#i think they’d have my curly hair at least

[tetsuskei-archive]

thinking about how insanely strong childe’s genes are and having his kids consists of them looking 99% like him and nothing like you. gives him the biggest ego ever, and he has the most smug look on his face all the time.

[leth-writes]

Distance (Yandere tim drake x reader)

SUMMARY: Tim Drake is a fucking asshole, but at least you're moving.

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans.

MASTERLIST 

Requests are open!

“Have you ever noticed anything… weird with Tim?”

Your voice breaks the cozy silence that had fallen in Stephanie’s room. The blond looked over, face the picture of confusion.

“What do you mean?” Your other friend, Conner, asked.

“I don’t know, I just… Sometimes he’s kinda creepy, ya know? Like he knows more than he lets on. Like he’s looking through you, into your soul.” You explain.

Stephanie cocks her head to the side, pretending to think.

“I mean, he can be a lil’ weird, but I think it’s just cuz he was socially stunted growing up…” She hums. What could that possibly mean? You thought, confused. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s cuz of his parents; they like, left him alone all the time when he was younger.” Stephanie continues, turning back to her homework. She seems satisfied with herself.

“I-”

“Hey, maybe you’ll just have to ask Tim, he won’t bite, ya know.” Conner says, not even bothering to face you.

The three of you fell back into silence.

You liked your friends. You didn’t have much experience with friendship, especially growing up moving around constantly because of your dad’s job. You’d met Conner completely by accident; you just so happened to be going to the same school, he just so happened to be walking down the hall, you tripped, he caught you. The two of you hit it off after that. That had introduced you to Steph, and later to Tim, and just like that, you were no longer alone.

Conner was kind, despite his outward appearance. He had dark, ruffled curly hair and a slight southern accent, and he always wore his stupid black leather jacket, the one with the spikes on the shoulders. Sometimes he even wore a dark pair of sunglasses, even inside, like an asshole. Despite his arrogance and his snarky attitude, he was a good friend, defending you from the schoolyard bullies that had plagued your life.

Steph was in some ways, his polar opposite. She had long, slightly wavy blond hair, down to the middle of her back, and the most bright blue eyes you think you’d ever seen, the color of a cloudless summer day’s sky. She was boisterous, constantly laughing and joking around, a sharp contrast to Conner’s cool, calm demeanor.

TIm was an entirely different story. He was… Quiet. Weirdly quiet. It was the first thing you’d noticed, the first time you met him, sitting down for lunch next to Steph and Kon. They’d happily introduced the two of you, and Tim. Shook your hand. You’d never met another person who shook hands, except for uppity businessmen who treated you like a baby.

His eyes were a cold, cruel blue, almost grey. They stared into you, never leaving your form, even as you turned to talk to Steph. You could feel him staring, like he was trying to cut your skull open for a peek inside. You felt like a bad lab experiment every time his attention fell on you.

His hair was always perfectly mussed, like he’d spent the entire morning debating about where to place each strand, and his clothes were impeccably prepped. All in all, he looked more like a doll than a person.

It was creepy, off-putting. Despite all of that, you were in desperate need for friends, especially friends your own age, not your annoying little cousins that you were forced to babysit when your Aunt was away on vacation, which she seemed to always be.

You were willing to put up with him, if it meant being Conner and Steph’s friend. You weren’t willing to give up that first taste of freedom from your overwhelming family.

Even if you hated him.

Tim was perfect, was the thing. Any time you had a problem, he had a condescendingly offered solution. Homework troubles transformed from a normal, if slightly irritating, part of your life into an embarrassing and awkward time for Tim to show off his expertise. Conner and Steph, both seemingly prodigies in their own rights, didn’t have nearly the same problem as you. Sometimes, in fact, you felt like they had some sort of telepathy, reading each other's minds and knowing the answers before you’d even begun.

Tim was also the perfect child, as your parents were constantly berating you. He helped his family, Tim cared for the company his adoptive father would one day be giving to him, Tim had perfect grades, Tim was perfectly behaved. Everywhere you turned it was Tim, Tim, Tim. You couldn’t even escape him on social media. If he wasn’t peering out at you with those icy eyes from Steph and Conner’s feeds, he was staring holes into your skull through pictures of him accepting awards and attending important events.

As you got to know him, the disparities between the two of you only became more clear. He was annoyingly flawless, and you seemed to be built of nothing but flaws, at least according to most of your teachers and your parents.

The constant comparisons were grating on your nerves, and you knew that if you never saw Tim again, it’d be too late. The damage to your fragile self-esteem was already done.

Luckily, today, Tim had to be with his father for some stupid gala, leaving you to hang out with your two normal, non-superhuman friends, who would never rub their perfections into your face. Even if they had plenty of them. You knew the two of them toned down their gloating when you were around, and they were always trying to hype you up, to get you to brag about your accomplishments. To hear about it from them, you’d think you were the most talented person in Gotham, if not all of America.

You were pretty sure that particular award could go to Tim.

Everything was perfect, all three of you working on your own individual homework. Steph and Kon weren’t in the class you were working on. Tim, of course, was, and he was top of the class, as you were constantly being reminded. God, he was pretentious.

Everything was perfect, of course, until Tim walked in. Steph and Kon lit up, smiling and welcoming him in. His hair was, once again, perfectly tousled, and he had clearly changed back into his normal clothes.

“Ditching, pretty boy?” Kon teased, reaching over to ruffle Tim’s hair.

“Awe, don’t tease him, you know he’s a daddy’s boy,” Steph said, laughing.

Tim just batted Conner’s hands away, before turning to face you all.

“I got out of the gala early. My presence was unneeded.” He said, face completely blank. God, he even talked like a fucking robot. You turned away, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, are you working on homework? I can help…” He began, looking over your shoulder. You turned slightly to look at him, baring your teeth in what barely counted as a smile. “I’m. Okay,” you said, teeth grinding. Tim winced at the sight. “A-alright. I’ll just…” he gestured to where Steph and Kon had migrated to Steph’s bed, now painting their nails.

You finished your homework in record time and stood up, eager to just make an excuse and get home.

“Sorry guys, my parents must be worried… I have to get home,” you said, smiling tightly.

“Oh, it’s alright, you can stay. Your parents are still at the gala.” Tim said, not even bothering to look up from where he was concentrating on painting Steph’s pinky.

Shit. He couldn’t even let you leave in dignity, could he?

You gripped the handle of your bag even tighter and turned around. “W-well, still. They don’t want me out too late.” Steph and Kon nodded, saying their goodbyes with ease. Kon waved, his newly painted black nails shining in the dim light.

Tim simply. Stared at you. It’s like he knew you were lying. What a fucking asshole.

You left without another word.

The next day, your parents dropped a bombshell on you. You were all moving. Again. No amount of protest seemed to change their mind. The date was set and your house was sold; you had until the end of the week to say goodbye to your new life.

You, of course, immediately told your new friends. You hadn’t even known them for a month. You should’ve known this would happen; your parents would never let you be happy, and neither would the universe. The mood was solemn as you all sat around your designated table. Even Tim looked upset. More upset than you’d ever seen him, in fact, you think this was the first time you’d ever seen him show an emotion.

Steph looked over, eyes pitying. She squeezed Tim’s hand. What? Geeze, you were the one who was fucking leaving, and he’s the one who was getting comforted! He didn’t even like you!

Kon leaned over the table and grasped your hand, blocking Steph and Tim from your view.

“Hey, kiddo, you okay?” You simply shook your head, biting on your trembling lip. Sure, you didn’t like Tim, but you’d miss your friends!

“Is there any way to change your parents’ minds?” Steph asked as Kon leaned back. All hint of emotion was gone from Tim’s face. He couldn’t even pretend to be upset for the rest of lunch?

“No, no. They already sold the house…” You sniffled.

“Oh…” She said, looking down at the floor. You could hear the defeat in her voice, even as it wavered.

“Well, maybe you can come over tomorrow? One last hurrah, you know? We can spend the night together, do each other's nails, watch a movie…” She asked, voice hopeful.

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds okay…”

“You’re crying.” Tim stated, voice cold and hard. Your hands flew up to your face, shocked to find tears slowly running down your cheeks. Fuck. Fuck him for saying something. You were fucking done. You were done! He couldn’t even pretend to care for a few minutes, and now he was mocking you?! You felt your anger boil up, faster than it ever had.

“Jesus, I’m sorry for fucking expressing emotion, not like you’d know anything about that!” You said, voice cracking. You slammed your hands down on the table as you stood up, grabbing your backpack and slinging it across your shoulder. Tim looked up, startled by your outburst, mouth agape. Steph and Kon wore similar gobsmacked expressions. If you weren’t so pissed, you’d find it almost comical.

Still, you were incandescent. You fled the room, rage boiling underneath your skin, masking the hurt you were burying deep inside.

You ignored Tim the rest of the day. As a consequence, you were unable to talk to Steph and Kon. The distance pained you, but you knew if you had to see Tim’s smarmy face, you’d punch his teeth out. Neither approached you alone, though they did shoot you guilty looks from across the classroom. 

The pain was the worst part. Tim’d been an asshole, he’d made fun of you for as long as you’d known them, and they were choosing him. Everyone always chose Tim; your parents, your teachers, the press… You were stuck in his shadow, doomed to never meet his fucking mold. You were done. You just couldn’t deal with it, not while losing your two best friends, the best friends you’d ever had.

Steph texted you that night, asking you to still come over. She’d assured you that Tim and Kon wouldn’t even be there. The knowledge that Kon was still choosing Tim was painful, but you could deal with it, just to see Steph that one last time.

So, you’d agreed.

The next day came with a fresh wave of grief, pouring off you in waves. It was exhausting, so exhausting that your parents asked you to stay home, concerned you would pass out and be injured right before the big move.

You’d agreed, and spent the day catching up on some much-needed sleep.

That evening, you waved goodbye to your parents, bag slung over your shoulder, and began the walk to Steph’s place. Her family was middle class, not as wealthy as yours, but still quite well-off. You had never seen either of her parents, but Steph assured you she had a very competent housekeeper to help her out when she needed an adult.

You were almost to her house when it hit you. What the fuck were you doing? You shouldn’t be doing this. You were being naive. You’d only known them a short while, they’d forget you in a week! It would be best to just turn right around and go home; that way, you’d be spared the pain of a slow, petering off relationship. You didn’t want to watch as they made new friends, replaced you, slowly stopped responding to your calls; you couldn’t bear the pain.

So, you turned around and walked right back home, not even bothering to text Steph. You’d call her at home, when you were safe in your bed, and you had the room to cry all you wanted and eat as much ice cream as you could handle.

As you walked home, shivering, you couldn’t help but look up. The bat-signal was up, projected against the cloudy night sky. If there was one thing you wouldn’t miss, besides Tim, it was the constant crime. The constant need to carry a gas mask or a taser, the constant preparation to be kidnapped or maimed or tortured. It was tiring, always being on edge.

You kept your eyes on the rooftops, hoping for a glimpse of one of the bats. You couldn’t help your slight fascination with them, despite the way your frie- former friends constantly laughed at you. Tim had looked weirdly smug after he’d wheedled you into admitting Red Robin was your favorite, though you thought the newest superboy on the scene was your favorite hero in general. You just liked his hair (and the way he reminded you of Conner).

It was only once you were back in your neighborhood that you noticed the feeling of being watched. You whipped your head around, looking every direction and clutching your taser. You couldn’t find anyone.

Shrugging it off as needless paranoia, built up over your stay in Gotham, you continued.

The lights in your house were off. The lights in your house were off, but your parents had promised they’d leave them on for when you got home. Did the fucking forget about you?!

You grumbled and stomped up the driveway.

The door was open. A sense of unease began to build, tension keeping your stomach in knots.

You slowly pushed it open, taser in hand.

The house was dark, and empty. Even the curtains were gone. You stepped further in, anxiety beginning to build.

“Mom? Dad?” You called, walking through the living room and to the stairs. You checked each room; each was as empty as the last, both devoid of any furniture, and your parents.

You made your way up the stairs, searching each room, all empty, until you came upon your room, tucked away in the corner away from your parents’ room. The light was on, shining through the cracks in the door and barely illuminating the dark hallway. You snuck closer, taser out and ready.

Finally, you were in front of the door, and you kicked it open.

Inside, your room was perfectly preserved, the overhead light shining down.

Sitting on the bed, head buried in his laptop, was Tim fucking Drake.

“Wha- Tim?” You said, tensed shoulders drooping.

He looked up and smiled, though it didn’t reach his stony eyes.

“Hey, come in.” he gestured to the bed. Confused, you wandered over and plopped down. 

He sighed and turned to face you.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this. I never meant to upset you, but I’m afraid it’s simply inevitable.”

You stared at him. “Tim, where-where are my parents?”

He sighed again, looking out the window.

“I thought we’d be able to avoid this. I thought I’d have time. I’m sorry it had to happen this way.”

“...”

He turned the laptop to you and clicked play on the video queued up.

On screen, your parents appeared.

“I know about the assistant.” Tim’s voice came through, tinny from the low quality of the   video.

“Wh- I don’t know what you’re talking about…” your father’s voice was shaky, shakier than you’d ever heard it.

“There was an accident, wasn’t there.” Tim.

“N-no. No!” Your mom, anger clear on her face.

“It only takes one push and the story gets out.” Tim, voice and face clear. His eyes were stony, glaring down at where your parents sat on the couch.

“We’re leaving town, it won’t matter. We’ll leave.” Your dad said, voice sure. He stood up.

“Sit down.” Tim commanded, and your father did, fear flicking across his face.

“It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving. The Daily Planet is an internationally renowned paper.”

“Please, that would ruin us, you can’t!” Your mom begged, tears springing up.

“What do you want.” Your father said, face stormy. You knew he was picturing hitting Tim, and you knew he was calculating the risk.

“I want you to leave, right now, and we’ll pretend nothing ever happened.”

“We will, we will! Just let me call my daugh-”

“No. Right now.”

“...” 

You could see the acquiescence, the relief, on your father’s face. He nodded, determination slowly creeping onto his features. Your mother just sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“And what of our things?”

“I’ll have them sent to your new address.”

“How-”

Tim just stared at your mother, face grim. She closed her jaw with a sharp ‘clack’.

The video ended.

You stared, speechless. Tim simply looked over at you, face blank.

“W-wh- I don’t… I don’t understand?” You said, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry, but when you said your parents were moving… I had to move quickly.”

You stood up and began walking, feeling as though you were pushing through cotton, like you were seeing yourself in 3rd person. You could barely hear Tim calling your name as you walked down the stairs, toward the door, slowly walking faster and faster. You pushed the door open hard, barely flinching as it slammed into the frame, and burst into a sprint.

You didn’t get far.

A red blur streaked through your peripherals before coming to a stop in front of you. There was superboy, staring at you with guilt in his eyes. No, not superboy. It was Conner.

Just like that, your heart fell. 

“No.” you said, voice shaky with disbelief.

“No!” you backed up, raising the taser. Conner moved closer, hands raised in placation. You flicked the taser on and let it connect with his side. He didn’t even flinch.

“Get the fuck away from me!” You shouted, dropping the taser and whirling around to run.

Arms like steel wrapped around you and picked you up. Suddenly, you were thrown over his shoulder, your vision upside down. He marched you back into the house, plopping you back on the bed where Tim still sat, the laptop on your nightstand.

Conner shot you another guilty look, standing guard by the door, his arms crossed over his muscled chest. You’d never noticed how buff he was; you guessed the jacket was there to prevent you from noticing.

You were crying in earnest now, tears running down your cheeks.

“Please,” you begged, voice cracking.

Tim looked at you, blew out a breath, and wiped your face gently, hands cool. He cradled your face, bringing it closer.

Gently, oh so gently, he kissed your forehead, then brought your head into his shoulder, as you continued to cry. He shushed you, patting your back comfortingly.

“Why?!” you cried.

He gave no answer.

Finally, your crying slowed, then stopped. You pulled away and wiped your eyes with your sleeves.

“You’re going to come with me. We’re going to go back to my place, and you’re going to meet the rest of your family.”

You looked up at Conner, pleading with your eyes. He looked away, grimacing.

“Tim, I- I don’t want to do that, I want my parents, you get that this is fucked up, right?!” You questioned, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry. I had no choice.”

[mamasturn]

forever yours, major gale cleven

pairing: major gale cleven x eden marie cleven (amor aeternus universe on @saturnville)

content: Eden writes her husband a letter while he's deployed.

an: @turn-thy-paige had the idea to create a mini letter-writing series for John, Gale, and Curt. they've been done for a while, but I'm finally getting around to posting Gale's. + also, I changed Judy from the amor aeternus to Eden to have cohesiveness across both pages. hope you enjoy <3

tags: to maintain your place on the taglist, you're expected to interact! @turn-thy-paige @neeville @ineedafictionalman @ihe4rtisa @lovebyceleste

To my beloved, Gale, the note read. 

Gracie saw your picture today on the dresser. She said your name. I’ve been hearing Dada all day. She cried until I let her hold the frame. She’s been running around the house with it all day. I wish you were here to hear it but at least you’ll hear it nonstop when you return. 

She looks a lot like you now. Her eyes get bluer by the day. I was hoping she’d have brown eyes like me, but, it’s okay. She still has my complexion and curly hair. A perfect blend of our love. 

We’re adjusting to you being gone. It’s still difficult, but, days aren’t as long and I can sleep through the night. Partly because I sleep in your clothes, but whatever brings comfort, right? 

Also, I have a surprise! I put pictures in the envelope.

Curiously, Gale’s fingers rummaged through the envelope. Two pictures snapped in grainy color. In the first photo, Gracie was on her mother’s hip, a dimpled smile on her face. They looked so happy, filled with joy as they stood in front of the house they’d made a home. Gale smiled. 

The second was a photo of his wife. She stood in front of the couch in their living room. On her body was a loosely fitted dress, one of her favorites. But, with her hands cupped around her midsection, he saw it. Her growing belly. The smile on her face was brighter than the sun. Another gift on the way. 

Gale bit along the corner of his lips as his eyes watered. His eyes shifted back to the letter.

Baby number two is on the way! I can’t believe I let you get me pregnant again. Anyway, doctors say I’m four months along, so there’s still some time. I’m just praying you’re home for the baby’s birth like you were for Gracie. But if anything, you’re always here in our hearts. 

I’m already thinking of names but I’ll save that for when I hear back from you. 

I love you, Gale. Gracie loves you. Baby loves you. Stay safe and make it home in one piece or I’ll kill you. 

Gale chuckled. How contradictory. 

I’ll see you soon.

Forever yours, 

Eden Marie

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Purly got Arrested Fic

This is so not his fault. 

If he’s going down for it- and it definitely seems like he is, considering the holding cell the blond haired cop with the gross cologne is locking them into seems pretty hardcore- he just wants to make that very clear. This is not his fault. 

Ok, so maybe it was his idea. But it was the kind of good idea that seems great when he’s lying in the lot passing a joint back and forth with Curly, the same kind of good idea as buying a drink for a stranger when you’re drunk, or baiting Steve into a fight until you find out Evie’s mad at him- not an actual good idea. He, being a very rational, very smart individual, knew this. 

Curly, apparently, did not. And since Curly is like a dog with a bone, or like that freakish raccoon he feeds with a box of soggy McDonald’s fries, he refused to let it go. So they did it. 

In both of their defense, while it was stupid, it wasn’t something he thought they could be arrested for. Ok, that’s wasn’t exactly true, but it definitely wasn’t something he thought they’d get caught doing. Something tells him that defense isn’t exactly gonna go over well with Darry. Soda might have thought it was funny- if it hadn’t been Curly he was doing it with. 

Bullshit.

“One phone call boys.” Officer Dipshit Cologne reminds them with a frown, then crosses to sit at a desk on the side of the room opposite the holding cell. 

Just great.

It’s kind of anticlimactic all things considered. Two-bit and Steve tell such tuff stories of being hauled in that he’d thought he’d at least feel cool the first time he got arrested, but so far it’s just been like, super annoying and inconvenient. He doesn’t feel very cool. Mostly embarrassed. And kind of hungry. Darry is supposed to be making chicken tonight and he really hopes he can get outta here before dinnertime because Soda will steal his share if he isn’t there.

He sighs and exchanges a look with Curly.

“You gonna call Tim?”

Curly scoffs.

“Why bother? Bail is five bucks we don’t have, ‘specially since I'll be out tomorrow. ‘Sides, he bailed me out last month when I lit that fire in the park, so it’ll be at least half a year ‘fore he does anythin’ like that again.”

“Shit.”

“What?” Curly grins, entirely in his element. Hell, he almost looks more relaxed than usual, standing in this glorified cage, leaning against the bars without a care in the world. Ponyboy can’t decide whether the sight makes him want to punch him or snog the life out of him. It’s a familiar feeling at this point. “not lookin’ forward to callin’ good ol’ Darry?”

“Shut up,” Pony glares. Fuck, he definitely wants to kiss him. Stupid fucking Curly Shepard with his cocky grin and that catlike arrogance, driving him mad when he should actually be mad, “the second I call Darry is the second my life ends.”

He’ll be grounded for life for this. He’ll be forty years old and sitting bored out of his fucking mind in the living room while Darry glares at him from the armchair. Curly, unfortunately, is an asshole and so refuses to see the gravity of the situation. Instead, he fucking laughs.

So much for “solidarity” and “don’t worry it’ll be fun” and “I’ve got your back, so quit being a pussy and just fucking do it already.”

Bullshit.

“Quit bein’ dramatic.”

“Oh if you think it’s gonna be such a calm and collected conversation why don’t you call Darry and explain that we got arrested for public indecency.”

“I think they called it disturbin’ the peace when they was cuffin’ me actually.”

“Lucky you,” Ponyboy snarls, because yeah, okay, Curly did have his pants on when they got arrested, but he definitely hadn’t had them on when that old lady called the cops, so really, they should both be getting the indecency charge. 

Bullshit.

“Real talk though,” Curly says, “I don’t mind callin’ Darry for you. The big man loves me.”

“Do not.” 

Darry was actually being like, really cool about his friendship with Curly but this whole incident would change that. And don’t even get him started on what would happen if Curly called the house and Soda answered. Then the holding cell would be a blessing, simply because Soda couldn’t commit a murder if Curly was already locked up.

“Well unless you’re fixin’ to stay here overnight and cuddle, one of us has gotta call someone.”

“What about Angela?”

“What about her?” Curly props his elbow on Pony’s shoulder.

“Would she come get us?”

“Hmm,” Curly considers it, “she might come get me. She owes me for helpin’ her sneak out without Tim catchin’ her last week, but she definitely won’t come for you.”

He’s right. Ponyboy knows he’s right because he and Angela kind of can’t fucking stand each other. He wouldn’t bail her out, not even for Curly’s sake, so it makes sense she wouldn’t bail him out either. Still, it’s fucking rude.

“You could call Matthews,” Curly suggests, “bet he’d be cool about it.”

“I gotta better chance of gettin’ the president on the line than Two-bit.”

“Guess you’re shit outta luck then,” Curly shrugs, beckoning him over to the bench on the other side of the cell. There’s a greasy looking guy passed out drunk leaning against it, so they take a seat on the opposite side, “you can always just stay the night with me. We could get real cozy if y’know what I mean?”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Pony swats at him. Dealing with Curly, he’s learned, requires skills not unlike those one would need to tame a rabid dog or a toddler on crack. Which, given Curly’s upbringing, may have been something that happened once or twice. 

“I can’t not go home,” Ponyboy reminds him, “they’ll lose their shit.”

Which is fair. After Windrixville and Johnny and Dal it makes sense that Darry and Soda go apeshit when he’s late for curfew and doesn’t call ahead, which is why he tries his very best to keep them informed. Still. This is not a situation he is looking forward to informing them of.

“Aren’t they gonna lose their shit anyway?”

“Well yeah, but it’d definitely be worse if I don’t go home tonight and then they find out it’s because I was arrested.”

“I mean,” Curly points out, “you wouldn’t have to tell them.”

Shows what he knows. Curly has never had to sit on the couch with Darry using his freaky mind reading powers and Soda’s huge disappointed eyes boring into him to get him to confess to maybe, hypothetically, potentially cussing his teacher out in science class. Those two can get him to be more truthful than a polygraph. It’s so annoying.

“Yes I would. And I can’t not call. I just…I can’t.”

Curly seems to finally get it because his eyes light in understanding and he headbuts him in the shoulder. It’s kind of sweet.

“Better do it sooner than later then, huh?”

“Yeah,” Pony sighs, waving the cop over, slapping a hand over Curly’s mouth when the other boy goes to say something because he knows that look in Curly’s eye. It’s the same look he had when he told their gym teacher his shitty attitude probably wasn’t why his wife left him it was his looks.

Two minutes later he’s standing in front of the phone, that cop- who’s cologne is still terrible and giving him a headache- practically breathing down his neck, and wondering if he’s really going to go through with this. 

The cop clears his throat and that’s when Pony realizes that yes, he is indeed going to do this, because he does not have a choice.

Sighing, and refusing to glance at where Curly is audibly laughing at him in the holding cell, he carefully dials the number. Of course the first  number is a nine so he has to watch as the rotary phone slowly winds back to zero before he can wind it over to the six.

Finally, the dial tone sounds in his ear. It rings once. Twice. Three times. He’s just starting to worry that maybe no one is home when he hears a click and Darry’s smooth baritone filters through the speaker. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Darry,” his voice comes out a lot squeakier than he hoped and he fights to keep his feet from fidgeting. That cop had made it clear he didn’t appreciate it, and much as he’d never admit it, he was still kind of scared of cops, maybe even more so after Windrixville. 

“Ponyboy?” He can hear the slight concern in Darry’s voice. It’s an odd time for him to be calling, considering it isn’t even six yet and curfew is still hours away. “Everything ok?”

“I need you to come pick me up.”

“Okay…” Darry sounds almost suspicious now. He can hear hollering in the background- probably Steve and Two-bit arguing over the tv. “Where are you?”

“Don’t get mad.” Pony begs, and apparently it’s the wrong thing to say.

“What did you do?” Darry isn’t shouting- he’s a lot better about that now- but the resigned exhaustion in his voice is almost worse.

“Nothing!”

“Ponyboy,” Darry warns and it’s his I-swear-to-god-kid-you’re-gonna-send-me-to-an-early-grave voice, “where are you?”

“Before I answer that I need you to think about how good I’ve been lately. Straight As at school, track awards, hell, I even did the dishes yesterday even though it was Soda’s turn-”

“-You got arrested, didn’t you?” Darry cuts him off and Pony has to hand it to him, in the past year, ever since they got close again, Darry really has learned to read him like a book. 

“...yes.”

Darry sighs. It’s world weary, but if Pony didn’t know better he’d swear there was an undercurrent of amusement there. The arguing in the background has abruptly cut off, which is kind of rude. He’s just as tough as the rest of them. Him getting arrested shouldn’t be this surprising.

“What did you do?”

“Before I tell you I need you to keep an open mind-”

“-Nevermind.” Darry cuts him off again, firmly, “just…what’s the charge?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Pony admits, “they said public indecency when they were cuffing me, but Curly swears it’ll only count as disturbing the peace-”

“If I get down there and you don’t have pants on so help me god, Ponyboy-”

“Cool it Dar,” he rolls his eyes, “the cops let me put them back on before they cuffed me.”

“Jesus christ,” he can almost see Darry through the phone, resting his forehead against the wall and rubbing his eyes, “you better have a damn good explanation for this.”

Good? Maybe not. Interesting? Definitely. Not that he was about to say that. This was going better than he could’ve hoped, all things considered, but he wasn’t about to test his luck.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Darry continues, “don’t answer any questions and don’t do anything stupid- scratch that, don’t do anything else stupid. And tell that friend of yours I’ll be payin’ Tim a visit on my way over.”

The line goes dead. 

He can’t help but grin as he places the phone back on the receiver. Sure, he’s still in huge trouble but that went like, so much better than he’d imagined. Hell, his grounding might even be lifted before he graduates.

As the cop walks him back over to the holding cell he can’t help but hope Soda wasn’t home to hear the aftermath of that particular phone call. Not that he thinks Soda won’t support him, but if Darry mentions Curly then the chances of him making this whole thing a lot more of an issue than it needs to be are 1000x higher. 

“Well?” Curly grins as soon as the door clanks shut behind him, Officer Dipshit Cologne’s key jangling in the lock, “How’d he take it?”

“He said he’s stoppin’ to talk to Tim on his way over here,” Pony tells him, hoping to wipe that smug look of Curly’s face, “so don’t get too comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Curly snorts, stretching out on the bench, “Ponykid, this place is practically my second home at this point. ‘Sides, I already told you Tim ain’t comin’, not for somethin’ like this.”

“He might if Darry asks him to.” Pony points out. Curly doesn’t deign to answer. It doesn’t matter: they both know he’s right, even if Curly doesn’t want to admit it.

“Move over will ya?” Pony nudges Curly into a sitting position, taking a seat next to him on the bench. 

Curly elbows him back because he’s a menace.

Pony shoves him.

Curly hip checks him, hard enough he almost falls off the bench.

Pony tackles him. 

Then they’re really wrestling, rolling around on the concrete floor. Curly smells like Marlboro cigarettes and dirt and cheap shampoo, but somehow it works. They’ve rolled a bit, bit Curly’s got him pinned right now, and jus like every time they fight its unlike fighting anyone else. He’s hyper aware of everywhere Curly’s body is pressed against his- knees bracketed on either side of his hips, one hand pinning his shoulders down, the other reaching to smack at him half heartedly, in a way Pony knows is Curly’s version of playful.

He loves it, and like every time they tussle like this, he kind of also wants to explode.

“Hey!” Officer Dipshit Cologne rattled the door of the cell, “Knock it off you two!”

Ponyboy and Curly exchange a look and burst out laughing. Curly climbs off him, pulling Pony to his feet and the collapse on the bench together. 

Their mirth doesn’t last long.

“Ponyboy Curtis!” A second later Darry Curtis is striding into the station, green flannel tucked into his jeans in an attempt to look respectable, wearing his best ‘responsible adult’ face, and Ponyboy remembers he is still in so much trouble. “I’m here for my brother, Ponboy Curtus.”

Beside him, Curly has gone stiff. 

“No way,” he mutters, looking like he had that time they explored the old Bronsen house on halloween- that is to say, like he’d seen a ghost, “theres no fucking way…”

Ponyboy looks up and sees what stopped Curly in his tracks. Tim Shepard, as grim faced and dangerous looking as ever, prowling after Darry like a panther.

Pony shoot Curly a smug look. Curly swats at him without taking his eyes off his brother.

“This ain’t good…” he mutters, as Tim starts talking to Officer Dipshit Cologne alongside Darry.

“Sure ain’t.” Ponyboy agrees as the officer marches toward the cell, Darry and Tim at his heels. Golly they look pissed.

“Wanna make a run for it?”

“Fuck no,” Pony murmurs back, “I’m already in enough shit as it is.”

“You fuckin’ dumbass,” Tim barks as soon as the door’s unlocked, and he seizes Curly by the ear, ignoring his pained yelp as he half drags him out of the police station, scolding him in rapid fire spanish. Pony doesn’t understand much but his name gets thrown in there a few times and he can’t help but wince. The last thing he needs is to be on Tim Shepard’s shit list.

Darry doesn’t look too happy but he doesn’t look near as mad as Tim. Pony thanks his lucky stars for that.

‘C’mon kiddo,” Darry jerks his head, “let’s go.”

Pony follows him out to the truck, explains the thought process behind stripping down and trying to steal the coins in the fountain at the park because it seemed like there’d be enough for cigarettes and movie snacks. He pretends he doesn’t know what Darry means when he tells him he of all people needs to be careful about indecency charges, while his cheeks heat and Darry gives him terrified, significant, half pleading looks. 

Still, he can’t bring himself to regret any of it. Not even when Soda spends half an hour ranting to him about how Curly is the spawn of the devil on earth. Not even when Steve laughs at him about why he got arrested.

Like everything when it comes to Curly, it was just too much fun to regret. 

[littlejuicebox]

The other kind of kink.

Written as a giveaway prize for @chaoticgoodstuff! Hope you enjoy the final version posted here! <3

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Female Tav

Summary: Astarion didn't quite know how to form a relationship with Tav after she rejected him at the tiefling party. But he begins to realize that perhaps he has other expertise that may be of use to the woman. Namely, curly hair care.

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: fluff, sweet astarion, brief mentions of astarion's trauma/past, lightly ooc astarion, idk what else it's mostly fluff tbh lol

-----

“So which path do you think we should take, soldier? Underdark or Mountain Pass? Either way, I’m ready to slash some baddies!” Karlach says, swinging her ax for show as the two warrior women chat while Gale finishes cooking dinner. 

It would be at least another hour and the women were starving.

“Hmm…” Tav murmurs, looking up at her tiefling friend from where she had been sharpening her great sword. It certainly needed a bit of attention, after slashing through so many goblins a few days ago, “I haven’t decided yet, any suggestions?” 

Karlach shrugs and shakes her head before turning to look at Astarion, where he is perched on a log, filing his nails, not more than a few feet away, “Oi! What do you reckon, Fangs? Underdark or Mountain Pass?”

The silver-haired elf glances up from his task momentarily, assessing Tav and Karlach, scarlet eyes narrowed in thought, “Both sound equally atrocious. But if the great Archdruid Halsin said the Underdark is the safer route – which I find impossible to believe – then, I suppose that is my vote. Work smarter, not harder and all that.”

Tav nods, considering the rogue’s suggestion, and with a final rub of whetstone on metal, sheaths her great sword as she says, “Astarion’s right. Underdark, it is.”

“Well of course I’m right, darling! Aren’t I always?” Astarion responds with a pleased little chuckle as he tucks away his nail file. 

Inside, his confidence glows at the small bit of validation from their camp leader. He’d felt as if her view of him may have changed after the very awkward encounter they’d had at the tiefling party a few days ago, when he’d drunkenly propositioned her and she’d adamantly refused. He’d thought their relationship – could he call it friendship? – all but ruined after that blunder. Apparently he’d somehow misread the signs, and she wasn’t looking for sex like every other individual he’d ever known. 

Astarion had considered their prior interactions dancing on the border of flirtatious, but Tav indicated she preferred to focus on their cause, not on intermingling with her campmates. He thought Tav a bit odd after that interaction, and admittedly felt a bit insulted in the moment. He was gorgeous, why wouldn’t she jump at the opportunity he dangled in front of her? 

But, in the soberness of the following morning, Astarion decided he could work within her parameters; he’d just have to find another way to secure her favoritism. In fact, in some ways he was thankful she rejected him. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius,” Tav responds with a laugh, rolling her eyes at the rogue as she stands and stretches, “Well, I’m off to clean up before dinner, if either of you care to join?”

Karlach waves her hand dismissively, “Nah! I’ll do that after dinner. But can I borrow your whetstone for my ax?”

Tav nods at the tiefling, watching as Karlach grabs the stone and walks off toward her tent, ax in hand, before turning to address her other campmate, “And what about you, Astarion?”

The silver-haired elf shrugs and nods; at this point he’s taking any opportunity he can to spend time with Tav. The more he’s with her and gets to know her, the closer she will get to him, and the more secure he will feel. 

Or at least, that’s his only Plan B. Since Plan A went up in flames. 

He crouches to gather his bathing supplies from his pack before coming closer to the warrior woman currently waiting for him, “I suppose I could do with a bit of a bath. It isn’t hair wash day, but–” 

“It isn’t hair wash day?” Tav interjects, her eyebrows furrowing at the vampire, “You don’t wash your hair every day? Isn’t that… gross?”

The rogue pauses and blinks at the woman, tilting his head just a fraction as he assesses her, “Darling, please tell me you are not washing your hair every day. I understand on the days we are soaked in blood and guts it is a necessity… but, certainly you haven’t washed your hair every single day for the past three days when we have done nothing apart from lounge in camp and prepare to move onto the next part of our journey… right?” 

Tav cocks her head to the side, mirroring Astarion’s bewildered expression as she asks, “Should I… not be?”

That explains quite a bit, Astarion thinks, as his eyes roam over the unruly curls springing from the crown of Tav’s head. He’d thought it was perhaps an odd stylistic choice, or she simply did not care about the state of her hair, but maybe it was merely ignorance. Perhaps no one ever showed her how to care for the red, curly locks cascading like a lion’s mane around her face.

A small wave of sympathy crosses Astarion’s heart; he internally smashes it down before the wave grows into a tsunami. Best to not care too much about this woman, she could turn into a mindflayer at any moment, after all. And then he’d have to slice her to ribbons, as previously agreed upon.

“Ah.. well, darling. It isn’t wrong, exactly,” He starts, his eyes shifting away from Tav’s face as he tries to delicately address the matter, “It’s just… with a hair texture like yours, you aren’t doing yourself any favors.”

Tav simply blinks in response, her expression vacant; she is not understanding Astarion’s meaning.

The rogue sighs and shakes his head slightly. Well, he at least tried to be delicate, but that did not seem to sink in. More direct, it is. 

A vague gesture to his friend’s red curls and then Astarion explains, “Your hair is dry, Tav. That is why it is difficult to maintain and why you’ve broken more than one comb trying to drag it through that unruly mane.”

A flicker of embarrassment crosses Tav’s face and the rogue groans. He doesn’t know how to navigate feelings and friendships; his relationships with his siblings had been much less work… not that he particularly enjoyed those relationships or cared if the other spawn liked him. But he wanted Tav to like him, if only for his own motives, of course. 

“It’s really… not all that bad, darling. But perhaps I could help you, give you a few pointers? I think your hair could be quite gorgeous – your best feature, even, given the proper care. It’s rare to see a natural redhead like you, it already captures a lot of attention… let’s make it something awe-inspiring.” Astarion says, gently, his hand coming out to tug at one frizzy curl as he tries to smooth over the insult he just threw at his campmate. 

But, hells, someone had to tell her eventually. Even his siblings wouldn’t let him walk around with such unruly locks. 

“O-oh, sure, okay,” Tav agrees, still trying to overcome the embarrassment as her own hand comes to rake through her hair and gets caught in a nest of tangles, instead. She grimaces; Astarion had a point, it seemed, “Do I need to bring anything special?”

“Let me go back to my tent and grab my hair washing supplies, I’ll meet you down by the river in a bit, hm?” Astarion responds with a small smile before turning back toward his tent and disappearing within the shelter to rummage through his vast collection of shampoos, oils, perfumes, and soaps.

Tav merely hums in agreement and then heads in the opposite direction, toward the camp-designated bathing spot, towel in hand. As she’s walking, she pulls a curl in front of her eyes and examines it with a new perspective. Gods, it really was dry.

*

When Astarion makes his way to the river, he finds Tav waist-deep in the rushing water, still in her smallclothes and soaping her arms. Her back is turned to him, and the sun is catching her hair in a flattering light. Autumnal colors of red, orange, burgundy, and wine dance around her crown in the form of spiraled locks, and the elf cannot help but admire the natural beauty bestowed upon the woman.

Her hair was a gorgeous tone, reminiscent of the warmth of a fire or a deep, satisfying vintage wine. But it wasn’t just Tav’s hair that was attractive… she really was quite striking. With the woman unaware of his presence, Astarion took a quick moment to admire the rippling muscles in her back and the strong, lithe arms she used to carry her greatsword.

No one with working eyes — or eye, perhaps, —  could deny that Tav was attractive. After all, there was a reason Astarion had chosen to proposition her over the others in the first place. 

But, sex or not, the woman certainly seemed to favor him, which meant more than once since their journey began, she’d sliced clean through an enemy at his back, and fed him servings of her own blood. 

So now, it was his turn to repay her somehow, some way. And if Tav didn’t accept his physical talents, well, then at least she would accept this. 

“Hello, darling,” Astarion calls, causing the woman to turn and acknowledge him with a small smile and wave. He quickly places his bathing kit on the river bank and undresses to just his briefs before tentatively placing a foot in the water. It was warm enough to be tolerable, so the rogue shrugged and grabbed his wooden comb and conditioner before sinking into the water and wading toward his campmate. 

“Alright, now, get down into the water,” The elf directs as he shakes the small bottle of conditioner in his hands, prepping the contents.

“But I thought you said I’m not supposed to wash my hair every–” Tav begins, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she eyes the bottle, before the displeased glare from Astarion causes the question to die on her lips. 

“Do you want my help, or do you want to continue to look like a sheep desperately in need of shearing, darling?” Astarion asks with a soft sigh as he pops the top of the bottle open and gives it a whiff, “Just bend down and trust me. Oh and here, hold these for a moment.”

Tav grabs the comb and bottle she’s offered and then does what she’s asked. When she’s shoulder-deep in the water, she feels Astarion’s hand guiding her to tip her head back. She follows the directive and is soon greeted by the vision of Astarion’s face hovering above hers, scarlet eyes intensely concentrated as he drags his hand through her curls.

“Your hair texture is a bit different from mine…” He muses idly, as he works to fully saturate the thick locks of hair on his companion’s head with water, “But this conditioner should work, for now. We’ll have to find something better suited to you, when the opportunity allows.” 

Astarion takes the comb from Tav’s hand without a word and uses the tool and his own fingers to work out some of the ever-present knots in the woman’s hair. She watches him for a moment before closing her eyes and simply allowing Astarion to work at the task. Before long, the elf is gently guiding her head back up, into a straight position, and trading the comb for the bottle.

“Close your eyes,” He directs, and Tav obliges again as the vampire places a generous amount of rosemary-scented conditioner in his hand. Then he gives the bottle back to Tav, rubs his hands together, and begins to work the creamy liquid through her hair, starting at the ends and slowly wandering up toward her scalp. About midway through he’s reaching for the bottle again, “Who knew your hair was this thick? You’re about to use up all of my favorite conditioner, darling.” 

Tav frowns slightly at this comment, trying to turn and face Astarion before he quickly redirects her head with a soft click of his tongue, “I’m sorry… I can buy you more when we run into our next merchant.”

“Oh, it’s no matter. I stole this bottle anyway– I’m sure I can steal another along the way,” Astarion says with a slight dismissive flip of his hand, “Besides, I think you need it far more than I do, right now.” 

His fingers trail up to the crown of her head as he speaks, and Tav’s eyes flutter closed once again as Astarion begins to massage the product into her roots. He moves in sections, parting her hair every few inches and attentively working the conditioner into her scalp. The sensation was quite enjoyable; if the water were a bit warmer, Tav might have fallen asleep under Astarion’s gentle, methodical touch. 

Far too quickly for her liking, Astarion completes the task and gently pats her shoulder to signal he’s done for now. He grabs his comb and what little remains of his favorite hair product from the woman. 

“You need to let that sit for a few minutes, at least, little sheep.” Astarion directs before wading back to the river bank and dropping his supplies with the rest of his things. Tav watches as he grabs his own bar of soap and begins to bathe himself.

“How did you learn about all this?” The woman calls to the rogue as she wades through the water, mostly for something to do as she waits. 

Astarion hums as he considers the question; there is a pause in the conversation as he drops his bar of soap back along the bank and uses his hand to rinse the soapy remnants along his body. Tav cannot help but follow his fingers as they graze along his chest and arms, dispersing droplets of water that drizzle down the lines of his abs and back into the river. 

“I wish I could tell you how I learned, but I can’t recall…” He murmurs, his voice sounding a bit far away as he thinks, “It feels like something ingrained in me like speaking Elvish or the ability to read, for instance; someone must have taught me… I suppose one of my parents, or someone else in my family.”

A small look of sadness flits across Tav’s face but she quickly hides it before her companion notices, knowing that Astarion will balk at anything resembling pity. She often forgets how little memory he has of his past before Cazador, how much he’d endured until now, and how much of himself he’d lost in the process of it all. He was so good at pretending to be normal and happy-go-lucky… but then, they were quite alike in that aspect, weren’t they? It was easier to be the unbothered goofball than to be anything that resembled fragility, wasn’t it? 

Tav chooses to not respond to his answer, knowing nothing she says can truly make his situation better, and instead grabs a conditioner-covered curl, “Can I rinse this now?” 

Astarion nods as he climbs out of the water and begins gathering his own things, “Yes, go rinse it out – make sure there’s none of that left in your hair, and then come find me back at camp for the next part. I’m going back — it’s growing a bit cold.”

“Next part?” Tav responds with a soft whine, watching as Astarion towels himself off, “There’s more?”

“Darling, if you want your hair to look even close to as good as mine, there is a lot of work involved. Now hurry up, so we can be done before Gale is ready to feed you whatever disastrous concoction he’s made tonight,” Astarion says, his tone a bit joking as he begins slipping into a new set of camp clothes.

The woman groans and obeys the rogue’s directions, turning away as Astarion strips off his undergarments to replace them with new ones, and wading once again toward the deeper water. Tav dunks herself down into the river and begins running her fingers through spirals of hair, massaging out any slippery residue she finds along the way. With the amount of hair she had, it took several minutes, and by the time she was finished, Astarion was already gone. The sun was just beginning to kiss the earth in its descent toward night.

Tav quickly toweled herself off and dressed. Then she wrapped her hair up in the towel, twisting it around her locks in a turban-like fashion before collecting her belongings and making the short journey back to camp.

*

“There you are, darling,” Astarion calls as he catches sight of Tav, before patting a stump near his tent, “Come over here so I can finish defining your curls.” 

Tav furrows her eyebrows in confusion, because she has no idea what Astarion means, but she’s learned to simply shut up and go along with whatever he says for this entire endeavor. As she comes closer, she notices the elf has laid out even more supplies for her hair.

Did it really require all of this?

She sighs and takes a seat. Astarion immediately sets to work, placing a dollop of some sort of creamy pomade-like mixture in his hand and working it through her hair again. After that, he begins sectioning her hair into pieces, directing Tav every once and a while to hold this or that piece as he combs through her locks. 

“Ouch–” Tav hisses as the elf seems to be pulling at the base of her scalp. She moves to jerk away and Astarion huffs impatiently behind her, one of his hands coming to press against her forehead and prevent her movements. 

“Darling, for gods sakes, hold still.There isn’t beauty without a bit of pain, and honestly, for such a warrior, you’re being a wimp,” he chastises before continuing on with the task.

“What are you doing?” Tav asks through a sharp intake of breath, scrunching her eyes closed as she tries to endure the uncomfortable sensation of her hair being repeatedly tugged at the root. 

“Defining your curls, dear. I’m twisting them around my finger, see?” Astarion responds before coming in front of her and pulling a piece so he can demonstrate the process. Tav watches with a mixture of interest and confusion as he continues, “This will help all your curls to look more uniform. But seeing as you’ve done very little to your hair in all this time, I suppose it would make sense that you’re a bit tender-headed. I promise I am trying to be gentle.” 

Tav grimaces as Astarion continues his task, letting out little squeaks of pain that the rogue pointedly ignores. Eventually, Karlach comes over to return the whetstone she borrowed. The tiefling lingers to chat, which distracts Tav just enough to mostly forget about the pain in her scalp. When Astarion announces he’s done, the woman is genuinely surprised and moves to touch her hair; she is met with a quick swat from the elf.

“Ah-ah!” He admonishes before grabbing a bottle and spraying her hair with another rosemary scented product, “You can’t touch it until it’s completely dry.” 

“Why the hell not?” Tav groans again, suddenly growing impatient. Her stomach growls, and she sighs as she realizes she is also growing hangry. 

“You’ll undo all my hard work! Just wait.” Astarion responds as he stows away all his beauty products, “And anyway, it looks like Gale is just about done with dinner. We can go sit by the fire as you eat and that will dry your hair faster.”

*

Dinner was… acceptable. Gale did the best he could with the two rabbits Astarion hunted that morning, a handful of potatoes, one onion, and a couple of carrots. They did not have the luxury of seasonings most of the time, so it was quite typical for the nightly stews to taste gamey… tonight was no exception. 

Astarion takes a few drinks from Tav’s wrist after she finishes dinner. Once he retracts his fangs from her flesh, he lifts his hand to gently feel her curls. After a moment assessing his creation, he grins at the woman and says, “They’re finally dry, darling. Took long enough, hm? Now, let’s get you in front of a mirror so you can see my masterpiece.” 

Tav is flabbergasted by what she sees in the mirror. For the first time in… well, ever, her hair looks like it belongs to one of the beautiful maidens in an oil painting. Her hand comes up to gently touch the soft, spiraled locks and confirm that this perfect head of hair is, in fact, on her head and not somebody else's. 

“What do you think?” Astarion prompts, his voice containing the smallest bits of apprehension as he lifts a hand to fuss with Tav’s hair, placing it just so.

“It’s great,” Tav responds, her face breaking into a wide smile that causes the tension in Astarion’s shoulders to dissipate, “Thank you… really.” 

Astarion smiles and nods, suddenly unsure how to respond to the genuine gratitude in Tav’s voice. So instead he chuckles a bit and rolls his eyes before saying, “What on earth would you do without me?”

“Continue to look like a sheep in need of shearing, I guess,” Tav jokes, sticking her tongue out as she gently bumps her elbow into Astarion’s rib in jest, “That was mean, by the way.”

“I prefer honest, darling,” Astarion quips with a small chuckle, his fingers still fussing with the woman’s curls, “And anyway, you no longer look like a little sheep. You look beautiful.” 

Tav is not used to being called beautiful. Strong or brave, perhaps, but beautiful… never. Until now. The compliment catches her off guard and her eyes widen for just a moment. The elf notices her shock and his brows crinkle as he pauses the primping to analyze the woman’s face. 

“Certainly you know you’re beautiful…” The rogue continues, his hands starting to work at the curls again, “I’m sure I’m not the only–”

Astarion trails off when Tav shakes her head from side to side as her face begins to blush, the shade of her skin suddenly resembling the shade of her hair. Her voice is quiet, and crackling with a bit of emotion as she says, “No one says that. They just call me strong, or brave… or fierce.”

The elf tilts his head to the side as his eyes roam across Tav’s face once again. How interesting, he thought, to be lauded for things apart from your beauty. He’d never experienced such a thing, himself… though he thinks he would like to. But it almost appeared as if Tav had the reverse experience to his. 

“Well… surely you can be strong and beautiful, hm?” Astarion asks with a raised eyebrow, trying once again to smooth out the awkwardness he felt creeping between them, though he didn’t exactly know why it often felt like that. He moves to affectionately tug another lock of Tav’s hair and smiles playfully, “And with hair like this, dear, no one can deny your beauty. It would be an insult to my skills, frankly.” 

Tav snorts a laugh at this, eliciting a genuine, fang-filled grin from the rogue. Then he produces a bandana from his pocket and flourishes it in front of the woman, “Now let’s get your hair wrapped up. I’m exhausted and I want to go to bed, but I will not allow you to ruin my masterpiece overnight with all your thrashing about in your bedroll. You’re quite noisy, you know? And you snore.”

“I do not!” Tav protests as Astarion clicks his tongue at her and shakes his head, all while bundling her curls into the bandana and deftly tying a knot to keep it all in place. 

“You’re a terrible liar, dear, I’m surprised your nose isn’t growing this instant,” The elf murmurs, his finger coming to affectionately boop the woman’s nose before he bids goodnight and wanders back to his tent for bed.

Tav rubs her own nose as she yawns and heads back to her own tent, on the other side of camp. She tucks herself into her bedroll and smiles as she stares up at the canvas ceiling of her shelter. Someone really said she was beautiful; a small giggle escapes her lips as she thinks about it. 

Before long, Tav falls asleep. And for the first time in a while, she sleeps peacefully, without any thrashing about or snoring. Perhaps it was because her hair – and her heart – were both impeccably well-taken care of tonight. 

[menofchaos]

Coco

Note: Third time I'm trying to send this out! I missed sleep to write this, which usually means it'll end up being one of my favorites like the Vegas story. I do have more of this written, so please let me know if anyone would be interested! This is the first installment of Coco x museum! reader. Picture credit goes to @richardcabralofficial on ig & divider credit goes to @spideyspeaches. Enjoy!

Coco lit a cigarette as he walked down the sunny streets of downtown San Diego, Angel and Gilly planning their evening of bar hopping. They decided to head down to the beach for a long weekend, a getaway from the pressures of Santo Padre.

“Damn, that’s a big ass building.”

“Ain’t this the museum you wanted to go to?” Angel asked.

EZ nodded, “Yeah at some point. You guys don’t have to come in.”

The four of them turned down the street toward the entrance and Gilly laughed, “Oh I’m definitely going.”

Angel frowned, “You wanna go to a museum? You good, homie?”

“If all the chicks in the museum look like that? Fuck yeah, I do,” he scoffed and nodded over at the museum steps.

They all looked up to see two men in suits talking to a woman, her long curly hair flowing gently in the wind as she laughed. Coco’s eyes widened when he saw ink covering her throat, bright acrylics on her tattooed hands. His eyes followed her curves, covered up by her professional attire. He licked his lips when he heard Angel mumble, “Damn.”

EZ shook his head, “I didn’t mean we had to go now.”

“What better time than the present, boy scout?” Gilly smirked, “You guys in?”

Angel looked over at Coco, who shrugged, “Why not?”

“Alright,” Gilly clapped, “Think she dresses like that all the time?”

“She’s way out of your league,” Angel snorted, shaking his head as they crossed the street.

“You think you have a better chance?” Gilly arched an eyebrow.

Coco laughed, “You two gonna bet again? Since it went so well last time.”

Both men glared at him before going back to arguing over who would ask her out. The men in suits walked away and the woman turned to see the four of them heading up the stairs.

“Welcome,” she smiled and opened the door, “Ticket counter is to your left, let me know if you have any questions about the exhibits.”

Gilly looked her over slowly, “Thanks mami. I do have a question. Are you the exhibit?”

She laughed politely, “No, I’m not.”

“Too bad, I can’t stop staring,” he winked, heading inside. 

“All these artifacts and I can’t take my eyes off you,” Angel smirked and followed him in.

EZ shook his head, “I’m sorry about them, it’s their first day in public.”

Coco took off his sunglasses as she laughed, “It’s all good, I’ve heard worse,” she closed the door behind them, “Enjoy the museum,” she winked at Coco before a younger employee called her over.

Coco watched her walk off, hips swaying. Gilly and Angel were still quietly bickering over her. While they were distracted, he took a few steps toward where she stood with another woman wearing a regular museum uniform. The woman went into the exhibit and she turned to Coco.

“Can I help you?” she asked him.

“Just wanted to apologize again for my brothers,” he told her, “They’re harmless.”

She smiled, “That’s sweet, thank you. Like I said, I’ve had way worse pick up lines than that. I was a little bummed I didn’t hear one from you, though,” she admitted.

Coco’s eyes widened and he smiled, “Oh yeah?”

She nodded, “See if it was more original than your brothers,” she teased.

He laughed softly, “They didn’t exactly get creative, did they?”

“No but at least they didn’t say they’d nail me to the wall,” she shivered slightly in disgust, “That one grosses me out.”

He shook his head, “I wouldn’t have let them get away with that one.”

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Coco,” he held a hand out to her, “Yours?”

She introduced herself and shook his hand, “I guess you wouldn’t let them get away with that, would you, boogeyman?”

His eyes lit up, “You know that story?”

She smiled, “Of course,” she scanned the patches on his leather. Coco held his breath for a moment, waiting for her to dismiss him, “Santo Padre? What brings you to San Diego?”

“We wanted to get out of the desert for a few days,” he murmured, “Hang out at the beach.”

“That’s why I live here, so I can be on the beach whenever,” she smiled, “How long are you in town for?”

“Till Tuesday,” he bit his lip, willing his heart to slow down.

She nodded, holding his gaze for a moment, “So, you got a line?”

He shook his head, “No lines,” he licked his lips, “But I’d love to take you out later.”

She smiled, “I can’t tonight but I’ll take your number and call you tomorrow?” she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

Coco recited his number to her, smirking when he glanced over to see Gilly and Angel glaring at him. She nodded, “I’ll see you soon?” she took a few steps back, smiling.

“See you soon,” he smiled slowly, his eyes on hers.

She giggled and turned down a hallway, out of his sight. He rejoined the other guys.

“What just happened?” Angel asked, “You get her number?”

He shook his head, “Gave her mine. Thanks for making me look good,” he smirked as EZ handed him a ticket, “Thanks, bro.”

“Motherfucker,” Gilly swore, “You’re such a dick.”

After the museum, the four of them headed to dinner, then a bar on the beach. They stood around a pool table, EZ and Angel against Coco and Gilly.

“I still can’t believe you snaked her from me,” Gilly shook his head.

“You don’t have a claim on her, homie,” he smirked, taking a sip of beer.

“You come on too aggressive, bro,” Angel said.

EZ snorted, “You weren’t much better.”

Angel scoffed, “I wasn’t as bad as him!”

“All I did was give her my number,” Coco watched Gilly take his turn, “It’s not like I stole your girlfriend or some shit.”

Coco was in the middle of his turn when a loud cheer erupted behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a high top all holding their drinks up, laughing.

“Wait, isn’t that her?”

Coco grinned when he saw her sitting at the high top, a pink margarita in her hand and a relaxed smile on her face. She caught his gaze and she smiled wider, waving at him. He held up a finger, turning back to finish his turn, “It is.”

He sunk two balls and missed the third, setting his cue down when he heard, “Lord have mercy. Look at that.”

All thought left his mind when he saw her heading toward him. She had forgone her professional attire, a longer asymmetrical skirt with a button up and blazer, for a tight black and white dress that hit mid thigh. Her long curled were tied up in a ponytail, two braids nestled among the strands. Her darker lipstick made him want to smear it.

“Hi,” she smiled.

“Hey,” he murmured, “You look beautiful.”

She giggled shyly, “Thank you. This is a coincidence.”

“Your plans for the night?” he asked, glancing at the table that was not so subtly spying on her.

She nodded, “College friends in town for the night. We’re going to the beach tomorrow before their flight leaves.”

Coco smirked, “We’re going to the beach too. The one down the road.”

“So are we,” she laughed, “Another coincidence.”

“Or fate,” he suggested, failing to keep himself from checking her out.

She felt butterflies under his gaze, “Could be. I gotta get back but how about this? If you find me at the beach tomorrow, you can take me out to dinner.”

His eyes lit up at the challenge. Between his military training and club antics, he knew he could meet it, “I’m down. See you tomorrow, ma.”

“See you tomorrow,” she kissed his cheek softly, walking back to her group. He couldn’t stop smirking the rest of the night.

Coco sat down on a lounge chair between Angel and Gilly, “Why the fuck do we stay in the desert when we could be here?” he asked as Angel passed him the blunt.

Angel laughed, “We should convince Alvarez to start a San Diego charter.”

“Coco just wants to be near his new girl,” Gilly opened a beer.

“You still bitching about that?” Coco arched an eyebrow, “How many chicks are out here, go pick up one up if you got that much game.”

“Oh now you got game?” Gilly asked, “With that crooked ass nose.”

Coco passed the blunt to EZ, retort on his tongue when his phone lit up with an unknown number. He opened it to find a picture of her smiling, sunglasses covering her eyes and her long hair tied up in a messy bun. He could only see from her shoulders up, a table with beer pong set up in the background. It was accompanied by a text.

I’m here! Ready for your mission?

He smirked, typing out, ‘Mission accepted’ before standing up, “Well you fuckers can keep playing with each other, I’m going to get a date.”

EZ grinned, “Good luck, bro.”

Coco fist bumped him, “Good luck with these two,” he joked and grabbed his phone and cigarettes, sliding his sunglasses on as he walked up to the top of the sand. He remembered the size of her group the night before and knew they wouldn’t be that hard to spot. He checked the picture again, his heart skipping a beat at her smile. Another text came in as he tried to study the background for clues.

No clues but I do have a drink waiting for you

He noticed rocks behind her and scanned the beach, grinning when he saw a cliff to his left. He walked down to the water, taking his time to smoke a cigarette as he made his way over. A large blue canopy with a long table under it was set up next to the cliff, coolers and bags scattered around towels and blankets set up on the ground. He swore under his breath when he spotted her in nothing but a black and green two piece, a drink in each hand. Tattoos covered both arms and curled around her long legs, a few on her back and sides. She was talking to two other women, one in a pink one piece and the other covered by an oversized white t shirt and men’s swimming trunks. Four guys stood at either end of the beer pong table in different colored bathing suits. He walked up, ignoring the looks the guys gave him as he tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and grinned.

“Coco!” she leaned in to kiss his cheek, “That didn’t take nearly as long as I expected.”

He laughed, “I was a Marine, baby.”

“That’s not fair,” she pouted, “Here’s a beer if you want it. Let me introduce you to everyone,” she offered him the bottle.

“Sure, thank you,” he took it and followed her around the tent, shaking hands with everyone. They all went to college together, getting picked up and invited in by others in the friend group. They used to be a bigger group, she explained, but fights, moves and break ups splintered the group until it was the remaining seven of them. She hung back with him as the guys kept playing, one white boy, Dan or Dave or something, glancing at him often with a glare.

“Your friend in the green doesn’t like me that much,” he teased a few minutes later.

She looked over at the canopy and sighed, “He claims he’s protective, but he’s not like that about anyone else. He’s just one of those white knight guys.”

“White knight guys?” he frowned.

“Yeah, if I do something he thinks could hurt me, he acts concerned for my well being but he just has feelings for me and gets jealous,,” she explained, “He did the same thing in college when he found out I was dancing.”

He arched an eyebrow, “Dancing?”

She nodded, looking up at him, “I didn’t come from a good family or anything, so I had to pay my own way through college. I got some scholarships but it didn’t cover everything so I started stripping to help pay my bills and shit,” he watched her as she spoke, knowing this was a test of his reaction.

“That’s smart, you probably made bank,” he winked.

A  smile lit up her face, satisfied in his response, “You know I did. No student loans for me.”

White Knight Dan/Dave called her over for her turn but she declined, telling him she’d play later. His disappointment was visible, tossing another glare Coco’s way as he went back to the game.

Coco smirked, “Damn, I’m making all kinds of enemies talking to you.”

She took a sip of her beer, “Who else?”

“My homie’s still mad,” he laughed.

“Tell him if he can find it in his heart to forgive you, I have a bunch of hot, single friends I can introduce him to,” she offered.

He laughed softly, “That might do it, thanks mami.”

[unhingedangstaddict]

It seems a lot of people are looking for a distraction right now so here's me trying to do my part. I don't have a name for this WIP yet but I have posted a few other scenes from this WIP already (this post and this post ).

Buck packed their bags while Tommy called the San Francisco Police Department's number on the business card that had been left. He learned that his sister, Cassandra and brother-in-law, Marcus were hit by a drunk driver who’d run a red light at a high speed. San Francisco PD explained they hadn’t been able to locate Avery (Tommy's niece) but that they’d sent officers to notify Dylan (Tommy's nephew), and Marcus’ best friend and secondary emergency contact after Cassandra.

Tommy and Buck took Tommy’s truck, yet Buck was driving. Tommy wasn’t in the right headspace for it and had calls to make anyway. He started with Dylan.

“Uncle Tommy,” Dylan sounded relieved as he answered the phone. “Did you hear-”

“Yeah, D, I- I heard.” Tommy confirmed.

“I haven’t been able to get a hold of Avery,” Dylan started.

“I did, sort of. She’s sleeping hard at a friend’s after a softball game. I spoke with the friend’s mom, they’ll keep her there until I can get to San Fran.” Tommy explained. “She doesn’t know yet, I figure it’ll be better coming from one of us.”

“I’m trying to find a flight but they’re freaking expensive, why are all these damn flights so freaking expensive?” Dylan huffed, he sounded like he was spiraling and on the verge of tears.

“Hey, hey- just take a breath.” Tommy instructed. Dylan had a lot to worry about right now, but not having money for a flight was not one of them. Tommy hadn't expected Dylan to have that kind of cash just laying around being a university student. “I’ll send you some money, just get the first flight you can, okay?”

“Okay.” Dylan let out a shaky breath. “You on your way to San Fran now?”

Tommy put the phone on speaker so he could send Dylan the money. “Yeah, yeah I am. I’m sending the money now. Send me your flight details as soon as you have them, okay?”

“Yeah, I will.”

Tommy didn’t talk with Dylan much longer, as Dylan needed to pack a bag and get to the airport.

“He’s probably so scared.” Buck frowned. He knew this was hard on Tommy but he had to imagine it was much, much harder for Dylan.

“No doubt.” Tommy agreed.

“Should- do you think someone’s contacted your father?” Buck asked as carefully as he could. He knew Thomas Kinard Sr was not a great father or grandfather to say the least, but he still should be made aware of what was happening.

“I’ll call him later. Him knowing now or later won't make any difference and he’s probably asleep right now and if someone wakes him up he’ll still be drunk and he’ll be pissed. Noon will probably be the best time to call, he’ll be awake and he’ll have a drink or two in him, but he won’t be shitfaced yet.”

Buck just nodded in understanding, and kept his focus on driving.

The timing worked out that it made the most sense to pick up Dylan from the airport before going to collect Avery. Buck and Tommy waited for him at his arrival gate, and soon he approached them. Dylan was about lanky, about 5’10, with short curly reddish brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles. He looked exhausted and lost as he silently approached his uncle and hugged him tightly.

“I got you.” Tommy told Dylan as he wrapped his arms around his nephew and held him close.

Eventually Dylan pulled away. “Hi Buck.” he said politely, then looked at Tommy. “Still gotta get Avery, right?” He guessed.

“Yeah.” Tommy confirmed. “We should get going.”

Tommy drove them from the airport to Avery’s friend’s house and soon they were parked in front of the house.

“She’s gonna know something is wrong the moment she sees either one of us.” Dylan pointed out. “I should be in Intro to Algorithms right now and you should be, doing whatever you’d be going at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday.”

“I know.” Tommy sighed. “I’m gonna go up to the door and get her, then once she’s in the truck we- we’ll break the news.” He told Dylan, then got out and went up to the house. He rang the bell and patiently waited.

Soon the door was answered by a middle aged woman who must’ve been Madison’s mom. “You must be Avery’s uncle.”

“Yes.” Tommy nodded.

The woman nodded. “I’ll grab her, she’s ready to go.” She promised and disappeared further into the house.

After a moment Avery came into view. Avery was 5’6 with an athletic build, and the same reddish brown colored hair as her brother, though her hair didn’t have the same curl her brother’s did. She had the same blue eyes as him though, and more freckles than Dylan. “Uncle Tommy?” She frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ll explain in a moment. We should get going, there’s some people waiting in the car.”

“Okay.” Avery said slowly. She turned to her friend and said goodbye, grabbed her bag, and followed Tommy out to his truck. She opened the back passenger side door and saw her brother. “Dylan?”

“Hey Aves.” Dylan tried to sound upbeat but didn’t quite hit the mark.

“You look like shit.” Avery told her brother as she handed him her bag and climbed into the truck.

“Thanks.” Dylan said sarcastically as he shoved her bag on the floor between their feet.

“Okay, now will someone tell me what is going on? Where’s mum and dad?”

“Avery, they um,” Dylan started, but was having a hard time continuing.

“There was an accident last night. They were hit by a drunk driver.” Tommy continued.

“No. No you’re lying.” Avery shook her head.

“They’re gone, Avery. They didn’t make it.” Dylan explained.

“And you guys kept it from me?” Avery seemed upset by this.

“Was I supposed to send a text, hey Aves we’re orphans now?” Dylan asked incredulously.

“You should’ve told me! You kept it from me for- well long enough for the two of you to get here.” Avery argued.

“We wanted to be with you, when you found out.” Tommy explained calmly.

“This isn’t happening.” Avery muttered and put her head in her hands.

Tommy looked helplessly at Dylan, then at Evan.

All Buck could do was take Tommy’s hand and try to offer some silent comfort. He had a feeling he’d be doing that a lot the next little while.

If anyone wants to read more lmk I've got a bunch of this story written and I'm happy to share if someone needs something to take their mind off other things for a little bit

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 30 - Reposition

Story so far

I was going to post a WIP but realised that the next chapter had got so long I may as well cut it and post in two or three parts, the first of which is here. Do they actually get to the point yet? No. No they do not. But they are thinking about it.

Also - please do not treat my all-advised and much-mangled metaphor as legitimate advice on how to save someone from a rip. I’m a seaside girl so feel compelled to say - DO NOT DIVE INTO RIP CURRENTS PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

There were a lot of hugs over the next couple of days. Pretty much wherever Virgil chose to sit he’d find himself sharing the chair, or at least the elbow room, with at least one family member. Usually more. During waking hours they moved around the villa like iron filings trailing a magnet.

The filings weren’t generic in their behaviour of course. Alan favoured a hand hold and a continual commentary on whatever happened to be crossing his mind - Virgil encouraged this, still not entirely persuaded by his baby brother’s assurances that he now accepted nothing had been his fault. There was perhaps more of the eldest in the youngest than in any of the rest of them, yet Virgil didn’t have the same instinctive read on the younger man’s expression. He was more than content to keep him close until he could be sure.

John, by contrast was quiet, watchful and specialised in the almost undetectable shoulder nudge. His presence was most striking for its tangibility and yet again Virgil found himself wishing it didn’t always take something awful happening before he could enjoy it.

Gordon, unfussy, tended to cling to whatever part of Virgil was available and on one occasion had abandoned all pretence of cool and leapt on to his back to be transported around, limpet-like, until Virgil threatened him with Four’s sonic hull-scraper.

Kayo had become surprisingly obsessed with ruffling his excessively curly, unstyled hair at every opportunity. Except today she was pouting because in celebration of waking up with the last traces of meds almost entirely expunged from his system, Virgil had reached for his beloved pomade (the recipe for which he’d only slightly tweaked from the version his father had used) and finally tamed the floof so he could look as well as feel more like himself again.

Even Brains had been unusually present recently, having just transferred his hours of poring over technical specs on his tablet up a few thousand stairs. Which meant Virgil got to join in and they’d exchanged some useful ideas for modifications with Alan chipping in not unintelligently. Until the engineer started to ask Virgil’s thoughts on some upgrades to Shadow at which point a series of crashing noises from the kitchen area had spooked him and he’d darted for the stairs muttering something about time-sensitive testing. Gordon had snorted about how at least Scott might reduce the washing up carnage he always produced while on meal-prep if he smashed it all as he went along. Virgil chuckled but it felt a little hollow and his throat was dry.

Scott… well… Scott had taken on the brunt of the food prep duty and had thrown himself into it with his usual energy. It had not gone unnoticed that every single one of Virgil’s childhood favourites had appeared on the table at some point over the last week. A steady stream of cookies and pastries had also been emerging because “Virgil needed fuel for his recovery”. Given his freakish lack of activity Virgil wasn’t convinced he needed quite so much extra fuel but had had more than a little assistance in consuming them. Alan had enthusiastically proposed shutting down Tracy Industries altogether as they could make just as much profit with a bakery if only Scott would get his priorities right more often. The chef had been toasted heartily for the good fortune of avoiding Grandma’s genes.

John and Virgil had exchanged a glance, both remembering what the younger two did not - that on the occasions where the messages from the moon base, or from the Mars mission had dried up - their Mom had channelled her anxiety and helplessness into frantic baking sprees. The community cake sales were never so well stocked when Jeff was safely planetside.

When not engaged in destroying the kitchen, Scott had hovered as expected but he hovered at the edges of the pack. Encouraging smiles, chuckles in all the right places as affectionate banter flowed. He teased a little, he ticked the tinies off for their excesses and he argued with John about a mathematical theorem Virgil knew his normally fastidious brother had deliberately misquoted to get a rise out of the older man.

Unlike with Alan, Virgil was entirely immune to this particular facade - a lot was not right with his best friend. His voice was wrong, too steady, unnaturally even. He was constantly just out of reach which was utterly wrong for Scott who was the most tactile human he knew. The man even looked wrong for some reason Virgil couldn’t put his finger on.

Grandma had been keeping a weather eye from a distance, albeit usually in the same room, or perhaps one away. Virgil glanced up and caught her eye as she leaned on the balcony of the mezzanine. She’d smiled, initially, and then frowned a little, raised her eyebrows and looked deliberately towards Scott, who was currently entirely unnecessarily explaining to Alan why he needed to finish high school. The woman had never been one for the subtle hint.

His brother was lost at sea, caught in a rip tide and drifting from the safety of the beach and Virgil had the only life preserver. It was inevitable that the circumstances of his illness would have knocked his eldest brother off course and Virgil still didn’t know exactly what had happened. All the possible implications rushed and sucked menacingly just below the surface and he knew the only way to reach Scott in time would be to face his terror and dive into the current to find out for himself what it carried.

Yet he never seemed to be in quite the right position at quite the right moment to make the leap…

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

Sometimes the boys just needed dragging into the right places.

“I’ve taken the liberty of informing Casey that International Rescue is on hiatus for at least another seven days.”

Sally released Scott’s arm and insinuated herself between Virgil and the coffee machine - the one piece of kitchen equipment with which she held no beef.

“The GDF will cover what needs to be covered. EOS is monitoring and will let us know if that appears to be falling apart.”

Her eldest grandchild rolled his eyes and somehow his entire body followed.

“Give them a chance, Scott, they may surprise us yet. Tracy Industries is in the perfectly competent hands of your COO and all the regular SMT meetings are postponed for a month due to your sabbatical…”

“My… my what?”

“You heard.”

Scott stood, hands on hips and gaped like a fish while Virgil tried to surreptitiously cover his grin by resting an arm on the kitchen island and leaning on his hand. Sally struggled to keep a straight face as he misjudged and his elbow slipped off the edge.

“The regular maintenance schedule has been paused - Brains has pulled the guts out of Thunderbird One and spread them all over the hangar and Two is both wing- and engine-less so neither is going anywhere fast. I believe Shadow is next on his list…”

Sally found herself wishing she had a camera to catch the identikit expressions of horror on both the boys’ faces - the same one they thought she never saw when she announced she’d been baking.

“Gordon has taken John, Kayo and Alan diving off the new reef. There is nothing left you boys need to do other than have that conversation you’ve been avoiding.”

She placed two steaming mugs of coffee on the countertop, reached up her hands to effect simultaneous destruction on both immaculate hairstyles and left them to it.

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

Scott ran an anxious hand through his hair, trying but not quite succeeding to recover the precisely gelled arrangement and Virgil suddenly realised what had been bothering him about Scott’s appearance. Something HAD changed.

He peered at his brother’s hairline.

“You’ve dyed it!”

[hitlikehammers]

there is a tree as old as me

rating: teen tags: future fic, outside POV, trespassing, established relationship, engaged steddie💍 ✨for @kallisto-k at my BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST for the prompt: To Build A Home—The Cinematic Orchestra: 'and now, it's time to leave and turn to dust // out in the garden where we planted the seeds // there is a tree as old as me

She catches the trespassers by chance, really.

She’s awake early even for her routine, age doing nothing for the capacity to sleep in on a good day but her hip’s been a trial, and she needs buy a new mattress but Richard’s insistent he can’t bear to sleep on a stone slab, Patricia, good god—she wants to get one of those Select Comforts that splits their settings between two sides as a compromise; he argues those are for lesser mortals, which she’s long learned has evolved in recent years to mean not just that he thinks he’s above something in general, but more now that he thinks he’s better than technological advances.

And Patricia Harrington has standards, certainly, but she can also recognize when

She’s also old enough to remember when ‘new’ was an opportunity to throw her Black Card and gloat a little in the rush of the novelty, the momentary shine until the next new thing appeared to repeat the cycle.

She might be feeling her years, but she doesn’t understand when her husband got so damn old.

At least he’s still savvy enough to the time that they’ve got an airtight security system for the house itself, given the trespassers—more likely would-be-burglars, given the evaluation they’d just paid taxes on for the property—that she spies out the window, hears where she cracked the window in the kitchen to light a cigarette as she brews an early coffee.

Maybe Richard will agree to motion sensors for the yard, if she tells him about these…miscreants.

They’re moving carefully, like they don’t want to be seen, or more likely caught—suspicious, obviously—but they’re also moving like the know where they’re headed, as if they’re familiar with the space they’re traversing even in the pitch dark: even more suspect, really, and she wonders if they’ve cased the home, adds full-property camera surveillance to her list of proposals for reevaluating their security.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to—“ she barely catches the hiss from one of the criminals from across the yard, but it doesn’t last.

It doesn’t last because the second party drags the first close and: the lighting’s horrible, the moon’s crescent at best, but there’s really only one thing to be doing when two bodies press close, and then break apart with a pop she makes out on the breeze and, well. She was young, once.

“Believe it, baby,” the second trespasser rumbles low, and, oh, good god: “we gotta hit all the landmarks.”

They’re men. They’re both of them men and they were just—

“Landmarks?” the first one hisses sharper, this time, and Patricia…she doesn’t care nearly as much as Richard does about what people do in their bedrooms that she personally doesn’t agree with.

But this isn’t anyone’s own bedroom. This is her lawn.

“Of our story,” the second one, he—he—has got such curly hair she likely would have assume it was a very tall women, if it weren’t for the voice; “all our highlights.”

“What, exactly, was—“ the first man, he sounds a little exasperated as he whispers, but…fond. Fond like Patricia hasn’t heard in…well.

A very, very long time, at least.

“Here,” the curly haired fiend traipsing her property stops at a redbud tree Richard had always despised, said it looked tacky, common. Patricia canceled every removal service he’d had whichever secretary he instructed to send.

The second man turns, moves slow toward the tree before reaching, placing a hand on the trunk almost carefully, reverently. There’s something…familiar about him. The shape of his face, the way the the coif of his hair catches in shadow—

“My nanny used to tell me this tree was planted the year I was born, that it grew up with me,” and oh, oh, that’s, he’s—“so that I’d have to eat my vegetables and stuff, if I wanted to see it grow.”

He sounds so nostalgic, so soft at the edges; Patricia doesn’t know if she’s ever heard her son sound like that.

Because that’s who it is; why he seemed familiar even at a distance.

Even if she hasn’t seen or heard from Steven in nearly twenty years.

“And look at you both,” the other man, with the curly hair, he’s holding Steven by his arms, and the motion, the body language is…tender even before she hears the words filter over:

“Big and strong,” the man says, and then he’s cupping Steven’s cheek and Steven leans in so quick, like he trusts deeply, here: “fuckin’ beautiful.”

She can’t see it, not in the dark, but something tells her Steven’s smiling for the words. It makes her feel…uncomfortable.

Because it’s not as if they hadn’t seen it; she doesn’t know where Steven’s moved, where he ended up when he moved out while they were gone, left his key and a simple, terse little note about the furnace needing looked at—she only knows he’s nowhere near here, anymore, and she suspects there are some, like the former police chief and his wife, who know where he went but she never asks. She’s too proud for that.

But the point is: Steven doesn’t live in Hawkins anymore, and likely lives nowhere near Hawkins. But when The Post ran the engagement announcement it had only been implied, she’d never have been able to place is, but: when and S. Harrington and E. Munson announced their happy news in print, in a town that didn’t house people by those initials, even if it still housed residents by those family names?

Well. Patricia had suspicions. And she remembers the Munson boy largely because his hair was an unmistakable mess.

Apparently some things didn’t change.

“This,” the Munson boy, because that’s who it is, that’s who’s still cradling her son so close and so gently: “this was the first place I knew you wanted me.”

Steven’s head, she sees, still tilts just so when he’s baffled.

“What?”

“I knew you loved me like I love you, I knew that way before but you,” and the Munson boy, he pulls his hand across his face like the night isn’t doing the hiding for him. Preposterous, really.

“The urchins were inside, we were going to grab more pop to bring in and you pushed me up against this very tree,” and the boy—man, they’re men, they’ve long been men and Patricia doesn’t want to pry up the implications of how she saw no part of the becoming part of that process with her own eyes—but the man’s voice is so warm, so…smitten.

It should be nauseating. Another thing she doesn’t want to pry at is why it…isn’t. At least not quite.

“Couldn’t wait, you said, couldn’t keep you hands off me,” and he’s turning Steven, walking him back against the tree as he speaks the words, like he’s reenacting something nigh-sacred.

“And I knew that I was out of my mind with wanting you like that, on top of loving you more than fucking life baby, but,” and Munson, she can see the way he breathes in his deep for the heave in the line of his back, and she can see the way he…brushes the line of his nose back and forth against Steven’s.

Who still has her father’s nose.

“You were hard as soon as you pinned me,” and Patricia frowns at the glass, when she hears that; and she barely hears is, in fairness, it’s pitched low even as they think they’re alone which is the least they can do but they are not alone and Patrician does not need to be subjected to—

“And it was like a light switch, or a lightning bolt,” the Munson boy—they’re boys they are still boys—but the Munson boy whispers it, and sounds like he’s wondering at it;

“He loves me,” he breathes, the line of his back breathing so deep again; “and he fucking wants me.”

And no, Patricia does not need to hear that at all, but.

There is a part of her, buried somewhere, who…does miss the idea of wanting. Of being wanted. In the abstract.

“You’re absurd,” Steven snorts and oh; oh, she remembers that tone, that testy little snark that always riled Richard enough that he’d largely stomped it out of the boy but oh: Patricia did love when Steven failed to rein it in.

Because it always reminded her that Steven was her son.

She doesn’t intend to start rubbing at her chest, but it…it feels kind of tight, there, just now.

It aches, there. Just now.

“I love you,” and Steven’s voice, she’s never heard him speak with that much feeling, and it’s difficult not to…to react to even just overhearing, to eavesdropping, though in fairness: it is, again, her property.

“And I want you,” Steven leans in, and kisses at Munson’s cheek with such affection, a devotion that’s obvious, near-blinding even in the dark; “just as much now as then,” and then Steven, Steven—

He laughs.

He laughs and it’s such a light and carefree sound and it’s so foreign to Patricia’s ears that it almost makes her anxious, or something of the like.

“But then so much more, baby,” and the warmth in those words: those are foreign too.

Those feel strange to hear, not least in Steven’s voice which…

She thinks she may not have recognized, if the first thing she hear were these words, in this tone.

She’s not wholly sure how to sit with that suspicion.

“Ten days,” the Munson boy’s hands go to Steven’s hips and he rocks them back and forth a bounce in the motion, a levity.

“Ten days,” and Steven…no.

No: she would not have recognized that voice.

She would not have known her son.

“You’re gonna be my husband,” the Munson boy whispers, Patricia only hears because she’s trying to, now, she…she wants to even if it hurts unexpectedly, the tightness under her hand in her chest a pain, now, a small little stab when this man cups her son’s cheeks, cradles him so careful and so…so loving, undeniable even like this, and says what she suspected from that notice in the paper.

Steven is getting married. Steven is getting married and he is proud enough to flaunt it in a town who could never prove it, where he no longer has tied; to a a partner who is proud enough to do the same just as brazen, and she doesn’t know if she’s proud or put-off, but she does know here, now—

Steven is in love. And he is loved deeply in kind. And the person who loves him sounds in awe at the idea of pledging forever not as a contract, but maybe more as a privilege.

She wasn’t paying attention for a strand of seconds as she acknowledged this, and decided ultimately to stop trying to do anything deeper than just that.

But she sees them pull apart; they’d been kissing the entire time she’d been thinking it through.

She isn’t even interested in acknowledging the…niggling little feeling of that kind of prolonged affection, let alone the way they reach for each other, steady each other in the coming apart, as if they have no desire to wholly come apart.

The idea of trusting another pair of hands like it looks as if they do, in the dim of these early hours, is…another foreign thing.

“Okay, okay,” the Munson boy laughs, no, giggles; “let’s get out of here before the owners notice.”

And he turns, would meet her eyes if he could see her; she knows he can’t, knows she’s standing just beyond the capacity to be caught and how absurd, caught inside her own house.

But then he’s turned away again; the house, and whatever it holds, far less compelling than the man at his side.

“Wayne’s place?” Steven’s asking and the Munson boy grabs his hand, lifts it to his mouth.

“Yeah,” the Munson boy says so low, so soft and sweet; “we can hit some more landmarks before that bagel joint he likes opens, we can take him breakfast.”

“More landmarks?” Steven sounds baffled, but so very fond and his partner doesn’t let go of his hand once, reels him in to peck his cheek.

“Of course, sweetheart,” the Munson boy nearly…purrs, how ridiculous; “so many. Because we’ve got one hell of a story.”

But ridiculous or no: the moon shifts out from the clouds as they make to scamper off the lawn and Patricia sees her son’s face for the first time in decades, now, and oh.

Oh: she’s never seen him smile like that. Not…not once.

She turns away, because the sting in her chest burns behind her eyes, a little; because the joy on Steven’s face is…

It feels private; like something she’s not meant to see.

She goes to pour herself the coffee she’d largely forgotten, and, well.

She’s still going to talk to Richard about security, but maybe…

Maybe not just now.

permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 

[justanothersanjilover]

One Piece Modern Gym AU wips (Part2)

This has me in a chokehold right now😂

Zoro came back to Nami’s Gym every second day to work out with the girls, and Sanji lost his shit over why he was allowed there! Nami turned every other man down who wanted to work out at her Gym, so why was Zoro so welcomed? She practically begged him to come over and work out with them.

Also, why was every girl in the Gym gushing over that brute? Hugging him, kissing his cheeks, making fun with him, leaning on his back - or over his back when he was sitting and hugging him from behind.

He was allowed to do things that the girls would kick other men’s heads in if he tried it. So naturally, Sanji got curious and asked around why Zoro was allowed to come over and do all that. But he got the same answer every time: “Ask him if you want to know!”

One time, he saw Zoro throwing Vivi (Nami’s girlfriend) and Koala over his shoulders and marching into the changing room with them, only to come out laughing a minute later with their shirts thrown at him. Later Sanji heard him scolding them for working out too long and too much.

“You have to balance workout and resting phases! You can't just work out all day and only rest for the night! Also, go and eat! That stupid influencer diet shit won’t do you any good! Ask that idiot curly at the bar. I hear he knows a thing or two about food and healthy diets. Give it a shot!”

“You can't order us around, Zoro! Just mind your own business!” Vivi grumbled and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

A growl broke out of Zoro’s throat and made the girls look up. He grabbed both of their chins to make them look at him.

“You both keep that unhealthy behavior up and I make it my personal challenge to break you out of it, even if I have to tell Nami about it and get you put on a break of using the Gym,” he said with a stern expression on his face. “And don't even think about going to a different one. I have contacts in every gym in town. You won't be there long. Love your body more!”

Then he rambled on that he’d carry them into the changing room again and steal their workout clothes if they’d keep that behavior up.

Sanji got angry (at the way he talked to the girls not actually about what he said) and yelled at him, that he was a brute and not treating the girls right. Zoro looked him up and down and just laughed.

“Go, tell Nami about it. Maybe she’ll throw me out. Would be in your favor, right?”

“Maybe I’m going to do that!” Sanji barked back.

Zoro leaned on the counter and put his face in his hand, smirking up at Sanji - showing his teeth like an animal ready to attack. His scarred eye added to the dangerous atmosphere he was radiating at that moment. Sanji stood his ground, even if his body screamed to at least take a step back from that man.

Zoro clicked his tongue, and his smirk got a little less threatening.

“Good luck, Curly. Tell me what she said,” and off he was.

Sanji huffed as he brushed his hand through his hair. What was going through that man’s stupid head? And why was he shaking? Why were his cheeks red again?!

First part | next

[oinkinpigprince]

I’m at the hairdresser, I can feel the chemicals flow into my brain. She also kept tugging at my thick, lush, luxurious, curly, hair. Which really hurts cause I have a tender ass head.

Drayton keeps calling Bubba’s hair nappy in the movies which makes me think he also suffers the same problem, I want to brush his hair.

Bubba x curly haired reader

You were sitting in your shared room brushing through your curly hair. Watching the little springs bounce in place. It was mesmerizing to say the least. Bubba shuffled in curiously, to see you admiring yourself in the mirror. They adored your hair, running their fingers on the soft locks was heaven to them. You never let them brush through it, always swatted away their needy hand. They always want to, maybe now that you brushed through it you’d let them, it must be detangled now.

Walking up behind you cautiously, they slowly reached their hand over to your head before gently stroking your head. You looked up and smiled at Bubba, giggling at them. They interlocked their fingers and began to run their fingers through your hair, til they hit a knot and you made a sharp hiss sound.

“Kssss, ow! Bubbie that hurts, I told you not to.” You groans raking your own fingers through it properly, not hitting a single not. How did you get so good with hair?

Bubba asked you a question. You had been teaching Bubba American Sign Language for a while and they were getting really good at it. Signing questions to you, their brothers could understand them but you weren’t blessed with that intuition.

‘How do you get your hair to be so smooth?’ They signed, tilting their head a little. You shrugged running fingers through your curls.

“I had to learn how to brush my hair without it hurting,” you started “my dad didn’t know how to brush it right and my mom gave up after I hit her. I never mean to but it just hurt so damn bad.” You sighed looking back at bubba. “I’ll teach you how to brush your hair.” You offered, Bubba gasped and squealed with joy.

You sat Bubba down and laid out all the things you used. A spray bottle painted your favorite color, a plastic flimsy comb with a few teeth knocked out, and another bigger brush.

“Now, we both got curly hair. Which means we need to brush it differently than those other people with their boring straight hair.” Beginning to explain, Bubba listened enthusiastically “You take a water bottle and you have to get your hair wet.” You began to sprits their hair wet, until it was nice and wet, having to pick up certain pieces due to how much hair he had to get the underbrush.

Once it was completly damp you began to slowly brush their hair. Gently raking the little plastic comb until you hit a knot, bubba got ready to wince but was surprised when you pulled out after just barely grazing the tangle. Repeatedly you combed out the knot, pulling out of their hair completely every time you hit a knot.

Slowly you began to detail their hair, watching as it went from a mess of tangles and rats nests to beautiful black curls. Bubba’s hair always felt like straw, rough and callous. Water wouldn’t fix that but that was a different problem you’d save for later. Slowly their hair transformed into beautiful locks which made your heart flutter and your face flush. They were your handsome man.

“Your hair is beautiful Bubba! It’s a shame you couldn’t maintain it.” You cooed, Bubba couldn’t help but blush. You were so sweet to him.

The feeling of the comb gliding through their hair was something Bubba never experienced. Every time they had to go brush their hair they dreaded it but, your comb flowed through his hair teasing the tangles away until. Gentle movements flowed through his hair. They slowly closed their eyes, falling into a trance. Tingles flowed through their brain as you raked your fingers through their hair.

You hummed, happy to see Bubba so relaxed, so calm and tranquil. You sang softly, wondering if they’d fall asleep in the chair if you let them. You could see the tension in their shoulders leave as they felt your hands. Once you were done combing their hair you grabbed a bottle filled with special oil, and began to scrunch their hair back up. Watching as small curls formed with each time you moved.

Bubba snapped out of their trance and saw you were done. They looked at his head and never seen it so, clean. They washed it whenever they could but it always tangled and knotted so they never bothered. They looked up at you and you looked down at them. You booped their nose.

“Now do you see how to brush it? It’s a little more work but it’s well worth it once it drys!” You asked rubbing their cheek gently. Bubba nodded

“Do you wanna try brushing my hair?” You asked and they practically jumped so excited to show what they learned.

Bubba gently began to stroke your soft hair, twiddling the strands between their fingers. They adored your hair as much as you did. The way it shined and bounced, they hoped their hair could shine like yours. Slowly they began to comb through your hair like you did for them. For the first time, you felt someone else’s hairs flow through your hair.

[livwritesstuff]

More steddie dads content I really want some Eddie centered like teaching the girls guitar or dnd especially since Robbie is like him I think that they’d bind over a shared interest and he’d teach her stuff from when he was younger!

lol yeah the last few have def been more steve-centric (and also kind of a bummer) so let's switch up the vibe a bit

So, yes, Robbie is Eddie's daughter through and through.

She's stubborn and brazen and loud in her opinions and beliefs. She can be a little flippant about other peoples' feelings when she's not careful, and sometimes struggles to acknowledge the validity in other experiences outside of her own - in other words, she's Eddie to a T. She's even got the same big curly hair (though it's way more well-maintained than Eddie's had been thanks to Steve).

As for hobbies, Robbie is the only one out of Eddie and Steve's three daughters to really take an interest in music.

Eddie is thrilled about this, especially in the early days when Robbie is seven or eight and dying to try out any instrument they put in front of her. She has a natural proclivity for nearly all of them, which is fucking wild to Eddie, but the violin is the one she takes a particular shining towards.

Eddie can't say he'd ever had a resounding interest in classical music, but he wants to support Robbie so he dives into it right along with her.

That shit...

is metal as hell.

Seriously rad.

Eddie anxiously waits for her to be old enough to try out his old electric guitar. He waits until she's fifteen years old - the same age he'd been when he'd gotten his first electric - and then he digs it out of storage and bestows it upon her like the exquisite treasure it truly is.

In true teenager fashion, Robbie is...unimpressed.

She humors him for a bit, and to her credit, she does seem at least a bit intrigued by the almost forty-year-old guitar, but when Eddie offers to show her how to play, she only shrugs.

"I don't want to mess with my technique," she tells him, as if she's not shattering his heart into a bazillion tiny pieces.

"What does that even mean?"

"I dunno," she shrugs again.

Later, once the guitar has been safely put away, Eddie recounts the exchange to Steve.

"I just don't get it," he laments, "She'd be so good at it! I don't get why she won't just give it one chance."

"She's you, my love," Steve tells him, "Are you forgetting all the years you spent rejecting everything outside of what you deemed acceptable. You grew out of it. She will too."

So Eddie resigns himself to waiting it out. Robbie ends up deciding she wants make a career out of playing the violin, and she goes to New York to get her bachelors in music.

Just as Steve had predicted, once she hits college and grows up a little bit, she starts seeing the value in the world outside of the small corner of it she occupies. She comes home from her first semester regaling them with all the things she'd learned, and she catches Eddie by surprise when she asks him to bring out his old electric guitar.

Eddie and Robbie jam in the basement for like five hours before Steve insists they go the fuck to bed, and that "Hazel has school in the morning, in case you lunatics forgot."

(As for dnd, looking at it from the perspective of teenage girls, Steve and Eddie's kids absolutely do not want to think about their dad DM-ing. Eddie can't even breathe the wrong way without his daughters calling him out for being cringe or whatever, never mind executing a whole campaign. They'd die of embarrassment - guaranteed.

Robbie does get super into MTG in college, which Eddie absolutely takes as a personal F-You from his daughter. He gets his revenge by refusing her offers to teach him to play, even though it honestly sounds like a fuckin' blast, but that's a hill he's willing to die on)

[lost-girl-2021]

OMG, OMG, OMG

I apsolutly loved your Metkayina!Spider Human/Modern AU headcanons, like it gave me my daly dose of serotonin.

Can you maybe bless us with some more if it's not a problem?

I’m glad you enjoy my random ranblings lol! Here’re some more thoughts on Metkayina/Adopted! Spider. This first part is Modern!AU Foster Kid! Spider, I’ll upload a second part soon that’s post-battle on Pandora.

Spider doesn’t really know how to manage his hair at all. (In my Modern AU’s, Spider has hair kinda like Olan Prenatt (Mid 90s movie). Long, blond, and curly. He likes long hair, but doesn’t really know how to take care of it properly/doesn’t like ‘wasting time’ on hair care when he could be doing other things. As a result, he usually has a kind of frizzy mess, especially when he first wakes up.

I think he’d be too embarrassed to ask for help when he first starts living with them, but I aslo think that either Aounung or Ronal would offer him help at some point. Like, Aounung sees him using 3-in-1 Shampoo, conditioner, bodywash, and has a mini stroke. I think Aounung would be a lot more forceful/straight about it when talking to Spider. Something like “Dude, that shit you call hair care makes me want to shave your head. Sit down, we’re fixing this mess.”

Spider kind of just does his own thing most of the time when he starts living with them. Like, his past few foster homes were trash, to say the least. Maybe at the last place, if he wasn’t home by eleven, they’d just lock him out. Not even to be mean, but because they didn’t bother checking that he was even there. He’s used to taking care of himself, probably independent to a fault after so long basically alone.

A month or so after living with Ronal and Tonowari, he’s invited to the skatepark by a boy in his math class. It’s nearby the school, so he just texts his foster siblings that he doesn’t need a ride hime and they skate there after class. He hasn’t been to an actual skatepark in over a year, since his last placement didn’t have any nearby. They have fun, show each other tricks, and barely even notice the setting sun. Eventually, Spider’s classmate has to get home for dinner, but Spider stays a little longer. There are streetlights and he’s got the whole place to himself. Eventually, after a nasty fall ending in a possibly broken finger, he skates home. His phone died hours before that, but he hadn’t even noticed.

By the time he walks in the door, they’re about to call the police and his social worker and Tsireya looks like she’s about to cry. He’s bombarded with frantic worry, Ronal looking over his swelling hand with a deep frown, and he just doesn’t understand what’s wrong.

“I told Tsierya and Aounung I’d find my own way home.” He said in confusion, letting his foster mother usher him into a seat next to the kitchen table while Aounung gets the first aid kit. It was really aching down, pulsing with his heartbeat.

“Spider, it’s nearly eleven o’clock.” Tonowari rumbled. “We had no idea where you were.”

“I was just at the skatepark. I wasn’t doing anything bad.”

Tsireya sighed. “We thought you were hurt— you are hurt.”

“I just fell bad. It’s fine.”

It takes Aounung screaming at him that they were worried for him to start to understand. After that, he had to adjust to people . . . caring. Noticing him. He’s being noticed. It’s an alien thing.

Aounung is definitely a big brother to Spider, even if there's barely an age gap between them. They're literally in the same grade, but Aounung makes it clear to everyone that Spider is the younger one.

Someone makes fun of Spider? Aounung is about to start a fight in the middle of passing period. How dare someone mess with his little brother? Aounung, captain of the swim team, (nearly) straight-A student, is about to risk suspension to deck a freshman. Everyone thought he was overprotective of Tsierya? She understands her worth and knows how to kick ass. Spider? He's just a little guy with self-esteem issues. He does his kick-flips and needs help with his homework. He's oblivious to half the insults sent his way, so Aounung needs to be doubly aware of all of it.

This is all I have for the modern AU rn, but next up is post-battle!

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Johnny Cade fic

Sometimes, keeping secrets is necessary.

For all the gang is close, close as brothers- sometimes closer than that if Soda and Steve’s weird dynamic is anything to judge by- Johnny knows that some things are best kept between two people, three in some situations, or guarded closely to oneself when a secret is more shame than anything more. It’s why he and Dally patch each other up so often and leave the others out of it, Dally with his warlike ways and gritty survival, him with his stupid broken heart and the bruises it earns him. It’s easier he thinks, to keep that sort of sharing and vulnerability for two people instead of seven, just like it’s easier for Darry to only ever truly talk to Two-bit, and for Soda to haul Steve out for a drag race when he shows up on the Curtis’ front porch with cold eyes and yet another bloody lip. Not everyone needs to know everything. Some things are best kept between a few folks, and if those things are named secrets, well, so be it. It would do more harm than good for Darry to find out what Pony says when he’s ranting to Johnny, and Dal never needed to know half the things Johnny and Darry did to get him out of scrapes he never even realized he’d gotten himself into. 

Another thing Johnny knows about secrets: some are more important than others. Knowing the nickname Steve’s mom used to call him is a far less important secret than the real reason Dal left New York, but Johnny keeps any and every secret entrusted to him locked up tight behind layers of stubbornness that could rival Pony in even his most pigheaded moods. He learned a long time ago that loose lips sink ships- and he couldn’t live with himself if something he knew and let slip ever ended with one of the gang getting hurt. Hell, he can hardly stand to live with himself now.

“Stupid grease,” For a second Johnny thinks the insult is being tossed at him, but when he looks up the soc- some asshole with the dumbest fucking haircut Johnny’s ever seen- doesn’t appear to have even noticed he’s rounded the corner as he grumbles to the rest of his buddies all dressed in letterman jackets and combover hairdos, “can’t believe some greaseball kid thinks he can work with my girl.”

“Least the kid is smart,” a guy with a yellow madras shirt Johnny recognizes from his own C level english class says. Johnny had thought he was dumb as a post before he’d been sat next to the guy. Compared to goldie he was fucking Einstein himself, “I got stuck with Rosie. Dumb bitch wouldn't recognize her own face in a mirror.”

Look who’s talking, Johnny thinks, fully intending to keep minding his own business. Socs pissed off and planning to jump a greaser kid was nothing new in the halls of Tulsa high, and he wasn’t planning to stick around and find out which unlucky guy was gonna be the latest target of the football team. Maybe they’d be stupid enough to go after Curly Shepard again and get their asses handed to him. Johnny fucking hates Curly shepard, but even he has to admit the guy is a straight up beast in a fight. Real tuff.

“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna let some freshman grease named after a damn horse chat up my girl.” The soc with the ugly haircut sneers, “we’re gonna teach that kid a lesson. Lawson says the kid’s on the track team, so we’ll catch him when he’s done practice so the coach don’t go looking.”

The soc keeps talking, joking with his buddies, probably describing in vivid detail how he’s planning on beating up Johnny’s best friend- his thirteen year old best friend- into a pulp. Johnny can’t hear it anyway- not over the roaring in his ears.

Steve is cursing and fighting with his combination lock when Johnny finds him just outside the science wing, his carefully gelled hair a stark contrast to his grease stained t-shirt. For all the dark cloud of his mood is nearly visible, Johnny still can't help but feel bad for him. Soda had officially dropped out just over a month ago and Steve was still taking it mighty hard. He kind of understood- Steve didn’t have a ton of friends besides the gang, and with Evie skipping half the week and Soda working full time, Steve's social circle at school had shrunk to near zero. 

“We got a problem,” Johnny tells him without preamble, and there’s a grim determination in Steve’s eyes when he turns to him, nodding and following him down the hallway without a word. Besides his gruff but unflinching loyalty, one thing about Steve that Johnny appreciates is that, like him, Steve feels no need for meaningless pleasantries. 

As they stalk through the halls, no doubt looking like they mean business if the way socy girls and a few fresh men give them a wide berth is anything to judge by, Steve doesn’t ask questions, no doubt knowing that Johnny will explain everything as soon as they track down Two-bit. 

“Two,” Steve barks as soon as they spot him, flirting with a pretty blonde who’s rolling her eyes but moving closer to him just the same, “let’s go. We got a problem.”

He must be able to tell he’s serious because he gives the blonde a final leer and joins them immediately.

“What’s goin’ on? I’d nearly talked her into lettin’ me take her to the Dingo on Saturday.”

“There’ll be other girls for you to disappoint sexually,” Steve rolls his eyes, “but Johnny says we got a problem right now.”

He turns to Johnny expectantly.

“I overheard some socs earlier talkin’ ‘bout Ponyboy,” Johnny starts. Both older boy’s eyes darken, comprehension dawning. This isn’t the first time one of them overheard some soc planning to give Pony a good jumping and Johnny doubts it’ll be the last, just like he knows it won’t be the last time he, Steve, and Two will fight them off before they can so much as breathe wrong in pony’s direction. Of all the secrets he keeps Johnny thinks this might be the most important, and he thinks Two and Steve feel the same way. Darry and Soda worry about Pony enough as it is, they hardly need to be terrified about him getting beat up at school too; and Pony would never forgive them fighting his battles for him. Hell, if he ever found out he’d probably pick a fight with a soc on purpose just to prove he’s tough. He still don’t get it, that he’s tough enough already for all he likes his books and movies and stuff. Not many folks can go through what Pony’s gone through and not lose a piece of themselves that Pony has kept spectacularly, miraculously, intact.

 “Said they were plannin’ on jumpin’ him after track practice,” Johnny continues, “it was some guy with a dumb haircut, and that guy I sat with in english last year. Mark somethin’?”

“Bradshaw, I think,” Steve spits, “Sounds like him and Ian Cosegrove. They were in my history class last year, and they’d probably be in Pony’s english class now he’s been moved up. One of them has that real dumb haircut?”

“That’s them.”

Two bit cracks his knuckles,  “Let’s go.”

It’s not hard to track the socs down from where they’re hanging out on the hood of some flashy mustang Johnny wished he could steal. It also isn’t hard to beat the two of them to a pulp, and their buddy who joined in too, because for all they’re football player they aren’t greasers, and they aren’t filled with the sort of fiery rage that’s coursing through Johnny’s veins, and Two-bit and Steve’s too.

Sure, no one was allowed to mess with anyone in the gang, but that went double for Ponyboy. None of them would ever be right again if anything happened to the kid, and they all knew Darry probably couldn’t survive it. Hell, Soda couldn’t either, 

Later that day, after Steve has waited around an hour to drive he and Ponyboy home just in case, Johnny hides his swollen knuckles in his jacket pockets and tucks this latest fight close to his chest, another secret best kept to himself.

He’d never have it any other way. Steve and Two wouldn’t either. The Curtis’ looked out for them all- it was only right they return the favour whenever and however they could.

Johnny listens to Pony and Steve argue, watches Two light up a cigarette, and smiles.

It’s no secret it’s tough sometimes to be a grease. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[preet-01]

A quick little dewis fic set in 2025 with helmet designer Daniel

Lewis didn’t usually do many special helmets. He did one or two, sometimes three depending on the situation. But Lewis liked to stick to his chosen helmet design for the season. 

Or at least that was what he liked to do before he’d met the newest addition to the design studio that did most of his helmets. 

Now forty years old – having celebrated his birthday just a few days ago – Lewis is sure that most of his season off-time will be spent at a design studio and if not that, then wondering what new excuse he could make to go back to the studio. 

“Since it’s Ferrari…” Lewis has no idea how the sentence finishes as he’s too busy staring at the curly-haired man in front of him.  “How does that sound?” Daniel questions, completely catching Lewis off guard. 

But he is not one to admit he was caught lacking or too busy staring at the pretty helmet designer to know a single thing they’d discussed. So Lewis replies, “yeah.” 

“Wonderful!” Daniel grins, “I know it’s a bit different from what you’ve done in previous years, but you’ve also never driven for Ferrari before.” 

Lewis is unsure of what he’s agreed to, but it has Daniel grinning at him and Lewis likes that. “When should I come to pick up the helmet?” Lewis questions – never once has he been the one to pick up a helmet. More often than not, it was delivered to his doorstep or picked up by an assistant. However, there had also never been such temptation waiting within these walls for him to seek out. 

_____

Daniel wasn’t there when Lewis picked up the helmet – he was out sick with the flu and had sent his apologies via email. In his place is a black helmet with the yellow of the Ferrari emblem used for the designs. It’s different from his helmets in recent years, just as Daniel had said during that first meeting. 

_____

He’s in China when there’s an email from the design studio waiting in his inbox. The subject is simple: NIGHT RACE HELMET??????

Attached is a concept design of a rainbow glitter helmet and a note: was thinking back to the first saudi arabian gp and couldn’t get this helmet design outta my mind… whaddya think???? is it perfect or is it perfect??? meet at the studio when ur back in uk?? – Danny Ric 

Lewis is quick to reply with a yes and set up a day for him to go to the studio. He hadn’t given much thought to a special helmet for Saudi Arabia, but with Daniel offering it, well he’d be crazy to say no. 

On a Tuesday, Lewis walks into the studio to see Daniel already waiting for him near the front desk. “Hi,” Daniel says with a bright smile and iPad in hand. “I was thinking we could discuss this over coffee? The break room coffee machine broke and-” 

“That would be lovely,” Lewis says eagerly. 

There’s a coffee shop just a two minutes walk from the studio that Daniel sometimes goes to and supposedly has the best selections of vegan desserts. 

Lewis didn’t usually get blowjobs from pretty boys in coffee shop bathrooms, but when they looked at him like he was the last slice of cake, then, well, he was only a man. 

_____

For Imola, his first home race as a Ferrari driver, Lewis has a tribute helmet for Niki. And unfortunately, that doesn’t require him to go into the studio. However, he does now have Daniel’s number and frequently texts him. 

_____

Lewis doesn’t return to Monaco after Spain, instead, he heads to London. “Does Ferrari not give its drivers rentals?” Daniel questions, leaning against a baby blue MINI Cooper. 

“They do, but the Ferrari rentals don’t come with pretty helmet designers,” Lewis retorts, leaning in for a quick kiss. 

“Speaking of helmets-” Daniel’s cut off by another kiss. 

“Home now, helmets later,” Lewis mumbles against Daniel’s lips. It had been much too long since they last saw one another and while the blowjobs and phone sex was great, he had other plans for the Australian. 

They go to Daniel’s apartment, instead of the penthouse Lewis owns on the other side of London. It’s much cozier and warmer than the penthouse. Sketches are pinned onto a wall where a large desk with all sorts of drawing supplies is. Unlike Lewis’ own penthouse which had been curated by an interior designer, Daniel’s apartment is filled with stuff Daniel had seen and wanted to keep. It shouldn’t be cohesive, individually all of the pieces shouldn’t work together, but somehow it all seems to make sense. 

He doesn’t get much time to appreciate the drawings and the decor before he’s being pushed towards the bedroom and pulled onto the bed. Not that Lewis minds one bit, everything will still be there once they’re done or the next morning. 

Helmet discussions happen in the morning, The Canada helmet is all ready to go and waiting for Lewis to take with him when Daniel drops him off at Heathrow a few days before the race weekend begins. And there’s a Silverstone helmet in the works that they’d been texting about. But there are still a few more races that Daniel has ideas for and Lewis is a man who loves to see Daniel excitedly talk about his designs. 

It’s a no-brainer that they end up finalizing designs for Monza, Singapore, Brazil, and Vegas. 

_____

He wins in Silverstone and has no qualms about taking Daniel to his driver's room just before the post-race press conference. “Could you…ah… keep the suit on?” Daniel had asked shyly. By the end of it, Lewis is sure that Daniel had licked the champagne clean from his neck. 

_____

Media day in Abu Dhabi goes as expected. It’s the same old questions repeated time and time again throughout the day. He cannot wait for the season to be over. He won’t get to see Daniel until New Year’s Day, but until then he does have time with his family planned. 

So to his utter surprise, Daniel waiting for him in his driver’s room is completely unexpected but not at all unwelcomed. 

“Baby?” Lewis questions. 

“Turns out Abu Dhabi is on the way home,” Daniel replies. “Then I might’ve pulled some strings to get a paddock pass,” Daniel continues as he walks closer to Lewis. “You aren’t the only driver I design helmets for,” this time Lewis gets a kiss. 

“Really? Which other drivers should I be worrying about?” Lewis asks. 

“None of them are as handsome as you, darling,” Daniel retorts, “nor do I think any of them are capable of fucking me like you do.” 

“So who else is the lucky driver?” Lewis asks. 

“None on the grid right now, but I did get in touch with one Sebastian Vettel who was very curious as to why you’ve been making so many special helmets this season. His curiosity was satiated when he saw me apparently,” Daniel explains. Well that explains the mysterious texts he’d gotten from Sebastian earlier in the week. “Have a surprise for you,” Daniel says as his hands work on unbuckling the pants Lewis had worn to the paddock. 

“I thought you were the surprise,” Lewis replies. 

“Two surprises then, but first,” Daniel states, getting on his knees. 

_____

The surprise is a special helmet with ‘I Love You’ in Italian inscribed on the bottom edge. The last for the season, but far from the last special helmet to be designed by Daniel for Lewis. But this one, Lewis thinks, will forever be one of his favorites. 

[okay-j-hannah]

Princess

Stranger Things : Fic

Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 2904

Warnings: Just that I can’t get this guy out of my head 😭

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: Eddie is astonished when he finds someone from the popular crowd sharing more than one interest of his

The lunchroom was clamoring with noise; students making their way, trying to survive. Some were stalking the edges, eyeing for spots where they’d find the least resistance. Some were strutting confidently to their designated tables, joining trendy cheerleaders and bathroom gossips. Others were sitting on the tabletops, tossing basketballs and footballs against each other like an athletics war. Many went to the outliers, pulling out chess boards or poker sets or homework.

(Y/N) sat on the edge of the student body officers and gossipers, enjoying a good book. She remained quiet, sneaking a fry from her lunch every once in a while. The others around her laughed, applied lipstick, kissed, shared sweaters and jackets, and contemplated the upcoming school events.

“I can’t believe Jason thinks basketball is better than football,” one said. They eyed the blonde player chucking his ball towards some jersey clad quarterbacks.

“I can’t believe that Claire Lexington kissed him behind the gymnasium.”

“Where did you hear that garbage?”

“Lawrence told me.”

A round of scoffs mocked the news, “Anything Lawrence says is bullshit.”

(Y/N) turned a page of her book.

“He’s just desperate to get into our crowd,” one girl said, trading scrunchies with a friend beside her. “He’ll say anything he thinks will give him cred.”

“You know he once told the entire geek squad that I was sending him secret admirer messages.”

The table flickered their eyes toward the chess corner and others performing science experiments amongst their lunch trays.

“That’s nothing,” one guy added, combing back his hair, “I was feeling up that Amanda Dixon girl last weekend and she told me she spotted the freak leaving Lawrence’s house.”

A few groaned, “He probably deals. That explains a lot.”

The class president craned his neck from his spot sitting on the table, “Hey freakoid!” and he tossed his half eaten chicken sandwich across the room.

That’s when (Y/N) flickered her eyes from her pages to the lunchroom – just in time to see the foil wrapped chicken hit a curly head. Eddie Munson.

She sighed heavily through her nose as her table laughed and jeered. Eddie remained seated, fists clenched and avoiding the direction of the mockery. The other so called ‘freaks’ did something similar, barely moving their eyes to see those responsible.

“Done any fire chants lately, freak?” the class vice yelled, “Any alter offerings?”

Eddie smirked, tilting his head up, “Yeah, and I’d have to thank you – your mother made a lovely sacrifice.”

The class vice stood from his chair, “You insulting my mother now, freakoid?”

“No, insulting her would be reminding her that you’re her spawn. How disappointing you must be.”

The whole presidency was standing now. Chairs skid and clattered to the ground, silencing the lunchroom. The tension spoke of a coming fight.

Eddie remained sitting with an obnoxious smile on his face, as if he enjoyed how much he riled them up. He kicked his feet onto the table.

“Me disappointing? At least I have a mother to disappoint.”

That wiped the smile from Eddie’s face. He leapt onto the table, kicking his lunch tray out of the way and towards the jocks. Corn and milk and potatoes speckled their letterman jackets.

“You dickwad!” the president yelled, roughly scratching corn kernels from his hair. “You think you’re going to snake your way out of this one by throwing your lunch?” He and a number of others cracked their knuckles, folding their arms to appear more menacing then they were.

(Y/N) held in a snicker at seeing milk running down their faces.

“I have the high ground,” Eddie said, giving them the middle finger.

“I’m going to pummel you so far into that ground that the only way you’d be recognized is by the top of your curly rat infested head!”

Eddie crouched and motioned for them to come over, “I’m getting real sick of the talk, boys. Pretty soon everyone will believe that’s all you are – talk.”

The class president and he posse lunged for the table but found their path blocked by a new figure.

“Jackson…” (Y/N) placed her hand on the class president’s chest, “Turn around and go back.”

He grimaced, “Get out of my way, (Y/N) – this doesn’t concern you.”

“It does, in fact,” she grumbled, holding up her book, “You’ve disturbed my reading. I suggest you leave your little squabbles for outside the school. You don’t want any administration stripping you of your titles because of a little fight, do you?” She titled her head to the side and Jackson followed her gaze, spotting a teacher entering the lunchroom.

He hissed, “Dammit.” His eyes glowered towards Eddie, spitting at him, “You better watch your back, freak.”

(Y/N) closed her eyes to hide them from rolling, “Thank you, Jackson.” The group of student body officers trailed back to their table where the girls stood in various stages of shock. (Y/N) barely turned her head to acknowledge Eddie.

Her eyebrows rose in a question.

His expression was confused, but he gave her a subtle nod. A nod of thanks.

There was the beginnings of a smile on her lips as she walked back to her designated spot on the edge.

Eddie followed her with his eyes as he crawled off the table. He knew of (Y/N) – the quiet straight A student from his english class… and history… and math now that he thought about it. She was so kind.

His leaned back in his chair, a finger to his lips. No one ever treated him with such kindness. Certainly no one from the opposite side of the lunchroom.

He stared after her now, contemplating the way she opened her book. The way her eyes traveled across the lines. The way her ‘friends’ simply ignored her as she read.

It looked like a dragon was on the cover of her book. That made him smile.

It was official – (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was definitely on his radar now.

~~~

They were given the rest of class to complete their assignment; something about graphing. Eddie was too preoccupied watching (Y/N) to care about the class.

The most likely reason she hadn’t spotted his staring yet was because of the headphones covering her ears. He eyed her walkman resting in her lap, wondering what sort of music she was listening to.

He was twirling the rings around his fingers as he pondered ways to start a conversation. She was part of the popular crowd; there was no way he had a chance. But the way she stood up for him the other day gave him hope like nothing else.

“Your table is still blank.”

Eddie snapped his eyes from her lap to her face, “What?” It came out hoarse and quiet.

(Y/N) paused her walkman and moved the headphones to around her neck, “You haven’t even filled out your table yet.” She was smiling, leaning over to point at his assignment. “Well, here’s your first problem. Do you remember how to solve exponents?”

His mouth had popped open, overwhelmed with how close she was.

She smiled, “Eddie?”

“What are you listening to?” he asked like they weren’t just talking about his math.

She raised her eyebrows and he chuckled nervously. “How about we get your assignment finished and I’ll let you borrow my tape.”

He hummed deep in his chest, “Well, how do I know it’s a tape I’d like to borrow? I don’t want to go through the trouble of all this math for some care bear music I won’t like – that’s not a fair trade.”

“You should care more about your grades.”

“Eh, I’ll graduate eventually.”

She laughed. He grinned.

“I know you’ll like the tape.”

“So confident,” he mused, feeling more comfortable. They spoke in hushed tones as the teacher wrote instructions on the chalkboard. Eddie leaned even closer, so their shoulders touched, “Now I’m intrigued – how do you know I’ll like it?”

“Your patches tell me so.” She put a hand to his vest to trace some of the band logos. He had to watch his breathing. His eyes ran from her fingertips on his chest to the length of her arm and finally to her soft smile.

His lungs felt constricted in his chest. “There’s no way. You don’t mean… you know these are all metal bands, right?”

She nodded, trying not to laugh at his reaction, “Yes.”

Eddie flew back in his chair dramatically, hands thrown up in the air. Disbelief was painted on his face, “You’re telling me…!” he began to shout but the teacher cut him off.

“Mr. Munson, please control your unpleasant outbursts before I administer your fourth detention this term.”

“Sorry, your honor,” Eddie said with the same air of disbelief. He leaned close into (Y/N) again, “You’re telling me you’re listening to heavy metal in math class?”

She shrugged, mere inches from him, “Does that surprise you?”

He was flabbergasted, “But you… you’re…”

“Quiet, sweet, a trendy popular kid?”

“Well, yeah,” he found he was losing the control on his breathing, “You’re top of the class, head of all the school campaigns, and…”

“… and I listen to the occasional heavy metal.”

“Metallica?”

“Obviously.”

“Iron Maiden?”

“I was just listening to The Trooper, by far their best yet.”

Eddie scoffed, “Black Sabbath?”

“My favorite song is one of theirs. Paranoid.”

“Paranoid is your favorite song?” He stared at her in wonder, his constricted chest now filling with an inconsolable warmth. “Obviously you haven’t heard Metallica’s Master of Puppets yet.”

She smiled, “I haven’t.” She bowed, their foreheads nearly touching, “Any good?”

“Miss. (Y/L/N), would you care to join Mr. Munson in a detention?”

“It’s not her fault, your honor,” Eddie said like he didn’t have a care in the world, “I’m the one egging her on.”

The teacher frowned, “I’ve never known you to take the fall for your peers, Mr. Munson.”

“What can I say?” Eddie said, resting an arm on the back of (Y/N)’s chair, “I think I’m in love.”

~~~

There was no denying that Eddie Munson had a thing for the teacher’s pet. He was often seen eyeing her from across the lunchroom or banging his head against lockers trying to buck up the courage to talk to her.

He hadn’t been able to think of anyone or anything else since that math class. And there just wasn’t a prime opportunity where (Y/N) wasn’t surrounded by people that wanted to pummel him on a regular basis.

She was kind as ever to him. She always smiled his way whenever they passed each other in the hall. She always gave extra effort in convincing her ‘friends’ to leave him alone.

Eddie was finding himself actually going to class everyday just to see (Y/N). There was always the possibility a teacher would make a project that he and (Y/N) could be partners on. But the longer he waited for the perfect moment, the longer it’d been since their last talk.

He sat on the railing of some stairs outside, smoking a cigarette. He was trying to distract himself with thoughts of his new Dungeons and Dragons campaign – envisioning his puffs of smoke into dragon fire.

He could hear the cheers and chants from the gymnasium. He normally scouted the end of games for potential buyers looking to have a fun night after a win. The tip of his cigarette glowed in the enveloping darkness.

He licked his lips, spotting the first groups of kids and families leaving the gym. Eddie flicked his cigarette to the ground and stamped on the ashes. There was a chill, and he shoved his hands into his vest pockets.

Laughter met his ears, and he watched a friend group stumble out into the night. By the look of the uniformed skirts and jerseys, they were some cheerleaders and basketball players. Eddie huffed, waiting for them to pass.

Until he heard what they were shouting.

“Come on, (Y/N)!”

“You’re really gonna miss the party of the century?”

“We’re this much closer to the championship!”

Eddie stood straight, realizing that there was someone standing quite still compared to the rest of the rambunctious group. He couldn’t hear her replies – she did always speak so softly.

“Your loss.”

“Eh, just leave her to her books. They’re the only friends she wants anyways.”

“Maybe you should start your own table,” someone laughed, “A place for unsociable book readers.”

She stayed behind as the rest of the group walked on.

Eddie watched her, a spark of anger residing in his stomach for the way they abandoned her. But the tightness of his chest was overwhelming him again. It got tighter still as he made his way over.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

She snapped her head up, “Oh, hello Eddie.” Her voice sounded strained.

He tried not to notice how her eyes seemed glassy, “What brings you to the borders of this hellhole?”

She gave the tiniest of smiles, “I was just on my way home.”

“By yourself?” he crossed his arms, monitoring her expression.

(Y/N) took a deep breath, “Yep. It’s nice seeing you, Eddie. We can talk in history tomorrow.” And she started walking towards the road.

Eddie scrunched his brow, “Oh, woah – hey, babe. You’re not walking home alone – in the dark.”

“It’s okay,” she feigned a smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And Eddie let her walk away twenty feet before he stamped a foot and ran after her. “I can’t let you walk alone.”

“Can’t?” she asked with a hint of teasing in her tone.

“You have a problem with me escorting a lady home?” Seeing her raised eyebrow he bowed, “M’lady.”

She laughed, “I’d be honored good sir.”

Eddie scoffed, “I’m no sir, my lady.”

“Then what are you if not a knight escorting his princess?”

“Oh, you’re a princess now?”

“Aren’t princesses addressed with ‘my lady’? Is that not what you meant?”

Eddie smirked, “I’ve got no problem calling you princess.”

(Y/N) was thankful for the darkness. It hid the redness of her cheeks. She tried to busy herself with giggling at the fidgety way he walked. Eddie just couldn’t keep still – his steps clumsy as he bumped into her every few feet.

“You’ve brought a book to a basketball game,” he remarked, pointing out the novel in her hand.

“Yes, I’m not much into sports. But my friends are, so I go with them… as long as I have a book to fend off the boredom.”

Eddie tilted his head to the side, trying to read the title. His mouth fell open, shocked by her once more.

“You’re kidding me,” he snatched the book from her fingers, “You’re reading Lord of the Rings?”

“Yes,” she laughed, “Why? Have you read it?”

Eddie choked, “Have I read it? Does a hobbit enjoy seven meals a day?”

(Y/N) took the book back, “Oh, I love Lord of the Rings! Magic and adventure and dragons and kingdoms.”

Eddie clapped his hands together excitedly, “Yes! (Y/N), I had no idea you were…”

“What, a freak like you?” she said it jokingly, “Just because I enjoy a bit of both worlds doesn’t mean I have to be a school pariah.”

He nodded towards the ground, “You’re not at all what I was expecting.”

“No?”

“You sit with the biggest bunch of dicks the school has to offer. One would assume because you enjoy their company that you might be one yourself.”

She hummed, “Makes sense. You know, you aren’t what I was expecting either.”

“Pray tell.”

“Well, you always seem so mad at the world.”

“Big and scary?”

She nudged him, “You’re really just a softie at heart.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m a satanist that summons demons with my hellfire.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you stare.”

Eddie hesitated until he was a few steps behind her. She marched on and he had to jog to reach her side again. “You’ve noticed?”

“I’ve never known a demon summoner to be so nervous to talk to a girl.”

He kept quiet for a few minutes, the tightness of his chest becoming more noticeable as they neared the neighborhoods.

“So you’re not a knight,” she mused, looking at her book, “What would you be then?”

He was thoughtful for a moment, “A warrior. Someone who takes charge in a battle. Someone others look to for inspiration and strength. Someone who looks good with a sword and shield.” He gave her a wink. “Definitely someone I wish I was now.”

(Y/N) gave him a look and treaded carefully, “I believe the characters we want to be says a lot about how we see ourselves.” She touched shoulders with him, “You want to be a warrior because you don’t believe yourself to be one now.”

Eddie dwelled on the thought, feeling content and vulnerable next to her, “And you want to be a princess.” He looked at her with such warmth. She didn’t think she was a princess now?

He could easily show her just how much of a princess she really was.

She blushed. “This is me,” she gestured to the next house, smiling when he walked her all the way to the door. “Thank you for escorting me.”

Eddie stared at her face for an almost abnormal amount of time. It was causing her blush to deepen across her cheeks and down her neck.

“It’s been my pleasure,” he spoke softly. He took her hand and slowly bowed to kiss her knuckles, “My princess.”

~~~

Tag List:

@caswinchester2000 @aria253264 @bippity-boppity-boopa @kaqua @cameleonfrenzy @shyposttree​

Remember to check out my tag list so you’re updated when a fic you like is posted on my blog! Tag List