and they groaned. There was some murmuring amongst everyone. Did everyone have a fucking betting pool about the two of you?

“No one knows them better than I do.” A shit eating grin spread across his face.

Once your initial shock was over, you finally found your voice. “EUSTASS WHAT THE HELL?” You were fuming. “How long have you fucking been there?” This was an invasion of privacy! Your brother just crossed his arms over his chest, that smug grin not leaving his features. “Long enough.” He shrugged and you felt your eye twitch.

You started after him but Killer grabbed your arm. “Careful, doctor. He’s still healing.” Your jaw dropped and you glared at him. “I will kick your ass too. I’m a doctor. I can kick your ass and patch you up like nothing happened. Don’t fucking tempt me.” You shot a look at your brother and the rest of the crew and they scattered. Though, Eustass, Heat, and Wire stayed. They didn’t fear you in the slightest.

Something dawned on you. “Hold the fuckin’ transponder snail.” You turned your attention to the trio in the doorway. “How long have you known?” You put your hands on your hips, glaring at them.

Eustass shrugged. “Since we were teens.” Your mind nearly exploded. That long? “How come no one fucking said anything?”

The three of them shrugged. “Not our place,” Wire said. You sighed. That was true. It wasn’t their place to say anything. 

“Not that we didn’t try to get Killer to confess. Man’s stubborn as shit,” Heat piped up. You slowly turned, looking at Killer who rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I was just afraid to lose you as a friend. I couldn’t live with myself if you ended up hating me for saying something.” Fuck, how the hell was he so sweet with a name like Killer? You never could figure that out. “You’re also so intimidatingly out of my league,” he mumbled and your eyes widened. 

“You thought what?” Your voice came out as a high pitched squeak as those words left his mouth. Your face was once again on fire. The trio in the doorway burst into laughter and you shot them a glare but it only made them laugh more.

You let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Irritating as always. You felt Killer wrap his arms around you from behind and you relaxed a little.

“Just don’t get too loud when you two start boning,” Eustass said with a shit eating grin. 

Your entire body went white hot and your eyes widened. “EUSTASS!” You tried to run at him, but Killer kept you in place as the trio cackled and ran off, away from your wrath.

--

For the next week, Killer was practically glued to your hip. Whatever you were doing, he was right there helping you in whatever way he could. Both him and your brother were much better now. Your brother was back to barking orders and working in a makeshift workshop. You knew that if you didn’t have one on this ship, it wasn’t going to be well for anyone. It’s how your brother calmed down, after all.

Today, you decided it was time. Killer was healing well and he seemed to be back at full capacity, so you knew it would be safe to administer the antidote. Your brother was also constantly harassing you about it. “He’s just fine. You’re stalling.” You just shot him a glare every time and he returned the favor. Finally, you were giving in. 

You were rummaging around in the drawers of your desk for a moment before you found what you were looking for. You stood up, Killer suddenly standing over you. “What are you looking for?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, nearly taking a tumble before Killer caught you and pulled you to him. “For fucking fuck’s sake. You’re going to end up giving me a heart attack, Killi,” you mumbled, straightening yourself out.

He laughed, the noise ringing off the walls and you looked up at him. His helmet was currently being rebuilt by Eustass as his was destroyed in the altercation with Shanks, so he’d been without it all week. He stopped, noticing your expression. Concern shown in his eyes. “What’s wrong, y/n?” 

“You remember how you called me out for not telling the truth about why I stayed in Wano?” The air suddenly shifted to a more serious tone.

He nodded, watching as you moved to face him. “Well, you were right. As you typically are when you call me out. I was working on something.” You held up a small vial. 

“What is it?”

“Take it.”

He blinked, looking at you. “I don’t understand.”

“Take the vial and drink it.”

He took the vial slowly, looking between you and the small object. “Is it going to taste like that medicine you gave me last week? I thought I was all good?” His eyes narrowed and you laughed. You shook your head. “No, I already told you. I made that taste like ass because that was my way of getting back at you for almost dying. This doesn’t taste anything like that.”

He looked at you for a long moment before popping it open and throwing it back. He handed it back to you, looking at you expectantly. For a moment, your heart stopped. Why wasn’t it working? Was there a time frame you didn’t know? Was this one a dud?

Then you saw it. His smile unfurling at the edges and his features slowly relaxing. His eyes widened and complete shock took over his face. His face. Not just his eyes. “Wh-”

“That’s why I stayed in Wano, Killer,” you said softly. 

He stared at you with his shocked expression and for a moment, you were worried you’d broken the poor man. “Ki-” 

His hands were suddenly cupping your face as he pulled you into the most passionate kiss you’d ever experienced. Well, it was the only kiss you’d ever experienced, but either way you were over the moon. You let out a surprised noise, but wasted no time in wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening it. He lifted you up, placing you on the desk as you wrapped your legs around him and pulled him closer. 

You felt him smile against you. Actually smile his own, genuine smile and you couldn’t help but mirror him. His hands traveled down to your hips, gripping you firmly causing you to whine against his mouth and your hands, that were currently wrapped up in his hair, tugged on his hair roughly causing him to let out a growl against you. Your heart started racing with excitement.

After a few moments of kissing and groping at each other, he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours as he panted softly. You were doing the same, looking deep into his eyes with a breathless laugh. 

“I’ve been waiting to do that forever,” he said, looking at you. “Dreamt about it.”

You quirked an eyebrow, grinning. “Oh? And what else did you dream about?” you cooed, one of your hands playing with his goatee as you looked at him. You watched as his face grew more and more red by the second.

“Holy fucking shit, lock the fucking door next time!” Eustass’ voice interrupted the both of you and the two of you looked over. The both of you looked at each other before erupting into a fit of laughter and you couldn’t help but stare at Killer in awe as you finally heard his laugh again. It wasn’t haunted and distorted by the SMILE fruit anymore. It was one hundred percent Killer and you couldn’t be more in love with it - with him.

Eustass’ face lit up. “Wait. Did you finally do it, Bigs?”

You looked over at him, nodding as you unwrapped your legs from Killer and let him go.

Killer looked between the two of you. “So you knew this whole time, captain?” 

Eustass nodded. “Your secret wasn’t the only one I was keeping. Which, I’m glad it’s all out. That shit is the worst.” He rolled his eyes and you laughed. 

“I’m honestly surprised you were able to keep any secret at all,” you mused. 

He looked at you with a droll expression. “Whatever. Well, I’ll let you get back to shagging, just clean up whatever mess you make and don’t be too loud. I don’t really wanna hear my older sibling getting railed.” He turned to head out of the room.

You felt your face grow white hot. “EUSTASS!”

[bubbledtee]

ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀʀᴍᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

Warnings: smoking, drinking, social anxiety, sexual references

Word count: 4.8k

beta-read by @30-3am

contents

playlist

✧.* "In a small corner bar he sits there a-drinkin'. Lost as a ball in a field full of corn. Further away than he ever imagined that he'd ever end up from the place he was born." ~ "Creeker", Tyler Childers ✧.*

a/n: this shit took so long to get out i'm giggling

»»——⍟——««

🇳​​🇪​​🇼​ ​🇨​​🇴​​🇼​​🇧​​🇴​​🇾​ ​🇮​​🇳​ ​🇹​​🇴​​🇼​​🇳​ (Ch. 1)

January 22nd, 1994 - La Veta, CO

Bea held herself in the passenger seat of Zoe’s red Buick LeSabre, the well-below-freezing Colorado weather penetrating the vehicle despite shut windows and cranked heat. She cursed herself for letting Abigail convince her to wear the black, form-fitting turtle-neck dress from her closet, wishing she had opted for a nice pair of blue jeans and a warm sweater instead. She just hoped the heating at the old dive bar would suffice not to freeze her to death tonight.

“Don’t look so sad, B! You’re seein’ the outside world for once,” Abigail’s Kentucky accent was thicker than usual as she pushed Bea’s shoulder slightly from the backseat. “You’re too wrapped up with those damn horses, you need a night off!”

Bea looked behind her into the backseat. The tall, southern blonde held a cigarette between her long, thin fingers, her hand hanging lazily as she balanced her elbow on her knee. Someone walking down the street would know the girl was a Southern beauty just from a glance. She wore too much makeup and an excessive amount of pink that was an eyesore to anybody in their right mind, but most men she was after didn’t so much care about her style as they did about what the dress hid from their perverted gaze.

Bea giggled. “I’m not sad, Abby. I’m just fucking freezing,” she told her, snatching the cigarette from Abigail’s fingers. She brought the lipstick-stained stick up to her mouth and took a long drag, the burn that began to fill her chest, warming her from the inside out. She held the smoke in as she handed the cigarette to Audrey, the girl brushing her ginger curls from her freckled face.

“I shouldn’t have let you convince me to wear this god-awful dress. I’m freezing and I look ridiculous,” Bea grumbled.

There was a collective chorus of ‘no’s’ as soon as she uttered the self-deprecating words, “Shut your mouth, you look gorgeous. You’re just not used to seeing yourself cleaned up!” Zoe insisted, momentarily averting her gaze from the barren and beat-up road to look at Bea. The brunette wore a dubious expression with an eye roll, and Zoe gently hit her arm in retaliation. “I’m serious!”

“And even if you didn’t look good, you’ve gotta be confident. It makes anything look good,” Audrey chimed from the back seat, “I mean, it even makes Abby’s dresses look good on her.”

The already-tipsy blonde gasped beside her, “Fuck you!” she playfully exclaimed, shoving Audrey slightly. “They look good either way,”

The other girls laughed, “Yeah, maybe at some hick beauty pageant in Kentucky.” Audrey rebutted, her face twisted into a wicked grin as she poked fun at her friend.

Bea just shook her head and laughed, watching from the car’s front window. She watched as the sign that read ‘LA VETA’ grew closer and closer until the vehicle eventually passed it - her eyes shifting to the tiny rows of buildings that now enclosed the road on either side.

The minuscule town was one she knew well, memories of walking along the sidewalks with her parents and brothers immediately flooding her mind every time she crossed the threshold. It was the closest town to Lone Wolf Ranch with any civilization, meaning it was the only place the family could shop, eat out, or anything in between. The only times Bea went into town was to buy herself new tack and blankets for horses, or when her friends dragged her into a night out–just like tonight. 

The car slowly pulled into the Magpie Inn’s tiny parking lot, Zoe leaning forward slightly to search for an open parking space. Bea looked around, too, searching for any cars she knew. The number of old F-250s and Silverado 3500s that crowded the parking lot made it evident enough that the place would be full of cowboys who had been enjoying their day off at the bar since before noon. And just as she had expected, she recognized almost every vehicle there.

After a minute, Zoe pulled the car into one of the last open parking spots in the lot and shut the vehicle off. The group hopped out before swiftly shuffling toward the bar's front doors, attempting to preserve their warmth as much as possible.

Bea could hear the buzz of the neon sign that hung beside the door as they approached it, its bright lights flashing ‘OPEN’. The warmth of the light almost seemed to radiate off the sign and reach her, and she could feel her face warm slightly as they approached the door.

However, warmth enveloped her significantly stronger when Audrey opened the building’s doors. Not only that, but the pungent stench of liquor and beer that doused everyone’s breath inside found her too, all of it topped off by the booming sound of a country band that sat at the other side of the establishment–playing an upbeat tune.

As they entered the room, Bea practically hid behind her friends like a small child. She felt so stupid for being shy around people she had mainly known for years, but she couldn’t help the embarrassment that flooded her as she imagined what everybody thought about the girl being dressed up like she was. All she could imagine was negativity and internalized insults of all types.

Zoe suddenly pulled Bea from her negative thoughts as she spoke, “Come on, let’s get you a drink. You need something to help you loosen up,” She softly grabbed Bea’s hand and led her toward the bar, carefully weaving through the crowd of drunk cowboys and tradesmen alike. She thought a few blurs of faces seemed familiar, but she was thankful she didn’t have the time to do a double take as she and Zoe reached the bar. 

Bea leaned over the bar as her counterpart ordered their drinks, her voice bubbly as she did so. She looked down the bar to her left and observed the folks who sat on the old, cracked leather seat stools along the wooden barrier. Most were older men her father knew well–ones that had long been left by their wives and now drink themselves to death by their lonesome. Some of them make their way from those ruts and redeem themselves as her father and her brother, Johnny, had, but others have no desire to fix themselves. Such as her brother Tommy. She shook the thought from her head as Zoe handed her a Heineken, the cold condensation freezing her fingertips.

She sipped the beer lightly, letting the cold bubbles spread across her tongue and sting slightly down her throat. She never was much of a fan of beer, the scent of the hops often ruining her enjoyment of the otherwise refreshing drink, but right then, she really didn’t seem to mind. Anything that would slightly calm her nerves was worth whatever it might take.

The two walked back toward the other girls, Zoe carrying their beers with her own. Bea followed close behind her as though she were a lost puppy looking for her mother; if she were quite honest, she felt like she was.

They reached Audrey and Abby, and Zoe handed them their drinks. Joking words were shared between the three as Bea’s gaze turned longingly toward the door. She felt pathetic for how much she wanted to leave, like such a nuisance to her poor friends who simply wanted to take her from the nights they deemed lonely. But she didn’t quite enjoy seeing so many longtime family friends (or foes) in one place simultaneously.

As her mind drifted off and her gaze lingered on the door, a tall, blonde cowboy walked through the ingress. He looked almost anxious as he tucked his hands into his Storm Rider’s pockets and glanced around the room, his eyes catching Bea’s. Even from a distance, she could admire the icy blue irises beneath his beaten and dirty cowboy hat. She’d never seen him before.

Before she could longer study his handsome and rugged features, a tap on her shoulder made her head whip in the opposite direction.

“You okay, babe?” Zoe asked her with a tilt of her head, her eyes soft.

Bea nodded quickly with a flushed face. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m good.” She sent a forced smile her friend's way and watched as Zoe’s gaze shifted beyond her and toward the bar. A grin slowly crept onto her face before looking back at Bea.

“He’s cute,” she muttered, causing the pink flush of Bea’s face to turn bright red. Bea rolled her eyes and looked away from Zoe and down at her shoes, almost ashamed. Ever since her last long-term boyfriend left her high and dry two years ago, she hadn’t much tried to find a new lover. Sure, she’d had a rebound or two when she was slumped after the breakup, and she’d tried to have them fill the emptiness that lingered within her heart, but it was either too soon or not enough. So she’d simply given up after a year and decided she’d focus on her father’s ranch rather than a lover. It would be more simple that way, she thought.

However, her desire for a lover had been growing within the prior months, and maybe that’s what gave her the final push to go out with the other girls that night. But she wasn’t sure.

Zoe’s face scrunched in slight disgust as she looked back at the blonde man, “Ugh, but that haircut…” she grimaced, making Bea turn her head to look at him. He had removed his cowboy hat, and his hair was long, with the sides and top cut to make a long mullet. It was reminiscent of a haircut that her sophomore-year boyfriend, Donovan, had had. But she didn’t mind. She supposed the poor choice of haircut was brave in its own kind of way.

“It’s not horrible,” she murmured, not even realizing she was defending the mysterious man. Her gaze lingered a bit longer as he removed his coat, revealing a black long-sleeve shirt with a bleach stain imprinted upon the left sleeve. She only looked away when he glanced back at her after ordering a drink. Bea’s face turned a deep red.

Zoe laughed, “Oh, my god, he’s blushing!”

Bea shook her head, “Shut up. How can you even tell? He looked the other way,” she muttered anxiously, “Stop looking at him, you’re being weird.”

Abby and Audrey turned away from their conversation to inch closer to the two, “What are we looking at?” Audrey asked before taking a sip of her beer.

“The guy with the mullet at the bar,” Zoe told her, pointing at him. Bea wanted to shrink down to the size of an ant and be stepped on right then and there. The situation was beyond embarrassing. “He and Bea were ogling each other,”

Audrey and Abby turned to look at him, “I’ve never seen him around before,” Abby said as she stared at the back of his head. Bea could only imagine how the girls' eyes were burning through the poor man’s skull. She was half expecting his brains to explode under their gaze.

Audrey shook her head, “Me neither,” she agreed. The trio looked back at Bea with wide grins spread across their faces. They seemed oddly excited at the prospect of her simply making eye contact with someone of the opposite sex. Was she really that much of a loser?

“You’ve gotta go talk to him, B!” Abby cheered, the other two girls agreeing in unison.

Bea just looked between the three of them, thoughts racing her mind. He was handsome, but she wasn’t sure if she was fit to simply approach him and attempt conversation. She was more than out of practice regarding anything of that nature.

She began to stutter out an excuse, “I-I don’t wanna bother him-”

Zoe interrupted her with a soft nudge to the shoulder, “There’s not a single man – especially not a cowboy – that would mind being bothered by a pretty girl like you. You know that, baby.” She brought her beer bottle up to her lips and took a quick swig; Bea just gave her a look and silently pleaded with her. Zoe gave a short nod and an understanding smile, “But it’s up to you.”

Bea exhaled a sigh of relief as the other two silently agreed, but not before Abby gave her two cents. “But you’d look adorable with him, B. Even more adorable than you look on your own.”

Bea smiled appreciatively, and with that, the mysterious cowboy was seemingly forgotten. The group carried on with conversation, occasionally running into familiar faces and catching up with each other’s lives over drinks. It slowly became nice for Bea. She wasn’t even entirely sure why she had been nervous to be there in the first place.

However, between drinks and increasingly easier conversation, Bea couldn’t help but sneak looks at the man from before. She’d occasionally catch him gazing softly in her direction already, but when she wouldn’t, she’d admire his features from afar—or at least the ones she could see from where she was standing.

His back was toned–she could tell through his shirt that hugged his broad shoulders–and wide arms. At one point, she had caught him standing to make his way to the bathroom, and she just couldn’t pry her eyes away from his ass. She figured it was better than her own.

With such a physique, she could tell he’d been working for most of his life, and as more alcohol coursed throughout her system, she wondered what that physique was like without such a pesky shirt. She wondered what his muscular thighs were beneath that nettlesome blue denim. Most of all, she wondered how a man she’d never spoken to before could have her practically drooling for doing nothing but minding his own business.

By the bottom of her third beer, Bea was beyond relaxed. She remembered how nice seeing old friends and catching up on small-town drama could be, and she spoke more than she had in the last month. With the growth of her confidence, her consideration of talking to the blonde cowboy grew, too. How horribly could it go? He was lonely, that much was obvious, and she figured he wouldn’t mind the company.

Bea looked back at the man as she took a drag of her cigarette. There was a perfectly free barstool right next to him, and she could hear it calling her name over the booming of the dive bar’s live band. She turned to Zoe and yelled over the thumping bass, “I’m gonna go get another beer,” her voice came out raspy, her throat tired from needing to speak over all their surrounding sounds.

“Okay,” Zoe shouted back. Bea didn’t quite understand how her friend was dealing with the surrounding crowd essentially sober, but she supposed she respected it.

“Do you mind grabbing me one, too?” Audrey asked–a significant slur to her voice.

Bea nodded her head, secretly regretting announcing where she was headed. She looked over at Abby, considering asking if she wanted one too, but she could tell from her company of wasted cowboys that she was more than well off.

Bea flicked her cigarette anxiously and turned toward the bar, beginning to weave through the maze of drunkards. She was smaller than just about everyone in the room, and pushing through the crowd was a task that seemed nearly impossible to her. It was almost like she was invisible as she brushed past drunk cowboys and their equally inebriated female counterparts, people only moving if she pushed them with some force. She truly wondered how difficult it was to be spacially aware as she wedged between the last few layers of people.

Finally, Bea pushed through the thick herd of drunkards and to the line that sat in front of the bar. 

Immediately, her eyes were on him.

He had his arm propped up on the bar, his chin gently rested in his hand. His eyes were lazily focused on the hockey game that played on the boxy television hung from the ceiling behind the bar. The Boston Bruins were playing the Philadelphia Flyers, two teams that the mid-westerners who occupied the rest of the bar couldn’t have cared less about, and neither did he, it seemed. But it was something to occupy him, Bea was sure.

She continued to watch as he grabbed his beer bottle and brought it to his lips, taking a thick swig of the bubbly beverage. He huffed a sigh as he set the bottle down.

Bea took a drag of her cigarette and allowed the nicotine to cool her rising nerves. She looked back at the girls she had left, immediately locking eyes with a grinning Zoe. Bea looked away and down at her feet, a blush painting her face. Now she really couldn’t back out, unless she wanted to be chastised endlessly by her best friend for not committing to the chance she was about to take.

With a final drag of her cigarette, Bea looked into the smudged mirror behind the liquor shelves of the bar. She cursed that stupid dress she wore, telling herself how ridiculous it looked. Why couldn’t she have just worn jeans and a blouse? She’d look cuter and be comfier.

Silently, she shook the thoughts from her head as she remembered what Audrey said in the car earlier. 

Whatever, Bea thought, Confidence, B, that’s all you need.

She stood straight, adjusting her body language to display confidence, hoping it looked even somewhat natural. She looked back at where Zoe had been staring from, only to find the back of her head. No more eyes on her, good.

With her sleight confidence, Bea walked up to the barstool beside the blonde and sat, setting her forearms upon the bar. She was there. It was a step in the right direction. All she had to do now was start a conversation. Somehow.

In an attempt to stall for time, she waved down the bartender and asked for another beer, hoping it would convince the man beside her that he wasn’t the entire reason she had sat down. Though, he seemed to have not noticed her presence as he lit a cigarette and kept his focus on the hockey game in front of him.

Bea watched from the corner of her eye as he took a long drag and flicked the ash into the tray that sat to the left of him. As he did so, his eyes followed the cigarette, stopping only when they seemed to catch something on the bar. Right then, she noticed just how blue his eyes were; they were only a shade or two darker than the noon sky.

“There you are, darlin’.” The bartender smiled at Bea as he set a cold Heineken in front of her.

She looked up, her eyes wide in something akin to confusion before awkwardly smiling back. “Oh! Thanks,” she spoke. The bartender nodded and turned away, making his way to a drunkard waving him down elsewhere.

Bea’s attention slyly turned back towards the blonde beside her. His eyebrows were furrowed in what seemed to be curiosity, and Bea tried to follow where exactly he was looking. She looked at the ashtray and slowly tracked further left until her gaze met her hand.

“What’s that say?” the man asked, his voice enough to melt Bea into a puddle.

She looked at him, her head tilting. “What?” she nearly squeaked.

“The tattoo,” he pointed to the ink inscribed on top of her hand, “What’s it say?”

His voice was thick and gruff but had a deep smoothness to it that made Bea’s head spin. She looked back at her hand, almost as if she was unaware of the emblem written into her skin. “Oh,” she looked at him, her cheeks flushed a bright red. “Blondie,” she finally told him as she rolled her sleeve up just a bit to reveal the entire tattoo. The name had been inscribed in calligraphy below the print date of “9/26/1988”, a small heart attached to the tail of the ‘e’ on the calligraphy with it all encircled by the depiction of a horseshoe.

“What’s the date for?” the cowboy asked, twisting his upper body towards the woman beside him and bringing his cigarette back to his lips.

Bea sat up straight, “It’s the day he died,” she told him before stumbling to cover her vagueness, “Blondie, a horse of mine. First horse I ever broke on my own,”

The man’s eyebrows shot up, obviously expecting a different, much happier answer. Whatever that may have been. “Oh, m’sorry.” he muttered, clearing his throat and taking a swig of his beer.

“That’s alright,” Bea smiled softly, her heart thumping hard against her ribcage as she spoke with him. Even over the sound of the dive bar’s band, she was sure he could hear it too.

He took another quick drag of his cigarette before stubbing it in the glass ashtray. His hands were big and rough, obviously made from years of work. Bea’s stomach coiled slightly at the sight as her mind wandered. She thought about how they’d feel on her back, her hips, her thighs…

“I like it, though,” he told her, snapping her from her sinful thoughts. He looked up at her, “Not many folks have tattoos. It’s different,”

She was sure her face was beet red as she smiled at him, “Thank you,” she said. “Usually, people ask me if I was drunk when I decided to get it. Or if I worship Satan.”

The cowboy squinted and scoffed before saying, “For a tattoo commemorating a dead horse?”

She shrugged, “They say it’s a Pagan practice.” The cowboy just shook his head and rolled his eyes as he took a final swig of his beer. Bea spoke, “Pretty sure Pagans don’t worship Satan, either.”

“People just like hearing themselves talk,” he grumbled, placing the empty beer bottle on the bar. “Always have something to say about how you live your life. It’s dumb.”

“Agreed,” Bea nodded, reaching for her untouched beer bottle. She took a swig as the cowboy returned to watching the TV, the game at the tail end of the third period. Now she had to start more conversation. She reached into her dress’s pocket and pulled out her pack of Marlboro Reds alongside a lighter. As she plucked a cigarette from the pack, she spoke. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

The man looked at her, “Definitely not,” he smiled softly. “I’m originally from a bit further west, little town called Durango.”

Bea nodded, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, yeah! My daddy won a big barrel racing title out that way in ‘68 at the uh…”

“Fiesta Days Rodeo?”

“Yeah! That’s it!”

The cowboy nodded, his entire body turned on the barstool towards Bea. He had a prideful smirk on his face, “That’s the first rodeo I ever rode in. Junior bull riding in ‘77 when I was 14. Fell off in three seconds,”

Bea tilted her head and smiled, “You’re a bull rider?”

“Was, for about two years. Then I started doing some of the calf roping in the rodeo. I did a whole lot better with that, nowhere near as many head injuries.” he told her, picking up his hat from the bar and placing it on his knee to dust it off. “I tried barrel racing, but I never really got the hang of it. Cutting was the most fun, though. It feels like working a herd, except you’re in a ring,”

Bea nodded, “I did lots of cutting before Blondie died. He knew how to work cattle better than any old ranch horse we had,” she told him, “I still breed and train cutters and barrel racers, competing’s just harder nowadays.”

“You sell ‘em, too?” he asked, an eyebrow quirked.

She nodded, a grin plastered across her face. “Yeah. Why? You interested?”

The man snorted and put his hat on, “You’re funny,”

Bea giggled, “Come on, any self-respecting man wants a good working horse!” she took a tender sip of her beer.

The cowboy gave her a sardonic look, “Do I look like I have any self-respect, Miss…”

“Dalton,” she answered, “Lorelei Dalton, just call me Bea.”

“Where does ‘Bea’ come from out of ‘Lorelei Dalton’?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes, only then realizing just how loose her once-tensed muscles had become. “My middle name is Bernadette if you really have to know.”

The blonde nodded before sticking out his hand for her to shake, “James Hetfield,” he said as she grabbed it and they shook.

Bea’s hand was warm in his grip, his hand almost twice the size of hers and calloused from his years of work. “What brings you out here, then, Mr. Hetfield?”

“James,” he corrected with a smirk, “And just work. I was in Wyoming working a ranch this past year, but the guy who owned the place was a shady fuck. Didn’t ever pay any of his cowpunchers quite what he owed, so I just sort of up and left.”

Bea nodded, “I’d have done the same,” she said, “Why didn’t you go back to Durango?”

He shrugged. “It’s in my past,”

She took it as an ‘I don’t wanna talk about it,’.

“Well, there’s plenty of cattle to work out this way.” she told him, “I hope you find someone who’ll pay you what they owe,”

“Yeah, me too.” James chuckled. His laugh sent Bea’s insides fluttering. It was adorable. “I dunno, I’ve got a ‘trial’ for a job, I guess. Over in Cuchara. I start tomorrow,”

Bea leaned on the bar top, “Maybe I’ll be seeing you around often, then.” she told him. His head tilted in curiosity at her words. “My family’s ranch is out in Cuchara, ‘Lone Wolf’. My daddy and my brother work the cattle.

“Just them?” he asked.

Bea nodded, “Our herd isn’t huge right now, we had a bad calving yield this past spring.” she told him, taking a swig of her beer before continuing. “What’s the name of the ranch you’re gonna be working?”

James shrugged, “I forgot,” he simply said.

Bea gave him an unimpressed look, “Really?”

“Really.” he affirmed, “I’ve got the address, though.” he began fishing through his jeans’ pockets, but before he could pull anything from them, Bea felt a tap on her shoulder. She whipped her head around.

“Hey, babe. We’ve gotta go,” Zoe told her, her hand now grabbing for the meaty part of Bea’s arm.

“Wh-” Bea began, but her eyes soon fell upon Audrey, who was attempting to hold the attention of a tall, dark-haired cowboy across the room. However, his dark eyes were narrowed and focused overtop of the woman’s head. Straight at Bea. “Oh,” was all she could muster as her stomach dropped to her feet.

“Yeah,” Zoe said before looking over at James, who now sat dumbfounded and almost upset that this random woman had interrupted their conversation. He held a small piece of paper in his hand. “Sorry.” Zoe told him sincerely, “Just look her up in the Yellow Pages, or something.”

With that, Zoe and Bea began out the door. Bea turned to wave at the blonde cowboy, finding his now-longing and sad eyes following her out the door. He waved back at her with a sigh before standing and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. She felt horrible. But she also needed to get out of there.

“What’s he doing here?” she asked Zoe, wide-eyed as they burst through the entrance. The bitter wind stung their cheeks.

Zoe shrugged, “He just came up to Audrey and asked if you were with us,” she unlocked her car’s door, and the two got into the vehicle. She stuck the key in the ignition, and the engine struggled to a start.

“I thought he’d left town!” Bea exclaimed as she shivered, trying to warm up as the car pushed hot air through its vents. “When is he going to fucking leave me alone?! We fucked twice. Twice! A year ago! That’s it!”

Zoe nodded, “I know. He’s a creep.”

Right then, the doors to the bar burst open, Audrey and Abigail drunkenly stumbling out with something akin to haste. Abigail was leaning against Audrey, her drunkenness reducing her to the balance of a toddler. They raced across the parking lot and burst the car doors open as soon as they reached them.

“We’ve got to go,” Audrey practically shouted as she slammed the door beside her. “Fucker tried grabbing me,”

Zoe whipped around, “What?!”

The man in question emerged from the entrance.

“Zoe, go,” Bea told her friend firmly. The car was then quickly put into gear, and they whipped out of the parking lot, leaving the old dive bar in the dust.

[argonaut--keene]

Okay fuck it, even if I don't finish it anytime soon or ever, I have 40 chapters of this fic that have been waiting to see the light of day for years and you know what, they're good, so I'm going to share them. Get ready, it's time to find Another Way

[thebigoblin]

On The Dance Floor

tags: Not Scott McCall Friendly, Inspired by a Song, Oneshot, Alpha Derek Hale, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Getting Together, The Hale Pack 2.0, Fluff, Minor Sheriff Stilinski/Melissa McCall

a/n: found this in my drafts tagged as "complete." figured i'll post this as a lil weekend treat <3 so cleaned it up a bit. i'll post this on ao3 tomorrow ig. also, real enemy is giving fics a fucking title.

now you can also read this fic on ao3.

White, marble tiles are eaten up by his black, formal shoes, his movements a little hurried as he veers off another corner of this event hall, almost braining himself against the wall. He stops just at the right moment, curses his clumsiness, and continues walking down the empty hallway to the dressing room. Everyone else is already in the main hall, sitting on the chairs, and Stiles Stilinski was there only moments before, so he knows they're waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Except, his dad is getting cold-feet, and despite Scott's attempts at being normal around his soon-to-be stepfather, and being a shoulder to lean on, the cold-feet is getting worse. At least, that's what Derek texted him, a short, concise depiction of whatever the hell must be happening in the dressing room.

And he trusts the Alpha, so he's quick in his steps and quicker with his breaths when he does open up the door and finds his dad pacing around the decently-sized room, his suit on, and complemented by a look of absolute panic on his face.

Scott is standing off to the side, like he always seems to be these days, and he's on the opposite side of Derek, far from him, like he always was and always will be. Some people don't change, and Stiles has learned that through experience he would rather not repeat.

"Dad," Stiles says, and that's all it takes for the dam to break. His dad gives a quick glance to Scott, his once-favorite son, and then pulls both Stiles and Derek towards him, his hands a little sweaty with dread. His dad knows being close and talking low wouldn't make a difference, but it's the principle of the thing, and for one split second he wonders what 16 year old him would have thought of this fact, of Derek being his dad's chosen son, and him himself being this close to his dad. And Scott not even being privy to the beauty of this relationship.

"What if she doesn't want me to? I love Melissa, I do, but Claudia- I don't know. I had a dream yesterday, Stiles, and she was just, she was just there! Just sitting on the beach, where I proposed to Melissa, right where Melissa was sitting. Was that, like, one of your supernatural dreams? Derek, you must know something about these sort of things. I don't think she wants me to—"

Derek cuts him off with a firm, "She wants nothing but happiness for you." He gives Stiles a quick look, asking silently if this is okay, because out of the four people in this room he's the only who didn't actually know her when she was alive. Stiles nods, and Derek continues, and his dad hangs onto every word out of Derek's mouth. "Today is a big day for you, and you're nervous, and it's okay, John. That dream was just a way for your subconscious to show up — this isn't the first time you've had this thought, have you?"

"No."

"That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. Just your nerves."

Stiles smiles softly at his dad. "Mom loves you," he moves forward to bring his dad in for a patented Stilinski hug. His voice is muffled when he insists, "She loved you when she was beside you, and she loves you now that she's watching over you. And she loves Melissa, too. I know she'll be the one smiling the biggest when you say 'I Do,' today."

His dad holds on for a little longer, and Stiles knows he's holding back tears when his dad says, "Okay," with a rough voice. He pulls back, takes a deep breath, pats Stiles on the shoulder twice, the way he always does, and gives a wobbly smile to Derek. He says, "Thanks, son," to both of them before looking at himself in the mirror.

"You look amazing."

"I'm so glad Lydia's mom was able to modify your original suit into this," Stiles adds to Derek's compliment, and Derek nods, repeats the sentiment of his dad looking amazing.

Scott chimes in, too, and his dad gives him a small smile. The relationship with him is strained, and if it was any other day Scott wouldn't even be in Beacon Hills, but it's his mom's wedding day, too. Stiles allows this one day, and if he didn't, he can't really stop Scott from being here. This is his hometown, too. They have their differences, yes, but they also have a past, together and also not, stemming from this same town.

Stiles has no right to where Scott does or does not go.

Derek, on the flip side, with his red eyes and ancestral blood running through his veins, roots sprouting from this town's soil, has no such qualms. Derek and Scott share a past, too, and it defines their present more than anything else could have.

Stiles' dad says he'll be out in just a minute, can they wait outside please, and all three of them step out. Once the door is closed, Derek turns to Scott.

"When are you leaving?"

Scott is instantly angry. He has always hated Derek, no matter the truth. Logic was always Stiles' friend first and Scott's second, and without Stiles, Scott is just a ball of emotions being hit by the bat of daddy and authoritative issues.

Derek has a right to know. It is his prerogative. This is his land, his territory, his packmate's wedding. Scott was banished — run off, really, and now he's back. Derek has a right to know when he'll leave, irrespective of Scott's hesitation to tell him.

But, the years have done Scott good. Instead of yelling, making a scene, he takes a breath in. Stiles wonders what or who his anchor is, and promptly decides it's not something he cares to know. He watches Scott get himself under control, enough that when he speaks his voice is almost emotionless.

All or nothing. That was what Scott was, and still is. He's changed, but not really.

"Mom leaves for her honeymoon tomorrow, and I need to take stuff from home."

Derek raises his right eyebrow. "That's not an answer."

Scott gives a tight smile. "It is if you just learn to stop when you should."

Before Derek can say anything, Stiles is taking the two steps to stand right beside his Alpha, disbelief coloring his face and words as he lets out, "Are you seriously threatening him?"

Scott just looks at him. The look is unreadable. It hurts, this distance between them, when Stiles remembers fantasizing about being not two feet apart on a porch in their late, late years, drinking to the years and cheers they must have had in their shared lives. Derek shakes him out of that thought with a gentle touch to his hand, their arms trapped between their bodies, and he relaxes.

Derek looks at Scott. His eyes turn red, brilliant red, and he orders, "Leave by Wednesday afternoon."

Today is Sunday.

And his dad's wedding day. His dad, who chooses this moment to come out, looking much better, and happier, and assured. He looks at the scene in front of him, the three of them, Scott on one side, alone. Him and Derek, side by side, on the opposite side of Scott.

He claps his hands.

"Who is ready to cry today?"

*

They all cry.

The ceremony is simple, but beautiful. The whole town is here, the wedding off their Sheriff, and the nurse who is so lovely, so kind. They are an inspiration, they all murmur, Derek tells him; second chances at love are rare, and this is beautiful, and who knew there exists beauty in the depths of tragedy?

His dad cries when he watches Melissa come down the aisle, Ms. Martin on one side and Scott on the other. Her best friend and her son, and for once, Stiles doesn't mind Scott's presence.

Melissa is smiling, eye to eye, her wedding gown fitting her perfectly.

She stands in front of his dad and says, "Oh, John," with such reverence, it's hard to not cry. Stiles has to put his hand in front of his mouth, but it's futile. Derek, the jerk, repeats those words, the ones he is hearing from every corner of the hall, and by the time Stiles has a dad and a stepmom officially, he's crying happy tears.

Lydia hugs him and tells him now it's his turn to find her mom somebody, too, and he agrees, only half-listening to her. He's staring at the big, gigantic grin on his dad's face, a matching one on Melissa.

Everyone congratulates him and the newlyweds, and then it's food and chatter and toasts, and everyone is surprised when Derek gives the first toast instead of Stiles, and Scott is supposedly not giving one at all.

Derek's toast is short, but no less lovely. He calls John a great man, one with utmost patience, and of course Derek would find a way to make a dig at Stiles; he says he has no clue how John and Claudia had strength enough to be patient with Stiles around, and that perhaps it is that tenacity, that will, that has brought about the proceedings of today. Of not giving up, even when the world is stacked against you. Of staying strong, in the face of everything falling apart. Of falling apart but coming back stronger, steadier. Of finding love after all of that. And coming from Derek, of all people, it means a whole lot, and Stiles' dad hugs Derek post-speech tightly.

When they pull apart, Derek says into the mic, but with eyes on Stiles' dad, "She's just as proud of you as Stiles is. As I am."

And then it's his turn to give a toast, and he's not sure how he can outdo Derek; as he stands up in front of the mic, he realizes he doesn't want to.

He gives a few funny anecdotes of his childhood, of how his dad taught him to always have hope, because good people get good things, even if it takes long. And how Melissa was always there, a second mom to him right from the start, and how much he loves her and is glad she's still in his life, despite the years, despite the circumstances. The crowd gets intrigued at that, aware of the distance between Scott and his mom, and Stiles too; all of Beacon Hills knows about the rift, but only a hand few know the cause of it as well. So, for him to mention the distance, to publicly acknowledge it, is a big thing.

He moves right the fuck on, makes jokes and smiles and cries, admits he'll always miss his mom, but that he'd always hoped, deep in his heart, that when the grief becomes tolerable he'd be the one to make the two of them marry each other.

"You got there first," he jokes, "Had the ring all picked out even before I could start trying to convince you to ask her out. Honestly, that might have been the second best decision you've ever made." None of them have to ask what the first was. It's obvious; Stiles knows his mom's wedding ring sits inside his dad's shirt, on a necklace, his own beside it.

Melissa gives a toast, too. She reminisces the first time she met Claudia, how they became friends, and how, at the time, it was impossible to imagine a life without her.

Before her little speech, to everyone this was her and John's day, but it's clear to them now that it's not just that. To the newlyweds it's a promise to Claudia; Melissa's once best friend and his dad's first love. To be happy. To live.

There's more hugs, more cheers, the champagne popping, and a quick, impromptu speech by Scott, who was fuming at being outdone like this by not just Stiles, but also Derek.

His speech is not bad, per se. Angry jerks of his chin, wild eyes and noticeable pauses. It's not bad. It just looks bad in comparison.

Stiles will definitely rot in hell for finding this funny, but at least he won't be the only one. The whole pack is trying not to laugh, and Stiles has to hide his own in the lapels of Derek's suit, who in turn hides his laughter in Stiles' hair.

Stiles feels bad, once or twice. But Scott made his bed and he's lying on it.

And then, after that, there's the first dance. There's the open dance floor and little kids asking Derek sweetly if he'll dance with them. He's their favorite, and it's adorable, and Stiles takes a thousand pictures.

Derek is in a sharp suit, and the juxtaposition of him dancing with young children, in princess dresses and printed suits — one kid had a yellow, minion-print suit, and honestly, that kid, Darren, pulled it off well — all colorful to his black shirt, black blazer, and black pants, is just so...

Good.

Derek's whole face is lit up, the golden glow of the lights all around them putting him in an ethereal spotlight, his eyes soft, mouth curved up, and nose adorably scrunched as he tries to decipher the babbling of a two-year-old.

The mom of the kid comes to get the boy, profusely apologizing, but Derek just smiles and says it's okay. It was no issue, it's okay, no need to apologize at all.

"Right," she says, eyes flicking between Derek and Stiles. "I'll let you get back to your partner then." And it's clear she means him.

Derek doesn't correct her, and neither does he. She leaves, and in this corner of the room, it's just them now. Most kids are tired, now, and most guests have left. It's mostly just the closest friends of Melissa and his dad, and the pack, of course, who are here.

Derek turns to him, his eyes still soft, which somehow get more soft when he looks at Stiles. It takes his breath away, and he lets out a squeaky, "Let's dance?" He's almost 25, the "adult" age according to the internet, and he still acts like a high school kid with a fucking crush.

Derek just makes him feel that way.

Derek, who is going to be 30 in less than a week, the big decade, the big, bad wolf. Derek, who blushes, his cheeks pinkish red behind his stubbled face, and puts out a hand.

Stiles takes the offered hand, his heart dancing inside his ribcage. And onto the stage they go, to the applause of the pack, and his dad's, "Finally!"

Stiles blushes, too. It's just their luck to get on the floor when it's a slow dance song.

Derek wastes no time, like he can't think or he'll explode, and puts his left hand on Stiles' waist, his right on Stiles' shoulder. Stiles puts both his hands around Derek's neck, and the alpha leans into the touch. This, the blatant trust, the welcomeness of it, is what bolsters Stiles.

They move to the slow beat, their eyes on each other's like white on rice, and everything else just doesn't exist. It's just them, and only them. No one else exists, not when they do, this close.

They move closer still, their hips touching, their foreheads against each other's. Noses touching close.

"Hey," he says, and grins when Derek does.

"Hey," Derek says back, so close that Stiles feels in his bones the word shape itself in Derek's mouth.

The music changes, then, and Stiles recognizes this one from the very first beat of it. Of course he does. It's Derek's favorite song ever.

"Did you bribe the DJ to play Apocalypse?"

Derek laughs, a quick, short one, and Stiles watches the movement of it, the beauty of Derek Hale laughing. "What if I did?"

Before Stiles can say anything, the line, "kisses on the forehead of lovers," comes on, and Derek takes a step back, only to kiss Stiles on the forehead.

Stiles' breath stops in his throat. Derek closes the gap between them again, and sways them to the beat. Stiles just follows his lead, his face having stuck itself on an astonished smile, and by the time the song is over he's just hugging Derek, tight, close, forever and ever and ever close.

Derek hums the song right in his ear, and it's perfect, Derek's breath on him, his grip, his eyes on him.

Stiles takes a step back and just looks into Derek's eyes.

"Hey," Derek says softly. They don't need words. Just this, a moment to themselves, where nothing but them exists.

Stiles doesn't even have a clue what song is playing. All he hears is Derek. His unspoken trust and devotion, his soul half of Stiles', Stiles' own soul half of Derek's. Their mingling breaths, because they're still close, just a hair apart from being one.

"Hey," he repeats, and they're both moving forward, Derek's hands on Stiles' waist, his own around Derek's neck, and they kiss.

It's gentle and slow, like time doesn't exist, could never take from them, this moment infinite, their love defying the laws of the universe and stopping time.

Because this is it. This is love, theirs and theirs only, part of its definition somewhere in the noises Stiles is making, part of it in the way Derek is touching him, moving his hands around Stiles' body, up and down, up and down, caressing him close and closer still.

Because isn't that what love is? Finding meaning in another?

After what feels like a lifetime, Derek pulls back. "Your lips, my lips, apocalypse," Derek hums against his lips, and they're so close, one breath two beings close, Stiles feels the movement of Derek's lips against his.

He lets out a small laugh. Derek swallows it down with another kiss, this one urgent, and time stills, again. Nothing exists, but this, and this moment only. Them. Arms around one another, devouring lips, tight grip, closed eyes, and peace.

They pull apart, foreheads resting against each other's, and Stiles opens his eyes to Derek's soft gaze. On him, through him, for him. He smiles, takes Derek's hand in his, dislodging it from its previous position on Stiles' waist, and brings it up to kiss the open palm of this man, who is radiant in this moment, glowing, almost, with happiness.

"Best day ever," Derek says, and he hums only the tune this time, and this time, Stiles sings the lyrics.

"Your lips, my lips, apocalypse."

"We did think it would take, like, a severe life or death situation for you two to get your shit together."

The sudden reality of a third person existing, and slowly, the reality of them being in the middle of a public dance floor in front of people has them flinching and moving apart.

"Kind of glad that didn't actually occur," Lydia continues, unperturbed.

"Definitely glad," his dad agrees.

"I do prefer you two getting together on my wedding day instead of my ER room, actually." Melissa adds.

Derek and Stiles both stare at their pack — Lydia, grinning eye to eye, a wine glass in her hand. John and Melissa beside her, their hands clasped, laughing at Derek and Stiles' wide-eyed gaze. Isaac clicking a hundred pictures of them, Erica with her full-red lips and a plate filled with food. Boyd beside his wife, hand on her shoulder, and Jackson leaning against Danny, smirking at the two of them. Cora is looking at them, that Hale look of absolute mischief. Kira and Malia have probably gone home — and nope, here they come, with a...

"Is that a banner?" Derek asks, aghast, and Stiles is right there with him. Because that fucking banner reads STEREK WINS.

"What the fuck?"

Peter comes out from the shadows, and Stiles tries to be happy about the fact that his appearance surprised everyone else present too, not just him and Derek.

"Thanks for making me win the bet. Really appreciate the $5."

"Bet?!"

His dad answers his unasked question. "We all figured you two would get together sometime during our wedding. Maybe during or after. It was just a matter of when." He points to where Malia and Kira are putting the banner up, right beside the one that says, JUST MARRIED!!! "Most of us figured the week following today, but Peter, Lydia, and Kira are the only ones who doubled down on the day being today itself."

"We're going to share our anniversary!" Melissa exclaims, happy.

Derek and Stiles just stare.

Derek turns towards him. He cocks an eyebrow up. Stiles nods with quick movements of his head.

"We, uh, are gonna go," Stiles says to the hall at large. "Have fun with your... bet, I guess. Dad, Melissa, love you guys, the rest of you, fuck off." Everyone laughs.

"We'll talk about anniversary plans later, Melissa," Derek says, and Stiles finger guns at her before realizing how stupid it looks.

Luckily, Derek picks him up, fireman carry style, and swoops him away.

Stiles groans against Derek's back. "Doofuses. Serious doofuses."

"Us or them?"

Stiles thinks. "All of us," he decides. "All of us, Derek. How the fuck were we so stupid to wait so long to get together?" They don't need to really discuss it — the kiss was just a precursor. "And why the fuck do they have to be so... ugh."

"They're still laughing," Derek says, as if that would help. "Doofuses," he agrees.

And then they're in the Jeep, Derek's camaro probably to be taken home by Isaac, and they're alone and when Derek drops him gently on the seat, Stiles lunges up to kiss.

"You make me fucking feral," Derek admits against his lips, and hey, Stiles loves where this is going. "I love you."

The words are nothing, really, but an arbitrary combination of English lexicon. But there is a meaning it — so many touches, so many moments shared between the two of them. Time spent in presence or in thoughts. All of it, leading up to this. These three words that make Stiles giddy.

"I love you too, and we really were doofuses."

"Wanna be doofuses on my bed?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

Stiles speeds it out of the parking lot of the event hall, and they do, in fact, act like doofuses on Derek's bed.

They make-out, they throw down their clothes, and they pour out their hearts with every touch, every caress, every moan; they kiss and laugh and confess, touch and worship and love.

They map out each other's bodies and lean in, snuggle, and sleep.

If all apocalypses could be so lovely, it would be great, really.

[holocene-sims]

happy birthday to me 🎂

as a gift to y'all on my (not) special day, on this semi-okay monday, i am restarting my story queue 🎉

oh yes, everything the stars promised is so back! and running again at 2 posts at 8 and 9 PM EST for the time being 🥂 i'll slow it down if necessary, but 2 posts a day seems to work pretty well!

[scarlet-witchery]

New Traditions

Two Gallaghers and two Milkoviches decide to get a Christmas tree. Sounds simple enough, right? post-s10, just a bunch of tooth-rotting holiday fluff. Written for my dear @m4ndysk4nkovich, I hope you enjoy, darling! (on ao3)

Mickey wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten himself into this situation. Probably it was the fact that he couldn’t say no to Ian, or Debbie, and the fact that Debbie was now dating Sandy, and he had nothing better to do on a Sunday. Debs had said something yesterday about needing to get a tree, because “it’s your first Christmas as newlyweds, Mickey, how can we not celebrate?” and “Franny just loves Christmas, she’ll be heartbroken if we don’t have a tree!” But trying to lug a ten-foot tall tree back to the Gallagher house with just the four of them and Debbie’s car was a lot more complicated than any of them had expected it to be.

He wiped his brow on the back of his sleeve and frowned. “Nah, it’s gonna fall off if you fuckin’ leave it like that. Sandy, just fuckin’ shove it—no, the other way-”

Sandy groaned in frustration and pushed the tree in the opposite direction where it was tied on top of Debbie’s car. “Make up your mind, would you?”

“I’m not the one who decided to get us all up at the ass crack of dawn for this!”

Tellingly, the two ginger Gallaghers who’d been the cause of this whole fucking trip were off to the side, not bothering to help him and Sandy with getting the tree sorted out. Debbie and Ian were talking about something—what, exactly, Mickey couldn’t hear, but apparently was more important than helping him and Sandy out with the tree—and Mickey got momentarily distracted when Ian’s face broke into a wide grin, laughing at something Debbie had said. Fuckin’ Gallagher. So sue him if he liked seeing his husband smile. The ring on his finger gave him a free pass for shit like that.

Sandy threw a snowball at his face. “Hey! What the fuck?”

“Focus up, Mickey! If they’re not gonna help, I at least need you to tighten the ropes on your side. I can’t do it by myself, you know.” Apparently Debbie and Ian heard that part, because they hurried over to help out. Debbie gave Sandy a quick kiss and a “sorry, sorry!” as she took up her side of the ropes. Ian leaned over and did the same to Mickey, which only proved Mickey’s point that the Gallaghers were a bunch of saps. Christmas just seemed to make it worse.

“Okay, okay!” Debbie chirped, and Mickey had no idea how she could be so cheerful when it was so goddamn cold outside. “Ian, can you and Mickey help balance the back end a little better? I don’t want it wobbling when we’re driving back home.”

Sandy smirked. “Yeah, Mick sure knows all about the back end.” And Mickey couldn’t let that stand—he reached down and gathered some snow in his hands, tossing it right at the smug look on her face. She let out a noise of protest, but Ian was laughing, and Mickey felt a little surge of victory at the sound.

“C’mon, Mick, we gotta get this back home so we can decorate-” but a snowball caught Ian with his mouth wide open, causing Debbie to let out a shocked laugh. Ian brushed his face off, snow covering his gloves as he shook his head to get it all out of his hair. “What the fuck!”

In a moment, the tree was all but forgotten in a mad scramble to get snowballs formed and thrown—Ian tossed one that flew apart all over Debbie’s winter coat, causing her to retaliate immediately and catching Mickey in the side of the head instead. Sandy dived behind the car, getting Ian square in the back when he wasn’t looking. Debbie whooped with laughter and ducked as Mickey tried to throw another snowball at her head and missed.

“Gotta do better than that, Milkovich!” she crowed, and Sandy made a noise of protest. “Sorry, babe!”

Ian laughed. “You let her call you babe? Mick barely lets me get away with anything like that.”

“Yeah, because I got a name, you can fuckin’ use that if you wanna call me something,” Mickey muttered. He reached up and smashed the snowball in his hand against the back of Ian’s head in retaliation.

Ian squawked, spinning around and grabbing Mickey around the middle to pick him up, despite Mickey’s squirming and loud protests. The sight made Sandy howl with laughter, falling against Debbie to keep herself standing up. “Like I said before,” she said with a grin, “little domestic bitches!”

“I think it’s sweet,” said Debbie, as Ian planted a loud kiss on Mickey’s cheek. Mickey felt his face heat up, and not just from being out in the cold for so long. “They’re newlyweds, after all, you can’t blame them for being all lovey dovey.”

Sandy shook her head. “Never thought I’d see Mickey Milkovich so dickwhipped. Not that it’s a bad look on him,” she added quickly, noting the scowl on Mickey’s face, even as Ian still held onto him like an oversized teddy bear. “Anyway, are we getting this tree back to the house or what? We only got a few more hours before Tami’s supposed to bring Franny back from shopping.”

“Shit!” Debbie yelped. “We gotta get the tree decorated before they get home!”

The four of them wiped the snow from their coats and their hair, then grabbed the ropes holding the tree to the top of the car and tightened them enough to keep it safely in place for the ride home. Then the two Gallaghers and two Milkoviches bundled into the car—Sandy grabbed shotgun, although neither Ian nor Mickey intended to fight her on it. They sat in the backseat, shivering as they waited for the heat to kick on, and Ian reached out with one gloved hand to take Mickey’s in his own. When Mickey glanced over at him, Ian grinned brightly, cheeks pink from the cold. Then Debbie slowly pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, driving carefully at Ian’s insistence.

As they made their way through the freshly-plowed streets of Chicago, Sandy reached over and turned the radio on to some station playing the most obnoxious Christmas songs known to man. Of course Ian and Debbie knew the words to most of them, singing loudly to drown out Mickey’s protests. It just made Sandy grin as she glanced back at Mickey, and when he asked her to change the goddamn channel—he even said please, which he thought was pretty big of him—she only snorted and turned the volume up.

“C’mon, Sandy, these Gallaghers sound like dying whales with this shit,” he complained, earning him a punch in the shoulder from his husband. Never mind that these two were his favorites when it came to that bunch, but there was only so much Mariah fuckin’ Carey that a man could put up with. And he knew he was gonna wake up hearing that goddamn Feliz Navi-what the fuck ever song in the middle of the night later. See if he got them all decent Christmas presents. Maybe he’d just steal Franny one of those Easy Bake ovens and let Debbie and Sandy deal with the consequences.

It took half an hour to get back to the Gallagher house with how Debbie was driving, but when Mickey complained about it Ian reminded him that the last thing they needed was to have an accident with a ten-foot tree strapped to the top of the car. Unfortunately Mickey couldn’t exactly argue with that logic, so he just bit his lip and stared out the window while Ian squeezed his hand and promised to make it up to him later.

Getting the tree inside the house, however, proved to be more difficult than they’d anticipated. Thank fuck there were four of them, and that Ian had gotten the boot off his leg two weeks earlier, otherwise they might be in real trouble. But they undid the ropes and caught the tree as it tried to roll off the car roof, all of them nearly falling on their asses as they stumbled back to avoid it falling on their feet. The last thing Ian needed was to break his damn foot again, Mickey thought, feeling a rather large prick of guilt for having been the cause of the last injury. He was determined that it wouldn’t ever happen again, so if he pushed Ian out of the way when the tree nearly fell on top of him, he got his thanks in the form of a kiss from his husband to the top of his head. It didn’t make him blush, but it was a near thing.

“Okay,” said Debbie, letting out a deep breath that could be seen hanging in the air before her. “It’ll probably be easier if we take it in the front door instead of up the backstairs.”

Ian nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Mick, you and Sandy grab the top half, and me and Debs will get the base.”

“Why do we gotta get the part where we’re walkin’ backwards?” Mickey demanded, but Sandy just smacked him in the back of the head. “What the hell, Sandy??”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop whinin’ like a little bitch. You’re not gonna let some stupid tree get the better of you, right?”

Well. When she put it like that, Mickey had no choice but to grab his end of the damn thing—getting stabbed in the face by pine leaves or whatever the fuck they were in the process—and help Sandy lug it up the narrow stairs while walking backwards. But he couldn’t be too irritated, though, not when Ian and Debbie were chatting excitedly about maybe getting Franny and Liam to help them bake cookies tomorrow afternoon. Mickey planned to sit at the table and watch the disaster unfold while drinking a beer, but the mental image it conjured was actually pretty cute.

Not that he’d ever say it out loud. Although judging by the grin on her face, Sandy was thinking along the same lines, so maybe it wasn’t too bad to make some halfway decent Christmas memories. The last time he’d really done anything for the holiday was right after Ian’s first depressive episode, with Svetlana suggesting it might be a good way to help cheer him up. To Mickey’s surprise, the lights and the tree and the presents had actually worked, a little, and Ian had even smiled when he saw Svetlana helping Yevgeny rip open the few little gifts they’d scrounged up some money for. It had been the first real bright spot in their lives since they’d cobbled together a little family between them all. Things hadn’t lasted—they’d been too good to last—but it’d been nice to see Ian smile. Mickey had thought he might never see it again.

And now he got to see Ian’s smile every fucking day for the rest of his life. Sandy was right after all—Mickey Milkovich really was dickwhipped. But he could handle it, as long as it was for Ian fuckin’ Gallagher.

Between the four of them, they maneuvered the tree up the steps and in through the front door. It took some work to get it through the entryway and into the living room proper, but once they finally did, Mickey and Ian held onto the tree so it wouldn’t fall over while Debbie and Sandy scrambled to clear some room in the corner opposite the TV so they had a place to put it.

“Why didn’t we do this before we left?” Sandy said, tossing some old beer cans into a trash bag.

Debbie shrugged. “Probably because we left too early so we could get a good tree?” She motioned Ian and Mickey forward, reaching out to help steady the tree as they finagled the tree into place. She’d found a tree stand in the Gallagher basement the night before—that had been what started this whole thing in the first place—and helped the two of them set the tree trunk into the stand so it wouldn’t fall over. “Fuck yes!” she crowed. “Look at that—teamwork makes the dream work.”

Sandy leaned over, putting an arm around Debbie’s back. “Babe, I’m begging you, never say that. Ever again.” Debbie just grinned and kissed her firmly on the lips. It made Ian roll his eyes, but Mickey saw the fond smile on his face even still.

“Okay, okay, fine,” Debbie relented. “Now, I got our old box of lights and decorations, so we just need to get the stepstool and we can start getting things on the tree.”

Mickey didn’t bother to protest—he knew it was a waste of time, although he put up a decent show of grumbling about be fuckin’ careful, clumsy ass when Ian decided he’d be the one to get up on the stepladder to string the lights. According to Debbie, the lights had managed to keep working for the last ten years, and there was a moment when they first plugged them in that they thought the bulbs were dead, followed by a collective sigh of relief when they finally turned on.

“At least we don’t gotta run and get some new ones at the last fuckin’ minute,” Sandy said, flopping back onto the couch with a sigh. Debbie grabbed her hand and pulled her back onto her feet, propping her chin on Sandy’s shoulder as she hugged her from behind.

“We still gotta put the decorations on, babe. Can you grab the garland from the box?” Sandy let out a big, showy sigh—a move that was pure Milkovich—and turned around so she could reach back and smack Debbie’s ass. It made Debbie yelp and jump in Sandy’s arms, but she grinned with laughter as she got Sandy in a ticklish spot along her ribs. The two of them started horsing around, giggling like dumbasses while Mickey rolled his eyes and grabbed the box of decorations. “You helpin’ me with these, right, tough guy? Fat lotta use those two idiots are gonna be if we’re getting this done before Franny gets home.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna help, don’t worry,” Ian said, grabbing a box of ornaments and a baggie full of hooks. “You wanna hook ‘em and I’ll put ‘em on the tree?”

As Mickey had suspected, Debbie and Sandy were pretty useless, at least at first—Debbie insisted they couldn’t decorate a tree without hot chocolate and marshmallows, which led to her and Sandy disappearing for a good twenty minutes into the kitchen. Mickey refused to go in there and see what they were up to, but it definitely involved a whole lot of giggling. Regardless, they did come back with four mugs of hot cocoa, topped with marshmallows as promised. And it’s not as if he and Ian hadn’t spent a good couple of minutes playing grabass while the girls were out of the room, anyway.

At some point, someone—Mickey wasn’t sure who—had turned on a Christmas playlist on their phone, and he was just grateful that the mix was better than what they’d been listening to in the car. He even found himself smiling at Ian as they arranged some of the old Gallagher decorations on top of the fireplace mantle. So maybe the holidays were bringing out his more sensitive side—so what? He was a newlywed, and his husband was dancing around the living room with Debbie standing on his feet like a little kid while Sandy grinned from where she sat on the couch. Finally, their work was done, and the living room was decked out to the fucking nines for Christmas. Ian had even found a garland of fake holly to wrap around the bannister leading up the stairs, which Debbie had cheered over when it turned out they had tiny, twinkling lights hidden between the leaves.

Now the four of them sat on the couch, drinking and watching Home Alone, when the front door opened and they heard the cry of “Mommy!”

“Franny!” Debbie said, her face lighting up at the sight of her daughter. Tami wasn’t far behind, holding Fred in a baby carrier on her chest. “Hi, baby girl! Did you and aunt Tami have a good time?”

“Yep!” Franny said, throwing herself onto Debbie for the biggest hug she could give. “I got you presents!”

“I’ll help her wrap them tomorrow, if you want,” Sandy offered, to Mickey’s surprise. It seemed even his cousin had gotten into the holiday spirit after their work today.

“That’d be great!” said Debbie, turning Franny around to sit her in her lap. Ian reached over and tugged at one of Franny’s pigtails, making her giggle. “And guess what else we’re doing tomorrow, sweetie?”

“What?”

“We’re gonna make cookies with uncle Liam!”

Franny shrieked with delight, clapping her hands and hugging her mom. “Yes! Yes! Yes! I love cookies!”

Tami set their shopping bags in the alcove under the stairs. “Hey, Debs, I’m putting our war spoils over here, okay? I figure that’ll be far enough out of the way from the little ones.” She plucked Fred out of his baby carrier and set him in his playpen behind the couch.

“Yeah, no worries, that’s perfect.”

Mickey leaned in close against Ian, his husband’s arm resting comfortably over Mickey’s shoulders. “Lemme guess, you wanna join in the cookie making tomorrow, huh?”

“Nah,” Ian laughed. “I figured we’d go get our own shopping done, just the two of us.” He clinked their beer bottles together, the lights from the tree reflecting with a twinkle on the glass. “After today, I could use some quality time with my husband.”

“Well,” Mickey said, wagging his eyebrows, “I can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“I mean, you could, but what would be the fun in that?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a real softie, Gallagher, you know that?”

Ian didn’t answer, just gave Mickey a kiss on the cheek, which Mickey didn’t bother to protest. Next to them, Debbie and Sandy were being just as disgusting, Debbie resting her head against Sandy’s shoulder while Franny lay across both their laps. Tami headed upstairs after they all agreed to keep an eye on Fred so she could grab a shower, and she hit the overhead light off for them as she went. The living room was now lit only by the Christmas tree in the corner and the strings of lights they’d hung up along the mantle and the stairs behind them. And yeah, maybe the holidays weren’t really his thing, Mickey thought, squished on the couch between two ginger Gallaghers while they continued to watch the movie, but if they kept being like this, he might not have as much reason to complain in the future. Right now, life was good.

[phoenix-clan]

i appreciate everyone waiting so patiently for the next part. it seems with every new part i upload more and more people see my art and become interested in this little story i started, and i just want to say that i really appreciate it all. thank you all so much :)

[hepbaestus]

I might not post/be active for a couple days, my brain's being a bit funky so I'm gonna spend it away from social media and do some (catching up) reading and writing, so see y'all in a couple days.

[kris-mage-fics]

Another Shepherds of Haven meme dump! (Because I've been saving some of these for quite a while. Plus I'm hot, tired, and bored, so I'm amusing myself.) It's wonderful that the Shepherds support women in STEM! Gods know the Autarchy doesn't!

Do I even have to say this is Chase?

Calm with a deceptively casual smile: Chase Calm and impassive, while silently assessing everyone's weaknesses: Blade

Halek:

Chase, especially when trying to get Red or Blade to go out and have fun:

This is why Trouble thinks MC is so nice!

Blade when MC is dating Red:

[Image ids are in ALT]

[promiscxous]

{ It's time to say hello to the parentals for the Yumishi siblings! And yes, that's right, you count four parents. Two sets. Why? Because the Yumishi family is actually very convoluted compared to most normal families. }

{ First off we have Lucifer, who can be found over on @resxntmxnt once I get everything settled, as the biological father of both Myth (who is also over at @resxntmxnt) and Rain (who's over at @negligxnce). He is the ruler of Meikai no Ryōiki, also commonly referred to as the Realm of the Underworld, altering his original seraphic genetics with dark magic to turn himself into a being known solely as the Demon Lord, yet due to having originally been a seraph, he possesses the ability to shapeshift. Lucifer was the original lover of Kisuyo Yumishi, happening upon her by sheer chance within Seikatsu no Ryōiki, also known as the Realm of the Living (aka the human world), one day when she was being attacked by a group of humans that believed her to be the leader of a cultist group (due to the fact she is heavily religious while the mortals of Seikatsu no Ryōiki have no religion/do not believe in religion of any sort); and despite Lucifer's reputation of being a cruel and mischievous being, he went out of his way to rescue her by slaughtering the humans responsible for her injuries.

Once certain that she was safe, Lucifer began to tend to her wounds with his magic, trying to keep conversation to a minimum though this did not last long due to Kisuyo's curious nature, leading for Lucifer and Kisuyo to eventually develop a strong bond for one another — thus resulting in the birth of Myth and Rain. Yet despite this, Lucifer did not stick around for his lover nor his children and ended up returning to Meikai no Ryōiki, leaving Kisuyo with two children to care for all on her own due to the fact that Kisuyo would not be able to survive within Meikai no Ryōiki. He is devastated by the news of Kisuyo's death.

Secondly we have Michael, who can be found over at @anxmosxty once everything is settled over there, as the biological father of Koui and Yuuela (who is also over at @anxmosxty). He is the ruler of Serafu no Ryōiki, also commonly referred to as the Realm of the Seraph, proudly taking his duties as a seraph to heart, earning him the title of Head Angel by those within Serafu no Ryōiki and as a seraph, he possesses the ability to shapeshift. Michael is the second lover of Kisuyo Yumishi, though unlike Lucifer who was willing to care for her, Michael instead was disgusted with her and the fact she had two children with a man she wasn't married to, often pretending to seem kindhearted towards the woman only to judge her in secret. The only reason he would actively spend time with her every day was because of a rumor he'd overheard from the other seraphs about a woman who had given birth to a pair of twins that possessed unnatural abilities for human children, thus he took every chance he could to get close to her and her boys. Though during his time with Kisuyo, he soon discovers that despite all the reticule she receives from the mortals within Seikatsu no Ryōiki, she stills holds tightly to her faith in the Goddess, which in turn makes Michael begin to view Kisuyo in a different light.

Within time, Michael realizes he's fallen in love with Kisuyo, thus resulting in the births of Koui and Yuuela. Unlike Lucifer, Michael is consistent with his daily visits to spend time with his children and Kisuyo, even going out of his way to treat Myth and Rain as his own. Though, once word gets out that the woman from the rumors has had two more children with unnatural abilities and has her identity revealed, Michael stops visiting Kisuyo and her children out of fear of being casted out of Serafu no Ryōiki by the current Goddess, Heiliger, once she discovers that the children born are a forbidden species known as hybrids — constituted of a law that forbids other species from breeding with anyone other than their respective species — and have a contract placed on their heads to be exterminated as soon as possible alongside their mother. He is devastated by the news of Kisuyo's death.

Third we have Kisuyo Yumishi, who can be found here, as the biological mother of Myth, Rain, Koui, and Yuuela. She is a resident of the more olden timed area of Seikatsu no Ryōiki (because Seikatsu no Ryōiki is home to a more olden timed section and a more modern timed section of the realm for those who prefer the more technologically advanced lifestyle or those who prefer the more dated lifestyle), also known as the Realm of the Living, and is presumed to be a human woman by those within the world of Mir Ender. In reality, Kisuyo is actually the daughter of the Goddess, The Sacred One, thus making her a demi-god and serves as a vessel for the Goddess' will within the various realms of Mir Ender. Despite not seeming to possess any abilities, she can actually see the future and share her sight with The Sacred One, but doing so requires a lot of angelic energy and can overwhelm her senses thus why she wears a black cloth over her eyes, leading many to believe that she is blind. Kisuyo is the third oldest child of The Sacred One, being the younger sister of Oizys (the Archfiend of Melancholy), the older sister of Adios (the Saint of Humility), and the older sister of Sophrosyne (the Saint of Temperance), meanwhile Adephagia is the Archfiend of Gluttony. Each of said sisters possessing a mortal name for their travels among the other realms: Adios known as Oka, Sophrosyne known as Maleia, and Adephagia being known as Kisuyo. Oizys is the only one of the sister's to not possess a mortal name out of disinterest in hiding her true identity, thus her sisters simply call her by the name "El" within Seikatsu no Ryōiki among mortals.

Before having her children, Kisuyo was sent to live within Seikatsu no Ryōiki by The Sacred One in order glean how the mortals were fairing in their daily lives, making gathering intel much easier so The Sacred One can make the lives of her residents easier if need be by sending one of her daughters to assist the morals in their true forms (and not as "mortals"). During her time within Seikatsu no Ryōiki, Kisuyo plays the role of a devote worshiper to The Sacred One, serving as a shrine maiden at the Holy Chruch of Heiliger, additionally teaching her children about her religion and convincing them to believe as well. After being abandon by both of her lovers, Kisuyo is then hunted down by an assassin and is killed in front of her children while on their way to the Holy Church of Heiliger for their daily worship, though she does not actually die due to being a demi-god and instead is simply comatose for a time being (until Oizys is able to retrieve her body and awaken her), yet this is unbeknownst to her children who believe she was murdered.

Lastly we have Sire, who can be found over at @prurixncy once everything is settled there, as the biological "mother" of Nikusui (who is also over at @prurixncy) and Inori (who is over at @vxinglxry). You're probably wondering why I said "mother" and not mother. Well, that's because Sire isn't actually a woman in her true form, but is instead a man and said man is Lucifer. Yes, that's right. I said Lucifer. The man I talked about all the way at the top of the post. That Lucifer. Myth and Rain's dad, Lucifer. Demon Lord Lucifer. The one and the same. "Why the hell would Lucifer become a woman to have two children?" Because he blames Michael for the death of Kisuyo and wanted to get back at him for taking away the only woman he loved so dearly, just like Michael believes that Lucifer is the one who took Kisuyo away from him. The both of them believe that the other is responsible for the death of Kisuyo. Why? Because they are both sworn enemies and have always been at odds ever since the incident involving The Sacred One and The Twelve Saints of The Sacred One/The Twelve Heavenly Virtues due to the fact they were both present at the time. The incident that caused The Sacred One to fall into a catatonic state and the divide of The Twelve Heavenly Virtues, which in turn also created the false Goddess known as The Forsaken One and The Seven Archfiends of The Forsaken One. Lucifer and Michael don't trust one another and know that the other would be more than willing to do anything to take away the other's happiness if they could. And yes, they're both aware they fell in love with the same woman.

Basically, Lucifer decides that the best way to exact his revenge on Michael is to become a woman that he can trust and love and become so deeply intertwined with that he simply can't live without her. And that is exactly what happens. Lucifer becomes Sire and acts as a beacon of hope for Michael while he secretly (because he can't let anyone know he was involved with Kisuyo) mourns the lost of his lover and the inevitable loss of his children (since they're being hunted). Sire becomes Michael's crutch. And during a moment of weakness, Sire repeatedly takes advantage of Michael's desperation for his deceased lover, resulting in the births of Nikusui and Inori. Though much like he did with Myth and Rain, he takes Michael's new children away from him and leaves them with Warwick, someone that worships and follows Lucifer, to raise the girls in secret — leaving Michael alone once more to fester about the disappearances of his new children and lover. Only later in time does Michael discover that Sire was Lucifer in disguise. }

{ So if all of you have gotten past all of that, it's time to tell you the exact relations of everyone within the Yumishi family in case you're confused. So here were go!

Lucifer and Kisuyo are the biological parents of Myth and Rain.

Michael and Kisuyo are the biological parents of Koui and Yuuela.

Michael and Sire (aka Lucifer's female form) are the biological parents of Nikusui and Inori.

Kisuyo is the biological daughter of The Sacred One, the absolute Goddess of the world of Mir Ender.

Kisuyo is the younger sister of Oizys, the Archfiend of Melancholy.

Kisuyo is the older sister of Adios and Sophrosyne, the Saints of Humility and Temperance.

Oizys, Adios, and Sophrosyne are all the biological aunts of Myth, Rain, Koui, and Yuuela. They are the adoptive aunts of Nikusui and Inori due to the fact neither Lucifer/Sire or Michael are related to The Sacred One.

Myth and Rain are biological brothers (twins).

Koui and Yuuela are biological brother and sister.

Nikusui and Inori are biological sisters.

Myth is the biological half-brother of Koui and Yuuela.

Rain is the biological half-brother of Koui and Yuuela.

Koui is the biological half-brother of Myth and Rain.

Yuuela is the biological half-sister of Myth and Rain.

Nikusui is the biological half-sister of Myth, Rain, Koui, and Yuuela.

Inori is the biological half-sister of Myth, Rain, Koui, and Yuuela.

Warwick is the adoptive father of Nikusui and Inori.

Warwick is the adoptive uncle of Myth, Rain, Koui, and Yuuela.

The Sacred One is the grandmother of Myth, Rain, Koui, and Yuuela. She is the adoptive grandmother of Nikusui and Inori.

[nightmun]

I wanted to talk a bit more about my intern OC Handtern since I haven't really gone into them much since I made them a proper character, so I decided to make this post about them! It's pretty long and kinda consists of two separate parts due to this character technically having two designs (I was gonna do two posts instead of the one initially but decided against it since it is the same character and it would be better to have it all in once place) so if you want to read more it will be under the cut!

Handtern is a bit of a more out there take on the intern, going all in on the long arm idea. They pretty much just are a stretchy arm snake that originates from somewhere in the hospital (no one is really sure from where though). They don't really have a proper name so everyone just started calling them Handtern after a while. No one, including themselves, are quite sure where they came from or when they initially showed up, but ever since the implementation of the rhythm treatment program they have been working as an intern at Middlesea Hospital. They aren't able to do too much in terms of helping the patients directly due to the limitations of being literally just an arm, but they have an impeccable sense of rhythm and excel at pressing a button (I mean what better job for the literal doctor finger?).

Personality wise, Handtern is a super kind and friendly individual. They are really sweet at heart, but unfortunately that doesn't really translate too well when you're an ominous arm with no real good way of emoting. Because of this, as much as they want to befriend the patients, they tend to keep their distance form several of them, knowing that they make most people pretty uncomfortable.

The only people they interact with more regularly outside of working are the three kids and Cole and Nicole. Hailey, Logan and Lucia are the only people who go out of their way to include Handtern in anything. Maybe it's because they're younger, but they seem unbothered by Handtern's otherworldly appearance and will invite them to join in several activities, which Handtern much appreciates. Cole and Nicole are pretty laid back and tend to be less bothered by Handtern as well, so they will hang around the two of them on occasion. They have even gotten a few piano lessons from Cole after a rather abysmal performance on the cafe's piano, though Handtern doesn't typically hang around them too often since Cole and Nicole tend to have their own thing going on.

Everyone else in the hospital is either mildly uncomfortable with them to varying degrees but are too nice to say anything, or in the case of Richard specifically, openly rude and constantly expresses the strangeness of the intern being an ominous arm snake (as well as questioning their effectiveness at their job because of it). Handtern has learned to tolerate it, though, since they can't really blame people for being uneasy around them. Still, it can get to them sometimes, especially since they do really want to connect with people in a way they can't really accomplish as they are.

As is probably obvious, there are a lot of challenges that come with being literally just an arm, and by far the biggest one for Handtern is communication. Without a mouth, they can't just talk to people. Despite being a hand, they're not too well versed in sign language, and most of the patients don't really know it either anyways. Writing is an option, but their handwriting is absolutely terrible (try writing when your arm is a noodle) so it can be really hard to read. They can twist their form to spell letters, but that takes a lot of effort and can be really tiring, especially if they have a lot to say. So typically they rely on shaking their hand "yes" or "no" to respond to simple questions, or elaborate noodle arm charades if they want to get a more complicated point across. Another solution that they started using lately is the use of a button board, similar to the ones people will give to their dogs. While it isn't a perfect solution, it does allow them to communicate more than just "yes" and "no" without having to make people guess what they're saying.

So that's pretty much the basics of Handtern, so now on to the other version of them that exists:

I originally wasn't gonna do more with Handtern than just having them as the long noodle arm, but after one of my friends asking what they'd look like as a human and a desire to have an intern that can emote a bit more than not at all I decided to give them person privileges. Idk if Haniel will be actually canon to their story or if they'll just remain a "what if?" type version of the character but regardless I wanna talk about them cause I have a LOT of art of them already that I want to post with actual context as to who the hell they are first.

So this is Haniel, the human form of Handtern. After a pretty bad encounter with Connectifia Abortus, something happened (still don't have this too fleshed out yet so if I figure it out at some point I'll edit this later) that led the virus to turn Handtern into a human (can the virus do this? Who cares it can make a dude's head fall off without killing him and causally delete an eighth of a person's heart so imma put that as the reason). After the change, they picked up the name Haniel in place of Handtern since the latter didn't really fit anymore.

Being turned human obviously comes with a bit of adjusting. Things that seem pretty simple like walking or drinking water are a pretty big challenge to them and take a while to get used to. Sleep is also something they're really not used to, and they end up being tired a lot because they keep forgetting that's something they need to do now. That and the stress of trying to keep up with the pace they were able to accomplish before despite their newer limitations leads to a lot of stress early on, and their first week of being a person in particular is pretty rough.

It's not all bad though. Now that Haniel can talk, they have a world of things to say. They have a tendency to drone on a lot, reveling in the fact they can finally say the things on their mind instead of fighting a war to get even the most simple points across. Food is also something they really enjoy, since without a mouth before all they could really do is smash their hand into stuff. They're particularly a fan of sweet things, though anything with even a sub par flavor is heaven to them. They also really enjoy just being something that doesn't creep people out. Now that they are a person, they can interact with others in a way they never could before, especially since most people aren't uncomfortable or outright scared of their presence anymore. They do still have a bit of self consciousness about socializing though, partially because they have so little knowledge of human social cues and behaviors (mainly cause they were a hand before but also because they haven't observed too many human social interactions outside of people being treated) and partially because they still have that feeling that everyone dislikes or is afraid of them from their time being the hand. Even with both the positives and negatives, though, they're still determined as ever to help people as best they can and they will always do it with a smile on their face.

So I hope those of you who did take the time to read this enjoyed learning a little more about my silly little goober of a character. They're a bit more odd than your typical intern but they still do their best to fit in with the hospital, and with how weird that place is anyways it really isn't too hard. You'll definitely see more art of them in the future though, both as the hand and as the person. Hope you all will enjoy seeing those and thanks for reading!

Also real quick at the end here's a little ref of the two designs so you can properly see them,,

[supernovaa-remnant]

BMO from Adventure Time stimboard for jack @coyotecrash

X | X | X X | X | X X | X | X

[bokettochild]

According to my sister, rabbits feel safer when they can’t see.

Just something I thought I’d share :3

Well I WAS just going to coo and give some sort of answer, but this is a rabbit thing and I have a weakness and had some free time sooo......

How about a very barely relevant fic based around a story I heard as a kid and barely remember + this particular idea?

Full fic under the cut

The Selkie King

  There are many times it's easy to forget how young his fellow heroes are.  

  As a soldier, the Hero of Warriors has seen boys and men alike on the field, fighting, dying. He's held many a hand in final moments, his own still stained with blood more than not as final words and regrets are spilled to him by grizzled veterans and terrified teens.  

  Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that one of his brothers qualifies under both of those titles.  

  He tries not to see the other heroes like he does his soldiers. Tries to remember them as people and not pawns. It’s hard, after so many years tipping back whiskey to forget the humanity of those he’s had to slay, trying to retrain his mind to seeing others coldly, to remove emotion from his dealings with those who fight beside or against him on the field.  

  It hurts, getting attached.  

  He’d made the mistake countless times. Some, he regrets, others, like Mask and Tune, he’d never think twice about.  

  Still, even with his brothers, even with no regrets given for having let himself care about them; cry for them and treasure them, it’s easy to forget certain realities. It’s easy to forget, when he sees them with weapons in hand and blood dripping from crown to toes, that half of them are merely children themselves, and those who aren’t were hardly even adults when fate stole their lives from them and burdened them instead with the lives of all of Hyrule.  

  It’s easy to forget that Sky is hardly old enough to be served in a bar, that Twilight is still stumbling through the early years of his twenties. It’s easy to forget that Four and Hyrule are innocent to many of the greatest evils of the adult world, or that Wind- pirate or no- is still only just starting to go through the joys of puberty. It’s easy to forget that even for all of his scarring, Wild is still just barely learning how the world even works, in many ways still a child in his mind even if his memories, what few there are, are those of a man and a soldier.  

  Time, it’s harder. Time, he still remembers holding in his arms, rocking the kid to sleep because the motion helped, because the promise that he was still small enough to be held to begin with was a precious assurance the poor boy needed to feel secure enough to close his eyes. He’s wiped tears and wrapped injuries and tucked the now older hero in so many times that the child in his mind in many cases has blocked his vision of the man his son has now become.  

  And then there’s the vet.  

  Legend isn’t like the other heroes. He’s distant, reserved. There’s almost nothing they know about him save that he carries an arsenal fit for a whole battalion and knows more magic than the lot of them could ever hope to see performed.  

  He knows the veteran hero as a powerhouse and a threat.  

  He holds the vet at a distance, just as Legend does with them. Out of all of their group, the pink haired hero is the one with the least to share and the most to say. He's quick to redirect, to refocus, to tease and quip and jest, and despite all, he’s still capable of holding them away from himself with a wariness that makes the captain wary in return.  

  He’d like to claim that that is why it takes so long for him to realise. He’d like to claim that he'd been distracted by all the red flags, too much to see the similarities. No one would blame him if he’d claimed that his concerns were what prevented him from seeing the truth, but Warriors won’t lie to himself; he just didn’t look close enough.  

  It’s a night at an inn that opens his eyes. Twilight, Time and Wild usually room together. In a group of nine, it makes sense to get more than one room, and to keep it fair, they have three in each when they can. More often than not, he pays. Unlike his brothers, the captain has a steady salary, and the princess is personally financing his investigation into this increase in monster attacks, so while Legend may claim he’s broke, he does have a hand in the royal purse to use at his discretion. Providing beds for his brothers when they can find them is no issue. Tonight, that means that the wolf trio has their own room. Wind had insisted on having Four and Hyrule room with him, claiming they rarely got a chance to be alone and “without adults” and honestly, Warriors gets it. He trusts the sailor, and he understands the need for space. Granted, rooming with Legend of all people isn’t his first choice, but at least Sky will be there as well, and at least the Chosen Hero is someone they both can get along with, even if neither of them truly have much fondness for each other.  

  Honestly though, he’s not all too picky about where he lays his head. It’s been a long day, and he’s soaked to the bone, as are they all by the heavy rainfall currently going on. Time says it’s normal for spring in his world. Warriors doesn’t care. There’s mud all up and down his boots, his clothes are clinging to him and Nayru knows the combination of chain mail and rain isn’t pleasant for any of them.  

  At the least though, Legend’s been quiet today, so maybe there won’t be any hang ups. Hopefully. All Warriors really wants right now is a bed and a change of clothes. Well, he’d like more, but realistically speaking, he’d settle for just a bed and something dry to wear, neither of which are much of a hassle. Getting out of his wet things is a bit of a struggle, and chain mail wasn’t exactly designed for one to be taking off and putting on alone, but Sky is a blessing to Hyrule in general, and the man lends him a hand that Warriors willingly returns while Legend does whatever he does in the background.  

  He’s just tugging on a new shirt, dry, clean, and only minimally stained with blood, when the first flash of thunder rolls over the inn.  

  Sky flinches. “I hoped that wouldn’t happen.”  

  “Unavoidable I’m afraid,” he consoles, clapping his brother’s shoulder firmly. “No worries though. It’s distant.”  

  Another roll sounds over them.  

  “It’s moving though,” he muses, the first bolt of lightning flashing across the window and sending strange shadows dancing over the dimly lit room that has only a simple fireplace for both warmth and light. And Hylia knows it gives precious little of either. Ah well, the beds are soft. “Travelling towards us, I think.”  

  “Wonderful,” Sky drawls, shucking his tunic and then going about peeling off the first of his undershirts. “Just what I wanted.”  

  He chuckles, meeting Sky’s rueful smile before moving to settle on his bed. He’s not tired yet. Well, bone tired actually, but his mind isn’t ready for sleep and he’s rather inclined to fill out his daily report and maybe enjoy some poetry before actually getting some sleep.  

  He has the chance for neither. Another clap of thunder sounds and only seconds later there's a bolt of lightning that paints everything, from the bed to the walls to the floor to the ceiling, to their crumpled clothes on the floor, in cold white light.  

  Legend starts.  

  The vet’s been a wreck all day, predicting the storm by the ache in his joints alone and watching everything like a hawk. He's been tight lipped too, more so than usual, and not even his characteristic quips and barbs made an appearance as they wandered down soaked paths and sloshed through mud and mire in order to make it to the closest town before nightfall. Warriors hadn’t thought much of it besides that maybe the vet might just be in a lot of pain, but now he’s given a chance to think differently.  

  Now, Legend starts like a cat whose tail has just been pulled, and, in a motion that honestly surprises the war captain, the vet’s first action is to cover his eyes.  

  “Vet?” It’s Sky who asks it, but they’re both staring. Trained warriors watch every sudden motion, but that one had been... strangely out of character. “You okay?”  

  There isn’t an answer, but when the next rumble sounds, he knows he sees the vet tremble.  

  It’s.... startling.  

  Not the storm, Hylia knows he’s seen his share of those over the years. A storm like this isn’t even the worst he’s seen, but the vet... cowering- honestly there’s no other word to be used- it's... it’s odd.  

  “Legend?”  

  A shuddering breath is his answer, the soles of gnarled hands being pressed ever closer to tightly shut eyes, and suddenly the captain is stuck by the fact that Legend looks very, very young.  

  The vet is small, they all know this. He's the third shortest in the group, with only a literal child and someone with confirmed stunted growth ranking below him. They don’t have an age, but he’s always assumed, based off of skill and sarcasm, that Legend must be at least in his twenties, if not a bit older. When standing beside Sky, he seems older, beside Time, he’s just as seasoned and strong. Here on a bed in an inn, with lightning and thunder joining the cacophony of rain outside though, he looks like a kid, eyes hidden in his hands and breathing ragged.  Warriors can’t name what it is, but he looks like Mask.   

  “Ledge, hey, you alright?” Sky stares at him for the softened voice, well used to an exchange of heated barbs and insults, but the captain hardly takes note as he crosses from the bed that he’d fully intended to stretch out on to the one the vet sits on, curled up tight and trembling. “Vet, hey,” he’s gentle when he brushes fingertips over slight shoulders, and it’s shaking to realise how small the vet feels when he’s actually touching him.  

  The title says it all, paints an image of an adult with years under his belt, but the Hero of Warriors tends to forget that many of their number start young, and experience may be one thing, but it’s no promise of age.  

  “Hey there,” his voice is dropping soft and low without his consent, but he can’t help it when Legend flinches back at the mere brush of his fingers, and when he settles himself on the bed beside and the vet shifts away, he knows the change of tone is for the best.  

  Sometimes, people who distance themselves aren’t plotting and scheming. Sometimes, people who shy away from transparency are hiding, protecting themselves in the only way they know how. That's how Mask had been, hiding behind masks both physical and metaphorical, sharp tongue and acerbic wit defences against loss and heartbreak.  

  He’s struck, sitting there, that perhaps the same could be said for others in their number.  

  “Legend,” he tries again, and then there’s another flash and roll, right overhead this time, and the vet freezes.  

  “Oh,” Sky breathes, his own lightning scars still on full display as he pauses midway through changing, his own eyes wide as he watches the hero who’s gone from distant and inscrutable to small and childlike in what seems to be the blink of the eye- or, if one wanted to be more direct; a single clap of thunder.  

  It’s instinct that has his body moving before his mind has quite caught up to what he’s doing with the brother who he knows the least, hands catching slight wrists and dragging away, holding even as breath hitches and shoulders tremble. They cease though when he settles his own hand, so much bigger in comparison, over tightly shut eyes. He can feel the flutter of lashes against his palm, surprise evident as the other pauses, seems to miss entirely the next clap in favour of registering the new situation. Warriors takes the stillness as an invitation, settling closer, hand holding its place, pressed gently but close against freckled skin, blocking out light to the best of his ability.  

  “Okay, that helps, yeah? Okay, I’m moving closer now, alright?” And he does. Legend says and does nothing but sit there, but he feels the twitching under his hand and watches ears swivel towards him as he moves closer, leg brushing thigh as he moves as close as he considers safe, hand still held still and solid as his own ears track ragged breaths.   

  He's acting on impulse alone. Mentally, he’s questioning what the dickens has gotten into himself.  

  Legend stiffens further at the close proximity, but pressing a bit firmer, hand held closer, seems, somehow, to make that stop.  

  “There we go. You good, mate?”  

  A light shudder.  

  “Legend?” Sky murmurs, tugging his shirt on the rest of the way and starting closer towards them. The vet’s response is immediate, ears flicking towards him and head turning to face him, but Warriors, for some reason he can’t even begin to name- but which he thinks might be affiliated with Mask- prevents it. His hand tightens its hold again, the second settling on the other hero’s arm, just above the wrist but not confining, firm but not tight.  

  “Breathe.”  

  The order is obeyed.  

  “Sky is coming towards you right now,” because he’s now beginning to recognize the panic for what it is, and while apparently having his eyes covered helps, Legend still seems keen on being aware of those around him at all times. He’s still tightly wound though, so Warriors turns his attention on Sky as he continues to speak. “He’s going to sit across from us on the other bed, okay? He’s right here.”  

  Assure where people are, assuage uncertainties about actions, positions and behaviours, and provide some source of grounding. Or at least he’s pretty sure that’s what that therapist Zelda hired had recommended, before he’d stormed out and refused to come back anyway.  

  “I’m right over here,” Sky reaffirms, and it’s amazing to watch how the vet’s posture eases at the sound of the other man’s voice as Sky settles close, but not close enough to touch.  

  Legend’s breath rattles through the room again.  

  “Do you not like the storm?” It’s the size, he thinks, it must be the size. He knows that Legend’s a capable fighter and warrior, but the size and the shaking and the sheer childishness of the vet’s motion; covering his eyes against the storm, has a part of him that he’d tried locking away peeking back out and gentling his voice and hands.  

  A shudder is his answer.  

  “I’m lifting my hand now,” he says, just a moment before the motion is done. Legend’s breathing hitches, but when it’s the hand on his wrist that lifts, it starts again, although still shallow.   

  Huh.  

  “Now,” he continues, reaching blindly towards Sky, who watches him with confusion until he continues speaking “I’m going to have Sky hand me my scarf.”   

  It’s out of reach, on the bed he was planning on lying down on before, but Sky hands it over readily. It's still wet, but it’s honestly his trump card to help younger, shaken up heroes and while he’s never tried it with Legend, it’s worth a shot. The vet’s got to be younger than he assumed, and if the scarf works on Wild, there’s a chance that however old the other is, it could still work on him too.   

  “Can I bring it over here?” He asks.  

  Twisted fingers twitch, raising a bit, reaching out blindly. Legend makes no move to shake off his hand however, so Warriors doesn’t lift it. For some reason, he gets the impression that the lack of sight is somehow actually comforting.  

  “Okay,” he shifts a bit, hand holding over twitching lids but moving just enough for him to shift position, “I’m pulling it towards us, and I’m going to set it over your shoulders, okay?”  

  It’s telling that Legend doesn’t complain about him breaking down every motion and explaining it as he does it. Telling in a way he really doesn’t like. Just as telling though is the way the weight of the fabric, damp as it still might be, has the younger hero relaxing some, and on impulse the captain adds to the weight by settling an arm around thinner shoulders.  

  Legend all but sinks into him.  

  Oh crap. Yeah. It’s happening.  

  He feels like shit honestly. He totally missed a kid in his group, and he’s been treating them like an adult this whole time. It was a mistake with Mask, trying to respect his insistence that he was an adult and should be treated like one, but it’s more of one with Legend.  

  He can only imagine, based off of listening to the kids, what it’s like being a hero at a young age. His first adventure saw him nearly a teenager, and despite a demon at the end of the tracks, there had been fun and games and a trusted companion by his side the whole while. Not everyone has that. Legend is purported to have completed- at the least- six adventures, and he can only imagine what the laundry list of traumas associated must look like. Settling such a weight on young shoulders is a sure recipe for distrust and distancing.  

  Suddenly, the vet’s reservation around them makes a whole lot more sense.  

  And hurts more, because he should have noticed.   

  Thunder makes itself heard again, and while Legend doesn’t shift much, he still feels the other press just the slightest bit closer, head ducking and hand raising to pull his hand along after. There’s no need though, he’s already following along, arm wrapping just a bit tighter around slight shoulders even as he hums lowly. “Hey, shhh, I gotcha.”  

  “We’re here for you, Ledge,” Sky murmurs, voice rich and smooth and heavy, like caramel or honey. “Wars has you and I’m right here in front of you.”  

  Another shudder is followed by the slightest of nods; small, so as not to displace his hand.  

  “It’s a big storm,” the captain muses, shifting and finding himself strangely pleased when the teen beside him lets himself be shifted with him. “My sisters hated this sort of thing when we were small.”  

  He can feel Sky’s eyes, and Legend’s too in a more literal way; long lashes tickling the pads of his palm as dark eyes must flicker open. There’s no attempt made though to displace his hand, and until there is, he elects to leave it. Still, he can feel the unspoken question from them both, and he answers it without much undo delay.  

  “I have six sisters. Five younger and then my twin. You’ve seen her actually, but we didn’t get the chance to talk.”  

  “Six?” Sky repeats, blinking slowly.  

  The captain shrugs. “What can I say? My parents had quite the torrid love affair.”  

  The desired result of that statement (although true) is achieved, and while Sky only levels him with a look, Legend, like Mask and Tune before him, shudders, squeaking out some semblance of nervous and flustered laughter at the words.  

  Oh yeah, if stuff like that had the vet flushing red hot under his hand, it’s only further proof that the younger is, in fact, a baby.  

  “Yeah,” he continues, settling into the bed as best he can and rather wishing his back was to the wall or a headboard or something, “all of us have ‘L’ names too. Link and Linkle, Leah, Laura, Lyrica and Lillian- they're also twins- and lastly little Lila.”  

 “Your dad and mum have ‘L’ names too?” There’s not the usual bite to the jest, voice shaken and almost timid, but it’s a relief all the same, and proof he’s doing some good here.   

 He chuckles, looking down to the face settled almost against his chest, his hand covering dark eyes and blocking any sight of expression or thought that may have slipped through the cracks. “Yes, actually. Luke and Lynn Taylor.”  

  Any answer or reaction is lost as thunder rumbles through once more, and the vet under his hands cowers back at the sound.  

  Impulse once more takes the reigns. “Sound like the Selkie King really isn’t having it tonight.”  

  “The what?” It’s Sky that asks, but long ears twitch beside him and the face that was almost buried in his chest now raises again, his hand still over dark eyes even as lashes flutter open a second time, soft and whispering across his nerves like fairy wings, but in no ways hiding the clear curiosity of the younger.  

  It works every time.  

  “The Selkie King,” he says again, and then, “I’ll tell you the tale, but only if you let me actually settle here, I’m too old for hunching over like this, it’ll give me a widow’s hump.”  

  Sky scoffs. “You’re like twenty-two.”  

  He’s off by a few years but the captain doesn’t correct him.  

  Legend’s surprisingly pliable and let’s himself be tugged into the corner of the bed, walls on either side and blankets pulled up, both for warmth and for weight, although the captain says nothing of either, and with the younger pulled against his side, much as he’s done for sisters and sons countess times before, he explains.  

  “The Selkie King,” and goddesses, he’s got to fight at his accent at those words, half tempted to let it on through to add further to the sound of the story, which always sounds so much better in the tongue of the fae or those whose voices carry the remnants of their kind, “was a great powerful creature who lived in the seas to the East. The Selkie are a people who are neither man nor beast, or so they say, but both. A man who, with the donning of a coat of fur, will change into a seal to roam the seas at their deepest, most happy by the water and with eyes darker than night skies.” In retrospect, if he believed in selkies anymore, he thinks they’d have eyes like the vet’s; endless, dark, and always touched with some sort of emptiness or sorrow.  

  “Woah.”  

  He smiles as Sky’s awe, but more so at the settling of a smaller body against his own as long ears prick up but soft cheeks settle against his chest. His fingers slip just the slightest to accommodate, but he leaves his hand pressed where it blocks the next flash of lightning, and though the vet shivers at the next roll of thunder, he doesn’t start away.  

  Something inside wonders whether this clinginess is born of fear or loneliness, and he wonders, for only as long as he dares be silent, when’s the last time someone offered the veteran any form of friendly contact.  

  “Storms-” he continues, once he’s certain he can’t be silent any longer “-they say are caused because the sea and the wind stole from the Selkie King.” he drops his voice, low and almost whispered, like when he’d told the same story to wide-eyed little sisters before tucking them in with kisses and laughter and warm smiles that are long since forgotten. “The Selkie King is the most powerful of the Selkies. He’s said to be strong enough to fight the wind itself, and the seas must bow under his command. With a power like that however, it’s hard. Being strong is a lonely life,” and one his brothers will know well, and the heavy sigh that sounds from beside him is proof of that. “As such, he lived solitary for many years, watching man and his kind and walking among them, but finding none to be his queen and companion, until-” and here his sisters would squirm under the covers, big blue eyes sparkling up at him as they begged ‘till what, Link?’ but his brothers don’t do so. Sky cocks his head, a manner he’s certain is learned from Twilight, and Legend’s face turns up to him again, eyes still hidden, but neither speaks.   

 It makes sense, he supposes. They are Links after all  

 “Until” he continues “one day he came to an island he’d never seen, and met there a maiden with a voice to make any selkie rejoice, and eyes like the seas themselves, the sort the king could only find himself lost in. She had a soul like a bird, and a wish for the beyond, and unlike others who stared and saw the uncanny way of the selkie, she saw to the soul of the Selkie King, and it was in her heart that he found solace from the loneliness of the world.”  

 Sky’s eyes are misty, that distant smile in them that means he’s thinking of his own Zelda, and Warriors almost, like so many times before, lets himself change to story.  

 He doesn’t. The point is to give an answer to the roar of the sky and the fury of the lightning. It’s all fairy stories made to make the remnants of Demise’s fury less a terror to small minds, but there’s no age limit for fairy stories, as he well knows.  Still, few end in a truly happy manner.  

 “Life is cruel though,” and how cruel. He’s not told this story in some time but it’s now beginning to make his own heart twist up in memory of how deeply he’d felt similar things to what the Selkie King would as he continued. “As time passed and their love grew, the seas and the storms began to brew. They wished to rebel against the Selkie King who had tamed them, to make war with him, and though he had no wish to leave his maiden, he was called from the island beaches and her side to fight the sea once more, and the storms with it.   

 “The oceans rose in those days, the sky dark, much like tonight. All that could be heard or seen was the fury of the sea and the wind as the Selkie King sought to bridle them. He fought them, I know not how long, but when at last they were calmed, the Selkie King turned to return to his island and his maiden, only to find both sunk beneath the waves that had risen in his fight.”  

 There’s a shudder beneath his hands, and dampness touches his palm as long lashes once more stir against skin. It’s sad, he’ll grant. He’s not sure if Legend’s young enough to be crying at fairy stories, but he won’t judge. Heroes grow up too fast, and by his knowledge, they haven’t the time to let their minds and hearts age as they ought. He’s not about to judge a few tears at a sad story.  

 “The Selkie King searched and searched,” he continues, “but the sea had already taken away, in final vengeance, what he loved. They say,” and thunder rolls right as he speaks, “that the thunder is his shouts to the sky and sea for their cruelty, and the lightning is his magic, light surging across land and sea to light his search to find what was lost to him.”  

 “What about the girl?” Sky asks, looking startled himself at the turn of the tale, “what happened to her?”  

 His only answer is a wry smile. His sisters would ask the same thing the first time he’d shared the story his grandfather had told him growing up, but the answer is always the same: “she was lost to the sea, as though never there.”  

 He’s not expecting the sob, or the hand that clutches in his shirt as shoulders tremble and tears dampen the hand still held over eyes not unlike those of a selkie. At first, he thinks it’s just the panic catching up and hysterics taking over, but after the first few sobs are over and they just get stronger, the captain realises there might be more to it than that.  

 “Legend?”  

 There's no answer, only inconsolable tears that seem to flow without end, even as he lifts his hand for the first time in a while to try and wipe them away. The younger hero’s face finds its way to the front of his shirt near immediately after, and he’s left trying to hold his brother, clueless as to what he’s said or done to incite the new rainfall that drenches the one clean shirt he’d had.  

 “Vet?” Sky is starting up from the bed, but he doesn’t touch, likely aware that doing so unprompted and without warning isn’t a good idea right now. Warriors though, closer, is free to wrap his arms around trembling shoulders and meet sapphire eyes, questions unspoken flying between them as confusion clouds the air where agonised sobs and tears do not.  

 In the end, he elects to leave it be, soothing gently and running one hand up and down a spine he can count every bone of, hushing softly all the while until the tears finally run out and Legend is limp against him.  

 “I'm sorry,” he says at last, not sure what exactly he’d done wrong. “That one usually helps my sisters feel better about-”  

 “He wasn’t a selkie.”  

 The captain pauses. “What?”  

 “He wasn’t a selkie,” comes the soft words again. “He was mer.”  

 “It’s just a story, vet, he wasn’t-”  

 “They were real.” And it’s so desperately spoken that it stops all other assurance in his throat as a hand tightens in the front of his shirt. “Her name was Marin. She wanted to fly, she wanted to see the world. I promised I’d take her, I wanted to show her everything.” There’s something so broken about the vet’s voice, and when he looks down the eyes of the younger are still closed, but there’s clear agony on the face of his brother. “I didn’t want to destroy her; I never wanted it to fade.”  

 He has no context, no clue, but some part of himself, the part that remembers holding another young hero like this and listening to agonies and losses, knows that something said in the story, some part, has brought a memory or loss back afresh, and his attempts to sooth have only reopened wounds.  

 Warriors wraps his brother tightly in his arms, draping blue fabric over tighter shut eyes. “I’m sorry.”  

 “I didn’t know it wasn’t real until it was over,” the younger hiccups, “I- I wanted to live there forever. It was so... it was so peaceful!”  

 Somehow, that single word, and the agony behind it, stabs through a heart blocked behind stone walls and chain mail.  

 Why should a wish for peace sound so desperate from the lips of a child? What right have gods to burden someone so small with sufferings that would lead their greatest desire to be for something so devastatingly evasive?  

 It’s cruel. It’s familiar in its cruelty, and all that the captain hero can do is hold tighter still and murmur soft comforts that are as empty as the praises lauded on shoulders such as their own. “I know, Link, I know. It’s not fair.”  

 “I fought him three times,” and it’s naught but a whisper, “is it so wrong to want to be allowed to stop?”  

 He’s going to find Hylia and murder her.  

 Once is enough. Once is too much for a kid. Thrice? And twice as many adventures? Oh, no, no-no-no, he’s going to be having words with the Golden Gals when he gets to see them, even if that means fighting his way to the Goddess’ Realm himself. He’s sure he could convince the deity to help him under the right circumstances.  

 Aloud though, his answer is softer. “No. It’s not wrong. They’re wrong to ask so much of you,” words he’s whispered countless times to the hero who is now their leader. Looking at Time, he knows that peace has been achieved. The ranch, the wife, the beautiful home and satisfied smile, the longing look in his eyes after the days have been long since last they’ve visited; it all points to a life now granted chances to be lived and lived well. He only wishes the same could be meted out to all who’ve suffered as they have. “You deserve better,��� he assures. “And for what it’s worth, I understand. Not everything of course,” and he’d never meant to tell, “but I get it. Losing someone, it’s hard.”  

 “I loved her.”  

 “I know.”  

 What sort of love, it doesn’t matter now. Be it puppy love or that of a far more intense sort, love is still love and when lost it can shatter. No wonder dark eyes hold longing deeper than the sea and desolation like the coldest of desert nights.  

 Sky stares but doesn’t speak or move.  

 Legend though, shifts, and dark eyes lift to him for a moment before being shut again as another flash disturbs the room. Without thinking, he raises a hand to cover the younger’s face, tears still fresh against calloused skin. Despite all this, the question in desolate eyes is still spoken aloud. “Who was yours?”  

 And his heart nearly stops, lodged in his throat, but he breathes and guides a pink haired head to settle against his collar, cheek resting in downy soft hair to hide further his face from both. “My wife and son.”  

 One trembling hand settles over his own, awkward in placement but intent clear. “I’m sorry.”  

 His smile is real, although pained, as he wraps his brother tighter, pressing, without thought, a kiss to a crown. “It wasn't your fault.” It was his own, his pride and his folly and his failure that had left him with his son ripped away and his wife turning her back. There’s none to blame but himself and fate’s cruel hand.  

 Despite this, there seems to be a word on the tongue of the younger, indeed, on Sky’s own too, but he cuts both off. “How about a lighter story?” he’s deflecting, he knows, but tonight is not about his losses and mistakes, and suddenly he’s gone from wanting nothing more than dry clothes and a warm bed to being content to hold one smaller and offer what meagre comforts and distractions he can while covering sorrow-ridden eyes and avoiding sapphire stares that bore with sadness for both himself and their little brother.  

 Legend hiccups. “Seriously?”  

 “I’m an excellent storyteller,” he returns, smile real but pained despite himself as he looks down at a face blocked by his own hand, “I’m a father and an older brother after all, I have no business being anything less than skillful with bedtime stories.”  

 “I’m too old for bedtime stories.”  

 He’d beg to differ. Someone still small enough to be held as he holds his brother is still of an age for bedtime stories, and he resolves to find the best he can to share. Not one about heroes though, or about lost love or Selkie Kings. Instead, he tells the story of the Goddess’ Rabbit and the stars it set in the sky. Instead, he holds a brother who he only now knows to see as anything more than another of Hylia’s soldiers, and he treasures the whisper of a chance to redeem some of what was stolen by fate.  

 Maybe it feels like redemption for himself too. Just a little bit.  

[buckleyseddie]

counteroffer

buck/eddie | 25k

There’s a flicker of something across Buck’s face, but he quickly goes back to grinning. “You just want me at your beck and call.”

“Maybe I do.” Eddie shrugs. “You owe it to me.”

Buck sighs, as if put out, but Eddie can see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Okay, then what's it gonna be?”

Eddie hums thoughtfully. He takes his time trying to think of something good. “What about-” he starts.

And that’s the moment Buck licks his lips and Eddie’s eyes dip down to them. And before he knows what comes over him, before he can think the words through, they’re out of his mouth.

“A kiss,” he says.

Buck blinks at him. Eddie blinks back.

“You want a kiss,” Buck repeats, eyebrows rising.

***

Or in order for Buck to make it up to Eddie, Eddie suggests that Buck gives him one hundred kisses.

read on ao3

for @renbuckleydiaz as part of the 911 holiday gift exchange organized by @paranoidbean !!!! happy holidays and i hope that you enjoy it x