#like the whole thing with Cricket is ‘wouldn’t it be fucked up if a human child was raised by ghosts’

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

10: REVELATIONS

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Sharon Carter, of all people, manages to knock some sense into your favorite super soldier.

Word count 2.8k

Warnings: Sharon Carter and her brutal honesty, Bucky Barnes and his ignorance

Bucky returned from his mission physically unharmed, but his conscience didn’t let him off so easily. Sharon was a great partner, but she wasn’t you. She was very business-like but cold. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but he couldn’t quite open up to her the way he had with you. Bucky wondered if he would ever be able to bare his soul to another human being again. He had given so much of himself to you, was it too much to ask for just a little in return?

Why had you forced him to take just drastic measures? Why did you force him to choose? Why didn’t you love him back? There were days when he could see love in your eyes when you looked at him, but the voice deep inside Bucky that always told him he was undeserving, had him believing that all he saw were his own feelings reflected back at him. He would never have dared to think that you would have been so selfish as to deny him of someone who would love him in return. His thoughts constantly revolved around you, plaguing him long into the night and affecting his sleep.

He couldn’t deny it, he missed you. He felt like a part of himself was missing. Without you by his side, life seemed empty. He reflected on how he didn’t feel that way when he was away from Priya. Perhaps he should, especially after he had confessed his love so publicly to her. Bucky sighed heavily. Had he been too rash? You were always so kind, so selfless, so giving. He would never have entertained the notion that you had nothing to give him for his birthday. Even if he didn’t have your love, he knew he had your friendship. What had gone wrong? You had once told him that all you wanted for him was peace and happiness. Right now he felt neither.

He craved your company, he longed to hear your voice, coveted the warmth of your embrace. But his anger and sense of betrayal had been overwhelming. Why wouldn’t you let him be happy? He couldn’t have you and you wouldn’t let him be happy with someone else. Bucky tightened his grip on the controls of the quinjet.

"Barnes, I got to say, I knew you had a reputation for staring, but I think you’re taking this to a whole new level." Sharon interrupted his thoughts.

"Sorry?" Bucky looked at her with surprise. He had all but forgotten that Sharon was sitting next to him.

"If you grip those controls any tighter, we're going to plummet to our deaths."

"Oh," Bucky released his grip on the handles.

"What's going on with you?" 

"What do you mean?"

"You look like you haven't slept in a week."

Bucky shrugged.

"So why isn't Cricket here with you?" Sharon probed, continuing despite Bucky's sullen silence. "I mean she clearly wasn't busy with other things."

"Stark calls the shots, I don't know what he’s thinking." Bucky lied through his teeth, knowing full well that he had requested Steve to assign him a different partner.

"So nothing going on between you two?"

"Nothing going on? What does that mean?"

"Oh come on Barnes, I know you’re ancient, but you can’t be that clueless. Everyone thinks you were sleeping together!"

Bucky’s eyes were practically popping, he was utterly speechless.

"They what?"

"But you have a girlfriend now. Is that why Cricket resigned?"

"SHE WHAT?" The plane jolted slightly

"Watch it, Barnes!" Sharon shrieked. 

Bucky straightened up the quinjet before speaking. "Cricket resigned?" he asked, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard.

"You don’t know? Wow, how badly did you fuck her?"

"We didn’t…"

"Oh, so she’s leaving because you wouldn’t fuck her, is that it?"

"Sharon, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"I’m just curious!" she shrugged before prattling on. "I can’t see why else she would be leaving such a great position… unless, did you knock her up?" 

"For fuck sake Sharon, nothing happened with me and Cricket. We’re just friends."

"Well maybe it should happen then. The way you two look at each other is sickening."

"You know what, this is the reason no one wants to work with you." Bucky grumbled.

"Because you’re too afraid to hear the truth. I’m just telling it like it is. She looks at you like she wants you to fuck her."

"Sharon, I’m warning you."

"Ooooh, Mr America, Cap’s best friend is warning me! What’re you going to do, spank me?" Sharon replied in a mock sultry tone.

"Shut up, Sharon."

Sharon let out a barking laugh, but said nothing more, leaving Bucky more to think about than before. How dare you resign without telling him? Surely it was something someone discussed with their partner. How does someone dump their partner without so much of a word? The small voice of conscience in his brain, your voice, screamed, ‘didn't you do the same?’ He had requested a new partner on this mission because he was angry.  He remembered the look on your face when he had left for this mission. Bucky could tell you had wanted to speak to him, but he hadn’t given you the opportunity. The rational part of his brain told him that you had made many attempts to speak to him.

Bucky's mind was a whirlwind of emotions as he tried to process everything that had just been thrown at him. Sharon's words echoed in his head, taunting him with the possibility that maybe he had missed something between him and you. Had he been blind to your feelings all this time? Had he been so consumed by his own insecurities and doubts that he had failed to see what was right in front of him?

He couldn't shake the feeling of regret that washed over him. Regret for not being more attentive to you, regret for not being more open with you, regret for not realizing sooner that maybe, just maybe, you had feelings for him too. The thought of you resigning because of him made his heart ache with guilt. How could he have been so blind?

Bucky's thoughts raced as he tried to make sense of everything. He couldn't deny the fact that he missed you, that he longed for your presence, that he yearned for the connection he had with you. Sharon's words had struck a nerve, awakening a realization within him that maybe, just maybe, he had let something special slip through his fingers.

As the quinjet continued on its course, Bucky's mind was consumed with thoughts of you. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had made a mistake, that he had let his own fears and insecurities cloud his judgment. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you, of losing the one person who had always been there for him, who had always believed in him, who had always seen the good in him.

Bucky knew he had to make things right, that he had to find a way to reach out to you, to apologize for his blindness, to make amends for his mistakes. He couldn't let you slip away without a fight, without at least trying to salvage what was left of the bond between you.

As the quinjet landed, Bucky's resolve hardened. He knew what he had to do. He had to find you, he had to talk to you! With a determined look in his eyes, Bucky stepped out of the quinjet, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead in his quest to win back the one person who had always held his heart.

"Buck," Steve put his hand out to stop Bucky marching off as soon as they disembarked from the plane. "Where're you going? We need to debrief."

"It can wait." Bucky shook off Steve's arm.

"Bucky, this is important."

"I don't care, Steve." He shouted over his shoulder as he made his way towards the compound's living quarters.

Sharon stopped beside Steve. "He's got it bad."

"What happened, Sharon?"

"He realized he's an idiot."

Steve frowned at her.

"Cricket." Sharon rolled her eyes. "Are all of you clueless?"

"Sharon, Cricket isn't here."

"Well, someone's going to have to tell him that."

Steve sighed. "I guess we could reconvene in an hour or two."

"Great, I’m off to take a shower!" Sharon waved at Steve and wandered off.

Meanwhile, Bucky had started sprinting towards your rooms, practically knocking over a couple of new agents who had been getting a tour around the compound. He arrived on the floor where your rooms were situated feeling out of breath and extremely nervous. He had no idea what he was going to say, having not quite thought things through. Frowning slightly when he noticed that your door was slightly ajar, he skidded to a halt. You had to be inside, you often left your door open. You always said ‘everyone was welcome’. Your warmth extended to everyone you met, every single member of the team opened up to you, confiding their secrets. You had such a beautiful openness about you, it was so easy for anyone to fall in love with you, even a broken centenarian with a cantankerous demeanor and suffered from post traumatic stress. 

Bucky took a deep breath, he still didn’t have the right words in mind, but he knew he wanted to see you, just a glimpse of your smiling face. He hadn’t seen it in a while, and he knew he was the cause. He had been so angry about his own choices, blaming you for having to make them, that he hadn’t stopped to think about how they affected you. For someone who claimed to love you, he had been incredibly selfish. It was almost an epiphany to Bucky, finally dawning on him that he had forced you to adapt to his choices rather than discussing them with you. He was the one who was too cowardly to share his true feelings for fear of losing you, and his behavior had led to him losing you anyway.

Softly, he knocked on your door, which swung open slowly. The sight before Bucky almost broke his heart. Your room was empty, all the things that bore your unique signature were stripped away. He stumbled inside still breathing heavily. What had he done?

"Cricket!" he called out loudly at first, as though you were hiding behind the remaining furniture, before whispering desperately. "Cricket."

Bucky collapsed on your bed, turning to the toy white wolf you’d left on your pillow. A white wolf, that was his moniker. He remembered seeing you choosing it at Coney Island and had been so blinded by jealousy that he hadn’t noticed your choice. You had always chosen him, systematically and consistently put your faith in him, given him your unwavering trust. Why had he been so quick to dismiss you on his birthday? Why hadn’t he returned your trust? He clutched the plush toy against his chest, burying his face in the fur and breathing in deeply, it smelled of you. He knew you had held it just as he was doing now. He wished it was you that he was holding, oh to be able to bury his face in your hair. He missed how you stroked the back of his neck when you comforted him.

Finally Bucky took his nose out of the small wolf and looked around with tear stained eyes. They landed on the thin, still wrapped vinyl record on your bedside table. The beautifully printed card was carefully taped to the edge. He ran his fingers over the flowery card with his name stenciled across the front, he could tell you'd made it yourself. He slipped his finger in the gap where the wrapping paper met and opened it with ease, unveiling the first edition Glenn Miller album which had been produced back in the 40’s. Bucky sniffed as he ran his fingers over the record before picking up the card to read your message.

"Dear Bucky." He could hear your voice in his head as he read your words.

"Happy birthday to my best friend! I hope this day brings you all the joy and happiness that you deserve. I wanted to take this opportunity to remind you of the love that surrounds you, both from your past and present.

"I know how much your family meant to you and how much you miss them every day. That's why I got you this Glenn Miller vinyl, the last song you danced to with them. I hope that when you listen to it, it reminds you of the love that they gave you and the memories you shared together.

"But I also want you to remember that you are not alone. You have friends who care about you deeply, who are here for you no matter what. We may not be your blood family, but we are your chosen family, and we love you just as much.

"So on this special day, I want you to know that you are loved, Bucky. You are cherished, you are valued, and you are important. And I hope that as you listen to that vinyl, you feel the warmth of the love that surrounds you, both from your past and present.

"And may you always remember that you are not alone, that there is someone out there who cares for you more than you could ever know.

"With all my love, Cricket."

He couldn’t believe the depth of your love and care for him. How could he have been so blind to it all this time? How could he have pushed you away when all you wanted to do was show him love and support? Bucky felt a wave of regret wash over him, realizing the mistake he had made in letting you go.

He sat there on your bed, clutching the record and card to his chest, tears streaming down his face. He had never felt so lost and alone, knowing that he had driven away the one person who had always been there for him. The weight of his actions weighed heavily on his heart, and he knew he had to make things right.

"Buck?" Steve’s voice broke through Bucky’s maelstrom of guilt and self flagellation, making him look up at his oldest friend. Steve sat down beside him, putting a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder. "Look, you have time to fix this. Do you have any idea how much Cricket loves you? She's always been there for you, and you just pushed her away without even giving her a chance to explain," Steve said sternly.

Bucky nodded, wiping away his tears. "I know, Steve. I messed up big time. I was just so scared of ruining our friendship if I told her how I really felt."

"Well, now’s your chance to make things right. Apologize to Cricket and tell her the truth. She deserves to know how you feel," Steve urged.

"What… what am I going to do about Priya?"

"Tell her the truth."

"I don't want to hurt her."

"Bucky, you can't keep living a lie just to spare someone's feelings. It's not fair to either of them. You need to be honest with yourself and with them. It may be difficult, but it's the right thing to do."

Bucky took a deep breath, nodding in agreement. He knew what he had to do. He had to apologize to you and tell you how he truly felt. He couldn't let fear hold him back any longer.

He stood up, determination in his eyes. "Thanks, Steve."

Steve gave him a reassuring smile. "I believe in you, Bucky. You can do this."

There was something about the way Steve spoke, he had a way of inspiring people. Bucky had seen that since they were kids. He couldn’t think of any other reason as to why he would have followed the scrawny kid from Brooklyn down every dark alley. He was grateful for Steve’s unwavering friendship and the honesty in his opinions. "Did she tell you how she felt?" Bucky asked. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

"Buck, it’s not my place to talk to someone else about their feelings."

"You don’t think it’s too late, is it?"

"You won't know until you try."

Steve's words didn't instill hope, but he was right, all Bucky could do now was try his best.

"Do you-" Steve stopped as his phone vibrated. He pulled it out to see a message from you flashing up. "Hang on, it's Cricket."

"What did she say?"

Steve frowned, you never sent voice messages. You always said you hated the sound of your voice. He pressed play apprehensively.

"STEVE!" Your voice was loud and urgent over the speaker. "Alien attack! Vrellnexian! Need back up! Red Oaks Mill. Back up would be- shit" They caught your muffled curse before the message stopped.

Steve and Bucky took one look at each other and leapt up off your bed, running towards the door.

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[yanderemommabean]

Yandere backrooms idea: you are fleeing from the latest abomination, monstrosity, or other manner of creature when you stumble through a wall or portal that looks exactly like the one you entered the backrooms through. You're right back where you started. You're so relieved, you almost don't notice the little details that don't add up. Electronics missing cords. The carpet is the wrong texture. The blurred view out the windows. Maybe you're finally tipped off when you get to the front door and find that it won't budge no matter what you do-- it's built into the wall. The sound of static, a familiar noise in the backrooms, fills your ears as you turn around. The entity staring at you smiles as you meet the dull "eyes" of the mockery of a human form it decided to take. Just like your home, it was only the creature's best approximation. It had you backed into a corner now, advancing with its too-sharp grin as your ears rang. No escape. No escape. It caught you in its web, it's not going to let you go. Oh, how they do hope you enjoy the human nest they made for you. After all, you're never leaving again.

You don't believe the door is right there in front of you. There’s no way, no fucking way salvation is just there and for the taking. Somethings wrong, the hallways became too still but Jesus there’s still that feeling that something is watching you, and it makes fear crawl all over your body as if you’re on the verge of running off again to avoid whatever was behind you. 

Something is here and fuck, You don’t  know what to do. What you do know is  if you turn around You’ll find what’s making your senses overloaded and on the verge of self destruction, and Jesus Christ you wouldn’t survive facing that thing. So, forward it is. Turning around right now is a death sentence. 

You step lightly into your kitchen, not daring to call out to your family. No, something tells you to be silent. That something like that could harm them. The majority of it looks the same as you left- was the outlet always that weirdly shaped? Does it matter? Fuck it, keep moving forward, that eerie feeling of you being watched isn’t going away if you stand still. 

You take another light step, and then another, feeling like a being was right behind you and you're surprised you didn’t just break down crying as you managed to flick on a light. Every step was agony, fear taking over your body as you slammed your eyes shut and flipped the switch, the breath of another being brushing against your shoulder like it was just hovering over you. 

You expect a blood bath, a dead corpse, anything to make your paranoia worthwhile but no. Nothing. Everything looks the same. Perfect. Too perfect. The sink is too shiny and the lights had no dead bugs in the bowl, the counter even seemed spotless with no noticeable nicks and cracks from the use over the years. What does it matter? This had to be home, right? Why else would the room be so big and so…quiet? 

Huffing out a breath, you rub your hands down your face feeling like you’re about to throw up. Water sounded amazing right now. Like it would make everything go away and you could just relax and forget the past few events even happened. You head to the kitchen sink to grab a drink of water, settle your nerves and maybe think about taking some anxiety meds you keep for emergencies. 

Maybe you really had made it back? Maybe you’re just shaking from the terrible experience the whole- whatever that place is- did to you. A working sink? That’d never be in that place! Right? It’s just…so still. Not even a breeze from outside, which oddly enough didn’t seem real to you. Just a dark window with nothing beyond it, but perhaps that’s just the adrenaline talking? But not even a shadow or even a cricket chirp…How odd. 

As you sip, the water cooling your body and making your heart rate drop just a bit, your eyes dared to look up to the window above the basin, and your heart stops in your chest as you meet the same inhuman eyes from the endless hallways

The being just shows its unnatural smile, grinning wide and uncanny as a voice right behind you croons  “Do you like it? I worked so hard to make this nest perfect. Now you won't have a reason to leave”

-Mommabean (Sorry mine was kind of short, but still, a wonderful prompt bean!!! 100/10!!!)

[mallowmaenad]

Having been aboard a small vessel with a Scarovan aboard led me to picking up a lot on their body language, even read up on their culture. We got to know each other pretty well, we exchanged cultural dishes (with some substitutes so we both wouldn’t be shitting blood for the next week) and at this point I had learned their kind’s body language. We were hanging out in my quarters, naturally using my off-hours to get fucking baked with some ancient sitcoms playing on the tv while I had a bowl of some off-brand cheese flavored puff between my thighs. I glanced over at my friend, entirely sober, eye stalks swaying gently as their mandible brushed against their forelimbs.

“What’s bothering you?”

They hesitated, “I don’t wanna say.”

“C’mon, we’re friends.”

They thought for a moment, bioluminescent carapace thrumming in contemplation as they found the wording.

“Well it’s just that you humans act exactly like the 3rd Schreemar dynasty.”

I had dabbled in Scarovan history, I knew this was real life though and not some old book trying to predict the future, each planet had hundreds of hundreds of countries, some millions. Usually a planetary monoculture meant some bad shit had gone down recently. I studied M’luk’s country mostly, I was fascinated by the differences, the total alien nature of their civilization to me.

I had no idea what she was talking about.

“Hrm?” I threw another shitty cheese puff into my mouth, melting impact with my tongue.

“They were some ancient nickel-age empire, one of those big ‘we’re going to conquer the world’ civilizations. They made a bunch of movies and video games about them. Like, it might just be my translator but sometimes you’ll slip into some really archaic terminology like ‘pencil’ or ‘governor’, it makes you sound like a bunch of fantasy characters.” Her claws brushed together in an alien grin, maybe she was lying when she said her people were immune to this stuff.

I thought for a moment, fuck I was too high for this.

“W-what…?”

“Well it’s just that you’re all so stoic and war-like, there’s a few humans I’ve met that aren’t but they make being different like, their whole personality.”

I took a swig of the shitty off-brand soda I grabbed from the commissar and made a face, out of both confusion and how absolutely mid the soda tasted.

“Waddayamean war-like? kinda painting with a broad brush there, Mel.”

She growled, lights going bright from the bottom to the top of her back, a giggle by another name.

“Yeah that’s what I’m talking about, do you guys seriously still use brushes? Also like when I did research on your planet there were… so many wars.”

I leaned forward, a bit floaty from the space weed as I raised my voice a little, “W-wha ya mean??? We don’t have that many…”

“Ya’ll were literally naming them like they were sequels to movies. You made sequels to your wars. Who does that??”

I gulped as I tried to find my words, the growling and thrumming meant that my alien friend was definitely getting a contact high and laughing her ass off.

“B-bu-but…!”

“You had more than one war involving the entire planet.”

Flabbergasted I plopped back into the embrace of my bean bag chair, glassy eyes watching as some criminal comedians exchanged inane parables about heterosexual relationships.

“Damn, you right. You right.”

There was a long pause, focused on the television as the ancient New Yorker play continued.

“So um, did they also have a thing in like, twenny first century where a bunch of guys wanted to bring that back?”

“Oh just a bunch of teal couch potatoes that spent too much time online.”

My stomach lurched. Oh well, it was all in the past.

“Hey can you pass those crickets?”

She handed me the clear bag of dried insects, she garbled something the translator didn’t pick up.

“Yeah I can’t pronounce that, so I’m callin’ em crickets.”

[garoumylove]

New Year New Smutty Garou Fic ^.^

Happy New Year everyone! Here’s a very smutty and romantic Garou fanfic I just wrote called ‘Hurt So Good’ :) I’ll leave the intro here and you can read the whole thing HERE since its a bit too long for Tumblr! 

~*~

He holds his bandaged hand in front of his face in the dim heat of early autumn. The shack has no windows and no particular light to offer but his eyes always adjust quickly. The sun is setting- No, just set. Just gone down for the night but Garou lies wide awake. He’d just made it back after a sleepless twenty four hours. There’s a dull ache in his calf where Golden Ball’s little missile got him and this. He clenches and unclenches the bandaged hand lightly. Bandaged is a generous word. It is not a bandage. A rag he found, really. He’ll bandage it up properly soon now that he’s back at his own little headquarters but for now he just wants to lie back for a moment. A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. His headquarters. He likes that. The fucking heroes have their Hero Association HQ and the monsters have their own somewhere, he is sure of it, and here he is, in his own headquarters. King of his own castle. CEO of his one-man organisation. He thinks he might even give himself a promotion, employee of the month even. A fun, savage laugh rings out in the stillness. How about that? Employee of the month. So he did amount to something in the end. Heh.

The hand. An annoying injury. An unexpected one. Compliments of Spring Mustachio. But at least he’d gained some experience against blades and that’s always useful. The wound has begun to close up, he can feel the flesh starting to pull together, faster than any human he knows but still far too slow for him. At least it was a clean wound. One quarter of a stigmata. No, they’d never be able to crucify him now. Not even if they tried. There is no one on his side. He has nobody. The situation hasn’t changed. There is no one on his side except his own body, and it’s been cooperating much more than usual lately, stepping up to the challenge. This quick healing a welcome surprise. All his billions of cells in on the plan, cheering him on, working hard to make sure he reaches his monstrous goal. This pain? He looks over his hand again, turning it in the dusk. This pain is nothing. It hurt like a mother fucker, stung like hell as it happened, as he felt the blade pierce the skin, slide against muscle but he was too high on adrenaline to notice much. A half hour later though, it wasn’t so fun anymore. But now it was just an inconvenient ache and tomorrow, he’ll be able to deliver a punch like nothing had ever happened. He is sure of it. This pain, it’s almost gone. But did the bastard really have to slice up his shirt? He’d left the dojo with nothing but the clothes on his back, not intending this phase of his plan to drag out for too long and that was just fucking rude.

The last traces of sun are gone and the cracks in the roof shine a saturated violet. He can hear the last of the crickets outside. Soon they will fall silent. It will be far too cold for them. But for now, tonight especially, it is more than warm enough. Reminiscent of summer. Of broken wood and broken bones, a trail of now defunct dojos across the country. All his own handiwork. These skilled hands. He had never particularly really excelled at this or that before. But he’d poured all his blood, sweat and tears into learning, into training, quickly found he had a knack for it and exploited it to its fullest potential under that old man’s guidance. The geezer seemed delighted. He was so fucking full of himself, Garou’s smile dissipates into a scowl. He felt he was just a trophy, a vessel, a superior demonstration for the old fool’s martial arts. If he’d never shown any particular promise, would the old bastard have shown him as much attention? It was all performative, all conditional, in the end, wasn’t it? What if he’d just ended up as another Charanko (shudder the thought)? Bang wouldn’t have given two shits about him, would he? The scowl tenses. Now look. He’s gone and done it again. Wisps of a blackening, indecipherable turmoil rising, waking deep inside. Feelings he cannot name and doesn’t care to. This hand. This pain. The edges of injured skin and bone and sinew. This pain. This pain is concrete and visceral and real. It has a location, a pinpoint. It’s definable. He can point to it and say ‘Fuck this shit right here’, grip it with his hand when it gets too bad, when it has gotten too bad, grit his teeth and shift his attention somewhere else. An eight. Now a six. It’s gone down to a three. A meager one.

He likes that. That’s what they do, the doctors and the like, isn’t it? Ask you to number it out of ten. It’s still subjective, of course. The ten that he can withstand is magnitudes higher than any normal human, but it’s still a nicely divided scale. Pieces of pain on a line. A graph. He’d always liked graphs. Diagrams. Everything clearly labeled, guiding you through whatever it was it wanted you to know. He remembers himself age eight, flipping through the insect encyclopedia over and over, staring at those beautifully drawn diagrams for hours. The clear labels: Head. Thorax. Abdomen. And then the magnifications. Antenna. Compound eye. Wing. Femur. Posterior spiracle. The Latin names of those insects, like unpronounceable magical incantations. Allomyrina dichotoma. Japanese rhinoceros beetle. If monsters were species and had names, what would his be? What is Latin for ‘monster’? He knows rex is king. He’d learned that as a kid looking through the dinosaur books in elementary school during the lonely recess. Rex, he’d whispered the enchanting foreign word under his breath. Rex. King. What does he hope his species name would be now? Something rex. It must end in rex. Or god? Should it be god? What is god in Latin? And what’s monster? Ah, who cares.

The thought of elementary school stokes the fire that he’d just managed to extinguish inside. He looks down his body, laying on the frayed couch. His chest, with the goddamn torn shirt, rises and falls with each breath. Unlike his martyred hand, there is nothing to direct his attention to when this bullshit starts, this storm inside. It’s all inside. Something unstoppable, uncomfortable, uncontrollable. He pushes the fist of his good hand against the hard muscle of his chest. Right there. The scowl grows brutal. If he could only reach in there, even punch through his ribs, pull it out like some sort of unwelcome intruder, crush it in his fingers and feel its blood drain so it could never bother him again. His knuckles press into his skin, sharp and unforgiving. He does not have the words for it. There is no number he can assign. Whatever is happening inside him, that seems to happen every so often, especially when memories come up, whatever this is, it escapes definition and yet never, ever fails to torture him.

He is not stupid. He is not so illiterate that he can’t say ‘This is anger’, or ‘This is resentment’. He knows this. He has been angry for almost as long as he can remember, not quite all his life, but ever since that little shit Tacchan decided to make it his mission in life to torment him on the school playground with its peeling paint and holey fence. This writhing anger. He knows there is anger in there. Rage. Pure unadulterated fury, simmering and smouldering from so long ago. He is not so stupid. But the merits of language only go so far. And while, on the surface, he can point and say ‘This is anger’ or ‘This is frustration’, the reality is that under that same simplified surface is such a seething mass of tangled darkness he cannot even begin to think of where to start unraveling it. He remembers in middle school, one of their more progressive teachers, projected an abstract painting onto the white board, for what purpose Garou does not remember. But he remembers staring at the furious maze of black and white lines and shapes that resembled nothing he could name. It frustrated and fascinated him, this abstract art or whatever the fuck it was called. It was just like what he felt, stil feels, inside. Nothing he can name, or grasp, but so much of it. So hot and burning from the inside. Not just burning but suffocating, clawing its way as if through his ribs and up his throat. Like it wants something and will not rest.

At first he’d tried to push it down. Suppress it. Fight back. It was too dangerous, unwieldy and uncontrollable. But as he harnessed his physical prowess at the dojo, day after day, staying later than anyone else, repeating drills until his muscles ached, until he could barely move, until Bang scolded him that that was enough, as he harnessed his physical power, honed it, he learned to use his inner demons as fuel for the fire. He directed it into every hit, every bone-crunching punch. Maybe he couldn’t understand, might never understand it, but he could use it. He’d imagine this dark, hot liquid rage sitting in his chest, his mind, direct its course into his arm, into his fist, let it explode. The satisfaction of it like nothing else. Nothing else. Well, almost nothing. A corner of a thought flickers somewhere in his mind, like a bright spark in a chaotic night. It appears and extinguishes itself almost as quickly as it came. Interesting as always. But this mess inside him, this absolute bedlam, it ain’t so bad. Like a contract with the devil. Except when he loses grip and he is no longer using it, but is being used by it. When he finds himself in the palm of its hand. This howling pain that has no words and all he can do is pace, wrestle with it (it always wins), appease it by bringing a sacrifice. Some unsuspecting poor bastard in a hero costume sometimes does the trick. But not always. When it overtakes him, forces him down memory lane and he has no choice but to watch, to relive those things. When he’s forced to confront everything that’s under the brutal anger. The emotions he cannot name, white hot and desperate. Memories of classmates, and teachers, and parents and…

And then it gets harder to breathe. Ragged, jaw clenched.

How would you rate your pain out of ten? And all he can do is gasp. Numbers become inconsequential, lose all meaning. It’s not anger anymore, it’s… It’s… What the fuck is it? What is it that lives and breathes inside him and gives him no peace? Memories of people’s faces. People he had loved, had tried his best for. People who never smiled. People who made him feel… What? What is this terrifying feeling? It’s not even one. Not one feeling. An amalgamation of many. A stitched together nightmare. What is it? Why these memories? And he doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t want to. Clawing his way back to control. Always in control. Always.

Always? The spark again. A moment. Slightly longer. And gone.

The night grows more sultry and all this thinking is getting frustrating. He sits up, pulls off his black shirt. Looks down, inspects his chest. A bruise here, and one there, barely visible, camouflaging in the dusty darkness of this cabin. He rubs his hand against one, then the other. It feels like nothing. No pain. Not here. His body doing its best to not let him down. His body, a perfectly honed killing machine. Each vein, each fibre of muscle… Anyone who saw him would say he’s at his peak, but he knows this is not yet true. There is still room for improvement. He can still get stronger. There are still so many fucking assholes to crush, so much justice to mete out. He has this sudden realisation, an epiphany, that for him happiness is a zero sum game. He finds he is most happy when his enemies are not. If others are happy he cannot be. His happiness depends on their fear, their misery. He lies back down, only slightly cooler half-undressed. He stares up at the punctured ceiling, one arm behind his head. A zero sum game. He won’t be happy unless they’re terrified. He cannot be happy unless they’re… His thoughts trail off. His mind slowly shifts as his chest continues to rise and fall slowly in the dark, the air pressed so close against his bare skin, against the sculpted muscles of his torso, following the glistening little trail of sweat down his left pectoral. His hand reaches out in front of him briefly, as if reaching for something, someone on top of him. No, not everyone. There was an exception.

An unexpected exception. ~ A few months prior. Start of June. Well, that’s when the exception happened. The real start was before that. The year before. When he’d still been going to school more or less regularly. She had been new last year. This in itself was not anything to write home about. In their school, their neighbourhood, kids came and went all the time. The thing to write home about was that she was somewhat foreign. He says somewhat because he had always been too polite to ask. What was the fraction of Japanese? A half? A quarter? An eighth? A numerator of one over the denominator of what? It didn’t really matter in the end. She was a new species. She kept to herself mostly and would answer in polite and formal Japanese with a sweet, accented inflection when anyone cared to talk to her. He couldn’t figure out if it was just the rookie mistake of any language learner, always being taught the most polite forms just in case, or whether this was a brilliant trick to keep people at arm’s length. He had never caught on. But the idea of a language barrier appealed to him. It was a perfectly valid excuse to have people not bother you, one that he couldn’t feign. But it didn’t matter. By that time he’d already carefully constructed a reputation for himself stronger than any language barrier and it was rare for anyone to approach him for anything really. The only one being his homeroom teacher who had been on his fucking case non-stop for this or that or some other shit. The girl was there. And from the back of the class where he sat, interesting to look at. Always wearing a polite smile and glasses. She didn’t seem to have integrated herself into the social life of the class but neither did she seem too bothered by it. She participated in everything and answered all questions, always in that formal and ultra polite Japanese. And no one could say a bad word about her but she never seemed to fully fit in. A foreign import into their indigenous class ecosystem. And interesting to look at.

...the rest can be read here! xoxo

[nightcrawlerzincorporated]

15, 16, & 19!

15 Favorite sunny fic(s)

There are so many amazing ones it’s hard to choose! I would say the ones currently sticking to my brain the most are: The Gang Learns to Exist in the Moment, Wishing Well, Stubborn Selfish and Easily Jealous, and The Way We Look to Us All. Spoilery ramblings as to why under the cut because I can’t help but gush a bit over these lol

16 Random hot take

This is a SPICY one but. I am not optimistic about macden actually becoming canon. I would love for them to be canon, I think it makes sense for the characters and it think it would create a lot of comedic potential, but I’m also a bit of a pessimist, and I personally think RCG finds it funnier to have them have an almost-kind-of relationship than an actual confirmed one. I feel like if anything they’ll be canon at the end of the very last episode and then they’ll die or something as a last joke about how these people don’t deserve to be happy after all they’ve done. But who knows, maybe I’m wrong

19 If you had the skill/talent/time to create any content you wanted, what would you want to make?

If I had the energy I would write a million macdennis fics I have so many ideas. If I had the skill/talent I would draw a bunch of funny/sappy ship art

The Gang Learns to Exist in the Moment

Oh my god ok where to start with this one. This one buzzes around in my brain constantly. Holy fuck the funeral scene where Dennis is super drunk and his and Dee’s family gets all judgey and Dee stands up and says “He was a terrible father to us, you understand?” UGH. That makes me feel so many things I think about that scene all the time. Mac’s therapy sessions where his therapist tries to help him realize he’s gay are so sweet. It wouldn’t have fit with the tone of the actual show at all but sometimes I wish they were canon because it’s such a great exploration AND WHEN HE SAYS HE LIKES SUPER MASC GUYS AND HIS THERAPIST POINTS OUT DENNIS ISNT SUPER MASC AND MAC LIKES HIM?? I die in the best way possible just get rend in twane oh my lord. Dennis’ fight with Dee is so real and is resolved so beautifully. Charlie learning to read finally??? The star charts! The “real” funeral at the end AND HOW IT WRAPS WITH THEM FINALLY SINGING TOGETHER AGAIN. Fuck. I literally wept. I’m whirring just thinking about it now.

Wishing Well

This one is still ongoing but already I have so many Feelings. The metaphor with the burning apartment. Dennis thinking talking to Mac about missing him is a dream when it’s clearly a memory he was just so drunk??? FUCK. That’s good shit. Convincing Cricket to marry them secretly like the dumbass he is. THE BATHROOM KISS. Mac getting his memories back but not telling Dennis?? The reveal that Dennis is the first one who called him Mac instead of Ronnie AHHHHH. Literally always thinking about this one and aching for more. Can’t wait to see how this one ends

Stubborn, Selfish, and Easily Jealous

Poor Trevor. Honestly I’m usually not a fan of fics about a third party getting between a ship but this one is so well done I was hooked start to finish. I love Dennis’ dream sledgehammer and him “leaving” it on the elevator at the end. I love how Trevor is genuinely a good boyfriend and it doesn’t pull the whole “well obviously ship should be together because third party is terrible anyway” stuff I hate. It does such a good job showing that Mac and Dennis love each other while showing the reasons they aren’t together and why Mac wants to be with Trevor despite Dennis finally reciprocating his feelings. And when Mac starts cheating with Dennis it gives me such complex feelings it’s *chef kiss*. The hospital scene holy shit. The epilogue! There’s so much real human stuff here it’s so good.

The Way We Look to Us All

This one is pure Dennis angst, and you all know I live for that. Dennis struggling to accept his sexuality, and his age, and his obvious feelings for Mac is so so good. I love how the sex scenes mesh with Dennis’ character arc and the themes. I love them trying to punish/help Charlie and Frank. I love Dennis’ freak out to Artemis. It’s been some time since I last read it but it’s still inside my heart and soul.

[tothemeadow]

Commissioned by @thermaflute​

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

- Being a slayer, Kyojuro knows how wrong it is to be absolutely whipped for a demon. It’s not his own fault that you give him mind-blowing sex. -

warnings: NSFW, teasing, degradation, overstimulation, ahegao, handjobs, dom reader

words: 2k

-

There’s just something about saving the day and being a hero that really, really gets Kyojuro. Of course, it’s his job for gods’ sakes, but to have people looking up to him, swooning over him? There is nothing like it. So yeah, he may or may not have a hero complex. What’s the big deal? It’s not like he’s doing anything wrong.

Well… Except for the fact that he is.

Nervousness and guilt chew away at Kyojuro’s insides as he stalks towards the manor; above him, the pitch black sky twinkles with thousands of stars, all of them distant diamonds. The full moon shines bright, an iridescent yellow compared to the rest of the nighttime sky. A chorus of crickets and croaking frogs surrounds him; everything is too peaceful, too idyllic.

The first time he came to this very manor, he expected the place to be surrounded by bones, both old and new. Human heads would be perched on stakes, their mouths forever open in a silent scream. He truly anticipated the absolute worse. However, as he quickly realized, everything was the exact opposite.

He shouldn’t even be here. A demon resided here – you, specifically – and he hunted demons for a living. You’re a dangerous person with sharp teeth and even sharper claws; you can kill him in an instant if you truly wanted to, and yet you didn’t. The same could be said about Kyojuro. He’s killed so many other demons before, so it’s not an issue, but he hesitates whenever he thinks about bringing his blade down on your neck.

This is the same thought process he goes through every time he visits. He always stands right outside your door, gazes up at the mere size of the manor, and wonders just what the hell he thinks he’s doing. If anybody were to learn about his late night rendezvouses with a demon, he’s done for. Hell, he thinks Oyakata-sama might even be the one to slit his stomach.

He doesn’t even bother to wait for you as he enters the place you call home; much like the outside, the inside of the manor is impeccably clean and furnished with mahogany pieces and fine China. He can tell you’ve been collecting such magnificent furniture throughout your long lifespan; it always makes him awestruck to be surrounded by such wealth. He’s careful to take off his setta, silently setting them to the side as he steps up into your home.

His tabi-clad feet hardly make any noise as he ventures into the manor, looking for any signs of life. As far as he knows, there hasn’t been any other human to step foot inside this very manor while he was present. It’s when he’s away is the problem. You’re a demon, after all – you need as much sustenance as he does, maybe even more.

Before he fully realizes it, he’s walking the familiar trek to where your bedroom is. It’s almost second nature to him, always trying to find you. He shouldn’t be so eager to see a demon in the first place; it’s just plain wrong. This whole situation is wrong, but something about you brings him back, attracts him like a moth to a flame. The need to see you boils in his blood. He wants you to be by his side constantly. It’s only human nature, wanting to spend time with someone you’re attracted to, but this situation isn’t exactly what Kyojuro had in mind.

As he slides the door to your room open, the sight of your bare back greets him. Perched in front of a vanity, you dabble makeup onto your face; brilliant red smudges cover the outer corners of your eyes and your plush lips. Kyojuro can only guess how expensive the product must’ve been, judging by the hue alone. Your hair is entirely pinned up, revealing the entirety of your neck and shoulders. You look positively stunning, magnificent. Kyojuro’s throat goes dry.

“Hello, my darling slayer,” you say, a seductive lilt to your tone. You’ve always sounded like that – like fine wine mixed with smoke and honey. Setting your fine point brush down, your glowing eyes meet Kyojuro’s through the mirror. “How may I serve you tonight?”

Glancing down, Kyojuro is greeted by the sight of your perky breasts reflecting back at him. Licking his lips, he looks back up to your eyes. You smirk at him. “I wanted to see you,” he mutters. “You look beautiful.”

You coo at him, your fingers slipping the fine material of your kimono up and around your shoulders. Kyojuro is mildly disappointed by the lack of skin, but then you turn to him, your chest only partially covered. His brilliant gaze follows the curve of your waistline, how it seamlessly widens at your hips and turns into luscious thighs. Crossing your legs, the silk of your kimono flutters against your skin.

“You wanted to see me?” you purr. Slowly, you draw yourself to a graceful stand. Like this, your front becomes entirely bare under his eyes. “Kyojuro, you naughty boy.” You bat your eyelashes sultrily at him. “Get on the bed,” you husk, pointing a clawed finger to the oversized mattress. Like most of the furniture you own, it’s made of a deep mahogany, the frame standing on four sturdy legs and raising high to form a canopy. Delicate silks hang from the top, all a dainty white. It’s behind those very curtains that Kyojuro’s taken you many, many times.

Doing as he’s told, he removes his cape and sets it to the side before taking a seat at the end of the bed. The softness of the mattress beckons to him, calls for him to lie back and fall asleep. And, he will, eventually, if this is going where he thinks it is. You walk over to him, your long, confident strides making him stare at your legs. You slither on top of him, straddling his waist and linking your hands together over his shoulders. Kyojuro inhales sharply, the scent of your perfume intoxicating.

“And why did you want to see me?” you say, dragging a finger over the sharp line of his jaw. Kyojuro trembles beneath your touch; your index taps against his lower lip, a knowing expression growing on your face. “Is the big bad Flame Pillar falling for me?” you purr.

The way you flutter your lashes causes something inside of Kyojuro to snap. Instead of answering your question, his lips land on yours in pure desperation. The kiss is heated from the start; you quickly worm your tongue inside his mouth, licking up against the roof of it and Kyojuro lets you. He lets you do anything you want every time he sees you because he simply cannot get enough.

You swallow his soft groan as your hands travel down his chest, making quick work of unbuttoning his uniform’s jacket and his shirt underneath. Kyojuro’s skin has always been deliriously warm, beautifully bronzed and freckled by the sun. He sighs under your touch; it quickly turns into a slight whimper as you pull at his nipple. Your teeth tug at his bottom lip as you continuously feel up his chest, your hips gradually working into a steady rhythm against his hardening cock. He’s always been easy to work up, but with you, every single ounce of self-control he possesses flies right out the window.

“Dirty whore,” you murmur, drawing your lips away from him. “Coming back again and again to a demon. What would the others say, huh? What would they say if they could see you now? They’d see me full of your cock, fucking you stupid. You’re so bad, you filthy slut. They could kill you for this.”

At your words, a throaty groan bubbles from Kyojuro’s chest. He knows you’re absolutely right, but that’s what’s good about this whole thing. If his fellow slayers could see him getting so thoroughly used by a demon, he wouldn’t live to see another day. He grunts as you press him to his back, your luscious breasts pushing against his muscular chest. His cock tents through his hakama, the cloth growing wet from both his precum and the slick dripping from your cunt.

“Let them do whatever,” Kyojuro pants. “You’re the – fuck – one that I want.”

You mewl at his words, your sharp nails scratching at his skin. “Is that a confession? Does my little slut love me?” You laugh at the whole ridiculousness of a slayer falling in love with a demon. You move down his chest, your lips running over the ridges of his muscles and leaving stains of red all over his skin.

Kyojuro chokes on a groan as you palm him through his clothes. Ripping his belt off, you make quick work of yanking down his pants and undergarments. His cock kicks and slaps against his stomach, the head an angry red and leaking precum. Your gaze hungrily takes in the protruding veins, the neat thatch of dark pubic hair. He looks absolutely delicious.

“Tell me, Kyojuro,” you bite, your fingers wrapping around his thick cock, “do you love me?”

He doesn’t want to say. He shouldn’t say it, save himself from the impending embarrassment, but then you twist your wrist and fuck does it do something magical to him. “Y-yes,” he stutters, tongue flicking out nervously. “You’re so ­– shit, ah – wonderful and I really, really like being with you!” He keens as your other hand gently fondles his balls.

“Is that your dick talking?” you taunt. “Are you saying that because you’re a filthy whore?”

Kyojuro furiously shakes his head. His face has well surpassed red, his lips turning swollen from how much he’s chewing on them. “Even when we’re not fucking! Gods, (y/n), I love you!” He cries out as he abruptly cums, thick ropes of white shooting onto his stomach and your fingers. He pants from the force of it; his eyes widen, then, and realizes that he just came immaturely.

You click your tongue. “You got off on that?” Despite your annoyance, Kyojuro can hear the lust laced in your words.

“Yeah…” A punched-out breath fills the air as you swiftly lower your pussy onto his cock. Kyojuro’s hands make a desperate reach for your hips, but you quickly take hold of his wrists and pin them by his sides.

“So what, I don’t get to have any fun?” You flash him a mock pout. “Come on, love, show me what you got.”

Hearing the endearment roll off your tongue has Kyojuro’s cock stirring to life back inside you. Swiveling your hips, you mouth at the underside of his jaw, your teeth just barely scraping against the tender flesh. You set a steady pace, barely giving him any time to breathe while you bounce on his cock. His hips buck frantically to match your relentless pace; he whimpers from overstimulation, but fuck your cunt is so hot and wet and he feels like he’s going to explode.

“Oh, gods, please, please,” he babbles, his tongue trying to collect whatever saliva spills from his mouth. You’re fucking him so good that he’s seeing stars. He can’t control the way how his eyes roll into the back of his head or how his tongue sticks out in pure, unadulterated pleasure. ���Fuck, you feel so good-“

“Am I fucking you stupid?” you ask him. Arching your back even further, your breasts drag against his torso. “Look at your pathetic face. You really are a slut, you know that? With a body like yours, it’s no wonder you bend over for anybody.”

In his euphoric state, Kyojuro shakes his head. “No, no, only for you, I promise,” he rambles. He moans loudly as the head of his cock pushes in even deeper and slams right into your cervix.

Your velvety walls suck him in with every stroke, desperate to have him inside and fuck you silly. “Who’s fucking you so good, Kyojuro.”

He groans. “You are…”

You clench even harder around his cock. “I said who.”

“You are!” he yelps, kicking his head back and spraying his cum all over your insides. You ride him through his orgasm, delighted in the way his cum seeps out around his cock and spills onto the both of you.

“That’s my good little slut,” you purr. Letting go of his wrists, you press open-mouthed kisses all over his sweaty chest. “Now make me cum, love.”

[canniballistix]

Parallels/metaphor/whatever of john winchester and god both as absentee fathers in hbo spn?

"I can't," Dean hissed.

His hand was shaking. Why was his hand shaking? This was something he'd done a thousand times. He'd lost track of the number of girls he'd kissed.

And yet… his hand shook. His hand shook as it cradled the one which cupped against his cheek, and it only served to make this whole thing all the more intimate.

The boy sighed, and Dean could feel the weight of his breath. "I thought you liked me."

"I do!" Dean said, even as the hand slipped out from under his. "I do, I do, swear to God I do."

"I-it's okay," the boy said. His hand dropped back onto his knee. "Look, I-- I get it, man. You're a guy's guy, and I'm… I dunno."

"Hey." Dean but his hand on the boy's shoulder and gripped it firmly. Though this steadied his hand, he could suddenly feel the way the boy was quaking. "It's nothin' to do with you, okay? You're… I mean, you're…"

The boy's piercing eyes were fixed on Dean's face as he struggled to find the right words. The longer they alluded Dean, the deeper the boy's heart sank.

At last, Dean sighed. "You're fuckin' gorgeous, okay?" he said at last. "Look at you. Jesus."

The hint of a smile tugged at the boy's lips.

"And you got good taste in music, and you're smart," Dean continued. His list ended there, however.

The boy cleared his throat. "But…?"

Dean closed his eyes. The way a business man closes his eyes just before he fired a good, hardworking family man. "But…" he managed to say, fingers wandering across the hem of the boy's shirt, "as much as I want to… I can't."

The boy sat there a moment longer.

It was a strange sort of quiet here, under the bleachers.

It should have been just as loud as the rest of the football field. Yet, somehow, the sounds of the crickets were so much softer. The wind seemed to miss them entirely. Here, on an autumn night, these two boys may as well have been in their own world.

The boy brushed away Dean's hand. Like it was a mosquito. Like it was nothing. "Fine. I get it," he said, getting to his feet. "Really creative way to get out of kissing me. Dramatic. Shakespearean, even."

Dean pounded the ground with one fist, then leapt up after the boy. "God, Jesse, wait--"

Jesse. That's it. His name was Jesse.

"I'm done."

"Please, if you just let me explain, I--"

"You're not explaining!" Jesse whirled to face Dean. "You're not saying anything!"

Dean took a deep breath in, and he was surprised to find that his lungs seemed to be quivering, as well.

Jesse stared at Dean. His fists were clenched at his sides. The floodlights over the football field cast an otherworldly light over his dark and messy hair, like light from heaven itself.

It did not reach Dean where he stood, still under the bleachers, his hand just barely reaching out into its warmth.

"Well?" Jesse prompted.

"My dad," Dean blurted out.

Jesse raised an eyebrow. "You dad?"

Dean shook his head. "If he found out-- if he knew--"

"How could he?" Jesse asked.

Dean blinked. His heart was hammering against his ribcage.

"He's not watching, Dean," Jesse said, a hand raised to the sky.

Dean thought about that. He looked to the sky, as well, inexplicably feeling as if John Winchester might be peering down at him from the top of the bleachers.

And yet, despite that strange terror that John was watching, that he would somehow know, this was the first time Dean realized that his father wasn't there. And not just on the bleachers, but anywhere-- anywhere at all in Dean's life where it might have mattered.

Wherever a father should have been--loving or kind or cruel or spiteful--there was merely a hole. A blank space where John may have fit, and yet never did.

The fear was melting away.

Because there was nothing there.

Only stars.

Dean stumbled out into the light. He grabbed Jesse by the front of his hoodie, and kissed him like his life depended on it.

~~~~~

"I can't," Castiel said.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You can't what? You can't taste?"

The angel returned a shrug. This was something new he'd picked up from Dean, though he didn't seem to have it down just yet-- Castiel only shrugged his shoulders when he didn't feel like answering, not because he didn't know the answer.

"You're not even gonna try?" Dean asked, pushing the plate of french fries a little closer. "C'mon, how bad could it be?"

"I told you, I can't," Castiel replied, pushing the plate back towards Dean.

"Now that's just stupid," Dean said. "You can't eat at all? For real? Your vessel can eat, can't he?"

"Of course he can," Castiel said, all but rolling his eyes. "I cannot."

Dean gave into temptation and growled lightly, pulling the plate towards himself and chomping down on another french fry.

The diner was quiet. When he was traveling with Castiel, Dean preferred to dine at night-- in fact, he preferred to work on as much of a night schedule as possible. Castiel was, to put it lightly, a fucking weirdo, and corralling him into acting even remotely human was a full-time job.

But anything goes at three in the morning in a twenty-four-hour truck stop.

All that could be heard was the clattering of dishes in the kitchen-- far fewer than those filling the sink twelve hours previously. Occasionally, something would come flying down the highway. Funny how much faster they seemed to rush by when there was so much stillness in-between.

Dean sipped his coffee.

Castiel sat very still, his hands folded delicately on table in front of him. He was staring out at that highway, and yet his eyes seemed hardly focused at all.

Dean leaned forward, trying in vain to see what it was that had Castiel so captured. As he did, he saw the man's reflection ripple along the surface of the glass, light against the darkness of the night.

In passing, Castiel's reflection looked just as one might expect. He was, after all, a dirty little man in a trenchcoat, and that was reflected quite plainly. The closer you looked, however--the longer and deeper you stared into the forms, into his eyes--the more you would see.

Some people saw God or Jesus or whatever. Some people would catch a rare glimpse of the true angel, its power lessened to that of a sharp headache by the reflection. Most people, though, saw people.

No one in particular. Just shadows of people half-remembered, ghosts of the past.

As Dean looked at Castiel's reflection, he saw something familiar in the sharpness of his eyes. In the dark mess of his hair. In the tautness of his lower lids as he gazed out into nothingness.

A boy. His name nearly forgotten--James or Jonathan or something--but his face as crisp and clear as ever.

His first kiss.

Not his first-first kiss. Not really. But his first kiss that had felt the way they say it should.

"Whaddya mean?" Dean asked.

Castiel turned to look at Dean. He didn't ask for clarification-- not out loud, at least.

Dean set his jaw. "What do you mean you can't?" he said. "You can't… like, physically?"

Castiel frowned. "No. I'm quite capable of eating."

He paused.

A pause so long he may have, in fact, finished talking.

Dean cleared his throat. "But…?"

"But," Castiel said, almost stalling, "it is frowned upon."

Dean scoffed. "Frowned upon?"

"Yes," Castiel continued. "The garrison is very strict about how… involved we should be in human culture. Eating, listening to music, dancing--"

"You're not allowed to dance?!" Dean smacked his forehead, biting back a laugh. "Goddamn. Remind me to show you Footloose sometime. You'd get a kick outta that one."

"Mm."

Castiel did not seem near as enchanted by this as Dean. It occurred to Dean that, if listening to music was forbidden, watching movies was likely on the shit list, too.

Dean cleared his throat again. "I mean. That sounds…" But he couldn't think of the words, exactly. "Wh-who told you not to do that junk?"

Castiel cocked his head. "God, of course."

"Right. God." Dean nodded slowly. "Sounds like a stand-up guy."

"I wouldn't know," Castiel said. "I've never met him."

Dean squinted. "You've never met God." Not a question, exactly, though he intended it to be. "Isn't he, like… your dad?"

Castiel sighed. "I suppose you could say that."

"But you've never met him?"

"I've never met him."

"But you're living your life by his rules?"

"Of course," Castiel said. "He… if he found out-- if he knew that I was--"

"How could he?"

Castiel blinked.

"Cas." Dean pushed the plate of french fries back across the table. "God's not watching."

Castiel thought about that. For some reason, he turned to look out the window once more, gazing balefully at a streetlight in the parking lot. As if God himself would appear under it.

And yet, despite that strange terror that God was looking down at him, that he would somehow know, this was the first time that Cas truly realized that his father wasn't there. Not just under the streetlight, but anywhere-- anywhere at all on Earth that may have mattered.

Wherever God should have been--loving or kind or cruel or spiteful--there was merely a hole. A blank space which may have been holy, and yet never was.

The fear was melting away.

Because there was nothing there.

Perhaps Cas himself was the holiest thing on Earth.

Cas reached out and lifted a french fry from the thick ceramic plate. He made eating diner food look like a celebration of the Eucharist.

[midnightmoonkiss]

The Lure Of Nightfall

Izuku Midoriya X Fem! Reader

Summary: Boredom truly does hit differently when it’s late at night and you can’t sleep. So, in an effort to make your night interesting, you head over to your best friend and long-term crushes dorm, seeking to play games. But boy oh boy are you in for a surprise.

WARNINGS!: Voyeurism, Masturbation, Very Spicy stuff. 18+!

Category: Smut

Word Count: 2.8k+

A/N: It’s very late at night, I’m very tired, this fic is weird, thank you.

Just To Clarify:

Reader has a shapeshifting quirk

Reader is female

(f/c) means favorite color

Time is night

Can be any year you want it to be

Part 2

A gentle spring breeze blew in through your opened sliding glass door, (f/c) curtains dancing along with it to the soft beat of crickets chirping in the yard.

The moon was full, shrouding the Earth with her calming white glow. 

The world looked so peaceful during this time of night.

No loud music blasting from Jirou’s room,

No gremlin noises echoing down the hall.

No nothing.

Just the wind, crickets, and the annoying, ever-present sound of you breathing.

It was nice.

Calming, even.

The lights were turned off, leaving the room beautifully exposed to the moon beams making their way in through the glass, curtains, and the open door itself.

Had it not been for the fact that it was only 11:00PM, and that it was indeed a Saturday, you would have been asleep long ago.

But no.

After a full week of exciting activities and horrendous studies, your body was too buzzed from the unusual surplus of sleep to actually feel tired.

You were so full of energy, and yet, now would be the  perfect time to lay down and drift into dreamland, lulled by the sounds of nature.

What’s a teen to do other than to stare blankly at her glow-in-the-dark star covered ceiling, trying to force herself to feel tired?

There was absolutely nothing to do.

A mental checklist popped into your head for the third time that night:

Homework? Completed.

Shower? Taken.

Studying? Finished. 

Perhaps you could study more?

No. The subjects you were currently learning in all of your classes were too boring to attempt to read at this time of night.

You wouldn't fall asleep to the pages droning on about something so infuriatingly bland, rather, you’d just be annoyed and end up slamming the hard-covered textbook closed.

With an exasperated sigh, you rolled onto your side, picking up your phone just to blindly scroll through the same three apps you always used to pass time.

How boring.

This was definitely a waste of time.

Oh!

A dorky smile crept onto your face smooshed into your pillow as a great idea popped into your head.

You could annoy your best friend, Izuku Midoriya!

Yes, he was always awake at this time studying! 

His devotion was admirable, you sat up with a nod at this thought. If only you could follow in his footsteps.

Then again, he liked studying, and you didn’t.

He always seemed so energetic when you studied together, whilst you were trying not to construct another shitty paper airplane with the homework paper.

Maybe you could convince him to play a game? Watch a movie?

You’ve visited his dorm enough times to know he has a PS4 hidden away in his cabinets.

You jumped up, bed creaking beneath the sudden strain as you went about putting on some socks and a very, very thin slip on hoodie. It was almost like one of those slip-on things that were partially see-through that  people would wear at the beach.

Even if you have been friends for years, poor Midoriya never could handle the sight of you in just a tank top.

The weather was never a good excuse, apparently, and it wasnt that bothersome to wear something over you.

It was much cooler than wearing a t-shirt, considering all the ones you owned were thicker than necessary due to them being from cheap stores and not places at the mall or something.

Who needs fancy clothes when those were comfy and fit just fine?

Plus, Seiyu, or ‘The Japanese Walmart’ as Americans liked to call it, was where you got Deku hooked on his horrible fashion sense and love for clothing that displayed it’s legitimate name on it.

You smiled as you finally slipped your white slippers on, he was such a dork.

The only problem left was sneaking out.

It was past curfew, and visiting the boys dorm at this hour would probably get you a one-way ticket to the principal's office if you tried sneaking down and up the stairs.

Times like these are when your quirk truly came in handy - Shapeshifting.

It took a toll on your body when you stayed in a form for more than an hour, but you didn’t plan on being something for more than a few minutes, honestly.

So, cracking your knuckles, you stepped out onto your balcony.

Ah, a distraction.

You couldn't help but lift your head and stare at the moon, not realizing just how vibrant it was tonight, outshining the vast majority of stars. Another breeze swept your hair away from your face, ticking your cheeks as it did so.

Sometimes you need to take a step back and appreciate the little things, right?

But you couldn’t waste much more time, you really, really wanted to beat Izuku at Mario Kart again.

He was so cute when he whines in defeat.

With a giggle, you jumped up onto the ledge, letting the burning hot sensation of your quirk getting ready to work flow through your veins. The bigger the animal you turned into, the more painful it was, but you didn’t need to be big. You needed to be small, a little magpie.

You jumped, a bolt of electricity flashing through your body as your bones crunched around your ears. And just like that, you were now a little black and blue bird fluttering in the sky above your balcony.

It used to be terrifying to try to change whilst jumping, but it didn’t take long for logic to replace fear. Truth or the matter was: it’s easier to change when you’re already in motion.

With a small chirp, you flew around the building, wings flapping every few seconds, suddenly in no real hurry and just enjoying the rush of wind against your feathers.

It didn’t take long to reach Midoriya’s balcony, his bright red curtains easy to spot from a mile away.

His curtains were open partially tonight, though. Good! Maybe you could scare him! 

It was pure evil, trying to scare him, but he typically always caught onto your antics before you had a chance to enact them.

He was quite perceptive!

But maybe, just maybe, if you were lucky, you could.

Still, he didn’t typically have his curtains open. And his door was open too?

Maybe he was taking the chance to bask in the moonlight and breeze as well?

His light wasn’t on..

Oh boy. 

You hoped he wasn't asleep.

You tweeted involuntarily in disappointment at the thought.

Without haste, you swooped down, wings fluttering momentarily as you perched yourself on his balcony’s railing.

Shaking your wings out and settling down on your bird feet, you anxiously peered through the window.

What you saw shocked you to your very core, and it was hard not to shriek at the sight and light sounds being carried out the window.

Izuku Midoriya, your best friend, long-time crush, sweetest and most innocent cinnamon roll you’ve ever known to exist, was currently masturbating on his bed.

His covers were seemingly half-hazardly kicked to the floor, body arched, completely nude, head thrown back into the pillow, and feet digging into his bed as he furiously pumped his cock, hips snapping up to try and match the pace set.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

“Ah~ Ha-ah!  Hah.. Nnhghh..!”

Oh god, oh god!

Why was this so hot!

But no!

This was so, so wrong!

You can’t believe you were watching this!

Your feathers ruffled up in disgust for yourself, how could you stand here, watching this?!

This was a private moment, one solely for Midoriya, and not your peeping eyes!

And yet.

You couldn’t seem to turn your head or fly away.

No, you stood there, taking in the glorious sight and the oh-so sweet sounds he was making.

His jaw hung open, moans spilling from him with every thrust, eyes squeezed shut as he no doubt sunk into the world of his vivid imaginations.

Funnily enough, the moon’s light was shining down on his cock, 

copious amounts of pre-cum glistening on his fingers.

He was so cute.. Even now.

A dark blush stained his cheeks and neck, almost completely hiding away his freckles but shining from the tears streaming down them.

Why was he crying?

Your tail twitched.

Was he.. That sensitive? So lost in pleasure that he didn’t realize he was crying?

You watched in amazement as he spread his toned legs shimmering with sweat wider, his left hand now coming down, teasingly tracing his abs just to feel them twitch, fingers gliding through his forest-green happy trail to cup and massage his balls.

His body jolted, more pre-cum oozing out of his angry-red tip,

“G-gahh! S-so g-oo-d! So goodsogoo-D! Ahh!” He babbled, a thin string of saliva escaping the corner of his mouth.

Your heart was hammering in your tiny chest, knowing how horrible of a human being you were being, how opposite of a hero you were acting, but yet it was hard to find the fucks you had left to give in this predicament.

It wasn’t everyday you get to see such a beautiful sight.

He was so fucking handsome.

His body was practically glowing thanks to the natural light and sweat, and by god he was ripped!

You already knew that before, but seeing his muscles twitch under his skin as he brought himself wave after wave pleasure was a lot different than him swimming laps at the pool.

His unruly green locks were plastered to his sweaty forehead, giving you the best view of his face twisting in pure ecstasy.

You wondered what he was imagining with each moan, wondering who he was thinking of with every thrust.

It was Ochaco, surely, or perhaps Tsu or Momo? Mina, even. They were all such good choiced, even if the thought of him imagining your now sudden rivals made bile creep up your throat.

Maybe..

Just maybe it was you..

The idea sent tingles down your spine.

In truth, he was thinking about you.

This whole thing started unknowingly because of you.

You had worn thigh highs today instead of your usual knee high socks, and all day Midoriya's eyes were glued to your perfect thighs.

He was in heaven with every step you took, eyes hazily staring at how some of your thigh spilled over the edge.

He wanted to touch them so bad, feel the soft skin in his palms, massage them, kiss them, hold them open as he sunk his throbbing member into your dripping heat.

He wanted you so bad.

It was a challenge to last this long, waiting till Aoyama and Mineta were fast asleep before he could indulge in his fantasies.

He was no stranger to fantasies about you, often having them a few times a month for nearly two years now.

You were just so perfect and beautiful..

His hand glided up and down his cock faster, the other one leaving his full balls just to go and play with his hard nipples and ground himself a bit.

He was so lost, his usually very observant self didnt even hear the flapping of wings or feel the birds’ stare on him as he worked himself to his imagination.

In his head, you were beneath him, moaning like a slut as he fucked you relentlessly.

Those glorious thighs tightly hugged his hips, desperate to not let him pull away so far from you.

Your breasts bounce with each slam on his hips, nipples red and glistening with saliva as he was previously sucking on them just to hear you squeal from the unfamiliar feeling of teeth and a tongue on your buds.

Your combined moans and the sound of skin slapping against wet flesh made him dizzy with desire.

Your neck was covered in his marks, a sense of pride swelling in his chest at the sight. You were his and those marks proved it. They’d be hard to cover up, the entire class would know you’re his and his alone.

He stared down at your sinful face, tongue flopping out of your mouth, eyes opened and pupils blown wide as you tried to maintain intimate eye contact.

“(Y-Y/N)!” He moaned, body twisting on his sheets.

He was so close, he could feel it. 

The familiar burning sensation of a hot coil twisting around in his stomach, the tensing of his thighs.

He ripped his hand from his nipple just so he could rub his palm in circles over his overly-sensitive head, middle finger occasionally dipping down to rub over his oozing slit.

“Ahhh~! Fuck! F-Fuck! O-oh God! I’m s-so! Ghhnn! Ngnaaahh! I’m so close!!” he cried out.

In his head, you were already pushed to the edge, walls strangling his dick as you screamed his name, orgasm wracking your trembling body, fingernails digging into his scratched up back.

His teary eyes snapped open having been ripped from his fantasy, irises rolling back in his head.

His body was on fire, his cock twitched in his hand before the coil finally burst. 

“(Y/N)!! Ahhh! AHH! I- I lov! You! Ggggh-!”

He was cut off with a loud, guttural moan, white ropes of thick cum spurted from his tip. His body spasmed, hands now clutching the sheets for dear life as the last rope of cum ejaculated from him, coating his heaving tummy and chest in his own white seed. 

Your eyes widened, body trembling as you watched it all go down.

He moaned your name! 

He!

He thought about you, just as you did about him!

The sudden desire to stuff your hand between your human legs throbbed in the back of your head as you watched him try and catch his breath.

It was amazing how much he came.. For such a small dude, no less!

His body fell lax, thighs finally dropping down onto the mattress as he just sat there.

You were about to leave, truly, you were, until you made eye-contact with him.

With his post-orgasm clarity, he finally felt the eyes burning into his skin, making his anxious head snap in the direction of the window.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw a bird, a very common one at that, perched on the railing.

Wait.

He left the window open!? Oh god!

His hands slapped on his cheeks in embarrassment.

He hoped no one heard him!!

He could be so unknowingly loud when in the heat of the moment…

Sniffing his embarrassment down, he reached over, grabbing some tissues to clean himself off with before throwing them in the trash and hopping up to go and rinse himself off in the bathroom.

He was amazed to see the bird still there when he came back out, watching his nude self walk across the room to his Allmight boxers he threw to the floor not long ago.

Why the hell were you still there, you ask? Well, honestly leaving slipped your mind. 

But you couldnt tear your gaze away.. You were so intrusive… but he was so fucking hot.

It was definitely strange to see him walk out of the bathroom nude, and you thanked the gods when he put on boxers. Your body could not handle seeing his flaccid dick swing about, you’d probably die of even more embarrassment.

You hopped back in surprise when a finger suddenly appeared in your little face, behind that finger an innocently smiling Midoriya.

“Hello, little bird~” He cooed softly, voice unusually deep and scratchy from previously screaming his heart out.

Your body was already burning hot beneath all those feathers, but he certainly wasnt helping!

To see him so blissed out, so relaxed after such an intimate thing, it was too much!

You chirped, leaning forward to nuzzle his finger as a good-bye before hopping back to spread your wings, finally gaining the guts to fly the fuck away and back to your dorm.

He stared in wonder as  the bird turned the corner, not giving it’s unusual behavior much thought before going to collapse on his bed for a much needed sleep.

Electricity buzzed through your body again as you flew into your dorm, sloppily transforming back and landing on your ass.

You heaved, shakily propping yourself up on your hands and knees as your body burned in desire, throbbing in places previously nonexistent in your bird form.

Not making the same mistake as dearest Izuku, you shut  and locked your sliding glass door, pulling the curtains closed as you flopped onto your bed, hand immediately burying itself between your thighs.

It was wrong before, and it was even more wrong now, but at the moment, you didn’t care.

You just wanted to sink into the fantasy similar to his own as you lost yourself in pleasure.

You’d deal with the repercussions at a later date, especially since it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it was obviously you on that balcony.

[jazminetoad]

The True Straw Hat Crew AU

Water 7 Arc headcanons (Part 1)

Alright, so at this point we have 24 members of the Straw Hat crew by the time Water 7 takes place. Once again, this is a reference to this → post and the list of characters can be found → here

Ipponmatsu goes with Luffy, Nami, and Usopp to trade in the gold for beris

Now, I believe that since Ipponmatsu is an appraiser himself, they would get more money than 300 million (scam or not, even if it was Nami would back him up)

I'm going to say they get 500 million beris (I mean we need the extra money because I'm pretty sure the giant log raft that was pulling Dorry and Brogy along is also going to be damaged)

Now since Nami and Ipponmatsu both value money, I don't think they would lose 400 million

Nami carrying 100 million, Usopp carrying 200 million, and Ipponmatsu carrying 200 million. (Luffy is still not trusted to carry the money)

We still gotta lose that 200 million for Franky, sorry Usopp but you still get kidnapped (We'll get back to that later)

Now I imagine at this point, Vivi and Robin are okay friends (especially when Aokiji almost froze the archeologist to death) so both of them accompany Chopper to town

Pell would, of course, wish to come along but Vivi reassures him she'll be fine and wants to freely explore the town so he would stay back and guard the Merry with Zoro, Cricket, & Wyper

A polite conversation goes between the trio until Chopper sees book store and speeds to the front asking if they can go inside, the girls giggling at Chopper being adorable

"Come on, Robin" Vivi goes ahead and Robin follows behind her but stops when Blueno(?) walks by muttering "CP9"

Vivi is now in the store so she doesn't notice Robin frozen in place, she sees Chopper reading some books already. The cashier lady makes her comment on Chopper's "costume" and by that time since he is now of aware of his surroundings Chopper would ask Vivi where's Robin.

"I don't know, she was right behind me," Vivi tells him confused, they both look outside and don't see Robin anywhere. This concerns both of them so they go to find her

Alright, I kinda want Boodle, Chouchou, Gaimon, Tonjit, and Shelly to have their own little adventure in the city. It'd mostly be for comic relief. I can see Boodle commenting about the structure of the city and the citizens (because he was a mayor himself) then Gaimon and Tonjit just happy to explore a spectacular area they've never seen before. So yeah, they have a fun time (I also want Boodle to be able to meet Iceburg but that could be saved for Post Enies Lobby)

Now, the Franky Family in the original story try to capture Zoro but fail, in this AU I don't think they could get even close to the Merry without the giants spotting them but let's just say they do (maybe they rolled high on their stealth check)

We don't only have Zoro (who is taking a nap on deck), we also have Pell, Cricket, and Wyper on the Merry (the rest who didn't explore the city are probably chilling in Laboon)

It is safe to say, the Franky Family gets their ass kicked no questions there

Kaku shows up later, once again, mistaken for Usopp. However, Pell, Wyper, and Cricket would be awake for Kaku to properly ask questions and explain he's here to assess the repairs of the ship before Zoro wakes up. I think Zoro would still get hostile when the shipwright tears the floorboards to look at the kilos. (Now I imagine, since the bottom of the kilos is strapped to Laboon, I think it would closer to the front that is damaged) (Yes, Merry is still going have to say goodbye, we need the Sunny) That makes Zoro, Wyper, Cricket, and Pell the first to hear the Merry can't be repaired. Which is sad, I know

Kaku then tells the other shipwrights, Luffy, Nami, and Ippanmatsu after coming back to dock 1

Everything is the same until Nami gets back to the Merry and that's when shit goes down

Now to keep the money even more safe, I imagine they keep it in Laboon, the army base, for safe measures. Ippanmatsu is personally hugging the remaining 300 million

Pell, Vivi, Nami, Boodle, Gaimon, and Crocus are guarding the Merry

Now, you know how badass it was when the monster trio + Chopper just wrecked the Franky house

Imagine this, the door gets knocked down and you see Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Chopper (in full human form), Wyper, Cricket, and Coby (because at this point in the story, I feel like after some training with the others that Coby would be stronger) are there. The family are all scared and shit their pants, and when one of them thinks they could stand against the straw hats

BOOM

The top half of the house is just torn off and thrown across the sea and you see Dorry and Brogy are towering over them

And it was at this moment, the Franky Family knew- They. Fucked. Up.

Cut to Usopp and Luffy's fight, they have more audience. I think the most affected ones here, apart of the new cast, is Coby, Vivi, and Wyper

Wyper because he sees how Usopp is fighting and using the dials, I feel like he would be conflicted. He would be proud of Usopp but at the same time it's a fight between the sniper and the captain

Coby seeing how the two friends who are usually happy-go-lucky to a serious fight and are both putting their lives on the line, because he remembers how serious Luffy was back when they first met and the captain's dream was to become king of the pirates, willing to die for it.

Vivi, as someone who had a civil war in her homeland, now seeing two of her friends fighting in a life or death battle. I can see how much pain that would bring her because her childhood friend was leader of the rebel army that was going to attack the palace, so this fight is going to affect her.

Of course, everyone is affected but I'm just adding that because that's how I see their emotions

Usopp still loses but keeps the Merry (they're going to have to try and get her off Laboon which may damage it more but for simplistic sake let's just say it doesn't)

The straw hats aren't going to have to rent out hotel rooms, no, they have Laboon for that. The whale is a mini army base, they don't need to worry about space. They're still going to get a new pirate ship because what's the king of the pirates without his grand ship

Now when they get the news Iceburg was shot, Vivi and Boodle are going along with Luffy and Nami because they also have their own civilization they take care of so I just feel they would try to help Iceburg.

With Vivi being a princess of Alabasta, I don't see a problem with the straw hats getting into dock 1 because she's of high status (not exactly a celestial dragon but a princess nonetheless) but Franky interrupts this then he and straw hat fight

When the foremen come outside to take care of Luffy (and Franky but mainly Luffy), accusing the boy of attacking Iceburg, Vivi and Boodle would step in and say "No, Luffy is not the kind of pirate that would do that. Luffy save our homes." (With Vivi I think it'd be more reassuring since she is a princess)

Now, Paulie, Lulu, and Tilestone would second guess themselves because things aren't adding up (I would mention that the straw hats are just a group of teens but in this AU they aren't all teens)

Lucci and Kaku on the other hand, are like "shit" because they weren't expecting a freaking princess (& mayor) to be apart of the crew so framing the straw hats is going to be a little harder. Especially when both Vivi and Nami mention they haven't seen Robin since yesterday.

I'm sure they wouldn't have to worry too much because it was mainly them (& Kalifa) that we're jumping to the conclusion the straw hats as a whole did this so they weren't letting Luffy or the others get a chance to explain Robin or themselves.

We then cut to Chopper and Sanji hearing about Aqua Laguna (they of course attempt to warn Usopp) but then there's the concern of Laboon. Well, it's not too much to worry about because Laboon can dive deep underwater. They still have to warn the others (and of course then they find Robin which leads to Sanji's side quest)

Part 2 will be coming soon

[baejax-the-great]

Listen op... What about rivalmances á lá Dragon Age 2... But it's Mass Effect instead? How'd you think it'd go?

Ohh, this is an interesting question.

So definitely some of the romantic interests favor a renegade or paragon path, right? Like, Garrus, Ash, and Miranda are arguably renegade choices, Kaidan generally argues in favor of paragon choices. But there's no approval system (beyond some ME1 stuff). Everyone is always willing to bone down if you ask.

The truth is, I didn’t love rivalmances in DA2. It’s an interesting concept, being in a toxic relationship with someone who doesn’t share any of your beliefs and possibly doesn’t believe in your humanity, but I don’t know man. Like Merrill deserves better actually. I’ve never actually seen the Isabela rivalmance but just those words together put a bad taste in my mouth.

While I find it odd sometimes that your decisions in ME don’t affect how your companions respond to you (you can say some seriously anti-alien shit in ME1 for example, with your alien companions standing behind you just shrugging), I think the context for the major decisions is pretty different.

Most of the paragon/renegade decisions early on don’t directly affect your companions. They are frequently ethical, but not political. Killing the rachni queen doesn't invalidate biotics as people or even speak of Shep’s beliefs regarding other species. Everyone agrees the rachni are a dangerous unknown who almost wiped out the other races. Kaidan might disagree with killing her, but if you go against his advice, you aren't indicating you think he should be imprisoned for his abilities (as a templar-aligned Hawke might when making their decisions).

The decisions that I think the companions would have the most emotional response to (the genophage? Rannoch?) occur in ME3, when everyone is at all-out war with the Reapers. And you can, uh, utterly destroy relationships with the people directly involved in those quests. For everyone else, Shepard is making decisions on the fly about how to defeat the Reapers, and frankly any fallout from those decisions would probably happen after the dust had settled.

And honestly, I think some of that would be great to explore. Can Shepard live with themself with the consequences of the destroy ending? With the consequences of their genophage cure? If they side with the geth on Rannoch and then choose destroy? Like... the war was won, but as Kaidan says, you have to live with how it went down. I would not be shocked to find out Shepard and their LI break up in peace time.

At some point in Mass Effect, everyone is just maxed-out emotionwise, and they aren’t in a place to judge wtf Shepard is doing. Companions and other NPCs routinely admit to Shepard they have no idea what they would do in their position. And again, I think the fact that Shepard is a (very successful) leader in a war against a specific enemy vs just some very sexy hick from Lothering fucking up Kirkwall for the hell of it changes how the companions are going to see their decisions. Doing something because it’s strategically the right call in the fate of the galaxy even if it’s fucked up is not the same as dicking around Lowtown trying to scrounge up cash.

For my own personal preference, I’m glad there isn’t a rivalmance, though I think I wouldn’t be opposed to some sort of approval system (some of these thirsty companions come on a LITTLE strong in ME1 like wow cool your jets). The ME romances are built on respect (mostly). In DA2? It's like, okay, your very actions go against my core beliefs as a person and threaten my safety/autonomy, but you're so sexy aha.

But hey that’s just me.

Okay nonnie I wrote this whole thing and then thought about your  actual question-- how would it go?

So now I’m trying to imagine Liara who like, despises Shep but still wants to embrace eternity and like... how does that go? “You’re so stupid, please let me see into your mind. Goddess, it’s so empty, I have never felt such peace.”

It’s harder with Garrus because he is SO amenable to being swayed by paragon Shep. He’s practically begging to be realigned, and we know he likes it when women are a little bit mean to him. I don’t know that it’s possible to rivalmance this cricket.

Kaidan frankly seems like the one most possible to rivalmance. Like, fuck, you go against every moral value I hold, but you are so stupidly sexy and somehow everything always works out anyway and I’m angry about it. Eat this steak you absolute monster.

I have no idea how you would rivalmance Sam without just being mean to her. Hard pass.

I also think rivalmancing Tali would... be ugly. I don’t like the idea. Like getting her to face the very warped history her people taught her, sure, but siding with the Geth every time, or witholding the things she needs to succeed, or breaking her trust on her loyalty mission... idk man. That just seems toxic. And I am pretty sure if you fail Thane’s loyalty mission, you can’t romance him, so I’m guessing that’s true of Tali, too.

The ME2 companions don’t... totally give a shit what you are up to? Like Jack, Jacob and Thane come to mind as not having a very strong stance on most of what you are doing. You’d have to completely retool their characters to suddenly have very strong opinions on a lot of random shit. (and like, why *would* Jack care if you rewrite or destroy the geth hub? Also don’t rivalmance Jack????)

So... I dunno, there is potential there for sure, but I think having so many romanceable characters and a game that doesn’t revolve around a single moral issue makes it harder.

[waywardsoulahead]

Another short vore story because I got bored and decided to finish it I hope you enjoy

Please do not edit or change the story)

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Clover was out for a late night walk near the woods as the sounds of the night surrounded her. She could hear the chirping of crickets and occasional hooting of owls.

*Man it sure is dark*, she thought to her self. She should probably hurry back, she wouldn’t want to be out here all by herself for too long.

As she continued along a small dog came running out in front of her and darted off into the forest.

“Hey! Where are you going! Come back!” She ran off after the dog into the forest but as she did she eventually lost sight of the dog and realize she had gotten lost.

She didn’t know what to do. She lost the dog and her way back! She started to panic. “Hello? Is anyone there?”.

Nobody responded as she continued to walk around and call for help hoping to find her way back.

"Oh god What do I do now?.....i guess i Better pick a direction and start walking...".

As she walked the trees blocked out the moonlight making it darker and harder to see as she went along as it began to start raining

"Shit why now" she start to run looking for cover but as she ran she came across a cave and quickly went inside and begin to take her jacket off and squeeze the water out of it.

But as she went inside it began raining harder as a bolt of lightning struck the ground not too far away and it was clear the ring was going to be here for a while.

"Dang it...... At least I have the cave.... at least I can stay partially dry" She sat down to wait for the storm to pass.

After about 15 minutes though she had gotten bored and decided to go further into the cave to look around.

She start to see something deep inside as she went towards it looking around.

As she got closer to it She could hear the sound of water dripping as she entered an open area of the cave filled with clear clean water.

She began to get more nervous, but keep going but as she kept going she eventually headed down a different Corridor of the cave where she found something sleeping that appeared to be a large snake with a gray and white pattern along its tail.

"Yikes~!"she love snakes, and the discovery of one this big would rock the scientific world! But still it looks like it could swallow her whole without a problem. She took a couple steps closer, and froze.

As she continued to looking she eventually noticed that there was something off about the snake, where it head would usually be it instead had the upper half of a human.

She was extremely shocked and Confused as she looked at the large and strange snake "what the~!?".

As she got closer she began to remembered something she read in a fantasy book about snakes and how thay have the upper body of a human called nagas "that's impossible~....But they couldn’t be real, could they?~".

She now found herself walking closer again as she was now close enough to see the color of its hair which was a dark grayish blue she moved a bit closer accidentally kicking a small pile of rocks making a loud noise that echoed throughout the cave.

"Shit. Shit shit shit.!" She hesitated for a second as the snake woke up with a hiss before She turn and run as fast as she could with no plans to stop.

As she did so she heard a nether hiss as she ran out of the corridor and began running back into the entrance of the cave but she slipped and immediately got back up"fuck~".

She looked behind her to see the large snake looking at her but it didn't appear to be chasing her but she began to run again.

As she continue running out of the cave she was unsure if it was following her but still ran out into the ring she still didn't stop but Lucky enough as she kept running for a little bit she eventually saw a pathway that led back into the village where she lived.

She feelt reliefed but she don’t slow down or stop running.

As she reach the edge she heard a loud growl for behind her.

She froze again as she know she shouldn’t have as she turned around.

She turned around slowly to see that the large snake was now only a couple feet away from her as its eyes shined as a flash of lightning struck the ground allowing her to see them for a second she was frozen in awe and fear as she had a million things she want to do, but she do none of them.

The large snake move closer to her as she was now towering above her as it looked at her confused on why she weren't running

She don’t know what to do. The snake is beautiful and powerful and it could kill her easily.

The large snake looked at her as it tilted his head.

She continued looking at the snake Frozen as her eyes wandered around his body as she looked at it.

The snake hissed again as she realized another thing the snake was a female as out of nowhere her mind went back to the book as she remembered the females were called lamnia's, she took a step back from the snake turning to run again but she was quickly grabbed by the neck and slammed into a tree as the snake didn't let go of her.

She started to cry and coughing in pain as she was slammed into the tree “P-please!!! I’ll do a-anything!!... j-just don't kill m-me please!!”.

" anything......what can a human have to offer me....".

She astounded that the lamia can talk, but she keep crying “anything! There must be something!!”.

She growled more as she continued to growl as she just looked at her.

She held the laminas wrist with her hands as she was struggling to breathe slightly" p-please!!....anything you want at all you can have it!!".

She let go of her but quickly began to coil around her " there is nothing you can offer me you dug this braids for yourself by snooping around".

Clover didn't even fight back as she was coiled around as she was breathing heavily "I'm sorry if I-i knew you w-were in there I wouldn't have looked I would have stayed at the e-entrance and waited for the rain to stop".

The lamia just hissed at her almost as if she wasn't buying the story as she got closer to Clover face.

Clover shut her eyes and fear not knowing what was going to happen as the snake growled more "p-p-please I'm sorry~".

The snake looked at her and narrowed her eyes as she hissed again as she opened her mouth and lightly licked the side of her face.

Clover quickly began squirming again as she began to cry more " wa-wait what are you doing w-why did you li-lick me?"

She stared at her for a minute just looking over her entire body that she had a firm grasp on as she opened her mouth in front of clover wide enough for her to see the back of her throat

Clovers eyes widened as she began panicking " wait h-h-h-hold on!"

She pushed clovers head into her mouth without a second thought as the lamia begin to gently lick her face and neck holding her head in saliva

Clover began to thrash around crying more as the lamnia just pushed her in deeper to wear her head was at the back of her throat as she continued to Slick her down

she surprised by this even though she knew what was coming. Everything changes the instant it happens. It gets harder to breathe and the air is hot, humid and dripping with drool. The light goes out and all she can feel is flesh pressing into her head from every angle. But she's somewhat grateful for the part of her body that’s free on the outside, even though she know it won’t last long.

The sound of the rain was muffled but you could still hear but that didn't last long before she swallowed pulling clovers head into her throat as everything tensed up around your head as her shoulders were drugged in to the lamias mouth but

As the world’s sound faded she instead heard her heartbeat, and her breathing

There was a tight pressure around her shoulders as they began sliding into her throat as she swallowed again forcing you down deeper into her throat as Clover continue to struggle powered by the thought of her immediate death and that no one would know what happened to her The snake gave a large swallow pulling her hips into her mouth as her legs were now the only thing left outside as she felt her takeing her shoes off and the grip of her tail on her body shift to her ankles

As she tilted her head back and swallowed again dragging clovers hips down her throat as she continue to struggle even though she knew there was no point as gravity began to drag her down further as her head pushed into the lamias stomach.

clover was still somewhat astonished that the snake was able swallow her whole like this but as soon as she pushed into this creature stomach she squeeze her eyes shut as only a couple seconds later her shoulders and upper chest slid in to the stomach as she was still crying

"This can’t be happening!!" She looked around frantically as she felt her legs slide into the creature's throat "PLEASE LET ME GO!!" As soon as her arms we're free almost immediately her legs entered the stomach as she was forced to curl up as she immediately began to kick and hit at the stomach walls but that was quickly short-lived as everything around her tensed up as she was pushed deeper down into the lamias second stomach as the lamia sighed and stretched " I'll come on don't give up now~"

Clover was breathing heavily as she was confused as she used her hands to push against the stomach walls as a light purple glowing liquid was present in the stomach as she swallowed nervously "pl-please just let m-me go"

She began to feel movement as the creature headed back to her cave.

It feels weird being in her stomach while she slithers. She could feel here move side to side and the bumpy ground beneath her as She just gave up

She closed her eyes and side as everything moved around her as she listened to the creatures soft heartbeat along with the occasional growls from its stomach that pressed against her as for a little while they continue to move as the creature was heading back to her cave. after a while the lamia eventually got back to the cave heading inside and going down the same Corridor to where she was sleeping before and laid down coiling around herself a little and resting her head down on the slight bulge Clover made in her stomach " what made you think going into a random cave with a good idea"

She was a bit shocked that she’s talking to her again! “I was going for a walk by my house and I saw a dog and chased after it and then I lost it and got lost.”

She laughed "well lucky for me then"

“W-wait! why’d you ask me if you didn’t care?!” she start to panic more “please talk to me! I don’t want to die alone!”

"Well if you think about a deer you're not necessarily alone" she laughed

Clover was terrified. “Am I go-going to die?” she ask weakly

Everything around her tensed up again "it depends hun"

“W-what do I have to do?” she was try not to sound desperate but she really was

She sighed "why do you want to live that bad"

She didn’t know what to say “well w-wouldn’t you?! H-how would you like it if I swallowed and killed you out of nowhere?! I bet y-you don’t want to die!”

As she spoke a light purple liquid that glows began to show up more" well to be frank you are the one who Disturbed me"

"I w-was only there to g-get out of the rain!"i didn’t m-mean to wake you up!.... Also, you didn’t answer my q-question"

She growled a little bit "I don't have to answer your questions I don't have to talk to you at all"

"But I n-need to live!! H-how can I get you to release me?!"

She sighed and though for a second " I don't know.... let me think on it.... it's late you should probably get to sleep"

Clover was confused "but I'll d-die if I stay in here you'll just D-digest me without a second thought!"

She sighed and rolled her eyes "listen just shut up and pass out or something!... you'll be fine for the night!" The lamia sounded like she was getting aggravated

Clover swallowed nervously as she did nothing but nod knowing that she was just going to have to trust this creature ".....ok...."

(-To be continued-)

(I hope you enjoyed this story it took absolutely forever to write)

[nav-arre]

Hang the Stars, and Name Them Too

Read on AO3

It was cold. It wasn’t winter, or he wouldn’t be here, but it put an anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach regardless. Three months until he left for Kaer Morhen, and yet there he was, bundled up in his bedroll, an extra blanket stuffed inside, letting the warmth of the campfire linger on his face for at least an hour longer than he would have normally. Geralt lay there silently.

Jaskier, however, did not.

The topic of conversation had moved from Roach, who earlier had snatched Jaskier’s last apple and eaten it in record time, to apples, to orchards, to the unseasonable weather, to …wind, maybe? To the moon, to stars, to the sky, and now to Jaskier’s Oxenfurt days.

“Really, though, I don’t think I should have earned half as good a mark as I did. I’m not knocking my abilities! Well, I am though, but only in Astronomy. I only did so well because Adrien let Essi and I borrow his astrolabe last minute. Pretty little thing, I think it was his grandfather’s; don’t you just love seeing little trinkets like that passed down through the generations?”

“Hmm.”

It was one of the nice things about traveling with Jaskier. It had taken Geralt a long time, years longer than it should have, maybe, to figure out what Jaskier wanted from him. The answer was nothing. Perhaps ‘nothing’ was a bit too simplistic, but Jaskier had really meant it when he’d said he just wanted to see the world, write some songs, travel the Path. He wasn’t after a conversation partner, or even someone to listen, necessarily. Frankly, Jaskier hadn’t even been looking for someone to be kind to him, which put a discomfort in Geralt that he didn’t bother addressing. So Jaskier would talk, and Geralt would allow it to wash over him, and if it happened to keep his mood up even when things got difficult on the Path, well, that was fine.

A wind picked up, strong enough that Geralt felt a chill run down his body, as wrapped up as it was. The fire flickered for a moment, bending against the wind and slowly climbing back as the air around them settled. He tossed a glance at Jaskier. After years of traveling with Geralt, the bard’s bedroll was a least sufficiently packed; warm, largely weatherproof, and, when they had time to stop by a market, scented. But even still, he could see Jaskier shudder against the cold with a small wince.

It wasn’t that Geralt didn’t think of Jaskier as human, it’s just that he preferred not to follow the line of thought. Early on, he’d pointedly remind himself every time they crossed paths; Jaskier was human, Jaskier was no different than any other human, Jaskier would either turn on him, or grow tired of him, or, at the very least, one day grow old, or get injured, and die. And Geralt would have to move on, without him. Years later, it had become more and more difficult, especially as they spent longer stretches together.

The thoughts of Jaskier turning on him had faded fairly quickly— if nothing else, Jaskier was loyal to a fault. It had taken years for him and Yennefer to get close, and longer still to not worry when she and Geralt fell back into bed together, time and time again. Geralt was grateful the two had moved on, even if they were an absolutely devious pair.

The thought that the bard would grow tired of traveling with him faded as well; much as Jaskier complained, Geralt had learned he needed to be a bit dramatic to let off energy, to not keep the frustration inside him. It was always surface level.

By the time the final options were all that was left, Geralt had just… stopped thinking about them so much. He didn’t like to think of Jaskier as a fragile thing. He didn’t feel fragile. He felt whole, and solid, and there in a way very few people had felt before. Most everyone felt like wisps of smoke, here and gone before Geralt had really registered them; his bard was not.

“…and, in any case, I don’t think he knows what he’s talking about anyway, but I wish I did know, just so I could write something scathing to have published in a journal. Maybe that’s what I’ll spend the winter doing, hmm? Learning about the stars just to tell Valdo fucking Marx his song is off. Is that awfully petty? I know it’s petty, but is it overboard? Before you answer, I want you to know I respect your opinion, but I may not care about what you say; this is almost certainly happening. But I do want the approval.”

Geralt snorted a laugh, and Jaskier gave a small giggle in response. All was quiet for a moment, and Geralt turned his gaze skyward. The clouds passed over the moon quickly, and a few bats flew to some nearby trees, wings flapping excitedly. A cricket chirped somewhere south of them, Roach was nibbling on some grass, and Jaskier’s heartbeat was pleasingly calm and steady. He still itched to pack up and start heading North, but the constancy of his bard kept him anchored. More clouds moved aside and then the sky was open above them, hundreds of stars glinting down.

“Wow,” Jaskier said, and that was enough. The night sky was irreplaceable, and even Jaskier knew when to let things speak for themselves.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed again in response. They lay there in silence again. Geralt wasn’t really good at showing affection, and his gestures of appreciation were more often practical than frivolous. But the stars had given him an idea, and though Jaskier had never asked for kindness, Geralt liked giving it when he could. Time had softened him, a bit. “Come here.”

Jaskier looked over at him, bemused, but Geralt simply gave a ‘come here’ motion with his head.

“Alright, alright. Give me a second, and if it’s bumpy over there I’m moving right back, do you hear me?” and Jaskier shuffled over, head inches away from Geralt’s own.

Bracing for a moment before the chill, Geralt maneuvered his top half just out of his bedroll to point up at the sky. “Polaris, Sirin, Caph, Alpheratz, Hadar, Octantis, Elviran— you know where those are?”

“Oo!! Okay, a lesson on the stars, yes, let me see, ah—” and slowly, Jaskier pointed them all out one by one. “Got that, I think. Directional stars I remember, only way to figure out my way half the time.”

“Mmm. Do you know their constellations?”

Jaskier blinked. “I absolutely do not. I mean. Vaguely, maybe? They’re somewhere in my brain, probably.”

Geralt smiled and pointed up. “So, Caph—” Which was directly above them, “Is part of the Dragon constellation. It’s the eye, see it?” Geralt traced a rudimentary image of a dragon with his pointer figure, and Jaskier’s eyes followed dutifully.

“Alright so,” Jaskier said, wiggling a bit out of his own bedroll and a bit closer to Geralt’s, for warmth. He pointed up. “So that’s the eye, and then this— this is the neck?”

“The nose,” Geralt corrected.

“Neck, nose, all the same really—”

“The same? I feel sorry for your bed partners.”

Jaskier swatted his hand. “Oh, hush. Now— now so that’s the— oh, oh! Oh, this is the foot here, isn’t it? And that’s the wing and that’s the— Oh, Melitele I actually see it now,” he said softly.

“Mmm. Want the story?”

“The— the st— yes of course I want the story, Geralt, who do you think I am?! You’ve been holding back on stories from me, I knew it.”

“If you’d paid attention in your Astronomy class, you might already know it.”

“Yes, but then you wouldn’t be the one to tell it to me, and that’s far more fun.” He snuggled back into his bedroll. “Alright, Alright, Tell me.”

So, he did. Eskel had always been better at telling stories, and Lambert had always made them more exciting, but Geralt remembered the details well enough and made sure not to skip the parts he knew the bard would most enjoy. But nobody told the stories like Vesemir, who had read every version, studied every line, translated a few copies himself. He knew every detail, made sure to preserve them all in his library, but most enjoyed telling the version he’d been taught as a boy, before even his own trials. Those were the versions he'd tell his wolves gathered around a fire in the dead of winter, sipping on something warm, all kept close to him.

The story came to him more naturally than he had expected. Geralt figured it was easier to tell stories that weren’t your own— no need to hide the pain or the details that stung your eyes. No obligation to the truth, if you didn’t know it. Really, it didn’t matter if the stories attached to constellations had any truth to them, the only truth that mattered was that they had been passed down for generations. So, myths, legends— Geralt could enjoy those, to an extent. Telling his own stories— there was nothing to tell, was there?

When he’d taught the constellations to a much younger Ciri, she had always wanted to add in her own details, change the stories and make them her own. Maybe that was its own sort of tradition.

“…so, they shuffled around the stars, and made the constellation,” Geralt finished and then pointed to a small cluster of stars just below it. “There’s the apple.”

“You hear that Roach? An apple you can’t reach,” Jaskier said, muffled by his bedroll. “That was really good, Geralt.”

“Mm. My brother tells it better. And Vesemir tells it best.”

“It’s like—” Jaskier yawned. “It’s like the astrolabe a little then, isn’t it? It’s the thing you pass down. I know Witchers aren’t especially materialistic, but this, you have. It’s,” he paused, looking anywhere but at Geralt, “It’s nice. You can’t lose a story.”

“Mmm.”

“I think that’s really why I like writing songs so much,” Jaskier said quietly. “Nobody can really take that from you, can they? It gets remembered. Even if it’s changed, it keeps getting passed along. Not everybody even has to like the story, it’s just got to be someone. Anyone can tell you you’re going to be forgotten, but that way you really can’t be.” Jaskier shifted. So did his mood.

“Now, I don’t— I, I mean, a songwriter, a writer of any kind, a storyteller, really, that’s all you need, they’re going to be remembered more than many kings and queens and earls and duchesses and so on and so forth. You don’t have to be some powerful person to be remembered! You don’t! You tell a story, and really, it sticks there. In fact! The people who hear it don’t even have to know they like it or say they like it!” Geralt smelled Jaskier’s anxiety rising, tart, and sour, and his heart had begun to race.  

“Jaskier.”

“I mean, really,” he continued, allowing no pause for Geralt, “Nobody will care about some obscure law or edict or whatever. This, this is the way you can be rememebered. You tell stories and you write things that make the world maybe a fraction of a kinder place to be, and that, that, you won't get forgotten like that. There’s always someone who will hear it, and remember, and tell someone else, and if it’s good enough, you know, really good enough, people care about getting it right, about remembering what you said, and how you said it. Right? Even—” he sped up a bit, the same nervous energy he got when he knew Geralt would reject his idea to stay at an inn, or when he asked to divert their travels to stop for a Bardic competition.

“I mean, even Yennefer once told me that at Aretuza the students stay up all night sometimes, telling versions of the same myth they heard growing up, trying to compare versions from all over the Continent and figure out how much could be true. What the original story was. Tracing them all back. Finding themselves, finding other mages, discovering feelings or experiences they thought they were alone in having. But the storyteller knew, or the characters knew, or someone, somewhere in the past, they knew. And you feel less alone and so you hold onto it. And then you remember the person who told it to you and then in some way you remember the person who told it to them, and back and back and back to the very first person who told it. I don’t know, it’s nice, right? Keeping someone else close like that, even if you never met,” he finishes, almost breathless. He waits a beat. “Even when you’re gone.”

There was a silence. Geralt’s hand had yet to retreat back to his bedroll, and Jaskier’s breath had begun to be visible right above his lips. Geralt closed his eyes. He knew Jaskier, knew he was waiting for Geralt to shut him down, even playfully. But he didn’t have the heart.

“Mm. You’re right, for once,” He said, voice gruff with tiredness. If Geralt had been expecting a playful retort from Jaskier, it never came. They lay there, side by side, and watched a lone cloud roll by.

The sounds of the evening fell around them. Roach let out a small huff, and Jaskier’s heartbeat slowed a bit. Geralt’s itch to move was still there, his thoughts still gravitating back to the halls of Kaer Morhen, but Jaskier’s warmth kept him steady.

“We should put out the fire,” said Jaskier softly.

Geralt just looked at him for a moment— his gaze was still skyward, his eyes a little lost. It didn’t happen often, but it reminded Geralt of just how little he knew about his bard, sometimes. He knew everything and nothing. Jaskier didn’t talk about his past much, save Oxenfurt, and Geralt was fine to leave it that way. And then occasionally Jaskier would look lost, like now, and he’d wonder.

“Mm.” Geralt agreed. The fire, he noticed, was dimming on its own. “…One more?”

“Hmm?” Jaskier asked after a moment, confused.

“One more constellation?” Geralt asked. “There are plenty.”

Jaskier blinked at him, once, twice. “You’re talkative tonight.” He’d been more talkative for ages now. One of Yenn’s more positive influences. Ciri’s, too. Ironically, Jaskier’s chattiness usually enabled his desire to keep silent. But there was something else in that moment that he wasn’t willing to name, easing his way.

Geralt shrugged. “Some nights it's easier.” He looked at Jaskier. “Some nights are harder. Just happens.”

“…Yeah. Ah, yes, yes please, another tale would be lovely. Bedtime stories with Geralt! Perfect way to end the night.”

“Elviran?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier was quick to pull his hand out again and point it out. “Good. That’s Lara & Cregan— it’s where their hands join.” He pointed to the left, “That’s Lara,” and to the right, “That’s Cregan."

“Ah! Yes, this one I actually know, I wrote a song all about them at Oxenfurt. It wasn’t terribly good— I should rewrite that one, actually, now that you’ve mentioned it. An elf and a mage, the bridge between cultures, all dashed to pieces… it’s a good story! I mean, tragic, I almost hope it’s not true at all, but a good story is a good story.” Many years ago, Geralt would have been fooled by Jaskier’s deceptively cheery tone, but he knew his bard well enough now.

“Mm. Sirin?” He asked.

Jaskier pointed the star out once again and said, “That’s the wolf one, though I’m afraid I don’t know more than that.”

“That’s the chest— the head is here—”

“Do you mean— wait, I can’t see. Is it the—”

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and guided it along the unseen lines of the constellation. Both their hands were so cold it didn’t even register as such, and Jaskier’s head twisted to see the stars from another angle, hitting the side of Geralt’s neck. “Oh— oh! Oh, I see, so—” and then Jaskier’s hand, still gripped in Geralt’s own, had begun leading them both excitedly. “So, head, this is the head, yes? And then Sirin is the chest, and the legs go here, and then the tail is this way? Okay yes, yes, yes, absolutely, I am on board with the star dog, I see him now. Is this a special one for Witchers? Wolf Witchers like yourself, at least?”

“Mm,” Geralt hummed, and went to nod, but knocked his chin into Jaskier’s head a bit. He let it rest a moment in the soft hair, the breath from his nose hitting back at him, warming his face.  

“He always caught what he hunted,” Geralt began, and let Jaskier’s hand warm his own. Or, maybe he was the one who warmed Jaskier’s hand, it was hard to tell. The two were truly huddled now, Jaskier’s head rested comfortably in the crook between Geralt’s chin and shoulder, and their bedrolls nearly overlapped. He used their joined hands to point out more of the constellations, more stars, and eventually, Jaskier made the simple but somehow stunning gesture of interlacing their fingers together. It was practical, it was easier to guide Jaskier’s hand around that way, but then, Geralt hadn’t needed to do that, had he. Just wanted to, he supposed. He continued the myth as Jaskier’s heartbeat slowed, and their hands got somewhere close to truly warm. It was just returning the favor, he reasoned; every day they had traveled together, Jaskier talked and allowed his words to hang in the air, not expecting a response or even acknowledgment; now it was his turn. After all, Geralt more than most understood the value in someone trusted filling the silence.

By the time he was finished, Jaskier’s arm had turned a bit heavy and they were both nearly asleep. Geralt let their hands come down to rest between them, though still outside the bedrolls, which was just too cold to maintain. But neither moved.

“You really are good at that,” Jaskier said eventually.

“Not like Vesemir. Or you.”

“Yes, well I’ve had lots of practice. You’re good at it, really.”

“Hmm.”

“Thank you, by the way. I’m sorry I— it just happens, you know—”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“Thank you, still,” Jaskier said, and a moment later he had untangled their hands, and it slipped away as though it had never been there at all. The itch the cold brought, to pack up and move on, head North, returned. He tried not to think about it. The cold settled around them, and Geralt put out the fire with a wave of his hand while Jaskier, head still nestled under the witcher’s chin, let out a soft breath. Geralt adjusted his arm back into his bedroll, and relished the warmth the fur inside brought; it was never the same as the contact with skin, but at least this was familiar, and didn’t promise to leave him one day.

“Geralt?” Jaskier whispered, as though they weren’t pressed up against each other. He felt the breath on his neck and tried not to think about the ghost of a touch. “Would you mind if I— You’re warm and— ah, fuck it,” he mumbled, and suddenly Geralt felt Jaskier shift his body to lie on his side. A warm, calloused hand slip between Geralt's bedroll and landed on his chest, sitting just below his medallion. “I’ll move if you mind, but your bedding has fur, and—”

He didn’t think about it, really. He just reached up and grabbed Jaskier’s hand with his own, kept it safe and warm between his own hand and his chest. For a moment, it was as if the night held its breath. Geralt thought about how rarely Jaskier’s fingers stood still, and waited for something to break.

Jaskier exhaled softly, and Geralt could feel his smile against his shoulder. “This is nice,” he said, not a whisper but still almost lost on the light breeze that blew past.

“It’s cold,” Geralt said, because it was all he could think to say. It was Jaskier’s turn to hmm a response, and soon Jaskier’s breathing had evened out, and sleep finally claimed him. Geralt followed soon after, the itch to move finally settled, a warmth blooming within him.

In the morning, they’d slid apart from each other as they always did after nights they’d huddled close. It wasn’t that unusual; sometimes it grew cold, even in nicer inns. Sometimes it was something else unspoken, the need to hold, or be held, and it had always just been allowed to exist between them, a quiet reality. This had been something else, and he’d feared the worst when he woke. But whatever existed in that nebulous space, whatever had been built the night before didn’t feel quite broken to Geralt, at least not yet. He had been braced for impact, even if it were small, and yet… the day felt… delicate, not fragile. Jaskier’s mood was lifted considerably from the night before, and was happy to go on about how all the talk of myths and constellations had him dreaming up a new song. And eventually, a new idea entirely.

“Alright! New goal,” the bard said as they walked the Path, the sun high in the sky, chill of the evening prior replaced by a pleasant breeze. Roach walked between them, soaking up the sun and setting some safe distance between the two travelers. Jaskier let his fingers dance over the strings of his lute as he spoke. “I’m getting you a constellation. It’s happening! Do they still make those, actually? When was the last time we got a new constellation? I think it’s far past time for a new one, don’t you think?”

Geralt’s brow furrowed. “That’s not how it works.”

“You know, people have been saying that to me my whole life, and I’ve never listened. And now look where I am!” he strummed a few notes. “Valdo Marx wants to write a song about stars, he can do what he likes. But I’m getting you a constellation. Another crown jewel in my legacy.”

“If it’s your legacy, why would I be the constellation?”

Jaskier waved him off. “Oh, you’re far more memorable. More adventures, more stories. Really, now that I’m thinking about it, if I really work at it I think I could write enough that they’d make a constellation for Yennefer, too. Maybe Ciri as well, but I think another bard might have to come and finish what I started with her. She’s so young! Do you ever think about that Geralt? I know she’s grown, but Melitele, she’s still so young.”

If a pit had formed in his stomach, he didn’t mention it. “I’m not sure you’d be able.”

“You doubt my skills, after all these years? Geralt please, my stubbornness is outdone only by your own. I’m a master bard. Crafting myth is my bread and butter.” Roach huffed, and Jaskier squinted. “I’m going to choose to believe that was an agreement, but you’re still on thin ice, miss. I haven’t forgotten your apple-related crimes.”

“You could manage all three,” Geralt allowed, hiding a smirk. “But you wouldn’t have time to sleep with anyone. So I don’t think you will.”

“Rude!” Jaskier exclaimed, “Rude, terrible, you’re so cruel to me. I write you songs, I make you famous, surely I’m allowed a dalliance or two!”

“Or ten.”

“How could you ever imply— I’ll have you know my reputation is impeccable, in many social circles—”

“Twenty. More in the winter.”

“This is— this is friendship treason. And here I was, thinking we had grown closer last night! Listen, I may not be alive to see it, but when you inevitably get that damn constellation, you better remember it was me that put you up there.”

It was all fun, really it was. But it was like Jaskier had shone a light on the delicate thing, and Geralt didn’t really know what to do with it. He tried to remember the truths about Jaskier he used to recite to himself. He’d grow old, he’d die. He’d be remembered, but Geralt would have one fewer constant in his life. And still, he’d spend his life hanging stars in Geralt’s honor.

“…with the way things are now,” Jaskier said as Geralt tuned back in. “See I couldn’t do it this winter, I don’t think, I’m fairly set on the course, and much as I love scrapping everything and starting again, I really am trying to get in the new headmaster’s good graces. Her name is Beatrice— have I mentioned her? — A goddess, truly, but she comes from the history department so she’s far more structured than we are. Actually, history, mythology, sort of the same almost, don’t you think? I’d have a good shot at convincing her to let me teach it next year. Wait! Let’s think of names. A good course must have a good name, it’s where half my colleagues go wrong. Okay, I go first, You’re second. Roach can go third if she likes. How about— how about, ‘Hanging the Stars: Crafting Your Own Mythology’. Is that something?”

“I’ll remember,” Geralt said.

“Hmm? I’ll Remember— actually you know what, that’s not half bad for part of the title at least—”

Geralt’s grip on Roach’s reigns tightened. Jaskier made many things easier, but this was not one of them.

“No. I mean. I’ll remember. What you were saying earlier.”

There was a pause as Jaskier muttered softly to himself, tracing the conversation thread. Geralt took the relative quiet to appreciate the rolling hills around them, and fought the urge to run for them. Jaskier made a small sound of realization. “Oh. Oh. Oh, Geralt, no, I know you would. You know I know you would, don’t you? I don’t worry about you remembering me, so much. I used to, early days, you know. But not now. No, I know you.”

“Mm.”

“Everyone else, well, we’ll see. Or, you will. I won’t. Ha. I mean, unless I haunted people, but I don’t think you’d appreciate if I turned into a ghost, would you? I’m certain you’d be cross with me. I’m not even sure I’d enjoy it, really. I like touching things too much.”

He meant to let Jaskier’s words was over him again, but he couldn’t. Jaskier wanted nothing from him; he didn’t even feel compelled to ask for kindness. It was stinging in Geralt now, hitting the same place the itch to return to Kaer Morhen had the night before. Instinctual, almost familiar. He thought of Yenn’s fear of being alone for too long, of Ciri’s hands gripped tight when something startled her, thought of his own need to soothe those worries, and the knowledge that had come with age that he couldn’t. Could only ease their way.

“You’d end up there too,” he said. “A constellation.”

Jaskier paused, and the sound of their footsteps against the soft dirt road sounded so much louder than they had even a moment before. “Well. Maybe. That’d be nice, I think,” Jaskier agreed.

And suddenly it hit him like a torrent. Like he had broken a dam he didn’t know was there, and all he could see and feel was that delicate thing that sat between them. “I’d want you up there. You deserve to be up there just as much.”

“Geralt—”

“I mean it.”

“Is there…” Jaskier frowned and kicked a stone from in front of him. “Is there something wrong? Can you smell me dying, or something? You’re not usually like this.”

“You’re not dying,” he said through gritted teeth.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it! Really, Geralt, trust me, I do, I’m loving this, I’m just... I want to make sure you’re not saying it so that you don’t say something else, I suppose.”

Well, there it was again. “And if I am?”

“I’d prefer you just say it,” Jaskier said, though it sounded like a guilty admission. “But— I know you’re not one for words. Which is fine! It’s why I’m relishing this right now. But sometimes… well, I don’t think it’s surprising that a bard enjoys hearing words, really.”

It was true, Geralt knew he’d lap up any gesture, any token, but Jaskier lived on words. It had never been that words had been hard for the witcher, but words related to... emotion, to feeling, to himself, those never quite came. These, though, these were words he could give Jaskier. Ones he deserved to hear. Geralt sighed. “If I have to end up some… some constellation, some amorphous... thing, I’m dragging you with me.”

The silence was comfortable, at least. Jaskier played a short, wordless tune. Then; “You really would, wouldn’t you.”

“I really would,” Geralt replied. It wasn’t serious, he didn’t think a constellation could possibly have consciousness. But it felt serious, somehow. And he’d long since given up believing anything was impossible.

“Well! Well, to the stars we go, then. I’ll look forward to that.”

“Mm,” Geralt said, and gods, did he desperately want to leave it at that because saying anything else truly scared him, he was willing to admit that. But time had softened him, and if his child surprise had taught him anything, it was that sometimes the scary thing was the thing you needed to reach for most. “I will too.”

“Eternity with you doesn’t sound half bad,” Jaskier said, and if he blushed, Geralt didn’t look over to see. “You know, it sounds like a joke. ‘A Witcher, a Mage, a Child Surprise, and a Bard walk into the stars and become constellations.’ I don’t know what the punchline is, though.”

“‘And the sky was never silent again’?”

Jaskier barked a laugh. “Good! Get them all talking. Good, yeah, I could spend eternity with you, I think.”

Geralt swallowed. He would have to talk to Yenn about this. “I could too.” She would probably agree.

“Mm, and Yennefer? Don’t think she’d get sick of me?” Jaskier’s hands brush against the strings of his lute, and a few high notes ring out.

“You’re too fun to tease.”

Jaskier brightened with everything Geralt said. Surely at some point, he’d grow too brilliant to look at.

“And Ciri? Think she’d grow weary of me?”

“No more than she would of me and Yenn. Better make her a comet instead,” Geralt reasoned. “Don’t think she’d like staying put very long.”

“Mmm, you know that girl well. Oh! Roach. Dear girl, I haven’t forgotten you. I figure she’ll be in your constellation though.”

“Roach is her own horse.”

“Actually— yep, no, you’re right. She gets her own. We’ll keep her close to the Dragon constellation, so she can finally get some elusive starry apples. You’d like that, wouldn’t you girl?” Jaskier asked as he gave her a pat on the neck. She tossed her mane in response, before she gave Jaskier's shoulder a gentle nudge with her nose.

“You know, if we were up there together, you’d have to hear me ramble on and on and on. No breaks in the winter, or slipping out of the inn before I wake up and running off somewhere. I’d be up there watching the turn of the world with you forever. I’m certain you’ll both lose your starry minds over me eventually.”

For the first time that day, Geralt looked over at Jaskier for longer than a glance and waited until Jaskier had finally looked up to meet his eyes. “I wouldn’t. We wouldn’t.”

Jaskier flushed in the cheeks, and for once, Geralt didn’t want to wave it off as the sun, or Jaskier being a bit out of breath. Geralt had done that, had caused that blush. The delicate thing grew more solid, then, took root somewhere in him, and he let it. Jaskier swallowed, and Geralt watched the bob of his throat, and missed when they’d been so close he could feel that small movement against his own skin. (Yenn would have a field day with this.)

When Jaskier speaks next, his voice has that honest, soft quality Geralt had always liked, the kind Jaskier only had when he was saying something he’d kept close to his chest. Like he was offering something to you, hand out, knowing you could grab it, twist it, ruin it, and trusting you not to. And yet, still, bracing for impact.

When Jaskier speaks next, it sounds like every song he’d ever sung and a million more he hadn’t even written yet.

“Then I’m with you,” he said, “Til the stars run out.”

“And every day after that,” Geralt replied, and he let the words wash over him, and into him, and he kept them there, like a star to guide him and ease his way.

[bakubitch-minusultra]

Not Alone: Chapter Six

-> an apocalyptic series with bnha characters but without quirks because im the writer and i can do whatever the fuck i want B) this chapter is short but theres a seggs joke in it and a new character is finally mentioned so

-> Word Count: 1.4k

-> Warnings: seggs joke lol i think thats it

-> Taglist: @5sosfckss @laudthingcat [if you wanna be added lmk <3]

The farmhouse sat quiet, just like Y/n hoped it would. She’s never come back to it so quickly. It had the longest, most off the beaten track, driveway of the four and it was the closest to her cabin.

They peeled off their soaking wet clothes. Her wound burned from the cold river water and the exertion of wading through the river for such a long ways. She’s done it before, but it wasn’t her favorite way to get to the house. But she’s been followed before, and she didn’t want to be followed again.

She couldn’t help but steal a glance at Kirishima as he pulled his wet shirt off and dropped his jeans on the floor. His wound was bright purple. The brand new scar that’s developing was lumpy.

“It’s bigger than I thought it would be.”

She looked up at Kirishima to see him smiling at her. She pulled her pants off and noticed for the first time that he had drawings of dinner rolls on his boxers. She raised an eyebrow at him.

He laughed, “Buttered buns.”

“I don’t get it.”

“That’s because you were nine when the world went crazy.”

Y/n felt her face blushing, realizing that it obviously meant something filthy, “You were only ten,” She said out of spite.

“Yeah I was but my friend was twelve. So that makes me more like twelve when it happened.” Y/n stopped smiling but he didn't stop talking. “Bakugo was a bad kid. His mom used to get so mad at him. He had a magazine collection that could shock a whore.”

Y/n flinched at the word. She knew what it meant and how it was used but she never heard anyone say it. The conversation suddenly felt wrong.

“One time he was dating this chick and he-”

“Kiri.” Y/n looked back at Mina who was making a distasteful face, “Sex related Bakugo stories in your underwear is creepy dude.” Y/n smiled and watched as Kirishima’s face grew red. He looked at her through his bangs and her heart started to feel like it was too big for her chest.

“Where’s your friend?” Y/n didn’t want to ask but she knew she had to.

Mina answered from behind her, “We hope dead.” Y/n nodded and left it at that. She knew that feeling. Kirishima’s face looked haunted and Y/n could’ve sworn she saw guilt, but she leaves it at that.

Y/n felt weird about being in a house with other people. Not just because it was one of her safe spaces, but also because she was never with people. Her legs ached and she knew she wouldn’t sleep.

She looked at Mina, “You guys sleep first. Me and Hades will take the first watch.”

Kirishima frowned, “Why don’t we all just sleep. There’s no way anyone followed us Y/n.” She wanted to slap him. She knew it was irrational but his survival skills left a lot to be desired. Instead, she turned and walked away.

“Dude we’ll take watch here every night. It just feels safe here, that doesn’t mean it is.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

Y/n pulled the knife that she stole from the dead military guy out of her boot and rubbed it down with bleach she pulled out from under the sink. She hated that she touched something of someone else’s. She caught Kirishima watching her but she ignored him. She ignored her heart fluttering every time he glanced at her. She would leave him. It was her nature.

Instead, she looked at Hades, who had positioned himself in front of the back door, curled into a ball.

“So much for helping me.” Hades opened one yellow eye and closed it again.

She took her new knife, bow and quiver, and her bottle of water to the door. She rubbed Hades’s head once and then headed out into the night quietly.

She opened the barn door and slipped inside. The darkness of the barn was frightening, but she gripped the handle of the blade for strength. She climbed the stairs and felt like something would grab her feet at any second and drag her down into the hay.

She climbed into the hayloft and sat on the open window. The dark night was silent. She didn’t like the silence. She liked the sound of animals telling her she was safe. She opened her ears and closed her mind against the sounds that haunted her.

Then she heard them.

The night creatures that would warn her of any intruders fill her ears. There was a cricket, a single cricket out in the field. She heard a bat off in the woods south of the farm. The noise made her smile. The signs of life filled her with a mistaken and misguided hope. She knew the reality of it all. She knew they were lost, all of humanity was. She knew what the world has done to each other. They were no longer human. Their humanity was lost. The animals had bested them in behavior in survival

The door to the house slipped open. Mina crossed the driveway carefully. A smile crossed Y/n’s lips. She knew that Mina was a survivor.

“His leg’s infected.” Mina’s words cut her. Y/n knew what she had to do but she wasn’t prepared to do it. Mina saw her face in the moonlight, “I know. I feel the same way.”

“The medicines are all expired.”

“We have to go for him. His fever is back. The red lines have started. My dad warned me about the red lines.” Y/n’s eyes left the deserted yard and fixed themselves on Mina. They glistened in the moonlight.

“I’ll go alone.”

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“He can’t travel.”

“But I can’t ask that of you. He’s my burden.”

Y/n laughed softly into the cool night air, “He really is isn’t he? How is he so clueless?”

Mina’s lips curled into a grim smile that the darkness couldn’t hide from Y/n, “He practically worshipped Bakugo. They joked and laughed while my dad tried to teach us how to survive. My dad always called them grasshoppers who played all summer.” Y/n flinched at the childhood reference. “When all of our parents died Bakugo took care of us, but he wasn’t a survivor. When Bakugo got taken I was eleven. Kirishima’s tried but he’s, well he’s a moron.”

Y/n looked back out into the yard, “He’s amazing Mina. He’s still full of the things we’ve all lost. He smiles and laughs and sings. I heard him humming the other day and I almost shot him and then realized I haven’t hummed since I was nine years old.” Her skin shivered when she thought about spying on Kirishima humming. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

“He’s a goof. We’ll travel together Y/n.”

Y/n looked back at her harshly, “He’ll die if we make him travel. Those red lines are blood poisoning and once the reach his heart he’s dead. I’ll go and you’ll stay and keep him safe.”

Y/n was risking her life for him. She felt like she was back at the cabin door and Mina was knocking. Y/n knew she would regret this decision.

“I’ll leave tonight. You’ll have to keep Hades with you. He can help you.”

Mina’s voice was small, “I can’t ask this of you.”

Y/n smiled bitterly,”Guess you’ll have to trust me.”

Y/n stared out into the night, it was peaceful and quiet. It scared her more than anything suddenly and Y/n felt her jaw tense.

“If I’m not back in three days you’ll have to cut the leg off and clot it. Don’t give him liquor before you cut it off, it thins the blood and he’ll bleed out. Clotting is done with a hot iron. You press it against the stump where the leg bleeds to seal the veins.” Y/n doesn’t look at Mina. She couldn’t. “The red lines means he has a week at the most. He’ll need tons of soup and water and rest. He can fight it somewhat with those things.” Y/n stood up, her legs ached at the thought of leaving. The barn felt less scary with Mina it and Y/n realized her whole life had started to feel that way

---

[aliwritesfic]

So since you did the cutest job with my mini golf ask…wondering what the TF boys would be like while tie dying with Frankie and his daughter?! I’m attempting to do that tomorrow with my son lol. Please and thank you if you’d like to explore the idea. 🥰😘

First of all, I am SO SORRY this took so long, I've been so busy with uni and forcing myself to actually do the work this semester (who would've thought I could actually apply myself) but I really enjoyed this, and it's actually made me want to go out and do some tie-dying of my own.

Anyways, here's Tie-Dye Tueaday

W/C: 1.6k

T-Minus 5 Hours Until Disaster

“Daddy?” a soft voice rose Frankie out of his fitful sleep. He distantly felt a tiny, warm hand rest on his cheek.

“Yes, cricket?” he mumbled voice heavy with sleep, struggling to open his heavy eyes. He had stayed up until the small hours of the morning frantically researching for the day, watching YouTube videos, making notes, doing whatever he could to prepare.

“Mommy’s going and said I should wake you up,” Everly pulled herself up onto the bed and sat down directly on Frankie’s bladder. He winced and pushed her off gently, wondering just how she always managed to find the worst spot to sit.

“Have you had breakfast?” Frankie asked, and Everly nodded. He said a silent thanks to his ever-amazing wife, who would be spending the day getting massages and facials and whatever else her heart desired before pushing out twins in less than two months’ time. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around that – there would be two more tiny humans in his life soon. The thought left him exhilarated and riddled with anxiety all at once.

Frankie carried Everly downstairs on his back, grabbing his cap from the dresser on his way. The boys would be here soon – they had agreed that tie dying alone with a hyper four year old was a terrible idea, so they were coming to dye something of their own and help Frankie keep a handle on things. Benny was especially excited to dye his shorts to wear to his next fight.

They were halfway through Coco, Everly’s favourite movie, when the front door opened and in came his three best friends, men he had no relation to but considered brothers. Everly went straight to Benny, who was undoubtedly her favourite of them. Frankie had his suspicion that is was because Benny loaded her up on sugar whenever he could. Sure enough, Frankie could see a packet of candy in the plastic bag Benny carried.

“You ready for this?” Will asked, placing a six pack in the fridge. Frankie sighed and nodded.

“Ready as I can be. It can’t go too badly, right?”

~

T-Minus 3 Hours Until Disaster

The sun was bright and hot on their backs as they set up. Everly sat in the shade of the oak tree, a cup of lemonade in one hand, and her favourite doll in the other. Frankie had forbidden her from coming out in the sun until the sunscreen was fully absorbed, which according to his watch wouldn’t be for another few minutes. It occurred to him that since becoming a father, his mind was filled with worries that he never even considered beforehand.

Frankie had brought dyes in every colour he could, several plastic tubs had been fished out of storage and so many ties that he was sure he would be finding them all around the yard for weeks to come.

“Whatta ya dying, Ev?” Santi called to Everly.

“Purple!” She responded, holding up a pristine white pair of cotton shorts and a shirt.

“Just purple?” Will asked.

“And pink and blue and green!” Everly jumped up, setting her cup down carefully and ran over. “I want it swirly. You should be rainbow wiggles.” She told her father seriously. Will grinned.

“She’s a natural born leader,” he said with more than a touch of pride.

“Just like her mother,” Frankie replied. He took the clothes that Everly held out and began to scrunch and fold them according to the instructions he had written down while watching YouTube last night. The whole thing seemed a lot easier when he was watching through a screen.

Everly chose her dyes as Frankie folded, occasionally handing a certain colour to one of the boys, telling them that they hadto use it. None of them wanted to defy the four year old, so each accepted his colours without protest. Benny seemed quite thrilled when he was given a colour labelled Hot Barbie Pink.

“So many guys will be so fuckin’ embarrassed to get their ass beat by a guy in pink shorts,” Benny grinned.

“Language, Ben!” Frankie darted a frantic look towards Everly, who stood with a cunning smile on her face. Frankie knew that she knew exactly what she wasn’t supposed to say.

“Fuck! Ass!” she declared. Will snorted and Santi had to turn away, face turning bright red from holding in laughter.

Frankie gaped, lost for words for a moment. “Everly, don’t ever say that, but especially the first one, and especially not in front of mommy, okay?”

“Why not?”

Frankie shot a look to Benny, who at least looked a tiny bit sorry. “They’re big people words. Each time you say one your . . . hair gets less curly.”

Everly, who loved her curly hair, looked stricken. Frankie felt bad about lying to his kid, but not as bad as he would’ve felt if his wife came home to a child cussing like she had just strolled out of the military.

The words seemed forgotten as the dye was applied. Everly was surprisingly artful in the way she applied the dye, carefully creating patterns that didn’t make much sense to Frankie but must have made sense to her.

T-Minus 30 Minutes Until Disaster

The group of them sat around the dining room table, beers for the boys and juice for Everly. Most of them had small flecks of multi-coloured dye on their hands, but Frankie was sure they would come off easity. Everly had scoffed down her lunch, and now sat staring outside, looking antsy.

“Go play if you want to,” Frankie said, “you don’t have to sit here.” Frankie was confident there wasn’t anything in the backyard that could pose a danger to her, and besides, he had a view of almost the whole yard from the table.

Everly tore off like a hurricane, juice forgotten as she ran outside, doll in hand.

“If the twins are anything like her . . .” Santi began, taking a sip of his drink. “Fish, you’re gonna have your hands full.”

“If they’re anything like Ev, they’ll be great kids,” Benny said. Will rose his beer bottle. ‘But yeah, you’re definitely gonna have your hands full.”

“Amen, I’ll drink to that,” he said. Frankie nodded and had a sip himself. They talked for a while about football, Benny’s next fight, Santi’s new flame.

Then a thought occurred to Frankie.

“Is it quiet out there?” he craned his neck to investigate the yard and saw . . . nothing. Frankie shot up from his seat, panic rising in his chest. “Everly?” He almost tripped over himself in his haste to get to the backyard. Every worst case scenario was forming in his head.

“Ev?” Benny was beside him in an instant.

“Daddy?” Everly wandered out from behind the tree, and Frankie took a deep breath, calming himself. She was unscathed . . . except for the dye that now stained her arms, legs, face, hair. She was grinning widely, and held up her doll, who was also covered in a rainbow of dye.

“Cricket, what did you do?” Frankie gaped, wondering just how she managed to get almost every inch of exposed skin in such a short amount of time.

“Miss Mildew wanted her hair to be pretty,” Everly explained.

“Your dolls name is Miss Mildew?” Santi asked, red in the face with held back laughter. Everly nodded proudly. She had heard the word on television one night and latched onto it.

“What do you think is worse,” Will murmured to Benny, “Ev swearing, or Ev covered in dye?”

“Swearing,” Benny said snickering, “you can wash out the dye, you can’t unlearn a word.”

“What word?” Everly asked. Ears of a hawk, Frankie thought.

“The word you’re not allowed to say,” Will said.

“And what word would that be?” A smooth voice behind them almost made Frankie jump out of his skin. His wife, beautiful and terrifying all at once, stood on the patio, one hand on her stomach, the other on her hip.

“Fuck!” Everly declared loudly and proudly.

“Teaching my child new words, I see, Benjamin.”

Benny to his credit, at least looked more apologetic than he did with Frankie.

Frankie’s wife waddled down into the yard and set her gaze on her husband. “That dye won’t make her sick will it?”

“No, no, not at all,” he said. He had specifically brought kid friendly, skin safe, non-toxic dye.

“Good. Then I’m gonna go lie down and try and forget my four-year-old just said the eff-word and is every colour under the sun.” His wife shook her head and rolled her eyes at Benny. Once she was inside, Frankie turned to Everly.

“C’mon, we gotta clean you up,” he reached to pick Everly up who shook her head.

“We gotta see what they look like first!” she said. Frankie considered her point and nodded.

“Alright, cricket,” he said. They unravelled the clothes to a chorus of oohs and aahs, Everly clapped her green hands together as her multi-coloured shorts and top were revealed.

Benny sheepishly wandered over to Frankie as he put everything in the washing machine. “Hey man, I really am sorry about that.”

Frankie shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Just buy the missus as much caffeine as she wants when she’s done breastfeeding and she’ll forget all about it.”

“I hope so. Her bad side is not a place I wanna be.”

Frankie laughed and scooped up Everly in his arms. Her curls were streaked with blue and her cheeks were magenta. “Trust me, she won’t stay mad for long. I don’t think she’s that mad to be honest.”

“You don’t?” Benny sounded unsure.

“Well she didn’t yell, and it looked like she was trying not to laugh. All things considered, I think today was a success story.”

Tagging @sharkbait77 because I think you’d enjoy this

[unpopularly-opinionated]

To get it out of the way, I didn’t drop a dime on Disney to watch the new Mulan movie, but I have seen it.

The TL;DR, non-spoiler review is, when you compare it to the original animated movie, it’s about a 3/10, but when you judge it as it’s own movie, I think it’s about a 7/10.

Pre-post edit: Before I wrote everything below (which is filled w/ spoilers btw so be warned), I wanted to give this a 7/10 on it’s own merit w/o comparing it to the original, but after really examining the message of this version it’s really difficult to give it a 7/10, so I’ll say 5/10.

It’s not a bad movie, I just think the message it sends is kind of fucked up and a huge 180 from the original, which I know I said I wouldn’t compare it to, and I’m not, but just objectively the messages are contrasting.

The movie isn’t actually that bad, it’s just different and similar in very odd ways. The whole movie felt really conflicted over whether to make it it’s own thing separate from the original, and whether to make it a 1:1 copy of the original. Put into words, I think it just had a bit of an identity crisis.

Some aspects of the movie that they changed from the original don’t immediately make it clear why they were changed, which leads me to believe they wanted to make it it’s own thing, but then they threw in clear scenes that were from the original, and evidently the movie is called Mulan, so clearly they didn’t shy away from that.

Some of the changes made sense. It’s very obvious they wanted to try and go for a “more serious” tone for the film. This is likely why there’s no singing which is the biggest missing feature, but also likely why Mulan is missing her humor from the original, and why her grandmother isn’t in this, and obviously Eddie Murphey’s Mushu and the Cricket. This movie isn’t funny, and it’s not supposed to be, which is fine.

The changes that didn’t make immediate sense to me though were small changes, such as changing her family name from Fa to Hua, or even changing her fake name from Ping to Jun, or the Huns to the Rourons, or the family worshiping a Phoenix instead of a Dragon, or giving her a younger sister, etc. Very small minor changes which don’t ultimately change anything of the film or plot itself so ultimately aren’t a huge deal but then why change them? This is what I mean when I say it seems like they wanted to make this movie their own thing...but also the same.

The scenes they decided to recreate weren’t obviously 1:1, but I think they did a pretty decent job. The Matchmaker scene happens. The lake scene happens. They soldiers talk about what they look for in a woman and all say relatively the same things. Those were pretty cool scenes.

Hands down, the instrumental version of Reflection was the best ever. They used it a couple times and every time I get chills cause I was just fangasming over it. Really minor detail, but fuck was it awesome to hear nonetheless.

The action was actually pretty well choreographed I thought. It really reminded me of Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon with the sort of flying through the air, running on walls, etc.

The actor they got to play the villain, Bori Khan (also different from the original), looks identical to the animated Shan Yu. Like as identical as a real human being can be to an animated character. I honestly thought that was perfect casting. I don’t recognize him, or 99% of the actors in this (honestly the only one I recognized at all was the general from Rogue One), but he was great.

Some of the more major changes were...a bit hit or miss. This movie evidently focuses a bit on what they call Chi, which is kinda magic but also kinda not magic? It all gets vaguely Disney-explained but Mulan’s Chi just makes her a pretty decent acrobatic fighter. The enemy “witch” uses Chi to straight up transform into a hawk or a swarm of bats among other things, but she’s sort of implied to be more advanced with Chi than Mulan is so that’s okay I guess. The Emperor also has Chi and he briefly uses it to...make some fabric defy the laws of physics briefly I guess.

The part about the Chi that bothered me slightly was how they used it to reinforce this sense of otherness about Mulan. Obviously Mulan has always been about a girl defying social norms to save her father and to bring honor to her family and country, but in this version Mulan has Chi, and girls aren’t supposed to have Chi. Only boys can have Chi, and women with Chi are seen as witches and are usually exiled. This is the story behind the bad “witch”, she was exiled for having strong Chi.

The reason why this felt like an issue is because it sort of takes away the fact that Mulan is “just a girl” infiltrating a male-dominated space to defy social norms and do what only men are “allowed” and “capable” of doing. Instead, she’s some pseduo Jedi-like character with abilities that not only show her as more capable than the men, but also not like other women.

So whereas in the original you could point to Mulan as an example and say “See, women can do what men can do” you can’t do the same in this movie because this Mulan actually has something that makes her special and unique that not every woman might have. To use another Star Wars reference, Chi is quite literally the Midichlorians of Mulan. Whereas before any woman could do what she could do, now only some women like Mulan can do what she did.

Another weird aspect was I guess the message of the movie. Like, people say this movie was made for China and uh...yeah, the message of this movie kiiiiinda proves that.

Throughout the training parts, the General emphasizes the virtues they all live by which are engraved on everyone’s swords: “Loyal. Brave. True.” and the conflict stems from the fact that Mulan isn’t being true by hiding her identity, which is why she’s failing as a soldier and I guess a human being and it’s only after she embraces who she is that she starts kicking ass.

There’s also the scene at the very beginning with the Emperor, like in the original, where the soldier tells him about the invaders approaching. In the original, the Emperor was a very kind and caring old man who cared more about his people than anything else. Evidently, they tried to like...make it more realistic or something, I guess, so in this the Emperor doesn’t really seem to care about his people, and he keeps emphasizing in that scene and throughout the movie that they need to “protect the dynasty” which was just weirdly loyalist.

And then of course the end where they’re supposed to repeat the message of the film, the part you’re supposed to take away which is...”devotion to family”. That, along with the previous two things I mentioned, really make this movie feel like a 180 from the original. Whereas the original was about a woman defying social norms to be protect her father and bring honor to her family, this one felt more like a woman defending her country and vaguely reinforcing those social norms...?

Perhaps I misinterpreted, I don’t know. I just thought it was weirdly the opposite message the original sent.

[yikesharringrove]

ok so i just had a dream about this and i feel the need to tell you because its prime protective Billy shit. So after the whole mind flayed thing Steve and Billy get to be pretty close friends, and almost immediately they both fall for each other HARD, but both of them refuse to believe the other could ever like them, despite Robin screaming at both of them to just ask the other one out already. (pt.)

(pt.2) one day some random dude comes into the video store and starts flirting with steve, who figures he hasn’t gone on a date since Nancy, the guys cute, sure he’s not Billy but he seems nice enough and steve is also just very lonely, so they set up a date for that Friday at 6:00 and Steve is pretty excited. When he gets to his house and tells Billy, who was there for their wednesday horror movie night, billy tried to seem happy for him even though he ready to kill this guy

(pt.3) Billy does a pretty decent job at hiding his feelings about the date, and he doesn’t want to hold Steve back, but when he gets home he calls Robin and bitches for a sold 30 minutes, she just tells him if he’d got his shit together and just asked Steve our this wouldn’t be a problem. So the day of the date rolls around and Billy doesn’t see Steve all day, can’t bring himself to see him so excite to go date someone else. Around 6:15 his phone buzzes with a call from Steve             (pt.4) he answers and when he does Steve sounds awful, he’s been crying for a while. Asks if Billy can come pick him up, and billy speeds his way there. When he shows up and sees steve leaning against the brick wall rubbing away tears he loses it. Asks him what happened and Steve quietly tells him his date was a huge asshole, flirted with the waitress, pointed out the scar on steve’s hairline and told him he’d be a lot cuter without it, but don’t worry you’re still good enough for a fuck

(pt.5) Billy is ready to kill someone, he hugs steve and drags him to his car and tells him to stay put, slams the door and gets inside before steve can argue, find the guys pretty quickly, grabs him by the collar and spits out some pretty harsh words drops him to the floor and leaves. They are both quiet on the drive back but when billy drops steve off at his house he sheepishly asks him to stay, when billy tells him it’s a bad idea steve says okay and kisses him goodnight. Billy almost faints. 

I am SO SORRY this took a thousand years, it got a lil lost in my inbox.This is modern, Billy got possessed but the kids burned it outta him, everything else is canon.

“Who the fuck is that?”

Billy was “helping” Robin re-shelve, which meant he was pulling random movies off their shelves and putting them in different spots until she noticed and yelled at him.

She looked in the direction Billy was glaring, looked to see Steve batting his eyes as that guy, the tall jocky guy that comes in a few days a week to flirt with Steve.

“Oh, that’s Ben. He comes in all the time and flirts with Steve.” Billy’s eyes were dark.

“And does Steve, does he always, flirt back?” Robin rolled her eyes. Billy was so bad at acting nonchalant.

“Yeah, Dingus really has a thing for him. Talks to me nonstop about him.” Of course he talks about Billy way more often, but Robin is over the two of them being so fucking oblivious.

“Oh. Good for him.” Billy was blinking a lot.

Steve was leaning over the counter, was giggling like a schoolgirl.

The bell over the door jingled. Billy was gone.

-

Wednesday nights had become a tradition. Billy and Robin would come over to Steve’s, would take turns picking scarier and scarier movies.

It all started because Robin thought Steve should expand his horizons, and Billy liked the way Steve would get scared, would hide in Billy, would shove his face into his chest, or his arm, or wiggle his way into his lap.

But he was not in the mood for a movie tonight. Not after watching the way Steve had gone all bashful earlier.

But he found himself pushing open the double doors anyway.

“Bill! Guess what!” Steve was jamming around the kitchen in thick socks and little shorts, a faded Hawkins High Swim Team sweatshirt, and his glasses, like he was trying to fucking kill Billy with how adorable he is. “I got a date!” Billy’s heart thumped to a stop.

“You, you what?”

“I got a date! With that cute Benny that comes into Family Video. He asked me out! We’re gonna go to dinner on Friday!” Steve was so fucking excited. Billy couldn’t find it within himself to bring down the mood. “I just, you know how lonely I’ve been, and, I haven’t been on a date since Nancy.”

Steve was rambling, going on and on about this fucking guy. Was talking over the movie, which normally, Billy would think was kinda cute, but it was all, Benny said the SWEETEST thing, or look at this meme Benny sent.

Billy was about four second from tearing his hair out.

He was driving Robin home after movie night needed to vent.

“Look, I’m not saying I want Steve to be unhappy. I want him to be so happy. But I just, I get a bad feeling about that Benjamin guy.” Robin rolled her eyes.

“Well if you had gotten your head outta your ass and just asked Steve out like I fucking told you to, you, Billiam could be going on a date with our sweet Dingus.”

“I just, after everything this summer, I didn’t know if, if he was ready, and he never really seemed the same after the Nancy shit.”

“That’s a lame excuse and you know it.”

It was. And he knew it.

He avoided Steve the next two days. Couldn’t deal with all the excited posts on Steve’s secret Insatgram account, the one just for his friends.

Apparently he had done a face mask, had taken a fucking candlelit bath. He posted outfit options on his story.

Billy spent Friday chain-smoking in bed, yelling at Max whenever he got kicked off Netflix for too many screen in use.

Steve was getting picked up at 6. Had been posting a fucking countdown on his story. Billy wanted to crawl into a hole and fucking die.

When 6 came, Billy was working out, listening to loud, angry music as he lifted weights. He was trying his fucking best to keep his mind off of Steve, that fucking Benjamin.

But his music was interrupted by his phone going off, Steve’s contact picture filling the screen, a silly one Billy loved of Robin shoving marshmallows into his mouth. He could fit 17.

“What’s up?” It was only half past 6. Something must’ve happened. “Stevie, are you okay?” He could hear Steve sniffling.

“Bill, could you come pick me up?”

Billy was already out the door.”

“Drop your location, Pretty Boy. I’m on my way right now. Don’t move. I’ll be there soon.” Billy sped to the diner.

He saw Steve sitting on the curb outside, his face buried into his knees.

He had gone with outfit option number 4 from his Instagram, a thick cardigan, made of soft dark green wool, his nice jeans, the ones that made his ass look great, and a soft t-shirt. His hair was the most done Billy had seen it in a while. It made Billy’s heart break.

He pulled into a spot, dropping to sit next to Steve.

“You wanna talk about it?” His eyes were red-rimmed, glazed over as he loked at Billy.

“He was, he was so different from how he, how he was. He kept ignoring me, and flirting with the waitress, and he kept like, pointing out the scars on my face, like, like the one here,” he poked at his hairline. “And he said, I’d cuter without it, but, but that I’m still okay for a fuck if he took me face down, because, because my ass is the only thing I got goin’ for me-” Billy pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, Baby. You’re so much better than that, than him.” He kissed the mark on Steve’s hairline. “He still in there?”

“Yeah. I asked him to take me home and he said if I was gonna give him blueballs he might as well fuck the waitress. Since she’s hotter than me anyhow.”

“Stay here.” Billy got up, cracking his neck as he walked into the diner. He found the guy right away, was smiling so sleazy at the waitress in question who looked like she’d rather die than go out with him, but needed a good tip. He stared at her ass when she walked away.

Billy sat in the seat across from his.

“So, Benjamin. Figured you and I ought the have a little chat.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“My name’s Billy.” Ben rolled his eyes.

“God, Steve wouldn’t shut the fuck up about you.” Billy’s heart swelled, but he was on a mission.

“Steve is the best person in this whole God-forsaken world. And you dare treat him like he’s shit on your shoe. You’re fucking disgusting.” He reached up, pulling on the collar of his shirt, slamming his nose into the table, letting his head bounce back up.

“What the fuck, you psycho.”

“He is like sunshine, he is the only thing good in this fucking town, and you have the audacity to hurt him. He is made of love, and you could;ve had him, but you’re a garbage human who deserves jack shit.” He stood from the table, Ben’s nose bleeding into a mad of napkins.

“If you don’t at least text him an apology, I will be breaking more than just your nose.”

Billy stood up, sweeping out of the diner to find Steve waiting by the passenger seat of his car. They drove to Steve’s in silence apart from the odd sniffle from Steve.

They sat for a moment in his drive way, the car off, crickets chirping in the bushes.

“I heard what you said.” Steve’s eyes were wide, his face shadowed.

“And?”

“I didn’t know you felt like that. About me I mean.” Billy sighed.

“Stevie, you are probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I, I love you.” Billy was fidgeting with the steering wheel.

“You mean it?” Billy just nodded, looking straight ahead through the windshield at Steve’s house. “I love you too. Like, a lot. I just thought, maybe you didn’t, didn’t feel the same.” Billy whipped around to look at Steve, see if he was lying.

All he say on his face was such happiness at Billy’s admission.

“You should stay the night.” Steve’s hand was closing around his wrist.

“Look, if we’re gonna do this, I wanna do it right. I wanna, take you out, and spend time with you in a, in a romantic way before we, before we do anything.” Steve’s eyes were so soft.

“Okay. You wanna go out tomorrow? We can do something chill, like, like see a movie.”

“I would really like that, Pretty Boy.” He took Steve’s hand.

“Can I kiss you goodnight, then? Kiss you thanks for saving me back there. Being my knight in shining armor, defending my honor and all that?” Billy’s mind was spinning as he breathed out yeah.

Kissing Steve was as perfect as he always thought it would be.

His pretty lips were soft, and he made these breathy little noises into Billy’s mouth, their hands were still clasped together, Steve’s other holding onto Billy’s bicep, Billy weaving a hand into Steve’s hair.

Steve’s eyes were closed when they pulled apart, they were soft when he blinked them open.

“So, tomorrow then.” Billy grinned, pressing a kiss to his nose.

“Tomorrow, Pretty Boy. I’ll call you in the morning. We’ll talk.” Steve danced like a loser all the way up to his porch, making Billy laugh and flash his headlights. He stumbled through the front door.

Billy texted Robin right when he got home, sent her a simple Benjamin’s the worst but you’ll be happy to know I pulled my head outta my ass :)