#listen Dream's had a really long day and his brother going and feeding his god complex by messin with a random au is just the cherry on top

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

NIGHTMARE TRUCK???

what if nightmare two trucks

Nightmare: LOOK UPON ME AND FEEL FEAR, MORTALS!

Blue: LET'S JUST GO HOME...

Dream: <- about to actually fucking lose it

[elissanatok]

-𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄

part 2

pairing: Aemond targaryen x velaryon! (strong!) reader

summary: Aemond has loved and secretly claimed you for himself since the day you were born. losing his eye changed him, but maybe it did not affect his feelings for you as much as he thought it had

warnings: english is not my first language, angst, fluff, shy reader, unclexniece, possesive aemond, everybody adores reader in this

let me know what you think!! reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback are highly appreciated <33

You didn't know what you had expected when you imagined looking into his face again. a smile maybe? A hint of the boy he used to be? Well - you surely did not get whatever it was you had expected. 

He looked at you with a piercing but very bored look, before he let his eye drift again to your little brother. You nervously looked from your little brother to your older one. Jacerys tried to send you a reassuring look, or maybe it was just one that screamed “I told you so”. 

Before leaving Dragonstone he and your mother told you not to expect any kindness from the rest of your family. You were disappointed that they seemed to be right and that the little hope Daemon gave you when he talked about your friendship as children flew away with the wind. 

You had missed him dearly. Your Aemond. But maybe this was not him. His hair had grown longer, although not as long as yours, and laid pin straight against his back. The black eyepatch he wore made him look almost forbidden. It made him look dangerous. But your Aemond was not a dangerous boy. But then again - this was not him. 

Your Aemond used to read in books, spend his days learning, dreaming and talking about Dragons. Teaching you about them. This Aemond looked like he was ready - had dreamed and talked about feeding you to them. 

The Queen's eyes held a little bit more warmth when she met your gaze. Sometimes she thought you looked more like her daughter than Rhaenryas but then again, your eyes held the same fire as your mothers.

The reason for your visit was a sad one, sure, who would be the heir of driftmark was important, not for you, but for your boys. You would be married off, no matter what Daemon claimed, if an alliance with House Winterfell was needed, Cregan would be the first to take your hand. You liked him. He was a kind man. A strong one too, but your relationship held no meaning, no feelings, no friendship. 

Standing with your shoulders straight and your chin held high, you listened to Vaemond.”Don´t you dare tell me, who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”  You could see the rage forming in his eyes. “Allow it?”, your sick grandfather questioned. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

The first time you flinched, was when he raised his voice, pointing at Lucerys. “That- is no true Velaryon- and certainly no nephew of mine.”

Your mother tried calming the situation, after quickly looking at her only daughter. “Go to your chambers, you have said enough.” 

“Lucerys is my trueborn grandson.”

“You may run your house as you see fit. but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the doom.” 

You really wished for someone to hold your hand. Stand in front of you, protect you from the eyes in the room that bore into your golden skin, but there was just your family and you in your flame red dress. 

“And a thousand trigulatons besides.”. “And Gods be damned, I will not see it ended on the account of this -” 

You and your little brother were similar in some ways, in ways like anxious behavior. In ways like his hands trembling just as much as yours behind his back.  “Say it.”, whispered Daemon, making your knees feel weak for what was about to come. You were no fighter. No ruler. Just a woman. And a brutally soft one too. “Her children are Bastards!!”Vaemond yelled into the room, at the king, making you slightly flinch at the sudden loudness of his voice. 

“And she, and her daughter, are whores.”

Your eyes widened, while people let out gasps. Insulting your mother, married and with children was one thing, insulting you, a girl who had not even earned a kiss to her cheek yet, was something entirely else. You were not even promised yet. 

Unknown to you, Aemonds eye had locked onto your form the moment Vaemond stepped closer to you. His gasp was a short one, a quiet too, but he could not believe someone dared insulting you. Yes, you may have shared the features of your brothers, even though you were much more beautiful to him, but your eyes were the purest purple he had seen in his house. There was no way someone could doubt where you belonged. 

In his opinion, you would always belong right next to him. He wished he could have shielded you from harsh words and glances, but he could not forget who you stood next to, the boy who took his eye and the woman who wanted the throne. 

His fists clenched behind his back, he watched his father stand up, heavy breathing. “I- will have your tongue for that.”

You had heard Daemon lifting his sword, and you had seen it from the corner of your eye, but still you did not stop looking at anything but Haelenas dress. His blood flooded in front of your feet. “He can keep his tongue.” Daemon shot you a look. Looking for tears on your face as usual, but no, you seemed to be somewhere else. 

Aemond looked at his uncle with appreciation. He wished he would be bold enough, could show his care for you openly enough to chop a head off, but he couldn't have done it yet, not in front of everyone else at least.

Part 3

[annaraebananawriter]

For something angsty, maybe Dream has started smoking to cope with everything, and during one of his short breaks before going back to work, he's sitting around and smoking, when Nightmare sees him and yells at him for smoking, and Dream has a breakdown about how no one is ever there for him and this is all he has.

Sorry for the long wait, but I finally finished this. I don’t know if it’s quite the same as what you thought of, but it is very close. I’d say more, but I spent all my words.

Smoking and some implied suicide ahead, so be warned.

Happy reading!

~oOo~

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Dream opens his eyes, head lifting from the wall and he meets the heavy, horrified gaze of his brother. On any other day, at any other time, he might've jumped up and frantically tried to explain, grasping with both hands at the dream come true scenario of Nightmare willingly approaching him and initiating a conversation.

Unfortunately, after more than a dozen meetings and a handful of monsters to heal and so many other things--and it wasn't even noon yet--his mind was lagging behind schedule. He can only sit there, blinking, as he processes the interruption.

"What?" Dream finally asks, albeit a bit rhetorically, because as the last sound falls out of his mouth, and as Nightmare's eye narrows in on his hand, he remembers why he was sitting in front of an abandoned gas station in some AU he didn't remember the name of.

Nightmare scowls. "What do you mean, 'what'? That's my question." He points at him, gaze flicking pointedly between his hand and his eyes. "What the fuck are you doing with a cigarette?"

Dream blinks at him again. "Uh...smoking?" He really doesn't know what else to say.

Automatically, he flicks the built-up ashes off, but shifts his feet instead of taking another drag. It just feels awkward to do it with his brother staring at him like...

Like he was doing something incredibly wrong.

(Which, really? Dream doesn't think the guy that kills people and feeds off of negative emotions and generally does things most criminals would do has any say in what's considered 'wrong'.)

But all he does is rile Nightmare up more. He straightens, takes a breath, and launches into a furious lecture about unhealthy habits and what smoking causes and, oh, how does this reflect on your reputation, Dream? How can people expect him to be a good example when he smokes? Dream, how could you ever do something like this? How could you?

How could you?

Through it, Dream stares at him.

There’s something...something in his chest that shifts as it listens to all of this. It’s almost like a snake, uncoiling after a long slumber, eyes locked onto his brother and the ignorant words he’s saying and flicking it’s tongue in annoyance. It slowly slithers out of it’s nest and hisses, gathering it’s strength as it spreads across him, replacing any sense of awkwardness or embarrassment he might’ve had and covering it up with a stronger emotion. A better emotion for this predicament.

And that emotion is leaning towards anger.

Dream inhales, trying to keep himself calm. “Nightmare--”

But Nightmare clearly doesn’t want to listen, and before he can react, a hand snags his and takes away his cigarette. Nightmare glares at the thing like it’s his mortal enemy and lets it fall, putting it out with his foot. His glare shifts to Dream, who can’t look away from the destruction of the one thing that feels like the only thing keeping him together lately.

“You’re better than this, Dream,” Nightmare says, looking so concerned it’s funny. It’s really funny. “You know that, right?”

God, it’s so fucking funny.

Dream can’t help himself. He snorts. And that snort turns to more laughter. He just cracks, laughing into his hands. He must laugh for a good couple minutes, all while Nightmare stands in front of him, finally quiet.

Good.

Now it’s his turn.

Nightmare hasn’t caught the memo yet. “...Dream.”

Dream collects himself, wiping away a tear. He holds up a hand before Nightmare can say anything else. “Thank you, brother. I really needed a laugh lately. And boy, that sure was a laugh.”

“This isn’t a laughing matter, Dream.”

Dream meets his eyes. He mirrors his serious expression, trying not to smile. “You’re right. It isn’t. But you walking up an interrupting my one break of the day is.” The smile finally takes over, one filled with mocking. “And if that wasn’t enough, you just had to take my cigarette and crush it before I was done. Good job. You really did something there.”

Nightmare seems offended. He opens his mouth, and Dream plows ahead.

“You see, that cigarette is the one thing I can do for myself without any kind of judgements. By sneaking away for a smoke break, I can have a singular moment for myself in which I don’t have to put up a mask and act like the perfect goody two shoes the whole multiverse thinks I am.” He shakes his head again, blinking back some tears. That’s odd. He’s supposed to be finding this funny, nor upsetting. “And you just ruined that. You intruded on my space and tried to make me feel ashamed of that.”

He sighs, glancing at the ground again. “Granted, you didn’t know. But still.” He looks up again. He makes sure he has his brother’s full attention as he says the rest. “You wanna know why I smoke? Fine. Because it’s the one thing that is always going to be there for me. It’s going to be there with it’s calming affects and brief respite. Nobody else--certainly not you--is going to give me that.” He pauses, letting it sink in. “And I do not have to abide by your rules anymore, Night. We haven’t been friends in years. Centuries. You are not going to walk up to me and scold me like we’re not fighting every other day.”

Dream waits for Nightmare to look away first. He knows he will, because his brother always avoid eye contact when being told things that contradict his assumptions. And there he goes. Nightmare looks away, his frown tightening. He inhales and steps around him, knowing that this took up the remaining minutes of his break.

It was time to get back to work.

Before he teleports away, he pauses again. That blurriness in his vision isn’t going away, no matter how much he blinks. “It may be an unhealthy habit,” he says, not looking back. He tries to keep the waver in his voice to a minimum. “And you might hate me for having it, but it is the one thing making sure I can keep doing my job. Without it, there probably wouldn’t be any positive emotions left. I’d have given up. Because why bother, right?”

He scrubs at his face, lowering his voice. The last thought that sneaks out of him isn’t meant to be said out loud, but it is. “Or...maybe I’d have done the same thing as you and finally bite into that black apple at home.”

As soon as the words are out, he tenses. Nightmare doesn’t know about the black apple. He knows this, because his brother would’ve made sure to confiscate it years ago. The fact that it had still been there in all his visits before had always reassured him, knowing that the choice was always there as a last resort, if he really couldn’t do this any longer.

And now he just fucked that all up. 

There’s a rush of movement behind him and he teleports away before Nightmare can bombard him with more questions. 

[imaginarianisms]

She'd been lying here in the darkness of her chambers for gods know how long. Helaena hadn't eaten in a while, although she'd forced herself to bathe earlier. The last few hours she supposed were her staring into the abyss of nothingness. Here in the darkest parts of her chambers she couldn't tell when the time was or how many days had passed. After Jaehaerys' funeral procession and her panic, with Dreamfyre sending the young prince to the afterlife, she simply wanted to be alone to grieve. She'd heard word that Aegon had hanged all the ratcatchers in the Red Keep, both the guilty and the innocent, but in all honesty, while she sympathized with the common people, her own grief was on the forefront of her mind and had little room for the grief of others for the moment. Six namedays old, bloody and haunted, and they slaughtered him like an animal by a foul, cruel butcher and a vile, sneaking ratcatcher. Named for the Old King, only now her sweet son would never grow old. She'd made Aegon and his war council agree to send her sister Rhaenyra terms of peace, she had made them all agree to leave Rhaenyra's titles and let the Black Queen and her kin keep Dragonstone, and what had she received in return? Death. Helaena would never forgive Daemon for doing this to her and her children. She felt hollow, all she kept doing these days were gazing off into nothingness, wondering if perhaps there was even the slightest chance this was all just a dream. Everytime she heard an apology from most people, she'd rejected it after days of putting on fake smiles for the sake of appeasing egos and courtesies. Many lords and ladies at court saw her grieving and the cruelest of them in private only wished that she would get on with it; there was a war and people died, although they dare not say that to her face nor in the presence of Aegon. In their minds, Aegon and Helaena were no different than the rest of them. Every 'sorry' was a snapping thread of what little sanity she had left, the only ones she'd accepted was from Alicent and Otto. The rest? She blamed the vast majority for not being there to protect her son. Eventually, she had stopped letting most people anywhere near her because she couldn't listen to it anymore. T'was for their own good, really, either that or feed them to Dreamfyre. Helaena didn't like there mere thought of that, but the dragon has its way within her. Rhaenyra couldn't have possibly have approved of this... she loves me, and Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and Maelor and wouldn't hurt any of them, and she's just lost Luke... would she?

At the sound of an opening door, she slowly lifted her head and rose to sit up, long silver-gold hair splayed all about her with lavender eyes regarding her visitor, her heart sinking into the depths of her stomach. Grandfather. Her lower lip trembled. T'was safe to break around him. Otto Hightower had always been a safe space for her. It was he who encouraged her studies of learning in the ways a princess could learn. It was because of him that she was inspired to speak up more and to begin to paint and study the stars and to draw and to study living creatures of the known world. Helaena had been upset that she and her mother had practically been forced into displaying their grief so publically, but she'd forgiven her grandfather. She always forgave him, even if most of her brothers perhaps thought it otherwise. @handead had never once laughed at her or put her down for simply being herself; if anything, he'd encouraged her. Word had spread like wildfire through the castle that Aegon had named Ser Criston the new Hand of the King, his steel fist, and he was going back to Oldtown again. Her throat began to choke up as she began to sob uncontrollably. Rising to her feet and staggering with the lack of food, she began to walk over to him. Another river of tears streamed down her cheeks. Helaena didn't want him to leave. ❝I don't want you to go, grandfather. It hurts too much. He ruined everything. He killed my baby, my boy. Daemon killed my baby.❞

[broadstbroskis]

no better company than you | nathan mackinnon

a/n: alright, i’m rolling in late for @antoineroussel oussel summer exchange (thank you love, for running such a lovely exchange again, it was wonderful and i’m glad i was able to particiapte) and i’m very sorry for the lateness! i had the pleasure of writing for the lovely @ghstandpucks​ 💜 again, i am SO sorry about the wait but i hope you enjoy this! 

word count: 3.2k

-----

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I’m late!” You slide into the booth and throw your bag down next to you, hoping to god you don’t look as frazzled as you feel; this restaurant is far too nice.

Nate just smiles at your words, too familiar with your family by now to know that you’re always running 5-10 minutes behind. He’s ordered a bottle of wine- a nice rosé, fitting for the beautiful end of summer day- and had already started pouring a matching glass for you the second you started sitting down. “How’d the interview go?”

You bite your lip. “Eh.” 

“I’m sure it went better than you think.” Nate says encouragingly. “You’re too hard on yourself. All three of you are.”

And well, that’s not a lie. Your siblings were just as critical of themselves as you were. Sid was famously known for it and Taylor, your twin, was as bad as you. But…

“Listen to you!” You laugh at him. Nate’s just as bad as the three of you. A mini-Sid in many ways, to many people in your hometown.

But that was in Canada. This was Denver. And here, Nate was cool. Laid-back. Lowkey. Everything a professional athlete should be. Nobody knew about what a dork he really was, except his teammates.

And now, maybe you too, if all went well with this job interview.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nate says, looking at his menu to feign ignorance.

You giggle, pulling your own up toward your face. “Sure, buddy.”

It’s not often that you and Nate spend time one on one like this, even if you see him all the time over the summer. He’s usually with your brother when you see him, politely trying to decline your mom’s invites to dinner or already hanging at Sid’s house when you invite yourself over to your brother’s house for pool or lake time. Usually time one on one with Nate like this is brief, usually like in passing while he’s waiting for Sid in the kitchen while you’re eating.

It’s nice. Nate’s funnier than people give him credit for and it’s easy to relax into dinner and conversation, to forget about the anxiety from your interview as you chat about what’s new for both of you and gossip about people you both know.

By the time he drops you off at your hotel, it’s late and you’re too tired (and maybe just on the right side of tipsy) to even worry about the interview. You just barely change into pajamas, run through your nightly routine, and climb into bed, before shutting the lights off. It feels like you’re asleep before your head even hits the pillow. 

In the morning, you’re awoken by the sound of your phone ringing, and it takes a second for you to place the sound, but when you do you pounce on it, recognizing the local area code immediately. “Good morning.” You say, trying your hardest not to sound like you woke up literally thirty seconds ago.

It’s human resources, from the job you interviewed for yesterday.

You got it.

-----

“Ew, no!” Your dad holds his hands up innocently, when you rush over to stop him from unpacking a box. “Why would you put that there?”

“Hey, sweetie, maybe it’s time for a break.” Your mom says gently, exchanging a look with your dad, who nods his agreement enthusiastically.

Which is fair. You’d just about almost taken his fingers off just because you didn’t like where he was unpacking colanders. 

“Dinner!’” Your dad latches onto immediately. “Nate offered to take us all out tonight, I’ll let him know we’re ready.”

“Ready?” You frown, looking down at your workout shorts and baggy t-shirt.

“We’ll be ready in an hour.” He amends, already texting Nate.

Nate knocks on the door to the new condo you’re renting an hour and fifteen minutes later, sheepishly grinning when your dad tells him that you and your mom still need a few minutes. “Thought I had my timing perfect.”

Your dad snorts. “Oh buddy. Keep dreaming.”

He’s not too off on his timing, but unfortunately for Nate, you don’t have too much else going for you in your condo yet. Your dad had gotten your TV all set up, but in addition to the TV and living room furniture, you haven’t gotten much else, and that includes food and beverages. So the two of them sit in mostly silence while they wait another few minutes for you and your mom to finish getting ready. 

“I told you that you should have just met us there.” You tell Nate, as he trips on a box on his way out the door.

“Oh, so this wasn’t deliberate sabotage?” He deadpans.

“You caught me. Just trying to keep you around the city full time until I have time to make better friends.”

Nate laughs, as the two of you follow your parents out the door. “Be nicer to me or I won’t introduce you to my friends.”

“Who said I want to be friends with your friends?”

“Children.” Your mom turns to look back at you and Nate smiles at her innocently, but it’s been a while since that’s fooled her. “Do we need to stay home?”

It serves to get the two of you moving, even as you laugh at her joke. Nate drives you to another one of his favorite restaurants, and dinner flies by, with Nate insisting on picking up the tab, even when your dad tries to fight him on it. 

It’s started to cool down a little by the time you’re walking back toward the car, Nate and your dad still fake-fighting about paying for dinner, and you find yourself not realizing you’re smiling at the two of them as you walk behind them until your mom bumps your shoulder. “A few hours off for dinner with some good company was just what you needed.” She says.

And even though the smile on her face seems too knowing, you’re too tired to ask about it right now, so you just nod in agreement. “Yeah, this was nice.” You smile back at her.

-----

Mel Landeskog pokes her head around the corner and you wave at her, trying to catch her attention. “Jesus Christ.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t think he was serious.”

“I mean.” You bite your lip. “I did have to work today.”

“I would have picked you up!” She shakes her head, muttering under her breath, and you know Nate’s going to get an earful from her later. “But no, no. That dumbass just let you come all the way over here by yourself. Sends me a text to come meet you by the door. All casual.”

“I mean.” You send her a look. “Did you expect anything different from Nate?”

It’s the way she looks at you and sets her face that almost has you nervous for Nate. You’ve known Mel for a long time now, but really, you don’t know her from more than just years of NHL events. “I do now.” She says.

You hope Nate knew what he was getting himself into sending Mel a text to come find you earlier.  

Once she leads you up into the box with some of the wives and kids, she’s back to smiling and laughing, making introductions all around. The mood all around is light and easy, everyone excited for the home opener of the season, and happy to be back with everyone again. 

It’s fun to be back in this atmosphere. Hockey’s been a part of your life for so long and there’s truly nothing like the energy of the first game of the season. You feed off the energy, catching up with some familiar faces and chatting with all the other girls, probably too excited when they invite you to a girl’s night later in the week, but it feels good to have plans that don’t involve trying to invite yourself to Nate’s when you’re bored.

“Hey, good job tonight.” You nudge him afterwards, catching up with him in the family room.

He laughs, pulling you in for a hug. “A little different than what you were used to?”

“It lived up to the hype, I guess.”

“I’ll turn you from a Pens fan.” Nate promises. 

It’s your turn to laugh. “Feel Sid’s wrath.”

“What’s he going to do? Check me into the boards? Bring it.”

Nate’s been hanging out with your brother and your family for years now, so he should really know better by now. “Okay, buddy.” You pat his shoulder patronizingly. “Sure.”

“I could take him.” Nate insists. 

“Throw hands. Next game. I dare you.” 

He side-eyes you, because you both know that’s not going to happen and it’s only a minute before you’re both laughing. 

“I better see you on Friday!” Ashley Kadri shouts out to you as she’s walking past with Naz and Naylah, interrupting your laughter. “No excuses!”

“I’ll be there!” You call back. “Promise!”

When you look back, Nate’s pouting-exaggerated, albeit, but pouting. “Are you ditching me this Friday?”

“Yup. Found better company.”

“How dare you?” He cries. “There is no better company.”

“Well.” You shrug. “I’ll know for sure after happy hour on Friday.”

“Find your own ride home.” Nate says and then he starts speed walking away from you at an absurd speed.

“Nate!” You protest, jogging to catch up and he finally slows down enough for you to catch up when you round the corner, bumping your shoulder right back when you purposely bump into him in retaliation.

-----

No one lets loose like a group of moms when they’ve got a night without their kids.

Someone has mentioned this to you before, at a bachelorette party or a wedding or something, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen it really in action before until this happy hour. 

“If the waitress comes back, order me another drink!” Kerry calls, before running off to the bathroom.

The waitress nods at her, before addressing the rest of you. “Another round?”

“Oh, please!” Mel nods quickly and repeatedly.

“Can we get a few more orders of mozzarella sticks too, please?” You look down at the empty plates in front of you. “And maybe some nachos too?”

“Yes!” Jackie lights up across from you. “Great call!”

It pretty much only goes downhill from there and by the end of the night, both Mel and Ashley are crying for reasons no one is sure of entirely and you’re pretty grateful to see Nate among the group of husbands and boyfriends to come to pick up all their girlfriends.

So grateful you scream his name the second you see him. “Nate!”

He winces, trying to pull his ear away from you, but he’s laughing. “Guess you had a good time, huh?”

“Uh huh!” You nod enthusiastically, not realizing how loud you are until he winces again.

Nate laughs. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.”

You gasp loudly. “I can’t leave my new friends!”

“Your new friends are all leaving you!”

You frown, but look around and realize he’s right. Naz has already sneakily pulled Ashley out of the bar and Gabe and Erik were collecting Mel and Jackie’s things. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Nate parrots. “Come on, get your stuff, crazy girl.”

“Hey!” You protest, grabbing your purse. “I am the least crazy person in my family.”

“I hate to break it to you.” Nate says, as he guides you into standing. “But that’s not saying much.”

He’s right, but you bump him with your shoulder anyway as you walk past. That’s about sibling honor and shit.

Nate parked too far away and by the time you reach his car, you’re leaning on him, the adrenaline from hanging out with friends wearing off quickly. Nate’s nice about it, guiding you to his car and then helping you into his front seat before heading around to the driver’s side. 

“You guys had a fun time then?” Nate says, once he’s started driving and you’re half asleep leaning against the window. “Looks like it at least.”

“Yeah.” You nod sleepily. “But you were right.”

He chuckles. “About what?”

“There’s no better company than you.”

-----

Nate becomes pretty clingy after that night, texting and facetiming whenever he’s out of town, and stopping by pretty much anytime he’s got a free minute. It quickly becomes something you look forward to, missing his visits when he’s out of town and looking forward to his calls, smiling when his texts come in and breaking up your work day. And it isn’t long before you realize that you’re being just the same. Sending him messages before and after games. Inviting yourself over for dinner and making Nate cheat on his diet.

In a blessed move from the NHL scheduling department, Sid and the rest of the Pens are scheduled to arrive in town on a Friday morning and aren’t leaving until the end of the weekend. 

They have a practice scheduled for early afternoon, which is perfect for you to wrap up your work day before heading over to watch the end.

Geno lights up when he sees you watching from the glass, the first person to acknowledge you, and skating over in the middle of the drill, leaving behind two shocked linemates. “Mini!” He shouts cheerfully, even as you roll your eyes at your least favorite nickname. All because you happen to be the shortest of your siblings. “Great to see you.”

“You too, Geno.” You smile warmly at him, a little annoyed that you can’t get a giant bear hug from your favorite pseudo-older brother right away. “But I don’t think a few other people feel the same right now.” You jerk your chin back over his shoulder. 

He turns his head quickly but then looks back. “Psh. They’ll get over it.”

You bust out laughing, which is right about when your brother comes over, and in classic Sid fashion, is all about hockey. “Stop being a distraction.”

“I was minding my own business until Geno came over here!” You protest, even as Geno starts laughing and Sid eyes you skeptically. 

“Why don’t I believe that one?” Sid says dryly and sure, maybe you were making faces at some of the guys you knew well as they were passing you, but you weren’t actively being a distraction.

“That’s your prerogative.” You tell Sid, who shakes his head and pulls Geno back for the remainder of practice. 

Practice doesn’t last for too much longer and you spend a few minutes chatting with the coaching staff while you wait for Sid to change. But he and Geno finally come out of the locker room and you stop mid-sentence to throw yourself at your brother.

Sid’s laughing and so are you, but both of you start laughing even harder when Geno pulls you both into his arms. “Two of my favorite people!”

“Taylor’s going to be so offended.” Kris grins, watching the three of you amused.

“Taylor?” You grin back at him, going for a hug once Geno releases you. “How about his wife and kid?”

“Those are my other favorite people.” Geno reasons.

“Now I’m offended.” Kappy deadpans.

“You’re not even close.” Geno grins, roughing his hair.

Kappy tries to get him right back, but Geno just swats his hand away and then Sid’s shaking his head, like this is just the same shit, different day. “Look what you did.”

You grin, leaning against him. “Not sorry. I’ve missed this entertainment.”

Sid shakes his head. “Then you can round them up for dinner.”

You do. Easily.

Nate had suggested one of the team’s favorite restaurants and you’re happy to see that he’d accepted your invitation to join everyone, even if he rolls in a little late. You’re deep into Kris’ camera roll, looking at pictures of his kids and catching up on stories that you haven’t heard about them recently, so you don’t even notice he’s arrived and said hello already until he blows on the back of your neck.

You jump. “What the hell?”

Nate’s grinning. “Hey.”

You shake your head at him and bump your shoulders against him. “Hey.” You mimic and then turn right back to Kris.

But your shoulder stays leaning on Nate, and it remains there comfortably all night.

-----

Sid’s a little cranky when you first meet him for breakfast the morning after the game and you’re sure it has everything to do with the last minute turnover that cost them the game (and bragging rights over Nate this summer, which is really what he’s probably cranky about).

He gets over it pretty quickly though, and soon the two of you are laughing and talking, catching up about your family and your lives.

“-and I even love my office, the vibes are just great!”

Sid shakes his head. “Vibes.”

You grin. You know he hates that word. “Good vibes.” You confirm.

“So you’re liking Denver?”

“Love it.” You confirm, smiling.

“Meeting good people?”

You eye him skeptically. “Yes dad. I already said my coworkers are great and I’ve been hanging out with Nate and his friends a lot too. It’s good”

“Geno thinks there’s something going on between you and Nate.” Sid says casually.

The jump of your heart is far from casual. “Oh yeah?”

Sid eyes you but his response to that is surprising. “You know if there was something going on between you and Nate that would be okay?” He pauses, watching you again, but your face is completely neutral, purposely not moving. “Right?”

“You know if there was something going on between me and Nate that your opinion wouldn’t matter at all, right?”

He grins, laughing as he nods, but after he takes a bite of pancakes he says, “To you, yeah. To him, it does.”

“Why?” You blurt out, giving yourself away before you can stop yourself.

But Sid doesn’t say anything to that. He grins again and then changes the subject entirely.

-----

You only make it about a day before you’re knocking on Nate’s door, pretty forcefully.

“What’s up?” He swings the door open, with a frown. “You okay?”

“Does what my brother thinks really matter to you that much?” You blurt out. It’s been bothering you ever since Sid mentioned it at breakfast. That you lasted this long was probably a miracle.

Nate blushes and your jaw drops. “It-”

“Oh my god.” You grin delightedly. “Come on, really?”

“That’s not-” He blows out a frustrated sigh. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

You nod, but you’re pretty sure he’s not going to get far into what he’s going to say.

He sighs again. “It’s not about, like, his approval, or shit. It’s just- he’s important to you. So obviously he’s important to me-”

You kiss him. 

“You know that you don’t even have to worry about that, right?” At some point, you’d slid one hand to his hip and the other arm around his neck, and the hand there plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I’ll argue about that with you later.” Nate says impatiently and so you’re laughing when he kisses you again.

[lightsovermonaco]

Body Shots (Pierre Gasly)

Inspired by (and beta read) by the amazing @limp-wrist-max​ thank you Mea! 

Masterlist

Word count: 3.5k

Recommended song: “Lucky You” by Sim Dane

Vacationing in Milan had its perks. Fine dining, luxury stores that were prime for window shopping, and the proximity to your best friend, to name a few.

When you'd touched down in Milan you had had no intentions of visiting Pierre. You had just finished your exams for your summer class and had a week before the next semester started up, so you had simply booked the cheapest ticket and boarded a plane. 

The intent had been to have some good wine, good food and unwind. Pierre saw your Instagram story minutes after you posted it and recognized the bakery you stopped at for lunch. And once he found out you were only a few minutes away from that weekend's grand prix, he had ideas that didn't involve you reading a novel all day.

Pierre had insisted that a last minute cancelation by a family friend had left a paddock pass unclaimed and had suggested you take it.

"You're my best friend, it'll be fun to have you experience a weekend through my eyes for once instead of sitting in the stands. Come visit me."

Something in the inflection of his voice made the simple request rub you raw. He missed you. It had been months since your last get together and you couldn't blame him. The last year had been rough for him and he  rarely had anyone physically at his side to help him through it.

Inviting you instead of one of his parents was about more than your current proximity to the track. He hadn't missed a beat in asking you, not hesitating to consider anyone else being with him this weekend.

Your stomach had turned as you climbed in a cab Sunday morning, not out of fear of something going wrong but because of the nagging feeling that something was about to change.

You'd known Pierre since you were kids. Your brother had raced in karting before pursuing another dream, but in the few short years you'd hung around European tracks you had managed to forge a bond with one of your brother's rivals. That friendship carried on regardless of the distance that separated you, kept alive by visits in the off season and once a year trips to the racetrack at Silverstone.

Pierre met you at the gates and you had barely seen him since.

A decent qualifying session saw the Frenchman start P10 on Sunday's race. He didn't hide the fact that he was disappointed, but come time for his final meeting with the team you'd never guess he was anything but ecstatic.

You had to be conscious about your mouth hanging open when Pierre stepped into the garage in his fireproofs with his suit half undone. The tuft of blond hair peeking through his backwards cap floats on an invisible breeze and he bounces on his toes. His brow furrows when he is handed a data sheet, listening intently to what the engineer points out.

Butterflies riot in your stomach when Pierre catches you staring and winks. You pray he writes the blush on your cheeks off as the heat and he must, because he raises his eyebrows and flexes a bit.

You laugh to cover the way you want to do nothing but strip him out of that tight fitted white shirt. Your crush was getting out of hand. Pierre's shameless, friendly flirting only escalated matters.

You told yourself it was nothing. He was like this with every girl he met, making a fool of himself to earn a laugh. You were no different, except maybe that you were a constant where most other women only got to enjoy his playful personality for a short time.

You're treated to a few long minutes of watching Pierre prep to climb into the car before he's heading out on track to line up at the grid. 

The race starts off fine, Pierre's pace is better than expected. One of the Haas's breaks down at the pit entry and Pierre's strategist decides to bring him in for a fresh set of tires. A kiss seems like the proper reward for their stroke of brilliance, which affords Pierre the advantage when the pits close soon after. 

Restarting on lap 28 is nail biting. Hamilton, Stroll, and Pierre make up the podium places. The entire garage gasps when Stroll goes wide at turn four. Hamilton serves his penalty and Pierre inherits the lead. Sainz jumps on the opportunity to attack.

Pierre defends brilliantly until the final lap. The team erupts when he crosses the line first, bringing home the win.

Red, white and green confetti sticks to his skin as he sprays the champagne over all of you. In the heat of it all, Pierre sits on that top step and shakes his head. You already know that the photos of him being snapped from all angles will be gorgeous, the sun shining down on the first French grand prix winner in decades.

A legend in the minds of his people and in yours.

You could scarcely believe it yourself. Your best friend had finally, after years of being pushed down, won a grand prix at the temple of speed. Red Bull had been wrong, just as you'd insisted when Pierre cried over losing his seat and his friend in one weekend. But god, did Pierre rise above it all.

Pierre catches your gaze just before he leaves the podium. A lifetime of emotion swirls around him like an enigma, begging you to find out what it was hiding. Your wave is barely more than a lift of your hand but Pierre notes it nonetheless, tipping his trophy in your direction.

You wait patiently on the sidelines as Pierre poses for pictures with his team on and off the track. His attention constantly falls on you, his grin widening each time he sees you tucked under the arm of an enthusiastic mechanic or crew member. Alpha Tauri was a family and you were an honorary member thanks to your connection to their driver.

An action packed hour of cameras passes before Pierre is able to break away. As soon as he's given the go ahead he passes his trophy off and marching to you. You're both practically running by the time you meet in the middle. You crash into him and he lifts you off your feet in a crushing hug.

"You did it," you whisper, overwhelmed by his success now that you've gotten the chance to celebrate with him. "I'm so proud of you."

Pierre laughs as he sets you on your feet. His smile is wider than you've ever seen it and you're sure his cheeks must be sore.

"Wish they allowed us to bring a friend up there," Pierre says softly, a smile melting into a sly smirk. "Seeing you doused in champagne is an image I wouldn't forget."

You shake your head, caught up in his ceaseless flirting. He had no idea that his honeyed words and gentle touches lit something inside of you, rattling your brain and making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. Instead you snatch the black and gold Pirelli cap off his head and place it on your own, earning you a peal of laughter.

"Looks better on you anyway." Pierre runs a hand through his sweaty, champagne doused hair, leaving bits sticking up at odd angles.

Someone calls Pierre's name, far enough away that there's no rush. Pierre's hands remain planted on your waist and yours stay wrapped around his neck. By the way his bright blue eyes bore into yours, you swear he's thinking the same thing you are.

"Thank you for believing in me," he murmurs, gaze falling to your lips.

"I knew it was just a matter of time," you tell him, inching up on your tiptoes. Tempted by his win, you want to ruin the best friendship you've ever had. You want to discover if the lips you spend far too much time dreaming about felt as soft as they looked. You want to know how it feels to be lost in Pierre, newly minted race winner, and find out just how he dealt with the adrenaline and euphoria of his incredible drive.

"Well done mate!"

Max Verstappen startles the two of you apart. You take a healthy step back and drop your gaze to the ground to hide your burning cheeks.

"Thanks." Pierre accepts the Dutchman's embrace and claps him on the back. "Sucks I didn't get to fight you for it."

"There will be more chances in the future. And I didn't expect to see you here, that's a nice surprise." Max knocks you with his shoulder, tipping you off balance. On instinct you latch onto Pierre's arm to steady yourself. You wait a heartbeat too long to remove your hand and both of you find anywhere to look but each other.

"So where's the party?" You ask, searching for a distraction from the way your palm still burns.

"Definitely not at Red Bull." Max shudders and you laugh because that's what you do when someone is being over dramatic. It rings hollow in your ears.

"I hear there's a few guys with adjoining rooms at the hotel who bought plenty of booze," Pierre says. "You and Dan wanna come by?"

"Is that really a question?" Max grins, already typing out a text as Pierre feeds him the details.

**********

"You should do body shots," Max suggests, which earns a roaring laugh from Daniel and a half hearted one from Pierre.

"I don't think so," Pierre says, "there's no one here I trust enough to let that happen."

"Not even your best friend?" Max gestures to you and shoots you a wink when Pierre glances over. "I think she's trustworthy."

"No thanks." Pierre holds up his plastic cup and salutes Max before draining it to the dregs.

Pierre's immediate refusal hurt more than it probably should have. You hadn't expected him to jump at the offer but having him shut the idea down so thoroughly hadn't been what you wanted either.

Max notes your pouty lower lip and speaks on your behalf. "Come on mate," Max insists. "You just won your first prix, live a little! It's not like you've got anything to lose, she's your best friend."

"That's exactly why-"

"Shut up, it would be fun! Wouldn't it?" Max says this last bit to you, a wild grin on his face.

Max expects you to turn red and object. That was his end goal. But what the Dutchman hadn't counted on was how drunk you already were on Pierre. On his smile. On his bright blue eyes, swirling in the aftermath of his unlikely triumph. And mostly on the not-so-sneaky way he glances at you every few minutes.

"Let's do it."

Pierre blinks, searching your face for any sign of distress. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah, why not?" You shrug, suddenly fearing that you'd read him wrong and he really was against this whole thing. "Unless you don't want to-"

"Get the vodka," Pierre interrupts, nodding to Max though his stare remains pinned on you. Pierre latches onto your wrist and drags you around the room until he finds a table long and sturdy enough for his liking. 

"This a good height for you?"

The coffee table is low enough that you'd have to kneel. Luckily getting on your knees isn't something you'd mind doing for Pierre. You lick your lips without thinking. Pierre's pupils blow wide, black swallowing the swirling oceans of blue.

"Sure," is all you manage.

"Good." Apparently neither of you were able to focus on speech. You work together to clear the empty plastic cups and used napkins from the surface. Your hands brush when you both reach for the last cup and you just catch the way Pierre's breath hitches.

You and Pierre have danced this dance since you were teenagers. Each of you knows the steps by heart. The only difference is tonight neither of you were poised to bow out before the final lift.

"Beep beep, bitches!" You yank your hand away when Max's shout reaches you. Pierre's hand lingers in front of him,  outstretched as if your palm remained grazing his thumb. 

Max holds the bottle of vodka over his head as he wades through the crowd. "You're all about to be very, very entertained."

"Where's your chaperone?" You ask Max, searching for Daniel in the low lighting. You press your palm to your thigh, dissipating Pierre's lingering heat.

The Dutchman waves you off. "Went to get us more drinks. Pierre, isn't it kinda hard to do body shots if you're still fully clothed?"

"Who says I'm the one getting undressed?"

Max's grin dimples his flushed cheeks. "I mean you can ask her to take her shirt off in front of all these people if you want to."

"No," Pierre responds quickly. "Fine. I'll do it."

When Pierre strips off his shirt he gets more than a few whistles from men and women alike. That tended to happen when someone was built like a Greek fucking god, you supposed. Whoever voted for People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" and decided on Michael B. Jordan had clearly never laid eyes on Pierre, with his bronzed skin, endless expanses of muscle, and brilliant cheshire grin.

Michael B. Jordan who?

Pierre hands the team branded shirt off and lays out on the table. He pillows an arm under his head, bare bicep flexed as he gets comfortable. Leaning in to kiss along the hard muscle was out of the question, however tempting it was.

Pierre looks up expectantly. "You coming?" 

Holy shit, this was actually happening.

"Yeah, I'm coming." You sink to your knees and Pierre laughs.

"Up here." He pats his thigh with his free hand and beacons you forward. "Please."

Screw it, you've already thrown your friendship out the window. This night ended either in heartbreak or awkwardness, might as well get your money's worth.

A few whoops break out above the music. The bassline isn't the only thing thundering in your chest as you straddle Pierre's thighs, hands braced on his chest.

"Okay?" Pierre whispers for your ears only. You nod with what you hope is a charming smile.

"Alright move," Max says, shooing you back until you're resting on your haunches. Max flicks the cap off the bottle and you grab it to take a long sip.

Max gapes at you and you wipe a hand over your mouth. "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies."

Pierre's thighs tense beneath you in response to your bold declaration. Dozens of Pierre's friends and team members gather around. For all you care, Pierre is the only person in the room.

"Last chance to back out," Max warns. You're too busy tracking the drop of liquid that falls from the neck of the bottle to splash onto the crease of Pierre's abs to bother responding. 

"Pour it out." Pierre's chest sinks with his demand, doing nothing but sparking your imagination, creating images of him heaving beneath you. You'd sell your soul to recreate the way you're currently poised above Pierre's hips with a little less clothing and no audience.

Max gives up hope on you replying and dribbles the alcohol up Pierre's abdomen, stopping just below his pecks.

"Have at 'er-"

Your tongue is on Pierre's skin before Max has finished his sentence. You feel the muscle tense beneath your tongue, going rigid at the first contact. The burn of the vodka doesn't even register as you lap it up, catching the drips that fall over his sides. 

You aren't sure either of you is breathing. Salty sweat mingles with the sharpness of the alcohol, an afterthought barely worth mentioning.

Blame the liquid courage or blame the high from Pierre's win, but you were confident Pierre was enjoying this just as much as you. 

Planting a hand on Pierre's hip, you steal a glance up at him to find him locked on you. You take that as permission to continue, dragging your tongue flat up his stomach and continuing well past where the vodka had been poured. Up between his pecks, over the curve of his throat that bobs beneath your tongue, over his chin until you meet his lips, already parted and waiting. 

Neither of you pay the shouts cresting around you any heed. You've both waited too long for this, endured too many almosts and what ifs to let the opportunity slip through your fingers. Your sticky hands cradle Pierre's face, angling it in a way that's to your liking so you can explore more of his mouth. He tastes like whiskey and mint, the juxtaposition of hot and cold scattering your thoughts. One of Pierre's hands finds the nape of your neck when you gasp for air, refusing to let you end the moment.

And it's pure, unending bliss that floods your veins when he nips at your lower lip, swollen and surely reddened from his kiss. His thumb sweeps across the back of your neck while you both fight to catch the breath currently evading you.

Daydreams didn't hold a candle to the real thing. One taste and you were addicted, craving as much as Pierre was willing to give.  

"Hey," he murmurs, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a stupidly gorgeous smile.

"That was nice," you tease, tangling your fingers in the silky blond strands of his hair. "I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again."

"Me too. Maybe somewhere where it's just us though. I wouldn't want to scandalize my team any further." You manage to steal another sweet peck before Max hauls you off Pierre.

"Fucking finally," Daniel says, clapping when you're upright again. "Do you know how long I've been trying to orchestrate this? The two of you really are dumber than a box of rocks. I can't believe all it took was Max suggesting body shots to get you two to kiss."

The arm that wraps around your waist feels right. Pierre hasn't hugged you like this before, with his chin resting on your shoulder and his nose nuzzling your neck, but it already feels like home.

Pierre ignores Max completely in favor of pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. "Why don't we go back to my room? I'll pour more alcohol on myself if that's what it takes to convince you."

You're just about to take him up on the offer when one of his team members taps his shoulder. He glances at them impatiently, which the man thankfully doesn't take personally.

"They want some photos with you holding your trophy," he explains, handing a shirt and the star shaped interpretation of the Italian flag to Pierre. "It will only take a few minutes,  they promised not to keep you long."

Of course everyone knew exactly where your minds were. Sanity had long since left the premises, tangled up in crisp white sheets. Pierre's entire team and half the Red Bull garage had seen what had gone down while the prix winner was sprawled on that coffee table. There would be no chance of denying it in the morning. 

And while you'd never imagined that the first time you'd kiss your best friend would be directly preceded by licking copious amounts of shitty liquor off his super-heated skin, now that you'd experienced it any other way seems forgettable.

Pierre sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, I already have my trophy, but…" your stomach lurches when you realize he means you. Pierre catches the way your mouth hangs open and he shoots you a grin before accepting the real trophy.

"You carry it," he says, not giving you much of a choice as he thrusts it into your hands. "I'm occupied."

You're about to point out that his hands are, in fact, free and that the more likely reason for insisting you carry the trophy was his usual post-race laziness when he slings an arm around your shoulders and tucks you tight to his side.

"Is this okay?" Pierre asks when you involuntarily stiffen. God, it was more than okay, it was perfect, it had just caught you by surprise. You'd only kissed him a handful of minutes ago and Pierre was already wrapped around your finger, smitten as if you'd been a couple for years.

"Yeah no, it's perfect. Simply lovely," you say quickly, stumbling over your words.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Your answer comes in the form of a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. You prop the trophy on your hip and smile up at your race winner.

"You don't have to ask that ever again. My answer is always yes."

[hellotvshowtrash]

Major angst warnings!!! As well as canon typical violence and gore. Description of blood and requests of blood and death. 

Elijah x reader

Due to recent problems with witches the reader dies in his arms. As she bleeds out and her heart stops beating, Elijah sings THEIR SongTm Like I’m Gonna Lose You by Megan Trainor. And then klaus and Rebekah have to pry him off of them and practically drag him away kicking and screaming because it’s been hours (maybe days) and he’s just sitting there, soaked in her blood and cradling her slowly decomposing body.

Well... you asked for it!

Like I’m Gonna Lose You

TW: lots of blood, major character death, graphic depictions of death and postmortem decomp, hella sadness, ((sort of song based as in the ask above!)) using witches as a cop out just like plec did <3 this is by far the darkest fic I have ever written, please feel free to skip if any of this makes you uncomfortable!

Word count: 1.4K

My submission for the April2021promptchallenge! Prompt was “I wanted to be better than this.” “Maybe next time.”

I was going to make a moodboard but this gif is too fitting and good to not use

The humid Louisiana air clung to them as they swayed, gripping each other tightly despite the sweat trickling down their skin. Elijah wrapped his arms around his love, taking in the scent of her hair around him, his eyes closing in bliss. She clutched him back, breathing heavily. Golden lights hung around the pair, the silver moon glinting in the sky. The perfect night for such a perfect pair.

Elijah opened his eyes from his dream to his reality, sitting, rather than dancing, cradling her in his arms. The sticky sweat and humid air was replaced with the hot scent of iron and the thick sheen of blood. Nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing had prepared him to lose another one of his lovers. His throat felt tight, no sound escaping him as his eyebrows furrowed at the sight of her. Confusion riddled his mind, how could this have happened? How is she here now, bloody and broken when she was just dancing with him the previous night? Her smile was so wide and radiant then as she admired the new ring on her finger.

Now, she was choking, losing her consciousness and looking at him desperately. She reached up weakly, cupping his cheek with a blood covered hand.

Blood poured from her, in no slow fashion, from multiple wounds across her body. He had tried to feed her his blood, it proved fruitless rather quickly. He had made it to the empty compound in time to cradle her gently, his whispered vows and her gurgled cries filling the soundless concrete walls. He clenched his jaw, his tears creating streaks down his face.

One thing hadn’t changed from his dream, and that was the silvery hue of the moon pouring in from the open roof above them. It illuminated her in a way that Elijah had once deemed divine, but now, now it was horrible and tragic but still somehow beautiful because it was her, and it was always her and it would never not be her. He caressed her face gently and she blinked at him, her own diamond of a tear cleaning a path down her cheek.

Elijah’s breath stuck in his throat, his voice coming in a croak when he tried to string together something coherent. “I never meant to take you for granted,” he whispered to her. His voice was deeper and more gravelly than normal, and it made her smile. Even wrought in pain, her smile still made his heart jump. “I wanted to be better than this,” he choked before sobbing, dropping his forehead to hers. She shifted underneath him and he realized she had chuckled.

“Maybe next time, yeah?” She coughed and a trickle of blood escaped the corner of her mouth. Elijah opened his eyes to look into hers, placing a soft kiss on her cracked lips. Like a puff of smoke, her breath escaped her lips for one last time and her hand went slack, falling from its place on Elijah’s cheek. His face twitched at the cool air making contact with the blood she left behind before he let a choked whine through his clenched teeth, his ears unable to find her comforting heartbeat. He squeezed her tightly against his body, her own limp and lifeless.

Elijah wasn’t sure how much time had passed, sitting against the concrete wall, holding onto her. He knew that the sun had come up and gone down at least twice. He knew that the body - her body- was slowly bruising and becoming cold, a smell had begun to accumulate and her cheeks had started to sink in. But still, he held her. He held her and talked to her, telling her all the things he should have said when she could still listen. And he sang to her, but he didn’t really sing because Elijah Mikaelson doesn’t sing, but he did say their song to her as if she could hum along like she used to.

“I’m gonna love you,” he whispered, pushing her hair away from her face. “Like I’m gonna lose you,” and his voice cracked as he sobbed. “I’m gonna hold you, like I’m saying goodbye.”

The footsteps came before he was ready.

“Goodbye, my love,” he whispered to her, kissing her forehead one last time.

“Dear god, brother, what happened?” Klaus was next to him in a beat, avoiding the now dry puddle of blood beneath Elijah and his love.

“I’m… not sure,” Elijah answered in a daze. “One moment we were dancing and the next..” he drifted off, his eyes staring past Klaus and now Rebekah and Freya who held each other in horror.

Freya reached out and grabbed Klaus’s shoulder, gesturing to a mark on the body’s hand. “Witches,” she whispered. Elijah hadn’t noticed the mark before, not through his grief. He stared down at it, feeling as though his gaze could burn the mark off her cold skin.

Klaus took a moment to take in Elijah’s appearance. Dried blood coated his white button up, a bloody, smudged handprint covered his right cheek. His hair was disheveled and tears stains covered his cheeks.

“Sister, get a sheet, please,” Klaus murmured. In a whisper of air Rebekah was gone and back again, white sheet in hand. “Elijah, you must let her go,” Klaus put his hand on his brother's shoulder.

“No.” Elijah responded immediately, his own voice loud in his ears.

“Broth-,”

“No, Niklaus. I cannot leave her. I can’t let her go. This wasn’t supposed to happen,” only then did Elijah lift his eyes to meet his brother’s, realizing that Klaus was dirty with mud and blood. He looked over at Rebekah and Freya, both were frayed and Freya was slightly wounded, but all in all, they were okay. “Where were you?” Elijah asked quietly, his eyes not leaving Freya’s.

Freya’s heart broke in her chest as her eyes welled with tears. “We were dealing with these same witches.” She gestured to the body cradled by Elijah. “We should have been here,” she said, leaving Rebekah’s side and moving closer to her brother, keeping her eyes locked on his. “I’m so sorry, Elijah.” As she talked to him, Rebekah and Klaus worked gently to remove the body from Elijah’s lap. Elijah didn’t necessarily let them, but he didn’t fight them either. He maintained eye contact with his sister and as soon as his lap was freed he collapsed into her arms, sobs tearing free from his lips. Klaus and Rebekah moved the body to the nearest table, wrapping her in the sheet supplied by Rebekah. Klaus swallowed roughly and turned back to his brother.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, brother.” Freya helped Elijah stand and Klaus moved to Elijah’s other side, helping him up the stairs of the abattoir. Elijah caught a glimpse of the body in the sheet laying on the table and broke once more, dropping to his knees on the stairs, his siblings trying to keep him afloat. He turned and rested his head against the railing, staring at it - at her.

In his long thousand years, a grief like this hadn’t ever consumed him. Not because he wasn’t aware of the risks being with him carried, because he was fully aware of them, but because he had worked tirelessly to keep her safe in the last two years of the relationship they shared, because he knew they should have been safe.

“Her ring,” he croaked, his hand extending through the railing in her direction. Rebekah, still standing next to the table, moved to uncover her left hand and pull off the ring that lay delicately on her finger. Once it was in her possession, Elijah’s hand fell and he closed his eyes, his cheek pressing up against the cool metal of the railing.

As hard as it was for Klaus to be, he was speechless. He had never seen such a visceral reaction from his usually level headed brother. Freya choked back her own sob, the pain in her brother radiated and she felt it too. Rebekah didn’t dare make eye contact with any of her siblings, her eyes couldn’t leave the body of the girl she almost got to call sister.

-

Elijah now stands in front of the freshly bricked tomb, his eyes unmoving from what he knows lay inside. A whirlwind of events led him here and he wonders what he could’ve done differently to save her. He lays his palm across the brick, his eyes filling with tears again.

“Maybe next time, darling.”

—

Taglist: @elijahs-wife @dumble-daddy @alwaysfangirlingish @akshi8278 @drachentraum @nikmikaelsonswife @njeancastro316 @mikaelson-emma @brown-eyed-babes

For Elijah, Klaus and Kol only: @malfoys-demigod

[renaerys]

22. for reds 🤡

This is 100% not what you asked for (yet...👀), but I give you part 1 of what we're calling the Weird King AU. I'm turning this into a proper multi-chapter High School fic because I love you and I'd jump on any bandwagon for you.

xxx

Like most young, conventionally attractive Supervillains, Brick had made a bit of a habit of failing upwards. It was pretty easy in a town full of simpering morons content to project their own narrative assumptions onto him, and who was he to crush their dreams when they made his life a little easier?

For example, dating.

“You can tell me, you know.” His cute date, Tracy, sipped her milkshake across from him.

“Tell you what?”

She softened and reached her hand across the table. “Your tragic backstory. I’ll listen without judgment, I promise.”

Brick tried to think of something tragic, but it all seemed pretty underwhelming as far as Supervillain origin stories went. “You mean like how I was born in a toilet?”

She made an oh shape with her lips. “We all have those days where we feel like we were born in a toilet, Brick.”

He’d dated Tracy for three months before she broke up with him out of the blue in tears: sorry she couldn’t fix his baggage, she just wasn’t strong enough to handle all that tortured darkness, but she wished him nothing but health and happiness. Brick deleted her number from his phone and spent twenty whole minutes staring at the toilet in his bathroom, wondering what the lesson here was.

But everything changed when Mojo got out of prison and moved Brick and his brothers back to Townsville, where he enrolled them in the local high school alongside their former arch nemeses, the Powerpuff Girls.

Suddenly, everything Brick did pre-supposed ill intent. These people remembered him as the pest who had graffitied their local monuments and blown up their cars and endangered their children. They held no love for him, and at best they feared him. This was not Citiesville, where he’d been a tall, cold glass of Voss water in a sea of recycled Dasani.

He found himself thinking about his birthing toilet again as he stepped into the cafeteria alone and the conversation quieted down as his new classmates watched him from the safety of their tables. His next moves here were critical. He was no longer at the top of the food chain, but fear and mystery surrounding his origins and character gave him a certain power over his peers.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of social suicide, I will fear no cringe,” he said to himself.

The jocks were out. Capable though he may be, Brick was not much of a team player unless there was a blood contract involved requiring his participation on pain of satanic torture. The drama kids were also a hard pass, not because he thought drama was lame, but because they had barely noticed him walk in, and Brick did not have the energy to deal with people more self-involved than himself. Some of the unaffiliated tables could be safe, but without a good understanding of the nuanced social dynamics in the high school, he could be heading toward irreversible doom, and that was a risk he was not willing to take.

He saw his salvation just ahead. It was the only option, all else being equal. In an environment where he couldn’t be certain of his baseline status and potential for upward mobility, there was greatness to be had only by association and certainty only in the devil he knew.

Brick helped himself to the empty seat directly across from Blossom Utonium to a chorus of gasps and staring.

Blossom did not startle like her table mates had. She watched him critically behind a head full of bangs as she balanced her soup spoon in her hand. “Really.”

Brick unwrapped the burrito he’d purchased in the lunch line and brandished it before him. “Really.”

He took a bite of the burrito. It was not hot enough. The two girls to Blossom’s left whispered to each other about that bad boy and he’s hot, though.

Blossom daintily spooned soup into her mouth without spilling a single drop as she continued to watch Brick for signs of his imminent dark side transformation.

The guy next to Brick was brave enough to ask him what his next class was. Brick had a mouth full of disappointing burrito, so he passed the guy the printout of his class schedule in lieu of answering.

“Wow, all APs, huh? Hey, we’re in U.S. History together next period, nice. I’m Mike Believe, by the way. Brick Jojo, right?”

Brick didn’t answer him immediately on account of the burrito currently occupying his mouth hole, and Mike took it the wrong way.

“Oh, yeah, we all know who you are. Blossom sort of filled us in.” He winced like he’d inadvertently revealed a terrible secret.

Brick swallowed his food and washed it down with a gulp of water. “Saves me some time.”

Mike looked super relieved. “For sure! Hey, I could lend you my notes if you want to catch up. Gershwin’s giving a quiz on the Progressive Era on Friday, and she’s a hard-ass who definitely won’t care that you just transferred…”

Brick chewed on his lunch as Mike continued to talk at him about classes and other vaguely helpful, albeit uninteresting, information. But Mike seemed normal enough, a little chatty but not in an overeager sort of way. Blossom was no longer clocking his every move and seemed to be absorbed in her friend’s latest swim team cheating scandal, until Brick reached for his water bottle and she suddenly laser-focused on his wandering hand.

Her keen attention to him was honestly flattering, if expected. It was in his nature to be noticed, and in this narrow respect she was no different from anyone else whose head he turned. If she chose to feed her interest with the flames of suspicion, then it was no difference to him.

But if she was anything like him—and on a chemical level she was probably the closest to him that a person could get—he suspected it took tremendous effort to hold her full and sustained attention. The world they inhabited was as vapid and mundane as the humans that surrounded them, and even the most gracious of gods grew bored of worship. Which explained all the smiting and fucking and generational curses upon entire households in everything from Greek mythology to the Old Testament.

Brick was pretty deep into a fantasy of Blossom going full Ixion and the Wheel on the swim team when Mike tapped his shoulder. “You ready to go?”

It took him a moment to realize the bell had rung and he had a class to get to—AP U.S. History with Mike, apparently. Brick gathered his tray and his bag and followed Mike. When he looked back at the table, Blossom was already gone.

xxx

That whole first week was painfully boring. No one bullied him, or pranked him, or picked a fight with him, of course. But no one really approached him, either. His brothers were more determined to make an effort. Boomer announced he was trying out for the soccer team because there was no rule saying a Super with extremely well documented ties to active criminals and the forces of Hell couldn’t kick a ball around a field. Butch had gotten himself invited to a midnight screening of Snakes on a Plane in some rich kid’s home movie theater, but only after that same kid had accidentally spilled milk on Butch and burst into tears in front of a cafeteria full of Juniors and Seniors. Brick declined the invitation Butch extended to him. He had that AP U.S. History exam to study for on Friday, anyway.

He shared all of his classes with Blossom. Even in the classes where her assigned seat was behind his and he couldn’t see her, he could feel her lobotomizing stare at the back of his head whenever she glanced up from her notebook. And while Mike’s notes were perfectly adequate and the friendly gesture counted for more than the content (a gesture Brick would not soon forget), there was a far more efficient way to accomplish his goal of murdering the class averages while also taking the edge off his loner doldrums.

“Can I borrow your class notes?”

Blossom rose from her seat and pulled her hair tie out to re-do her extremely long ponytail. She held the elastic between her teeth as she worked. Her teeth were very straight, he noticed. Some pretty nice girl-teeth, generally speaking.

“Which class?”

“All of them.”

He watched her wind the elastic around her hair with quick, adroit fingers. “That’s a lot of notes.”

“You’re the top of every class. No point in asking anyone else.”

She moved toward the hall. He followed her out. “Why would I help you?”

A legitimate question delivered without venom. Unlike her sister Buttercup, who’d “run into” Brick after school on Monday and told him to watch his back, Blossom didn’t have to do anything but maintain a general proximity to make her superiority complex known. Which was the kind of flex he could fuck with.

“Isn’t helping people sort of your mandate?”

They had arrived at her locker, which she opened with enough force to rattle the hinges. “I help the helpless. Are you helpless, Brick?”

Brick smiled at her baiting. Had she ever actually said his name at a normal volume before? It sounded good even in her baseline bitch timbre. “Critically helpless. I’m the new student who transferred in the middle of the semester, and you’re the only person who knows me.”

A couple other students clearly trying to get to the lockers Brick was blocking hovered just out of reach. They whispered to each other, but neither of them actually worked up the courage to ask Brick to move. He ignored them.

Blossom rummaged in her locker for the binder she would need for the next class. “Make friends.”

“Working on it.”

The locker door slammed and she faced him. There was something confrontational in the way she held herself before him that kicked him in the nuts back in time thirteen years to their more uncouth days when all he wanted to do was destroy her so he’d be the only one. Now they were older and wiser and he actually did need her notes to study, so destroying her was not high on his list of priorities.

“You want to be my friend.”

“We have so much in common.”

“So do lions and hyenas.”

“Both are apex predators, so.”

She took a step closer and peered up at him. Brick did not move, although he wondered what was so interesting about his face. She probably just thought he was hot. She was probably as bored as he was. She probably—

“You have lettuce in your teeth.”

Brick pulled back and covered his mouth on instinct. God fucking damnit.

Blossom was already walking away from him by the time he’d picked the food from his teeth. “I’ll expect my notes back in mint condition before first period tomorrow morning.”

Brick pressed a fist against the lockers and quietly fumed. “Dumbass…”

“Um, sorry, but do you mind…?”

The student who’d been waiting for her locker space to clear up had her palms up as if to assuage a feral stray. Brick pushed off the lockers, but his fist left a dent where he’d unleashed some of his impotent self-pity. He looked back at the girl, and she shook her head.

“It’s fine! It, uh, it happens sometimes.” She pointed a couple lockers down to Blossom’s, which was dinged up worse than the others.

Brick stared at Blossom’s locker, and then back at the girl. Her narrow, dark eyes were wide, but not out of fear. She was waiting for something, and like an idiot it took him a moment to catch up. “You’re trying to make me feel better about fucking up your locker.”

She laughed nervously. “I mean, it’s really fine! You just looked so miserable for a second there, and I just thought…”

Great, he was moping so hard he had an audience.

The five minute warning bell rang, and a flood of students rushed past them on their way to fourth period. Brick stepped aside so the girl could get to her locker.

“Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

The new guy, yeah. How quaint. Except, she was waiting for a response, which wasn’t the absolute worst thing that had happened to him all week.

“Brick,” he said. But of course, she already knew that, and she was just being nice.

“I’m Kim. Kim Chan.”

“Okay.” He didn’t have anything else to say to her, so he decided to get his shit and get to his next class.

“Welcome back to Townsville, Brick.”

Brick shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked off. It didn’t occur to him until later that Kim was the first and only person who had properly welcomed him back home.

[yandere-sins]

Could I ask you for some general yandere headcanons for your three top favorite Haikyuu characters? Please and thank you!

*Cracks knuckles*

Alright, sit down and listen kids, Ivy’s going to tell you something wild now. (Thanks for asking, I love talking about it atm ;-;)

»»———————— ♡ ————————««       

The Miya Twins

♡  First of all, yes, both of them, at the same time. I love them equally, and they are my reason to read HQ!! in the first place. Honestly, their yandere idea is entirely inspired by the idea of the lovely @shorkbrian from the yandere discord server, but I am writing this idea right now, and I love it so much, I will forever hold on to it, don’t fight me

♡  They are together at all times, except if one of them goes to fetch groceries. They just like sitting around and watching you quietly. You are so amazing, so perfect, the way you read, or draw, or watch TV. They just don’t want to disturb you, but you are unnerved, of course, of their eyes always on you. They are predators, but god, can they wait for you. Stalking is half of the fun, right? If you come to them, they’ll hug and coo all over you, and four hands are praising and giving you affection, also four arms, four eyes, and two mouths, you are so damn lucky. Tough luck, however, with trying to play them against each other as they will never let that happen. No matter what they are doing, it’s a communal thing. Everyone sleeps, eats, brushes their teeth together. Punishments and love are spread equally over all participants, and there is no such thing as favoritism, the twin who gets too much attention eventually pushing you into the other’s lap for his turn

♡  Atsumu naturally is the bolder twin, and he likes going in to touch you, hug you, and tell you he loves you, and the longer he has to sit and restrain himself, the more he gets antsy. Full on, tapping his fingers, swaying back and forth nervously, as if you were a drug, he just has to consume. Only Osamu can hold his brother back, or he’d be all over you forever, keeping you in his lap as he lets you read to him, play with you, wrestle you and make out with you all the time. However, he’s also the one who gets pouty quickly, throws temper tantrums, and has violent outbursts if ignored for too long. Not consoling Atsumu also means you get on the bad side with his brother, and it’s up to you if you want the two brothers to fight or not, worsening your situation by the second since you are the one who will have to endure all that comes from arguments

♡  Osamu is much more comfortable to have around and a good watchdog for his brother. He cooks for you, buys the things you ask him for, and even if he gets a hug, he cuts it short, so you don’t get uncomfortable. But oh boy, do you not want to be on his wrong side. You simply don’t want to be ignored by him, or all hell will break loose. You can’t count on Atsumu taking care of you, who’d rather cuddle all day than feed you, and Osamu has more than once broken down the bathroom door after you refused to come out. He grew out of violence, but being ignored by him is like a death sentence. That time where he’s upset is also very cold since he pays the bills and lays in front of you at night. You don’t want to be pushed on his lap after Atsumu is done with you when he’s in a bad mood, or you will be treated worse than a doormat

Akaashi

♡  When you first meet Akaashi, he’s so pleasant and affable; it’s like a dream come true. He’s always helping, knows how to handle Bokuto’s mood swings, he seems just generally like a good guy, and there’s no reason not to hang out with him. That is until you suddenly realize that he’s been manipulating you all this time, making you lose contact with other people and isolate you, up to the point where you wonder if you actually ever knew him at all. While he seems to make significant upgrades in his life, you feel stuck the moment you moved in with him, and no one is believing you when you tell them that Akaashi must have completely brainwashed you. Sounds a little weird, don’t you agree? Maybe you agree, perhaps everyone is right, and you need help. Good that you have such a reliable boyfriend- oh ups, husband at your side. When did you marry again?

♡  Life is really, truly good. He supports you. He takes you out on dates still. You two consider expanding your household. Your family just shook their heads about your concern, but even now, you just don’t feel right, as if you went somewhere entirely wrong with your choices. And yet, when he grabs your hand over the dining table, telling you you look as beautiful as the day he met you, your heart melts. Surely, it’s not Akaashi’s fault. He loves you so much, after all. Enough to make sure that the unfortunate person that was in love with you and conveyed their feelings to your - back then - best friend Akaashi, never got the chance to take you away from him

Aone

♡  Having Aone lock onto you wasn’t planned, but you sure felt like he was a hero when he saved you from some dark figures on your way home. He didn’t say much, but he escorted you home, and you felt terrible, making him walk all the way back to his own home, so the next day, you made it all worse by buying him lunch. Poor, sweet Aone, he confused your politeness for interest in him, pondering all day about what to do to make sure you’d understand the feelings he had for you in return. It wasn’t an accident that he walked by when you were approached by someone shady. It also isn’t when he accompanies you home the next day. Or the day after, despite you not knowing he’s there. He’s so damn tall, and yet you still manage to miss him, and it frustrates him, as your attention should be on him, right? But he’s too awkward to come out with it straight

♡  He doesn’t like your friends, and he doesn’t like you being so distant all the time. You may laugh as he approaches you about these concerns he has, but you regret that laugh the next time you wake up in an unfamiliar room, only Aone being by your side. He’s wringing his hands nervously, and you think you see pearls of sweat on his forehead. Though the moment you wake up, he jumps to a stand and dashes off, leaving you behind, chained by your foot. If you don’t appreciate his worries and how much he cares about you, then you shouldn’t be out and running wild. Aone doesn’t want his heart to be broken, even if that means he has to break your will first. And that he can do, volleyball taught him as much

[ggukkiedae]

❝𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡❞

𝚗𝚘𝚝��𝚜:

⇢ hannah meets up with one of her close friends to catch up; alternatively: the fox and the quokka meet again

⇢ set in mid april 2021

𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜:

⇢ conversations written in italics are spoken in english. feedback is highly appreciated!

Hannah shook her head fondly as she watched Yoonmi race down the hall towards the recording studio frequently seen on vlive. She and Yeonjun exchanged amused looks as the young girl excitedly entered the room, yelling the name of her older brother.

“Come on,” Yeonjun placed a hand on her back and sped their pace up, “or else Chan hyung’s gonna use us not being there as an excuse to stay longer.”

She scoffed at that, following Yeonjun regardless. “Please, he’d drop everything for Yoonmi anytime, and you know that.”

Yeonjun’s laugh was the only response she got as they entered the studio. The door opened immediately as they arrived in front of it, revealing Yoonmi dragging a chuckling Chan away to probably her manager’s car.

“Looks like they’ll be gone for a while,” Changbin laughed from the inside before nodding at her with a smile and turning to Yeonjun. “Let’s go before Wooyoung and Haknyeon decide to make us pay for being late.”

Yeonjun nodded and stepped out with Changbin, ruffling her hair on his way out. “See you in a bit, Hannah.

She glared at him a little before turning towards her friend who remained cleaning up the studio. They haven’t been able to see each other since their promotions overlapped. Or since the award shows, actually. “Hey, quokka.”

“Miss foxy,” Jisung playfully bowed at her before continuing to gather up his stuff, “long time no see. You hungry?”

“Always,” she playfully rolled her eyes at him, “or have you forgotten already?”

“Not when you and Yongbok have been constantly sending each other desserts. No cookies recently?”

“Yoonmi makes the best cookies, and she always sends some over to Chan hyung for you guys. Felix told me.”

The betrayed look he had on his face when he realized this made her laugh. It dawned on her that, though Chan may have told Felix to let the others get some cookies whenever they want, Felix must have kept it a secret. He loved Yoonmi’s cookies, so it was no surprise.

“He never told us!”

“Come on, let’s go eat.”

The two friends found themselves in the JYP cafeteria, food paid for with Jisung’s credits. He had a whole set of food in his tray, which was quite a drastic difference from her single bowl of salad. He frowned when he saw her tray.

“Just a salad?”

She shrugged. “We’re in the middle of promotions, so I’m dieting.”

“Nope,” he placed a plate of pasta on her tray and some extra side dishes, “your boyfriend and members are gonna kill me if I don’t feed you. Our food’s all organic, anyway. It’ll be fine. We’re sharing side dishes, by the way.”

She rolled her eyes but followed him to an empty table. They settled across from each other and began digging in. The conversation carried smoothly, as if they didn’t have a solid four or four months of not seeing each other. It switched from the food to normal catching up to preparations.

“Your comeback’s really good, by the way,” Jisung noted. “I listened to the whole album. Really good. You worked on lyrics, too!”

“Just a bit,” her tone was humble as she moved the salad around on her plate. “I thought it was fitting since it’s our first full album, so I did my best. Sorry for bothering you for help, by the way. I know you’re pretty busy with Kingdom.”

“Please,” he shook his head, “I needed the distraction. We were so caught up on preparing for the show, so I needed to forget it just a little.”

“How are you guys, by the way? I’ve seen your past few performances.” A teasing smirk made its way up to her face while she looked up from her food to meet his eyes. “I liked your cover of I’ll Be Your Man. Very impressive high notes there, mister main rapper. Very desperate.”

Jisung snorted and tossed a little sausage from their side dishes onto her plate. “Shut up, you know the performance is supposed to seem desperate.”

“What’s coming up? The collaboration stage, right?” She took a moment to recall the last episode’s ending. “It’s a shame that you guys aren’t working with The Boyz. You, Eric, and Sunwoo rapping together would have been cool.”

“You’re friends with Sunwoo?”

“We’ve met, but you already know I talk to English line the most.” She jolted up straight upon remembering something, startling Jisung into hitting his leg against the table. The boy curled in on himself a little, making her laugh. “Sorry about that. Did you hear? Changmin oppa invited me to co-host your sports day!”

That was the reason why she had been in a meeting the day before right after their schedules. She didn’t expect that she’d be brought straight to the company right after her schedules with NCT Dream, much less did she expect that she’d be meeting with a few higher ups and some Mnet staff alongside her senior for a cameo.

Jisung raised an eyebrow at her. “What? You’re coming to watch our sports day?”

“Co-host, but yeah.”

“This is gonna be so funny,” he laughed. “You know that, even if you have a boyfriend now, Juyeon hyung has an idol crush on you, right?”

“Stop!” Her hand went to her forehead in embarrassment. “Eric always mentions it whenever we talk, I swear.”

The smirk on her friend’s face sent a chill down her spine. “But there’s also Seonghwa hyung and Chani… Oh my god, man! What is it with you and these older guys, huh?”

“One more word out of your mouth, Han Jisung, and I’m telling Chan oppa that you had a crush on Yoonmi.”

Ah, yes. This short-lived crush her friend had on her other friend which amused her to no end every time he’d talk to her about how Yoonmi’s lyrics hit different, how her on stage persona is captivating, how she’s adorable in BTS content, or how her rap is unmatched by any other girl idols. Jisung, like many other fourth generation idols (and some from third generation) had fallen for the international sweetheart, and she made sure to tease him about it whenever given the chance.

Jisung groaned, “Of course I tease you about other’s having a crush on you, but you can’t tease me about people liking me.”

“Hey, if it means anything,” she began, “I used to like you the slightest bit back in late 2019 when we did those collab stages. Nothing much, it died as soon as it started, so don’t get too cocky.”

The slightly astonished look on her friends face made her remind him that it was a momentary thing rather than a prolonged crush. This, of course, didn’t stop Jisung from poking fun at her.

“Aye, I’m so telling your boyfriend,” Jisung laughed.

She gave him a pointed look. “Nothing is kept a secret in our group, and he’s in the same unit as one of the people most overprotective of me.”

The 00-liner wisely kept his mouth shut, making her laugh. A silence passed between the two before they silently agreed on not speaking about these infatuations ever again. She finished the last of her food before rummaging around her bag and pulling out a small bottle. It was something she didn’t use often, but prefered whenever she didn’t have to promote. Black nail polish.

“I brought this, by the way,” she mentioned as her phone started ringing. “I don’t know why you asked for it, but here you go.”

“Nice,” he took the bottle, “now answer your phone while I finish my food.”

The familiar face on her screen brought a subconscious smile to her face the moment she got her phone out of her pocket. It was her none other than her boyfriend, Liu Yangyang. She chuckled a little before answering the phone.

“Hey, Schnucki. I’m with Hannie right now. Jisung, say hi.”

She brought the phone closer to Jisung’s face, where he awkwardly greeted the boy on the other end of the phone. The awkwardness made her laugh and take it back. Maybe she should have waited until after he swallowed before making him say hi.

“Me again!”

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” Yangyang asked her with the slightest hint of concern in his voice. “Renjun told me you skipped out on the food your manager got you guys on the way home.”

“Hwang Injun, that snitch.” Her mumbling was easily caught by Jisung who snorted in amusement. She lightly smacked his arm from across the table then went back to her conversation. “I just ate dinner! JYP Entertainment’s special organic food is pretty filling, don’t worry.”

“Alright,” his voice sounded relieved. “How long are you gonna be there? Will you be back too late? You still have an early start tomorrow.”

She chuckled at her boyfriend’s questions. Ever since their jacket shoot, her schedule had been filled with preparations for NCT Dream’s comeback. Yangyang had been texting her good morning everyday without fail and constantly checking up on her to make sure she was still functioning properly somehow. For some reason, she found this endearing about him. He usually wouldn’t seem like that type of boyfriend, but he is.

“I’ll be here until Yoonmi finishes shopping for her future nephew and Yeonjun oppa comes back from dinner with the 99s. Hannie’s taking care of me, don’t worry.”

Jisung’s scoff from across the table made her send him a pointed look.

“Could you put me on speaker?”

“Hold on.”

One more warning look was sent towards Jisung as she placed the phone on the table. Jisung looked at her curiously before turning towards the phone.

“Yangyang?” he called out cautiously.

“Hi, Han,” Yangyang greeted. “I know we only spoke a few times, but I hope it’s not too much to ask to take care if Hannah?”

“No problem, bro,” the Stray Kids member nodded despite the fact that the WayV boy couldn’t see him. “We’ll just be here in the company, there’s a bunch of places to lounge in and a lot of food.”

There was a laugh from the other end of the phone. “Thanks for taking care of my pet fox.”

“Excuse me,” she interjected, making the two boys laugh, “I will sheer your hair off your head, you sheep.”

“Kidding! Anyway, Han, you’re Hannah’s friend, so I’m trusting her with you. As a friend, right?”

Jisung chuckled. “Of course. No need to worry.”

Hannah snatched up her phone and turned speaker off before the conversation could get any longer. “Is that it?”

“I’m at the dreamie dorm right now, so I’m expecting cuddles when you get back.”

A slight chuckle escaped her lips as she playfully rolled her eyes. “As long as you’re out of the dorms by 1:30am at the latest, okay?”

“Of course, babe.” The wink was evident in his voice, she didn’t even need to see him to know he did. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“See you later, Schnucki.”

With that, she hung up her phone and looked up to find Jisung looking at her with a teasing smile. “What?”

“You’re so whipped,” he drew out. “Honestly! The smile on your face says it all. It’s different from when you’re talking to your members or your other friends.”

“My smile?”

Looking back on it, Jeno did mention that there was something different in the way she looked at Yangyang. Donghyuck mentioned it as well while jokingly whining about her not giving him as sweet of a smile. Even Yoonmi told her that she sometimes catches Mark smiling at her the way Hannah smiles at Yangyang. Was it really that noticeable?

With a shake of her head, she picked up the black nail polish bottle once again. “What do you want to do with this?”

“Could you paint my nails?”

[archetypal-archivist]

Xisuma and Evil X- A Hero By Any Other Name

So. This happened. You ever get the urge to write 9000 words of Evil X and Xisuma as brothers that in a Super Hero AU where the government is corrupt and runs all the heroes into the ground in the name of “protecting the most people possible”? With lots of Evil X making poor choices to help out his exhausted hero of a brother? And then have that story end up taking over your life for about a week until you can get it all out? Yeah. Yeah, glad I finally finished this but gosh darn am I double glad that I can move on to other projects.

Also on AO3.

__________

A story in which there are two little boys, a pair of twins by the names of Evil X and Xisuma. Xisuma is good and kind and responsible, everything that his mother ever wanted and more. Evil X was the mistake, the additional child their parents didn't want nor could afford to have. Their parents had run the math, knew the risks, knew that if they penny-pinched enough, they could afford to have the child they always dreamed of. Evil X threw their maths into chaos, and if they wanted one son, they had to take both.

Evil X and Xisuma knew that Evil X was a mistake, that his presence was why their family could never afford to go to the movies, why they couldn't buy school lunches like all the other kids, why their parents were so stressed and tired and cruel. Still, Xisuma was glad that his brother existed, even if it made his parents' lives harder. He wondered if that made him a bad son.

In time, Evil X and Xisuma were left alone by everyone in their lives and until all they had are each other and the void that their parents left them with when they had to look them in the eye and tell them that they couldn't take care of them anymore. Even now Xisuma thinks that the void raised them better than their parents ever did, teaching him and his brother to lie through their teeth, be sneaky, be cruel.

In the orphanage and the many foster homes that followed, Evil X did his best to take care of his twin as a sort of penance for screwing up the life Xisuma could have led. In return, Xisuma lied and lied and lied to the matrons and the well-meaning children about anything and everything he needed to. They don't need anyone but each other. (Truth.) They are happy. He is everything that Evil X needs, Evil X doesn't want a family. Xisuma is enough. (Lie.)

(Gods, don't take his brother away.)

Xisuma grew up with lies on his tongue and smiles in his eyes, warping himself into the golden child, larger than life. Evil X grew up in the shadows with bruised knuckles, a bruised heart, and eventually, scars across his face from a fight gone bloody and wrong. He was protecting Xisuma, the scars were worth it- his brother accepts them with an odd little smile on his face and a shattering in his eyes. It is a moment that stays with them long after.

---

Eventually, foster homes turn into streets and dumpsters, and long nights spent under the covers together are turned into nights spent up in the branches of trees in the park. Xisuma makes friends with the pigeons while Evil X pretends not to like their feathered neighbors. They curl up the same though, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces high in their bower. Made for each other, quietly shaping themselves around their twin so as to better protect them and shield them from the cold.

Evil X comes home to their tree with stolen sweaters and wilted flowers and popcorn kernels from behind the movie theater so that the birds don't starve. Xisuma meets him with tears of wonder in his eyes and fire dancing on his fingertips.

Xisuma has magic. Evil X tries not to be jealous. As it turns out, he has very little to be jealous of when it's revealed that there are many other people who have magic throughout the city- or rather, "superpowers." It's like something straight out of a comic book, if that comic book resembled something like Neil Gaiman's "Sandman" or the Transformers IDW continuity.

People start dying. A lot of people. Those with powers that make them look monstrous are feared, hated, and eventually outcast. Those with powers that are useful are drafted to fight wars and heal people for hours and hours with no rest in the hospitals. Xisuma sells himself to the city officials behind Evil X's back and in return, he and his brother get a cold glass and steel apartment and food enough that they will never starve again.

Evil X begins to build up muscle, fleshing out and growing tall and strong. He hates it, hates his body, because Xisuma never becomes more than whipcord strength and whispered words- down-turned eyes, up-turned lips. Reassurances that he's happy, really, truly. So obedient, his brother, the ideal filial son to the system that Evil X could never bring himself to be. They train the civilian out of his twin and mold him into a leader, a real proper superhero.

They don't give his brother lunch breaks. They need his power too badly, they say. There are people dying and they need his strength.

Gods, it makes him sick.

Xisuma's slight figure hides in his brother's shadow when they are at home, and Evil X does his best to wrap around him until the "monsters" of the world can't get him. Evil X lets Xisuma's flames dance across his fingertips and tickle his face, their gentle warmth driving out some of the chill in their big empty apartment. On truly special days, they go to the park to feed the birds. The higher ups don't like that, of course, insisting that Xisuma under Evil X's care is like using his spark for a kerosene lamp, contained, stifled, unable to help anyone in any way that matters.

The city wants a bonfire. Evil X growls and tells them no, but Xisuma just smiles and his eyes shatter a little more as he goes with them willingly, offering himself up as kindling. His superhero name is Matchstick of all things, and Evil X knows his brother well enough to know that he picked it out himself.

A nod to the fact that he is destroying himself? An inside joke and an apology in one, maybe. It breaks his heart too much to think on it.

---

With time, the rules and roles become a little clearer and the war begins to solidify. Basic rights for those with powers is still in the works, but Xisuma is able to start eating a little more. Evil X makes him protein shakes to take with him to work anyway.

The heroes are this: Matchstick, Reaper, Ivy-Over, Xenon, Spatter, Shank, Krypton, and Trigometric. Xisuma, Cleo, Gemini, Tango, Vintage Beef, Iskall, Impulse, Cubfan.

The villains are this: Armistice, Zyon, Ooze, Clockwork, Poultryman, Valkerie, and Lumesce. (Welsknight, Etho, Jevin, Mumbo, Grian, Stress, Pearl- but our hero doesn't know this yet.)

Evil X sits on their shared bed and holds his twin in his arms, listening to him talk about work with troubled eyes.

Reaper. Cruel, with a tongue like a knife and teeth even sharper. She eats her enemies whole and seems to enjoy the taste of blood. Somewhere in the dark of the building is a man named Joe who whispers comebacks and threats to her for her to use in her next fight. She has not seen him free or unshackled in three years. Around his neck is a metal collar, an irony too bitter for her to speak of often. Xisuma hopes they treat him well.

Ivy-Over, blinded by the glitter and shine of heroism, still firmly thinking the best of her political overlords. Naive. Carefully herded off the battlefields as soon as her fights are over so that she never sees the casualties her massive vines leave in their wake. Xisuma worries that one day the illusion will be broken and with it her mind. She seems like the kind of person who could regress to using entrails as a skipping rope if pushed far enough. Evil X does his best to reassure him, but the lies turn to mulch in his mouth.

Xenon and Krypton, a duo that never let the higher ups split them up or force them to fight alone. Together they share a record for the fewest recorded injuries, as well as a certain fierceness in their eyes as they volley explosive balls of shadow and light between them, bouncing them back and forth to build up velocity before letting them loose on their enemies. Still, the people whisper about how much more help they could do if they were simply separated, able to cover more places at once. At night, Xisuma hears them crying, bundled tight in each other's arms and mourning their missing third.

Shank, their sniper. Supreme accuracy, a consequence of his self-built bionic eye and his special laser rifle. The higher ups are murmuring about what he could do if more of him was bionic. What improvements could be made to his body? How many more lives could be saved? (How many more "monsters" could be put behind bars?)

Splatter, their brawler. A sip of blood and he hulks out, his strength becoming all the greater the more he drinks, so the higher ups give him all the blood he could stomach and more. They never tell him where it comes from, and he's too afraid to ask. (He was a butcher before this whole hero thing, he had explained to Xisuma once. He knows what animal blood tastes like. What they give him is definitely not animal blood- and sometimes, it makes him feel sick. He always was allergic to steroids.)

Trigometric, who bent reality into fractals, who seemed just a bit more broken than the rest. He actually liked his job, and that perhaps made him less of a hero and more of a monster. (Mr. Goodtimes was a head of government of some renown, famous for his power plays and his campaign that favored brutal action against those that the city condemned. Trigometric called him "Scar" with affection on his lips and that was perhaps scariest of all.)

It's terrifying hearing about his twin's coworkers and their varying flavors of unfortunate and unstable, even worse when he has to stay at home and watch the news to see if his brother has survived to see another day against the violent protests and the drug rings and mobs and super villains.

Because there are super villains. He even meets one.

---

The pigeons need feeding. Life or death, whether Xisuma is around to remind him or no, the pigeons need feeding so every Tuesday and Saturday Evil X goes to the park with a bag of bird seed. It just so happens that one sunshine-filled summer day there is someone there before him. Crouched close to a few pigeons, at first he thinks the figure is just dressed in a purple cloak, but when the figure stands up and stretches, the cloak separates to reveal a pair of brilliant purple wings. Poultryman.

Evil X has seen his brother come back from fights and he knows that while Poultryman is a figure of some renown, his battles rarely cause collateral damage- that's more the hallmark of his partner Clockwork. So when Poultryman turns to face him, trademark white mask over his eyes and an odd expression on his face, Evil X just glares and walks up to him to dump the bag of bird seed on the super villain's feet.

"For the birds," he says tersely before spinning on his heel, preparing to walk away. The sound of bright, cheerful laughter has him pausing and the sound of wings meeting the dirt has him turning around. Poultryman is on the ground, rolling around in the bird seed and laughing his head off, clutching his stomach and flapping his wings wildly, which only makes even more of a mess.

"Pffftt- hahaHAhAHaH! Oh gods, your face! If I couldn't tell you were so pissed off to see me I wouldv'e thought this was the greatest prank ever!" Oookay? Evil X crosses his arms, unimpressed and left with a sneaking suspicion he is being made fun of.

"And?" Poultryman lets out a last few wheezing gasps before smoothly rolling to his feet, mask askew and utterly covered in dirt, grass, and bird seed. The local pigeons have, surprisingly enough, not scattered just yet.

"And that was brilliant! Tell me, are you the one who's been feeding the birds around here? The pigeons have been dying to introduce me to their 'friend' and I've been eager to meet them ever since. Well, the word translates more to family but there's some non-pigeon implications mixed in there, so friend works a little better. I don't think my feathered friends have quite yet figured out how to buy their own bird seed. You don't look like a pigeon anyway."

"No. I am not a pigeon," Evil X sighs, shifting his feet but keeping his posture defensive. If he remembers right, Poultryman never did any real damage but he apparently came off to Xisuma as a little unhinged and he'd rather not test the super villain's good mood. "And yes, I feed the birds around here. Can I go?"

Poultryman tilts his head to the side, going abruptly silent and still, all emotion wiped from his body language, expression, and voice. "That depends. Would you like to make Matchstick's life a little easier? I have a deal for you."

---

It goes a little something like this.

Clockwork and Poultryman schedule a raid on a local food processing plant, hoping to take their newest shipment of tin. Matchstick and Splatter are in the area and are called in to help. It's a poor match up to begin with, with Splatter's strength not doing much against Clockwork's robotika and Matchstick- while able to keep up with Poultryman in the air, barely- can't seem to land a solid hit on the villain. It doesn't help that he seems to be limited in how hard he hits, too conscious of what his flames might do to Poultryman's vulnerable feathers and of just how high they are in the air. Clockwork, meanwhile, is free to pilfer what he and his partner please from the plant.

However, despite the lack of damage the super heroes are able to do, the villains do even less. To Evil X, that is all that matters.

In another part of the city, a group of civilians meet in an abandoned railway car, dry docked in a train yard with its rusted frame resting on several heavy blocks of wood. The door is chained shut, but that means little when the underneath has a hole cut into it and if one is determined enough, crawling inside is easy. There, they exchange moth-eaten blankets, half-broken appliances, tattered clothes, and the tools to fix them. Money. Documents.

Evil X brings food. The government promised food unending to him and his brother, he may as well take advantage of it.

A deceptively normal-looking man with glasses and a deactivated metal collar around his neck brings a stack of books in, most of them picture books for the children. Another man, this one with green skin and robotik prosthetics, brings a stack of battered but newly repaired mobile phones, gaze shifting around nervously, as if scared to be caught there. Evil X makes a quiet note of the men but moves on. Theirs is not a story he feels like tampering with today.

When Xisuma comes home to find Evil X laying face-down in bed, fast asleep, he just smiles and tucks himself in beside his twin. Today is the first day in a long time he had come out from a fight unscathed, and tomorrow he will share the good news with his brother. For now, he sleeps.

---

In time, Evil X becomes a staple of the Homeless Enforcing Principles, which quickly gets abbreviated to the rather unimaginative "HEP." He wonders in the back of his mind if a certain man in glasses had something to do with the name, but decides not to bother with that quickly enough. He has enough on his plate as is with his newly adopted duties.

You see, when you get a diverse enough body of people together from all echelons in the city, and then put them into a rather small space, they begin to do what every group of friendly strangers like to do on the train- start complaining. Sometimes it's about the new "neighborhood watch" starting trouble on the corner of 6th and Fruit, sometimes it's about the new increase in taxes their boss wants to implement, sometimes it's about the stock that slips through the gaps when the trucks come to restock the supermarket.

Between him and his twin, Evil X never really was the one for idle chit-chat, but he knew lies just as well as his brother did and public speaking was just lying with a pretty bow on top. Stock begins to get left off of inventory sheets and put into the hands of the needy. The "neighborhood watch" get pointed towards the parts of the city that actually need their help (conveniently drawing the attention of the local law enforcement, who can actually do something about the problem).

He begins to donate more and more food to the cause, waistline thinning in the process. He thinks he likes his figure better that way.

As Evil X puts more time into his new project, crime rates don't exactly go down, but the number of people arrested for stupid reasons certainly does. The other members of HEP begin to bring in their friends and family and the pool of resources and talents grows, expanding outside the walls of their train car and out into people's basements, gas station parking lots, metal trash bin bonfires in the park. Little pools of community, and for Evil X, wellsprings of information.

Clockwork and Poultryman are some of the first actual super villains to come to the meetings, this time under the names of Mumbo Jumbo and Grian, but they are not the last.

---

Armistice arrives hanging off of Lumesce's shoulder one night, his metal body forcing her to drag him along on the ground, shredded legs unable to hold his own weight. She cries steady tears of light, seemingly near-physically pained at being unable to further help him. Evil X watches quietly from the background as Grian looks up and over the bonfire from where he is tending the jagged gash in the unconscious Mumbo's leg.

"Wels. Pearl. Got you too, huh?" The carefully kept-up cheer is gone from the man's face as the duo settle down by the fire, sprawling out in a rough heap.

The woman, Pearl, nods wearily, pulling off her hood and wiping at her face, glowing tears staining her black jacket. "Yeah. Trigometric decided he wanted to come and 'play' for a bit, seems he finally caught on to the illegal clinic I was running down in Mr. TFC's basement. I was lucky enough to get an anonymous tip that he was coming, but Wels got caught in the crossfire for defending me." Grian nods back, eyes distant.

"Give Mumbo a hand with his leg, I'll go grab the last of our tin for Wels to eat so he can patch himself up. E-X?" Evil X straightens up at the winged man's attention. "Call up Keralis and see if you can't get some hew housing sorted for Mr. TFC. I doubt his house survived in the crossfire and you might as well fix it for him with my permission and funds rather than just sort it out behind my back and try to sell it to me as an 'investment' later."  With that parting remark Grian stands up stiffly and flies away, leaving Pearl to make her way over to his partner, healing tears already streaming down her face so that she can start to fix the wound.

On the other side of the fire, Wels reaches down and rubs at the sharp and twisted metal of the remnants of his left leg, expression lost and weary. "Things can't keep going like this, so many of us are running on fumes by this point. Something has to change." Expressionless, Evil X just turns away, pulls out his cellphone, and begins to make a few calls.

He carefully ignores the twisting of his heart in his chest.

The next day, Mr. TFC has a room in a decent hotel and Evil X sits on his perfectly white couch staring at his overly large TV, watching the news. Armistice and Poultryman are fighting against Matchstick and Ivy-Over, dashing in and landing a few hits before retreating to the shadows, then running up to repeat the process again. The fight ends with both sides retreating, the heroes to the hospital, the villains to skies with Poultryman straining to bear both Armistice's weight and the load of cash stolen cash in his arms.

Grian's going to pull a wing muscle again, Evil X just knows it.

Xisuma leaves the fight unscathed. Gemini isn't nearly so lucky.

---

The next super villain he meets is mostly on accident, a random encounter more than anything. Tired of lounging about all day, if you call making connections and surfing the internet doing fuck all, Evil X decides he hates himself a bit more than he usually does and decides to go job hunting. A quick internet search later and he finds himself standing outside an abandoned warehouse on the North docks. He and his brother never had much more than their birth certificates and social security numbers to their name, so shady suited him perfectly fine.

A man steps out from behind a corner dressed in a hospital mask, black pea-coat, and a sailor's breton cap as white as his hair. Evil X freezes, eyes going wide as the familiar-looking stranger goes bug-eyed to see him right back. Then the man shifts his weight to his back foot, crossing his arms and wincing playfully, very real trepidation lurking in his posture.

"Uh, you wouldn't happen to by Matchstick's brother, would you?" Evil X takes a careful step away from the man, who he now recognizes as Zyon from watching the news, one of Xisuma's more common foes. His own research proved that the fellow had ice powers to put an iceberg to shame, which was ironic considering that he was secretly the business mogul Etho, who ran a shipping company helpfully named "Titanic Inc." It was doubly ironic since "Zyon" was notorious for causing problems for "Etho," who then claimed the insurance payouts when the boats eventually sank.

That the boats that sank frequently carried weapons, junk food made with GMO ingredients, and weirdly enough, socks, was of little consequence to him, but he kept that amusing tidbit in his back pocket for later. (The sailors on board were... collateral. And a nonissue. Anyone who signed up on a ship run by "Titanic Inc." deserved what they got.)

(Their deaths were not his concern.)

"Yeah, that's me. And you're Zyon- or rather, Etho." Zyon chuckles nervously.

"Yep yep, that's me. And you're very firmly on the 'no touchie' list around here, so I'm just gonna gooo...." Zyon flinches as Evil X suddenly attaches himself to his wrist, expression steely.

"List?" It's more statement than question, but it has Zyon gulping back a frantic giggle anyway.

"Oh no, I'm not messing with that one. Let's just say you should take that up with your brother and leave it at that. Get too deep into that mess and someone's gonna end up regretting it- and I'm not that dumb, that's for sure!" With that parting remark, Evil X finds his feet frozen to the ground and Zyon running off, dropping the black pea-coat of Etho to reveal the icy blue Kevlar ninja suit of the super villain underneath.

Bemusedly Evil X watches Zyon vault up a stack of pipes onto a nearby roof, then off towards the city where he could better better disappear.

Hmm. Seems like he needs to step up his game.

---

He runs into Ooze at the supermarket. Apparently they both prefer the green grapes to the purple ones. The more you know.

---

It's his encounter with Valkerie that really sets things off.

Xisuma comes home one day, tears streaming down his face and his gloves covered in blood and dust. He crumples in a heap at Evil X's feet where he sits on the couch and drops his face into his twin's lap, trembling. His arms dangle at his sides, blood dripping from his fingers onto the sterile white carpeting.

"Four dead found in a park near here. All teenagers, just having fun. Just. Just fucking kids! She ruptured their ear drums and they bled out because they couldn't move to get to safety. Gods E-X, their eyes... They looked so scared..." Evil X stays quiet and runs his fingers through his brother's hair, heedless of the muck clinging to the ends. Xisuma shakes himself to bits in his hands. "They were just kids. We couldn't do even do anything but clean up the mess afterwards."

Xisuma pauses, hesitant, before choking out- "That could have been us. Had we still been on our own, that could have been us." Ah. So that's it.

"We're safe, you know. Whoever Valkerie is, she won't get us here."

"But we don't know that! What if you're out shopping and she's at the market, or if she gets on the news and her scream works through the TV? What then?! I can't-" The words die in his twin's throat and Evil X gulps back his own.

I can't lose you. It's a phrase that's crossed his own mind more than once.

"Okay. Okay. I'll stay home until she's caught, okay? Get delivery or something, I don't know. And I'll keep the TV off, the radio too. Shhh. Shhhhh. I'll be okay." Xisuma struggles closer, shoving his face into his brother's stomach and getting snot and tears all over the both of them. Evil X doesn't complain. It's a lie and they both know it, but they've lived lies before, are used to it. What's one more, in the face of that?

To be fair, Evil X gives it a few weeks before he makes his move, and he knows he'll be fine so really it's only half a lie anyway.

---

Feet crunch against gravel as Evil X approaches the woman kneeling in the center of the abandoned construction site, hands over her mouth, eyes scrunched, biting the flesh of her thumb to keep her sobs held in.

"Hello Ms. Valkerie. Grian's told me about you."

The woman whips around, eyes wide and bloodshot at his sudden appearance, before she shakily lowers her hands from her mouth to clutch at the fabric of her pink cardigan. "I'm- I'm not some monster, got it? I'm just Stress, j-just- I'm just me! I don't want to hurt anyone!" Her voice goes shrill and thin towards the end and Evil X hides his wince, although apparently not well enough because she immediately slaps a hand over her mouth again, eyes watering anew.

"Okay. It's okay, Stress. I'm here to help," he placates, lowering himself down to sit next to her in the dirt. Around them, rusted I-beams and concrete pillars rise, giving them some semblance of privacy. The full moon lurks overhead, casting them both in a silver glow. "You're life must be very hard, hm?"

Stress nods, expression wary.

"And retail is very- ha- stressful too, I imagine?" Here a little grin leaks out from behind her hand. "All those customers whining on and on about discounts. 'Oh, I have a gift receipt why can't I return this?' Like, lady, you opened this box. 'I'm gonna talk to your manager!' Lady, he's just gonna say the exact same thing."

A stifled giggle and a whispered "Worse! I work in the women's clothing department." Evil X gives a mock gasp, face going wide and shocked.

"So you don't just have to deal with fussy customers- you deal with fussy suburban soccer moms!" Stress tips forward with the force of her muffled laughter, tucking her damp face into the curve of his neck and putting her full weight on him. Hesitantly she clutches the tail of his shirt with her freehand, then a little tighter when he makes no move to shove her off. Evil X just wraps a gentle arm around her shoulders.

"Some of those customers must make you want to go home and just scream, huh." Her laughter tapers off, but she nods, quiet. "So you go somewhere empty and abandoned and scream your heart out so you don't kill someone." Another nod, a little hitch in Stress' breathing. "And you scream and scream, so glad to release some of your pent-up feelings, but oops. It turns out there are people there anyway. And your screaming just killed them. You've become a murderer and the police brands you accordingly."

The hand in his shirt tightens, tugging. "I- I didn't want to hurt them! I didn't want to hurt anyone! But- but it just happened and then I was running, and no one saw me so I had to just go to work the next day, a-and. And-"

"And now you're the wanted super villain Valkerie." His hand smoothes up and down her back as her breath hitches again, once, twice, and then wetness against his neck.

"Valkerie is such a stupid name, anyway. I'm not escorting anyone anywhere, let alone to Valhalla. I just scream and. And they're dead."

Evil X hums quietly. "You must be very tired."

"...Yes. Yes." The moon slips through the sky for a while and they drift with it, lost in thought. Evil X stares up at it, squinting against its light to try and figure out what time it is, if Xisuma is likely to be home yet. The gravel is harsh against his knees.

Then. "Things can't keep going like this. I'm so tired, all the time these days. It's just work, day in and day out, and all this stress." She pulls away then and Evil X watches as Stress scrubs at her face, expression going cold and determined. She stares him straight in the eyes, but something about her still seems lost, like she's gazing through him. "Something has to change or else someone is going to get themselves killed."

He tilts his eyes head, considering, thoughtful, with a well-hidden edge to his voice.

"I think I could help with that."

---

The morning news. Four calls placed, a frantic brother reassured, Stress is sitting a cafe on the corner of Elm and 5th. Her gut flutters with nerves but Evil X can see her expression is calm from her position in the background of the shot. The news anchor is a pretty blond-haired, blue-eyed young woman blathering on about how the cafe apparently is the oldest one in the city and some other historical nonsense. Out of shot of the camera, a desperate, dog-eared petty thief is running for his life down 6th street, the hulking figure of Spatter hot on his heels.

They round a corner, onto 5th. Past the cafe, the startled reporter, the public shrieking as their morning is disrupted. Stress nearly throws up as her heart launches itself into her throat but she's... There's a plan and she's going to stick to it.

So she stands up, small and in the background of the shot, but her bright pink jacket makes her stand out. She opens her mouth, expression going scared like a civilian's, and screams just as she had been told to. It's not for long, barely a second or two all told, but it's enough to have the people near her cringing away, blood trickling from their eyes and from where their fingernails dig into their skin in trying to cover their ears.

Spatter freezes in his tracks, pupils mere pinpricks as the sudden outpouring of blood triggers something deep and wild in him. The camera shakes, the frightened camera man ducking down to avoid notice but carefully recording what's about to happen, as if sensing that whatever happens next is about to be important.

The hero turns towards Stress, eyes wild, and although she's scared out of her mind, she stands her ground. Her voice barely even shakes as she speaks.

"S-stop. Stop running, can't you see you're scaring people? You nearly ran me over!" In the eyes of the camera Stress looks like a frightened civilian gone civil defender in pink, the morning light casting her in gold and the cafe's shadow creeping over Spatter's massive, muscled-out form to cast him in darkness and grey. The lack of harsh lighting makes it even more obvious when he starts sniffing the air, darting eyes pausing on all the bloodied hands and finally resting on the woman who caused the damage.

The world has insisted, long and loud, that he is a hero and with that comes certain ingrained responsibilities. Stress is Valkerie. Splatter fixes his gaze on her and with a snarl, he moves.

The camera catches it in perfect, awful clarity when his arm goes through her stomach and her blood starts pooling on the floor. Her expression is so betrayed.

From his place on his clean, white couch at home, Evil X turns the TV off.

---

Stress is buried with honors and all media depictions of Valkerie as a monster cease as the streets are made "safe" from the super villain. Instead, news programs and talk shows take up a new crusade, this one against the "heroes" that protected the city and the governing bodies that controlled their movements. Mr. Goodtimes has his name dragged through the mud, and each day his brother comes home with stories about how frazzled Trigometric is, Evil X has to hide his smile.

Seeming to pick up on the way things are turning, Clockwork disappears from the public eye while Poultryman steps up the showmanship, making more appearances in public spaces to egg government buildings and steal petty amounts of scrap metal from junk yards and factory scrap heaps. The heroes that give chase, usually Xenon and Krypton, end up causing more damage than they actually prevent.

Ivy-Over- shocked at the public outrage about the apartments left in shambles after her particularly brutal battle against Zyon- rather predictably ends up snapping, although not in any way Evil X expected.

She ends up going to the news and telling them everything. Public outrage rises anew.

There's a riot in town square and Matchstick and Reaper are sent in to stop it. Thirteen people die, kindly Mr. TFC one of them. Xisuma comes home, collapses into Evil X's arms, and cries.

Things have to change. And so they do.

---

Midnight and two figures meet on a roof top somewhere overlooking the domed silhouette of city hall. The first wears a set of armor shaded in green and grey, a purple visor over his eyes and an oxygen-filter over the lower half of his face. The second figure has wings, stretched wide to block out the light of the crescent moon above.

Matchstick. Poultryman.

Xisuma. Grian.

Matchstick tilts his head to the side, drawing himself up to his full height to loom over the far shorter villain. "The status quo is falling apart, Poultryman. Does the deal still hold?"

Poultryman rolls his head to make it clear he had just rolled his eyes, the purple insignia on his mask flashing to display his annoyance. "Yeah yeah, I've spread the word to the others and they're not as crazy as the news likes to make 'em out to be. No one has hurt your precious 'E-X,' nor do they have any plans to. Too much trouble to mess with beyond trying to keep him out of whatever crime scene we'll be making, and that's hard enough as is. Your brother has a habit of making himself hard to track and it's getting... troubling."

The hero's posture suddenly goes as stiff as his namesake, smoke starting to hiss from the vents carefully built into his suit. "Troubling?"

Violet wings flap once, twice, before pulling tight against Poultryman's back and not for the first time, Matchstick curses himself for never bothering to learn what his various wing positions mean. The villain in question just rolls his shoulders back and settles into a careful parade rest that gives nothing away, expression pensive.

"Xisuma..." Matchstick flinches back, the careful line between them wavering at the name. "What exactly do you about your brother?"

A hesitant head tilt and he taps his fingers along his leg, thinking back to when he had last spent more than a few fleeting hours with his twin at a time.

"He likes sweet foods, even if he pretends he doesn't. Has more money invested in Derp Coin than he probably should. Likes red and black but gets fussy if anyone calls him a goth. Never seems to sleep, or eat regular meals, but he never seems to forget anything either. Best brother I could ever ask for- he loves me, I know that for sure. All the important stuff. Why?"

A wisp of cloud drifts overhead, casting a brief shadow over the pair, and in the sudden darkness Matchstick could swear that Poultryman had pulled a frown. Then the moment passes and the villain is back to his usual inscrutable self, the only emotion in his body language being what he had put there intentionally. His wings remain tight to his back.

"Then I think you might be in for a bit of a surprise one day, Matchstick. Here's to hoping you can roll with the coming storm."

---

Evil X is beloved by the HEP network. Regardless of Grian's intention in putting him in contact with them- or even why the villain knew of the group to start with- his repeated contributions to their food stocks made him an opening among them and his ability to make and exploit connections made him their hero. If you were desperate, hungry, in need? Evil X could get you whatever you needed at the cost of a simple favor.

When it came to the price of a life, a favor is a small thing to ask indeed. Is it any wonder that they became so loyal to him? So when Evil X began asking questions about some of the city's more sensitive secrets and its shadier underbelly, it was only natural that they told him.

From the tall man with green skin, he learned the best places to dump things so that they disappeared. From a sleepy-looking fellow with a bandana, he learned the locations of the best drug dealers, and from those dealers he learned of their suppliers, their manufacturers, the places where heroes never walked. From the man with glasses, he learned about the back doors and hidden routes through the biggest, most important buildings, the places where they held people until they could make them disappear.

And with this information, Evil X's services expanded even further. Drugs for the addicts, as contaminant-free and trust-worthy as he could find them. Ways to make people appear and disappear in the eyes of the law (and the occasional abusive spouse). Alcohol, cigarettes- and most importantly, information.

Or rather, black mail. If you wanted to know something on someone, Evil X became the person to go to. Months of careful manipulation had spread his name and his reach through all levels of the city and people from all walks of life took advantage of her services, although usually all meetings were held over the phone and through a voice changer fashioned to look just like his twin's mask. The secrecy only increased his popularity, as people just love a good mystery and a grey-shaded crime boss made a lovely story indeed.

And soon, this caught the intention of another of the city's fabled figures- the mad scientist who lived deep in the underbelly of the city, a place where no light shone. The man, the myth, the legend... Void.

But then, myths never were all that accurate, especially with things like names.

---

Curly blond hair, brown cardigan, a ripped white lab coat. Calculating purple eyes and a wide, wide eerily white grin. Short and stocky with a complexion like a ripe peach, the blue light coming off the lights overhead casting hazy shadows over his form, everything about the good doctor is simultaneously creepy and a soft sort of handsome- he has to say, he's impressed. The mythical Zedaph lives up to the city's dark rumors of him and he says as much, which prompts that grin to grow all the wider.

"Ah, hello Weaver! Y'know, I kind of thought you'd be shorter. And down here a lot sooner, I almost could say I missed you~!" Evil X balks as the scientist steps forward and grips his chin to tilt his head down, purple eyes wandering over his scarred features.

"It's not like you make yourself easy to find- and that's not my name." Zedaph shakes his head, leaning his face up with just scant inches between them.

"Little spider, you might be pretty good at hearing things but you're awful at listening. If you have large enough ears, you'd find you're just about the most talked about thing in the underground these days-"

"Do spiders have ears...?"

"-so like it or not, your web is big enough that people have been spotting it in odd places, which means your twin will probably catch on soon. Which means..." Here Zedpah spins away to walk to the opposite wall, pressing a few buttons on his tablet which make the underground laboratory brighten considerably. Evil X tries not to feel bereft at the sudden loss of contact. "Your plans are gonna have to hit double time. And I love me a good speed potion!"

Speechless, Evil X just nods as the scientist opens a previously hidden door and pulls out a laptop case from inside, turning to present it to him with a fiercely proud expression on his face.

"Knock 'em dead darling. I can't wait to see you rock their world~!"

---

What does the end of an era look like? It's not a sudden collapse of civilization, people screaming and running through the streets. It's not the violent murder of the governmental leaders or riots against the past order. It's not as clear cut as all that. Nor is it so subtle that people look around one day and go huh, as the world around them had shifted beneath their feet without their notice. Indeed, there are many who saw the tide rising and were all too happy to watch the waters sweep in and away.

It goes like this.

The super villains go missing. First one week goes by with no wild scheme or dangerous incident, then two, then three. The higher ups are frantic with worry, running constant meetings and keeping the super heroes out on the streets for as long as they could without the heroes themselves rioting. It keeps Matchstick out of the way of Weaver, and at the moment, that's all the thought he can afford to spare his twin. It's for the best, really. The next step is important.

Across every government-issued computer in the city, an email is issued out. Personalized, first middle last name, parents' names, chidlrens' names. An alphabetical list of every law the person in question had broken in the last ten years, the number of witnesses who saw them do it, sometimes video footage or photo-copied documents if the crime was serious enough to warrant more concrete proof. What the punishments for those crimes would be. What could be done, if those punishments were waived for money or fame.

Nearly a thousand people get an email in the span of 24 hours. (Evil X never wants to write another email ever-fucking-again. None. Ever.) The heroes also receive an email detailing what laws were broken by denying them rights, food, decent living conditions and overtime pay, as well as the names of several lawyers who would work for them for free if the email was shown to them within three days time.

Every email is emblazoned with a web-like logo with a bright red "X" sitting in the middle like a bloody spider. Though some plucky tech people attempt to track the emails back to the sender, their every attempt is rebuffed by the impossible firewalls built into the computer the messages were sent from. As imagined, chaos in its most understated form ensues.

The city officials scramble to keep their sinking ship from falling apart and the little people kept cooped up in square offices and cell blocks come crawling out of the woodwork to jump ship. Some of the heroes, such as Xenon, Matchstick, and Shank try desperately to hold things together, but others like Reaper head for the nearest legal office and hole up with a team of vicious prosecutor attorneys. Meanwhile, the civilians go about their business, unaware of what is going on in the ivory towers far above their notice.

Xisuma comes home to fin their apartment empty, and although betrayal sits like a rock in his gut, his guts still squirm with desperate, aching fear. (No... please, no.)

The super villains make their reappearance with flair, setting the stage for the next act. Each one takes to a corner of the city, working in pairs to capture civilians and hold them hostage en mass, their efforts to wide spread for the remaining heroes to deal with in one go. From here, walking along a quiet street and watched by hundreds of frightened eyes- a captive audience- Weaver makes his debut as he makes his way to the city capital.

Tall, whip-thin enough to make his proportions lean more towards slenderman than super model, and dressed in red and black armor with a matching helmet and visor, Weaver cuts an imposing figure as he makes his way up the white marble steps of the capital building to where a nervous-looking reporter stands. She straightens up at his approach though and with a nod to her camera crew, she starts asking questions just in time for Poultryman to swoop in and land beside the newest super villain, expression stern but a clear presence of support.

In his hands a laptop is clutched.

---

The demands are simple in theory, but Xisuma feels his heart thunder in his throat at every point on the list.

The week would be split into three types of days. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays would proceed as normal and the heroes and villains could go at each other as they pleased. Fridays would be reserved for the villains to do as necessary without hero interference under the caveat that no blood would be spilled, and Sundays heroes could have the same. Tuesdays and Saturdays, no one would fight, a proper break for everyone.

The villains would keep to their side of the bargain, Weaver says darkly as he stares directly into camera, just so long as the heroes kept to theirs. And measures would be taken for anyone who chose not to comply. Xisuma's brain goes fuzzy with static as the super villain makes a few other demands, something about fair wages and from when to when each group could operate, but his gaze remains locked to where he can just barely make out his twin's face through his visor. The words filter through him, dismissed into a soft numbing blur.

The air suddenly feels chilled on his skin, fingers twitching in his lap, a rough, twisting feeling in his gut like the bottom of his stomach just dropped away. He feels trapped, unable to move from the couch, from the wrong side of the screen. Oh, he thinks hazily to himself, he's about to be sick. Hmm, ought to do- something. About all of- of this.

Gods... What did his brother do?

---

An era ends like this- Poultryman sweeps Weaver away in his arms and in his place, Evil X comes home. Xisuma watches his brother come through the door, eyes glued to his brother's face even as Evil X places his keys on the table by the door and takes off his shoes. There's a gentle realization bubbling up that this is the first time he's seen his brother's bare face with his own eyes, without the tint of a visor between them, in far too long. His twin's got paler as of late, making the eye bags and scars stand out all the more.

"You're home." The words hang in the air and Evil X sags at their weight, leaning against the door as if to prop himself up for the conversation to come. His arms hang behind his back, a laptop case dangling in his grip.

"You know this isn't home any more than the tree was."

"We- we were supposed to be safe here. This was where we were going to stay!" Xisuma is going red now, rising up from the couch in his anger, and Evil X watches him with the dredged-up calm of a man resigned to drowning. Good, anger he could handle.

"You thought this was where we would stay, got us a nice, normal apartment that looks like it's out of a fashion plate without asking me. You think I like staying in this pretty white bird cage that you bought by selling yourself to the most corrupt people around? This place isn't any safer for us than the tree was, and at least in the park we had company!"

"Says the one who fell into bed with the literal bad guy! At least here you weren't getting into fights every other week."

"No, now you're the one doing that!" They're shouting at each other. They never do that. An acrid taste fills Evil X's mouth and he gulps it back, along with a few words he just knows he would regret if he said them. A deep breath, a slow in and out. "Look, just. Don't be a hypocrite, okay?"

Xisuma pauses in his wind up for a proper tirade, eyes wary and wet. "What?"

"You aren't the only self sacrificing moron here."

"...Oh." Yeah. Oh.

Here Evil X takes another breath, resisting the urge to hold it, then extends his arm to show his twin the laptop case. "Hey."

Xisuma folds his arms behind his back, looking at his feet and then up again, shuffling back a step. "Yeah?"

"Got you a present. You always were the best of us, so. Here. It was the last part of the deal I kinda set up, a kind of fail-safe slash card to add to your deck. This laptop has evidence of my entire operation, every backroom deal, every piece of black mail, every person I've had killed or vanished or what have you. Everything I've been up to for the last however long. And... it's for you to read. It's not gonna be fun, but like, I trust you so it's okay. If you read this and really, honestly think I've crossed a line you can't forgive me for, you can turn this into the police and... I'll deal with whatever you choose to do with me. No loop holes, no take-backs."

Here Evil X leans his full weight against the door and lets his arm swing back down to his side, gaze sliding off to the side and a melancholy smile curling at his lips and pulling at his scars. "I trust you. I trust you. It... It'll be okay, yeah? Just make whatever choice you need to. Don't hesitate." He doesn't promise anything, keeps the words 'I'll be okay' from spilling into the air between them, but instead allows a careful submission to enter his posture, head bowed and figure loose and hanging.

It... might not be alright, but it will be right and that will have to be good enough. (It has to be.)

Xisuma chokes, a sob rising in his throat as his brave, strong brother gives up before his eyes. The air in his lungs freezes solid at the thought of having to choose whether or not his twin lives or dies, because that's what this is, he can't pretend that the city wouldn't execute him at the slightest chance, agreements be damned. His gaze tracks wildly from the laptop case to the top of his brother's head to the window, as if trying to see if anyone could be watching, could make the choice for him.

It's not fair. It's not fair, why him, why? He was so good, tried so hard- his heart is loud in his ears, breath rattling in and out in wheezing gasps- sobbing now, utterly sobbing. Evil X doesn't look up, doesn't try to comfort him. Won't even move, gods.

Fuck it.

Evil X startles, back banging against the door as Xisuma rushes forward and rips the case from his hands, only to chuck it into the far corner before throwing himself into his arms. On instinct Evil X catches him and holds him close just in time for Xisuma to bury his face in the crook of his neck and burst into messy, tearful sobs. They shake together and Evil X lets his head thump back gently against the door, eyes hazily gazing up at the ceiling.

"It's not- *hic*- it's not fair! I didn't want this!"

"I know. I know." He runs his hand over his twin's back, his taller form bowing forward to shelter his brother's smaller one. Somehow, even now it feels like Xisuma is the larger one between them, solid and warm in his arms.

"Why do I have to choose? I never wanted this! Why?! Why would you do this for me?"

"You're my brother. I love you." A gasping, wet sob against his neck and his twin lets out a moan like a dying cow, low and agonized. Evil X focuses on a soot mark on the white ceiling, tears stinging his eyes and running down his face to plop softly into his brother's hair.

"But why?!" Screaming. Gods, he can't-

"I love you. I love you." Rocking now, back and forth, gentle, just as he had when he had come home from beating up the men who had tried to lay stomp out his brother's heart, scarred and beaten and bloody. I love you, he had said then, and he repeats it now.

Later, much later, Xisuma will have to boot up the laptop and read through its contents. He will try to burn it, first, but Zedaph's work is more durable than most and Evil X will watch as his twin will dump his emotions into his flames, desperately trying to stoke them hotter and brighter. Later, a choice will have to be made.

But for now, Evil X will hold his brother, warm and safe, and let him cry.

[blessednereid]

LFLLLL Prologue: Miscommunicated Arguments

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

WC: 4.5k

Taglist: @rogershoe

~

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗     The Kiss(One Week Later) ╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝ ╭╼|══════════|╾╮    Isaac ╰╼|══════════|╾╯

'I don't.'

Those words rang like a siren in Isaac's head for the rest of the day.

He knew. he had already assured himself of it, but he didn't think it was definite until then. He wasn't sure that it wasn't just him being a pessimist until then.

He showed up at your house the next day, but the words still weighed on him like an anvil.

As he laid in your lap and allowed you to play gently with his hair, he couldn't help but imagine a reality where your feelings were different. Where his feelings were reciprocated.

"Isaac?" He heard a voice call out from above him.

"Yeah."

"Isaac, did I say something wrong?"

He wanted to tell you the truth, but that would require revealing his feelings which he preferred not to do.

"No, I'm just having an off day."

"I don't know. I feel like I did something wrong, and you're walking on eggshells around me…"

He shook his head as you continued. "-And it kind of sucks."

"I promise you, you did nothing wrong."

"Then why do I feel like-" You paused and sighed. After that, Isaac's two lips were met with yours. They moved slowly against Isaac's, and it wasn't like he had imagined it. It was better.

Isaac pulled away. He felt confused, he felt angry, he felt sadness more than happiness. He felt used.

"Y/n, you can't- I- I gotta go." He ran out of the room before he heard anything the young girl said.

He was confused. He had heard you say to both your dad and Stiles that you didn't like him. He pondered on the idea that you could've been lying before deciding against it.

He walked home, transfixed in his thoughts. When he got to his bed, he tried to do his homework that he was assigned that day, but the encounter with you left his head in a whirl.

╭╼|══════════|╾╮      You ╰╼|══════════|╾╯

You laid there on your bed, staring out of your door and waiting for Isaac to come back.

When you'd sat there for 5 minutes, and no one walked through t was when the intrusive thoughts started.

'You blew it,' they said.

'You shouldn't have done that,' they hollered.

'You already knew he didn't like you. Why did you bother?'

You couldn't call Lydia. She was out with a guy. Ironically, she would drop everything to get you out of a rut, but you didn't want to bother her.

You thought of talking to Stiles, but you knew the first thing he would say would be 'I knew it,' or 'I told you so,' which wasn't what you needed at the moment.

You laid on your bed, scrolling through numerous social media feeds on your phone. The movie you and Isaac were watching became background noise in the wind.

You tried calling Isaac to explain what happened, but it went straight to voicemail. Every text you sent him was left on 'Delivered,' and you knew he was ignoring you.

You walked over to Stiles' room and knocked on his door.

"Stiles," you sniffled as you knocked.

He opened the door with a concerned face. "What's wrong, baby sis?"

You chuckled. "I'm the older one, Sti.

You paused for a breath. "Stiles, I messed up."

He squinted in confusion but allowed you to explain.

"I kissed him…"

"Isaac?" You nodded.

"And he didn't like me back." You fell into his arms, and he wrapped a hand around your back and placed the other on your head.

He pulled you into the room to sit on his bed.  

"What do you mean he didn't like you back?"

"He ran out the house, and now he's ignoring me…"

He sighed and clenched his fists.

"Y/n, listen to me. He does like you."

"No, he doesn't," you argued. "If he did, he wouldn't have run out."

He winced with frustration. "He told me himself, he likes you."

You sniffed. "He did?"

"Well… not exactly." You raised your eyebrow. "He didn't say a name."

"You were gonna get my hopes up on a maybe?" you cackled. "Stiles, he probably likes someone else."

"Why would he come to me then?"

Another raised eyebrow from you was what he garnered at that.

"Isaac came to me for advice about a girl he liked. It was obviously you since I'm your brother, and I know you best."

"What did he ask exactly, Stiles?"

He squinted as if to remember before speaking. "Oh, he wanted to know how to get rid of feelings for a girl he liked… oh."

Your face fell at his words. "That doesn't sound like he wanted to like me, Stiles. Which probably means he doesn't like me!"

You started crying, and Stiles wrapped his arms around you. You fell asleep within a few minutes but had no dreams, happy or otherwise.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗  School: Confessions ╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

When you arrived at school the next day, you told Lydia about your issue. However, you didn't tell her (she figured out anyways by Isaac's reaction) that you didn't follow her plan.

"I'm not like you, Lydia. I can't just do things like that without clamming up. And you know what happens when I clam up."

She sighed, and you both walked to class without talking. You had Mrs. Goldblatt first, so you could speak to Isaac when you got in the class.

But, things never go the way you plan, do they?

When you walked in, Isaac was in another seat, three people in front of you, and Madison Zabka was in his place. She clearly was as fond of the swap as you were as she was glancing menacingly at the back of his head with a scowl on her face.

You paused to look at him, and Lydia stopped too before realizing why. He wouldn't meet your eyes, much like when you two were first partnered together.

You didn't want to call attention to him, but you pleaded with your eyes for him to look at you. When, after a minute or two, he hadn't moved his sight, you went to your seat.

You and Lydia made modifications to your class seating arrangements so that you could sit together. Madeline Zabka moved with her sister, and Danny moved to sit next to Isaac so that you could sit with Lydia.

When your teacher walked into the room, she did a once-over of all the students and seating placements.

"Get. In Your. Chairs… NOW!" She said each word with force, which made you all dash to get in your seats. Of course, you all ended up back in the same seatings you self-assigned by making her think you moved.

"I wasn't born last night. You have five seconds to get in your chairs!"

This time, you all got out of your seats and went back to your assigned arrangements.

You tapped on Isaac's arm once. Twice. Three times. He still wouldn't respond to you.

"If you would just talk to me, I could know what I did and apologize."

Isaac remained silent as Mrs. Goldblatt demonstrated the lesson.

When the bell rang, you ran out of the classroom before Isaac could even pack all his stuff and hid in the nearest broom closet.

You waited to see Isaac pass by you in the hall to pull him into the small room.

His eyes met yours for half a second and then darted to the ceiling.

"I'm not letting you leave until you talk to me." He remained silent.

"We've played this game before, Isaac. It's not fun anymore."

You sighed. "Since you won't talk, I will. I really like you. And as much as I tried to keep our friendship the same way, I can't look at you and not want something more."

You now had his attention.

"I don't know what made me kiss you in that specific moment, but I know it's all I've wanted to do for over a week." You thought about what you said before continuing. "Which is not that much of a long time, but to me, it was, so..."

You thought the last part would make him chuckle, but it just seemed to make him even angrier.

"Y/n, I don't know what you thought this 'explanation' would do, but the bell already rang, and I'm late for class. So, can I go, please? Because, last I checked, you can't get me an excuse that my teacher will accept for why I'm late."

You frowned at his words, but he didn't take notice as he pushed past you and into the hallway.

╭╼|══════════|╾╮    Isaac ╰╼|══════════|╾╯

When Isaac reached his classroom, he apologized to his teacher for being tardy and sat next to Dillon.

"Hey, man."

"Dillon, I need a distraction."

Dillon squinted. "A what?"

"A girl that I can hang out with who, 1. Won't end up liking me because 2. I can't end up getting feelings for her," Isaac said, quite plainly as if it was the most normal thing ever.

"That is the most fucked up thing you have ever said to me!"

Isaac sighed. "Look, I just need to get over Y/n."

"What? Didn't you say she kissed you? What happened?"

"I don't know, she pulled me into this closet, and… the shit she said just made me feel like it's all a prank."

"Oh my god, Isaac! How do you know?"

He scoffed. "How do you know, Dillon? How do you know that I'm not going to put my heart out there to that-" He wanted to say goddess but didn't want to come off too strongly. "-to Y/n, and then it ends up being a prank?"

"Whatever, I know this girl. She needs a tutor, and she has a boyfriend so, she won't end up falling for you."

"Good."

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗       Library(One Week Later) ╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

╭╼|══════════|╾╮    You ╰╼|══════════|╾╯

You and Lydia were walking down the aisles of the library. You were supposed to find a book with words that you didn't know, write down all of their meanings and write a summary using those words. Though, between Lydia's genius mind and Stiles' spouts of random knowledge at dinner, there weren't many words in a high school library that you and Lydia didn't know.

"Yeah, Lyds, did you hear what Gracie was saying about you?"

"No," she said simply. "And, I don't really care. I do care about you and Isaac, though. You haven't updated me on that."

You rolled your eyes. "That's because there isn't anything to update on."

She pursed her lips. "Of course there is," she said. "As long as you two are alive, there should be something to update on, babe."

"Well, there isn't because he ghosted me." You had been sulking for the past week because of your abandonment. You still hadn't figured out what you did that made Isaac so angry to make him ignore you.

"So, how are you getting over it?"

"I'm not."

She rolled her eyes this time. "Well, I'll get my own info, ‘cause there he is."

"What?"

You and Lydia peered slightly over the hidden protection of the shelf to look at the scene. Isaac was sitting at a table in the library with none other than Gracie Cooper.

"Oh, that dog."

They were giggling, but the books that were splayed across the table made it look like they were studying.

"I'm being… replaced?"

"Technically, he was never yours, babes."

You scoffed. "I mean as a study partner, Lydia!"

"Were you guys really doing much studying?"

"LYDIA!" you exclaimed, and Lydia shushed you before you got caught.

"Move back one aisle and forwards, I wanna hear!"

You did what she said and moved back to the first aisle that they couldn't see you from and closer towards the studying pair.

"Thanks again for helping me, Isaac!"

"It was really no problem, Grace. I needed this about as much as you."

The mousy girl squinted. "To...tutor someone?"

He laughed. "Something like that."

"So have you tutored anyone before?"

"No."

"Wow! You seem so good at this… study partner?"

"Not any I want to talk about."

His statement made you frown, but it completely offended Lydia, even though she wasn't who he was talking about.

"Rude!" she uttered.

"Lyds, let's just get out of here."

"No, I wanna- Oh, shit!"

You turned to where she was looking and saw Gracie and Isaac ‘sucking each other's faces off' as Lydia would put it. Isaac was putting more passion into the kiss than you'd ever seen him give for anything. Your heart shattered but, you weren't going to let it get you down.

"Lydia, know how I said I wasn't getting over it?"

She turned to you and uncrossed her arms. "Yeah."

"Fuck that. Do you have an ex-hookup you can set me up with?"

She gasped. "Y/n, you've never wanted me to do that before!"

"Drastic times call for drastic measures."

"Yay! I have the perfect person for you. But I need to ask. Are you doing this to move on, or are you doing this so that Isaac isn't the only one kissing other people?"  She had a look of sincerity on her face, and you could tell she didn't want you getting hurt.

"Doesn't Gracie have a boyfriend?"

"Yes, but don't avoid the question."

"Maybe both. Lydia, I just need a distraction.

╭╼|══════════|╾╮    Isaac ╰╼|══════════|╾╯

Gracie kissed Isaac, and he didn't know how to process it. All he could think about during the kiss was you, like a do-over. But it wasn't you. It was Gracie. And from that, he knew that he still liked you and couldn't continue to lead the girl on.

"Look, Gracie," he said while watching her face fall.

"I'm really sorry about this, but I'm not interested in relationships at the moment."

She smirked. "Oh, I know. But, Y/n is always the talk of the school no matter what, and everyone knows how she set her eyes on you before realizing you were not worth it-"

"Wait, what?"

"And, how better to show her you're doing fine than to start dating her ‘rival' as she would say."

Isaac frowned. "I don't know."

"C'mon, I know for a fact that she was jealous of that little show you put on."

Isaac decided to play into her game for a little while. "How?"

"The look on her face right now," she leered. "Don't look."

Isaac did as she said and resisted the urge to look, but now he was more aware of the eyes piercing into the back of his head.

He collected himself before continuing. "Gracie, this is… nice of you and all, but don't you have a boyfriend?"

"Expendable," she stated simply.

Isaac began packing up his books. "Thanks, I mean, you're a great girl, but no thanks, sorry."

Isaac wasn't really sorry. He would've felt worse if he'd thought the girl actually liked him, but it was a power play for her, and he didn't like being used.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗     Russo's Italian Restaurant ╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

╭╼|══════════|╾╮    You ╰╼|══════════|╾╯

You were dressed in a maroon velvet strapless dress that reached past your mid-thigh and accentuated your natural assets. You paired it with black wedges that made you just an inch or two taller and a black handbag to finish the look.

Earlier, there had been a debacle with your dad about your outfit, and he told you to go change when your date was already at the front door.

"So, Brett…" He flashed a toothy grin, but you felt out of place.

"What made you want to go out with me?"

"Well, Lydia called and said that you were looking for a date, and I always thought you were pretty," he said while still flashing his grin.

"But, do you even know me?"

"No… but that's the point of a date, right?"

He was right. And it made you realize you were only holding back because you weren't ready to let Isaac go.

"Okay, Mr. Talbot. Entice me. What do you do for fun?"

He chuckled, and you admired his mirth. "Funny, you ask. I play lacrosse for Devenford Prep. In fact, last year… You thought I fouled a kid, and you said," he paused before continuing in a quieter voice. "‘Ref! That was a foul, you freaking cheat!' I've never heard anyone kiddie swear so passionately."

You rolled your eyes. "I did do that, didn't I?"

Once you both calmed down from chuckling, Brett fired away his question.

"So, how did you, a freshman, become captain of the cheerleading team?"

You sighed proudly at the memory. "Lydia and I were sick of the lack of girls' extracurriculars. And, before you say that girls can play lacrosse and guys can do cheer- I know. But I'm talking about sports that are targeted to the feminine demographic."

He chuckled but allowed you to finish.

"So we marched to the Principal's office and asked if he would let us start our own cheerleading club. I talked to my dad, and he put a word in that coaching high school sports teams is a volunteering activity for college credit. So we got a coach from a local gym, and here we are."

He awed at your statement, which made you smile as well. "Anyone ever told you that you have a pretty smile, Brett?"

"Only everyone to ever see it," he smirked.

"Did they tell you that you're a smug ass too?"

You both burst out laughing before a waiter came to get your drinks.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗   Stilinski Front Porch ╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"Haha! Thanks, Brett. I had a fun time tonight."

He smiled before removing his hand from the small of your back and turning to face you.

"I had fun too."

You both leaned in for a kiss, and while you thought for a second that your dad was going to open the door to interrupt, it ended up being Stiles.

You and your date sighed before saying your goodbyes and leaving you to walk in the house.

"You're welcome."

You scowled. "For what? You ruined my kiss?"

"Okay. A. You don't need a kiss after every date. It's a movie cliche. And, B. I saved you from kissing a guy you don't really want to kiss."

You raised a brow, prompting Stiles to elaborate.

"You want to kiss Isaac. Isaac doesn't want to kiss you. Isaac kisses another girl. You get revenge by going out with Brett Talbot, fully knowing that it'll be all over Cyclones Shade Room by tomorrow," he said while making vomit faces at both of their names.  

"Okay, Okay! You've figured out my master plan, Stiles. Except! I actually like Brett," you protested.

"But not the way you liked Isaac?"

You groaned and tilted your head back. "Stiles, STOP! I just want to move on. Yes, I liked Isaac. But he doesn't like me, and I'm not going to wait for him to start."

You ran up the stairs before Stiles got another word in and crawled in bed. After changing your clothes, of course.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗ School: Confrontation ╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

Stiles dropped you off in front of the school building on Monday before going off to find Scott.

When you walked in, all that anyone was talking about was your date with Brett on Saturday.

'They would be a real power couple,' they said. 'They look so good together,' they murmured. 'I don't know who I'm jealous of,' they whispered.

You tried to ignore all the lingering gazes and hushed words as you walked through the hallway towards your locker that bordered Lydia's.

"Hey, Lyds."

She smirked before turning to you. "Don't look, but Lahey is totally giving you look 5."

You wanted to ask what it was, but she beat you to it. "The jealousy look, babes."

"Oh, I don't care."

Lydia frowned. "What do you mean? I thought this was for revenge."

"No, Lydia. It was for me to move on. And I'm doing that."

"I don't think he wants you to. He's coming over here."

"Well then, I have to be over there," you said before turning to walk towards your first class. Granted, it was with Isaac. However, the first quarter was over, so you and Lydia were free to sit together and away from Isaac.

╭╼|══════════|╾╮    Both ╰╼|══════════|╾╯

Isaac got to class and saw that you weren't in your assigned seat. He looked around and saw you sat with Lydia before he realized you were avoiding him.

He had heard all the rumors about your date with Brett Talbot, and he felt… replaced. Which was weird because he was the one who tried to get rid of his feelings for you, and then ignoring you when you reciprocate those feelings, and then trying to replace you.

He knew he shouldn't be angry about you moving on when he ignored you for over two weeks, but there was something about the entire thing that felt wrong to him.

That should be him with you in that picture. It should be him having dinner with you at Italian restaurants and being constantly reminded by your dad to bring you home on time. He wanted to have that with you. To him, Brett was living Isaac's vivid daydreams, and he was going to do something about it.

Around lunch, Isaac did the most ballsy thing he's ever done. One that he could probably get expelled for.

He went up to the front office and told the attendant that there was a Postmate's order for you at the front office.

The attendant called you to the front office, and while you were awaiting your dad's face, you were met with Isaac's.

You scoffed at the sight before turning around to go back to the cafeteria.

"Y/n, wait!"

You simply clenched your jaw and kept walking.

"Ethan and Sarah!"

You skidded as you stopped, took a breath, and turned around.

"What?"

"Ethan and Sarah. The one who embraces how they feel for the other. And then, there's the one who still is confused about their feelings for the other person.

"But they both have special powers when they're together- Look. I don't know where I was going with that analogy, but I got your attention," he said before walking to you. He grabbed your hands the same way you did to his at the carnival.

"I was an idiot. I am an idiot. I don't know why I did what I did, but I'm sorry-"

You cut him off. "Isaac, you're only saying this now that I'm moving on. Did you just expect me to wait for you to get your shit together?"

"No, but… Seeing that you're actually moving on made me realize I'm not ready to let you go. I don't want to lose you."

"What about what I want?" you scolded. "You basically abandoned me and didn't give me a reason why. And what about Gracie Cooper?"

"I've seen what losing people you love can do to you personally, and since my mom died, I never wanted to put myself in a position where that could happen to me. And Gracie kissed me. I don't like her the way I like you."

You sniffled. "You could've told me that. And even so, if that's the case, why are you here now?"

He gave a small smile before he spoke. "Because I'm in love with you?"

You shook your head and groaned. "You don't get to do this, Isaac. You haven't spoken to me for close to a month. I thought you were my friend-"

"I am!"

"Friends don't do what you did. I kissed you, and you made me feel like I gave you the plague."

He bowed his head. "I wasn't ready to accept my feelings. Especially when you kissed me after I'd just heard you tell your dad that you didn't like me. I thought it was just a big joke."

You closed your eyes firmly to keep from screaming at him.

"I only have two things to say to that.

"1. Did you ever stop to think maybe I wasn't ready to accept it either, and that's why I told my dad that? Did you stop to think that I didn't want to ruin our friendship on a 'maybe,' so I shoved my own feelings aside?"

That sent a pang to Isaac's chest, but you weren't done with your rant.

"2. I shared things with you that I haven't shared with some of my closest friends. I talked to you about my mom. I showed you that my favorite shows to watch are on Disney Channel. I let myself be vulnerable around you. If you think I would kiss you as a joke, you never knew me, Isaac."

He looked down at your conjoined hands. "You didn't pull away. You never do. Unlike me. It's one of the things I love about you. The only thing is, I don't want to pull away anymore, Y/n."

You tilted your head to analyze his expression, and you saw genuine honesty and… fear(?) in his face.

He avoided eye contact with you, but you saw that his eyes were widened, and his pupils were dilated.

"If you break my heart, Lahey...Stiles, Lydia, and I'll each break different limbs on your body." He chuckled at your statement before leaning in towards your face.

You pulled away.

"Too soon?"

"No, not at all," you said before leaning towards him to peck his lips.

"I was just getting the do-over for my first kiss."

His eyes widened in shock. "What? I was-" You nodded.

"I'm so-"

"As I said, break my heart, and I'll hurt you."

He leaned in and kissed you once more before pulling away to walk to the cafeteria.

"Where are you going?"

He grinned. "Lunch, I'm hungry."

"Speaking of, you better buy me lunch since you made me miss half of it."

You both chuckled before walking to the cafeteria.

You told Lydia to explain to Brett that you couldn't continue going out with him, which he understood, and offered to remain friends.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗                 Present Day ╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

You could see why Lydia was mad. You were angry when it happened, and Lydia, who has known you and been there for you for over 7 years, surely would be as well.

She wasn't hating on the fact that you were happy. She was truly happy for you, but she also wanted to protect you. Even if he had made amends, Isaac had hurt you. Lydia had always been the one to stand by you no matter what.

So, you could see why she acted the way that she did. You realized that she felt as though she was being replaced by someone who had hurt you. And while you rushed to defend Isaac, you had been ruining your relationship with your best friend, and you didn't even care at that moment.

You had to make things right. But first, you had to get through this dinner.

~

[drivingsideways]

For @the-ever-present-julie, based off this tumblr post.

Five times Dean and Cas kissed and never talked about it, and the one time they did and still won’t talk about it. 

Five.

It's not like Dean hasn't thought about it before.

That first month after he crawled his way out of his grave? He'd never told Sam or Bobby, but that entire month, hell, more like three,  he'd been convinced that it was all just one of Alastair's tricks. That Alastair had moved on from the crude, visceral pleasure of blood and guts and shredded flesh to this—letting him dream, and then, right when he'd let himself believe it, that the impossible had happened, Alastair would take it away.

The sick fuck.

But two could play that game, alright?

Dean- Dean was good at this. Dean knew Alastair, like calling to like in the putrid depths of hell. Dean would find a way to trip him up, it was like that time with the djinn. Find the thing that didn't fit, the thing that was impossible to explain, and then tug at that thread until it all unraveled.

Well, he didn't have to look too far.

Castiel, angel of the Lord, who made his ears bleed, and his stomach swoop—well— come the fuck on, there was no possible way his mind could have generated this. This was Alastair, through and through, Alastair who had put him on the rack and taken more pieces out of him than he'd known existed, who'd worked him over and over and over, and somewhere along the way learnt enough about Dean that he'd—

The handprint buzzed and ached and tingled and Castiel's blue, blue eyes had looked right through him, and said things like you don't think you deserve to be saved, and if  I tell you something, will you keep it a secret, I'm not a hammer, and no, this would not be the thing he let himself believe, this would not be one more way that Alastair broke him. In the backseat of his car, Anna had fitted her palm onto the scar, her delicate, smooth palm too small for it, the whorls of her fingers caressing the edges, and it had been electric, and all wrong, because it wasn't her mark that Dean carried on his friggin' re-hymenated body (it wasn't her who had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition, and Dean's body knew it in a way that Dean wasn't going to think about, let alone—)

That sonuvabitch Alastair would not break him with a fairy tale that innocent people told their children, angels watch over you, but his mother had not been innocent in all of this, had she, she had sold Sammy to the Devil, and Castiel had laid a hand on his shoulder (but had not touched his mark, why hadn't—) and had looked at Dean with something like sorrow, and didn't seem to mind when Dean called him Cas, brought him down to his level, and fuck, here he was again, out of options, out of luck, out of fuel, and his brother was someone he didn't recognize.

The sickest thing was how that was the part  that had felt real, felt painful in a way that Alastair could have never devised. Dean's soul was putting himself in the hands of a demon bitch, and there was fuck all that Dean could do about it. This was how he broke then, in the words of a prayer, the first he'd ever said, and he hadn't  known whom he was praying to, but it had been Cas who showed up, eyes bluer than any summer sky Dean had ever seen, face striated by the colours of a vending machine, and said, faith is a good sign, Dean. What was it a sign of, Dean would have liked to know, and it wasn't faith, not by a long shot, but what could a creature like Castiel have known of desperation?  Castiel who stood close, too close, but had touched him only twice, who'd said, it's not blame that rests on you, it's fate, and yeah, that was fucking Winchester Gospel for you, cursed from the start, the two of them, before they were in the womb, born under a bad sign.

But Cas had helped, and Dean had begun to think—but of course, Cas left, and there was only poor, stupid Jimmy Novak, and then Cas was back, but not really, Cas was a stranger, and Dean didn't know when he'd stopped thinking of Cas as a stranger, and just, strange—

 Dean had laid one across Castiel's marble-face that didn't shatter, tried, because what else could he have done? This is real, this is the only thing that's worth it and even before the disappointment of having Cas leave could sink in, the handprint had buzzed and ached and tingled  as Cas pressed him against a wall and pressed a palm against his lips and then bled on the floor, for Dean, (whom he didn't serve) and Cas had said, I'll hold them all off, go save him, but of course it had been too late, because that was the story of Dean's life, too late, too late.

Cas comes back, and oh look, Cas has learnt what desperation means, after all. There's something wild in his eyes, that he tries to hide but doesn't succeed when he says, we need God, it's not theological, it's strategic, and if Dean had a moment to take a breath, he would have wanted to sit Cas down, and say, listen man, I understand it, but this is a road to nowhere, you're only going to waste your time, you gotta stop loving what can't love you back, and yeah, that'd have been hypocritical of him, but so what, that was pretty low down on Dean's laundry list of sins.

But it's the Apocalypse, and as it happens Dean's got his own shit to deal with, and Cas isn't his responsibility, so what if he just died for Dean or whatever, alright, Dean owes him, but not like that.

And now it's the end of the world, their last night on earth, and Dean's not too late to make Cas smile at him, confused but fond, and Castiel's smile is nothing like Jimmy Novak's. Cas is nothing like Jimmy Novak who'd just been a naive man in an ugly suit, and well. He'd promised Cas a good time, and Dean's not got a lot to give Cas, by way of thanks or comfort or anything, and what had Cas said that time? Everything on earth is pain, but that's only cause he doesn't know, the good parts, the best parts, and before Dean can chicken out of it, he's pressing Cas up against the Impala, and Cas is letting him, goes willing, pliant, staring at him, eyes wide, and Dean sees the moment it happens, the small hitch of breath he takes, that Cas, who doesn't need to breathe makes, and his eyes dart to Dean's lips and flash up again, and Dean's kissing him, and it's—riding a comet—

Cas doesn't know how to kiss.

But that's fine, that's a-ok, because Dean does, and Dean can show him, and Cas is a quick learner, zero to six hundred in twenty seconds or less, and now it's Dean who can't breathe except in loud, panting gasps, Cas's warm, strong hand wrapped with his around their dicks, not enough slick, a little too rough, too painful, perfect, perfect, and Cas is eating his face, teeth sharp and painful on Dean's lips, eyes still wide open and unblinking, the freak, but his gaze is hot and ferocious, and Dean's eyes flutter shut again on a moan, because Dean's burning, has been burning all this time, he realizes, for this, for—

Cas rips his sleeve off, jacket and shirt, both gone,  and then his hand is there, and Dean's coming, wet, thick and nasty all over an angel's hand, he should be going to hell for this, except Cas hadn't let him stay there, and hadn't thrown him back, and this was real, Dean shuddering, face hidden in the crook of Cas' neck, trembling, his knees giving way, but Cas' got him, the hand on his shoulder slipping lower, around his back to hold him up, holding him in place,  and Dean should— he should—

 Four.

He  wakes up alone in a motel room, and there is a tomorrow, and then the  day after, but no Cas, and then there is two thousand fucking fourteen, and Cas is still there in the ruins that Sam and Dean made of the world , jesus fucking christ on a candy stick, Cas is still there.

Cas is broken, because Dean did that to him, and Cas kisses him, once, open mouthed and filthy, and then draws back and says, the day I decide to stay, make sure I don't, please, if you ever cared even a little, promise me, and then Cas goes off to die with even-more-of-an-asshole-future-him, because that's just how he rolls.

 Three.

He shouldn't.

If that mook Zach's little thought experiment had taught him anything, it should have been this- that Cas was off limits.

That he shouldn't keeping finding ways to keep him close.

He shouldn't keep finding ways to kiss Cas, but that's exactly what he does.

The world's ending around them in slow motion and they are fucking.

They're fucking in dank, stinking alleys, blood running down Dean's chin, and Cas licking it up, and feeding it back to him, tongue practically molesting Dean's tonsils, fingers squeezing his neck, rubbing against each other fully clothed, until Dean's coming in his pants. They're fucking on stained  bedsheets of grimy hotel rooms, lights flickering, crackling, every electronic instrument in a five mile radius gone haywire, the smell of ozone and jizz making Dean dizzier, as Cas pounds him through four successive orgasms, each more spectacular and painful than the last, Dean's body a limp rag after. They're fucking squeezed together in the backseat of the Impala, Dean hunched over Cas, occasionally knocking his head on the roof, but he can't stop, won't stop, nothing has felt this good, a thick fat dick inside him, filling up his empty places, and  Cas slack-mouthed, and eyes closed under him, hands wrapped around Dean's biceps so tight that Dean's gotta wear long sleeves through the hottest summer in three centuries, so that Sammy won't ask.

Sam knows, of course he does.

Cas isn't subtle when he turns up, dishevelled, hair sticking out in five different directions, looking pissed off and tired; shrinking, somehow, but still with that crackling power about him, and not looking at anyone or anything except at Dean, like all the roads he's taken looking for God have only led him straight back to Dean. Sam's taken to clearing his throat awkwardly, and hot-footing it out of hearing range the moment Cas appears, and just as well, Dean doesn't have it in him anymore to be quiet, sprawled wide open on the bed, hands twisting in the sheets as  Cas fucks him fuck, fuck, fuck,  jesus fuck,  if he hadn't already gone to hell, surely this would send him there, profaning this holy thing of god, whose tongue was made for songs of praise and worship, and is instead all the way up Dean's ass, dragging an orgasm out of him.

It's alright, he reasons, on the days Cas is gone, and Sam is there, but gone.

Cas and him, they're not so different after all. They're both the disappointing sons of deadbeat dads, and Cas is losing his wings and his faith at approximately the same speed that Dean's losing everything and everyone, and the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and there's no way to fix it, no way to undo it, and he's going to have to kill the love of his life, and if this is his consolation prize, he's going to take it.

(Dean loves taking it.)

Dean will take it and he doesn't want to talk about it, and hey, apparently, neither does Cas, so that's peachy, that's perfect, and Dean shouldn't, but he does, and Cas lets him, and he does, right until Sam gets thrown into the pit, and Dean doesn't.

Cas' grace knits him together, once more, and then he's gone, and so is Dean.

 Two.

Cas comes back.

But he's more of a stranger than he'd ever been, even in that barn, what feels like a lifetime ago, and he won't talk, and sure as fuck won't listen, and his blue gaze when it meets Dean's is cool as lake water, as if Dean doesn't know what Cas sounds like, strung out of his mind with pleasure, from having Dean hold him down with a binding sigil and fuck him raw.

As if they'd never been friends, and perhaps they hadn't, that was just what it was like in the war, and the war was over, and so were they.

Cas is all impatience, and anger, and sullen resentment, brittle in a way that scares Dean if he really thinks about it, because it's Cas, and something's wrong, Dean can feel it deep in his bones, just like he knew with Sammy, but he—

Look, if Cas wants to reach him, he knows how to call.

But then it's too late (again) and there's a war (again, or it was never over, why is it never over), only this time it's Cas that Dean needs to kill, really kill, and fuck if he knows how, but in the end, all he can do is watch as Cas walks into the water, and all that's left of him is a stained, torn trenchcoat.

Dean keeps it.

He can't look at it, can't stand to, that entire year, but he keeps it.

And then Cas comes back (again), but then he's gone (again) and what had Dean expected, really?

And Dean's tired, ok, so tired, so tired and sick and done, and the war is still on—maybe he shouldn't have left Cas, maybe he should have tried harder, maybe he should have called, maybe it wouldn't have all gone to shit, if Dean hadn't screwed it up once again, hadn't failed—

 "Cas"  he says, squinting against the sun on his face, up at where Cas is perched on the roof of the Impala. "Why are you covered in bees?"

The air is filled with a humming that Dean's only 90% certain are the bees.

"They like me, Dean," says Cas, as though that were a reasonable explanation, and fuck knows, maybe it was, in that fucked up noodle of his. "They wanted me to stay with them."

Shit, fuck.

Dean rubs his hands over his eyes.

"You maybe want to come inside and talk?"

Crazy or not, they needed all the help they could—

Cas hops down from the car, and the bees rise up in an angry, buzzing cloud before settling back.

"Lose the bees first", says Dean, and then regrets it, when Cas stands before him naked as a new-born.

"Dude!" yelps Dean, "Come on! Where the fuck are your clothes?"

"I—", says Cas, sounding lost and forlorn as he stares down at himself. "I'm not sure. The bees didn't like them."

And fuck, like this, Dean can see that Cas is just skin and bone, pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, hip bones jutting out—

"Well, mojo them back from wherever you left them", Dean growls, "There's a sandwich in it for you."

Cas looks up, hopeful.

"Peanut butter?"

"Sure", says Dean and hopes to god the vending machine has  something that resembles a sandwich. "But get some.." he waves his hands, not looking at Cas, because it hurts to see him like this.

There's nothing like a sandwich in the machine, so he ends up instructing Cas to wait for him in the room while he makes a quick run to the nearest store. He picks up some orange juice and bananas while he's at it, along with the bread, peanut butter and jam.

"This is very kind of you, Dean" says Cas, as he sits (fully clothed, in his hospital scrubs and trenchcoat), his hands in his lap.

"So, what, you need to eat these days?" Dean queries. "You look like you've just spent six months on a fad diet".

Cas looks away, up at the ceiling.

"The grace is more useful for other things" he says, "There's so much to do. So many creatures in pain. I forget to."

"Listen", starts Dean, because he can guess where this is coming from, hell, it isn't like—

"Is my sandwich ready?"

Dean slides it across the table, and watches as Cas wolfs it down.

There's a bit of jam that gets stuck to the corner of his mouth, and Dean gestures at it, and then, when Cas looks confused, reaches out to—

Cas flinches.

Dean freezes, hand stuck awkwardly in mid-air, throat closing up.

He leans back, withdrawing his hand.

"You've got some jam smeared at the corner of your mouth, like a goddamned three year old, Cas".

"Oh", says Cas, and it vanishes.

Dean swallows the guess you don’t mind wasting your mojo on that then, that sits on his tongue, and Cas finishes his sandwich, suddenly quiet, staring down at his sandwich,  though it wasn't like he'd been saying anything before, but it's a different sort of quiet between them now, filled with all the things that Dean wants to scream at him, and can't.

Cas doesn't touch the bananas, but slurps the orange juice, loudly.

Dean watches as Cas licks his lips, tongue darting out to taste the last of it.

When he looks up, Cas is looking at him.

He feels his cheeks heat, caught out.

"You’re sweet", says Cas, suddenly. "Sweeter than all the honey in the world".

And before Dean can process it, he leans forward, brushing his lips against Dean's; a butterfly of a kiss, and then he's gone, in a quiet whoosh, and Dean's left alone, and when he wets his suddenly parched lips, he can taste the faint bitter-sour flavour of canned orange on them.

 One

Well, Dean's not making the same mistake twice.

There's no way he's gonna leave Cas behind.

Where's the angel, he asks, as he hacks his way through Purgatory, where's the angel?

Cas, he prays, c'mon man. Don't do this to me.

Cas, please.

Once he gets slashed by something, some kind of hellbreed that seemed half werewolf, half vampire, and it's pretty bad, but somehow he manages to lose them, holed up high up in cave he'd discovered in some time ago. The view's spectacular from the ridge or would be, if the hills and valleys and forests weren't teeming with things that were out for his blood, and Cas'.

He manages the staunch the bleeding. The gash isn't too deep after all, but he's gonna have to stay put for a couple of days. But then the chills start, and he thinks, shit, shit. Starting a fire is a sure way to get killed, no way he's gonna be able to take on anything more dangerous than a field mouse right now, and fuck, he's exhausted, suddenly, and ok, this wasn't good, the ground seemed to be rushing up to meet his face—

 He's warm.

Cocooned in the softest of embraces, safe, untouchable.

"Mom?" he whispers, "Is that you?"

A hand brushes over his forehead, light and gentle.

He struggles to open his eyes, which seem to be refusing to cooperate.

It's not mom.

"Cas" he rasps, bleary eyed, throat drier than a desert. "Cas?"

"Shh" says Cas, "You're safe now. Rest, Dean."

And it's true, Dean can feel it, cradled here in—Cas' wings, he thinks, sleepily, unable to hold on to the thought. Those are Cas' wings he can feel, sheltering, soft, warm.

"You found me", he mumbles, "I've been looking for you."

"Shhh", Cas rumbles, "Don't talk. It's alright."

"Cas."

A feather light press against his mouth, and then another, and then a third.

"I'm here", Cas whispers, "Dean. Rest now."

But when he wakes up, he's alone.

If it weren't for the healed gash, skin smooth and untouched, every aching muscle restored like he'd been checked into a fancy spa for a month, he'd have been certain he dreamt it.

Then they get topside, and he wishes it had only been a dream, and not one more thing he'd have to forget.

 (Plus One)

 Sam's here, finally.

Bobby had been right, time sure passed different around here.

Sam's here now, and it's perfect.

Almost.

Cas isn't around.

Or he's everywhere, but nowhere where Dean can see him, reach out and touch him.

When he asks around, he gets vague answers.

Ellen says, oh, I think Jack and Cas are in some other planetary system this week.

Two weeks later, by Dean's counting, Rufus says, you just missed him, boy, he was here helping fix my roof not half-hour ago.

Jack says, looking embarrassed, uh, I sent him on a mission, to, um, uh, Andromeda, and then, uh, I have to go, nice seeing you again, Dean, and vanishes before Dean can whup his ass for lying to his family.

Dean gets into the Impala; tells Sam he's got a supply run to make.

"You've got like a 100 cartons of beer, Dean",  says Sam.

"Not beer, Sammy."

Sam gives him a long look.

Dean shrugs, look, it wasn't like Sam didn't know.

Sam nods, once, lips quirking a little.

"Good luck, then" he says.

Dean flips a finger at him.

"C'mon, Baby" he says, as he pulls onto the road, "Take me to him."

 Baby's never let him down.

 Of course, Cas has gone and set his feathery ass down somewhere on the highest mountain that Dean has ever seen, the top of it half hidden in a swirl of clouds. There's only a narrow trail, no way to take Baby up, so he parks her under the shade of a leafy tree of some species he's pretty sure isn't found on earth, and shrugs off his jacket, wrapping it around his waist.

Jesus, but Cas could be a real dick, and it wasn't like Dean didn't already know that, but, wow.

 The trail is narrow, though not very steep, and the foliage dense for most parts, as he begins to climb. There's a river or a small waterfall somewhere, he can hear the sound of it, a muted roar. Up and up it goes, through plants and shrubs- or things that look like plants or shrubs, he can't be sure of anything here, he's realized. Occasionally, a small woodland creature of indeterminate origin will cross his path. Some of them stop and stare. One or two get experimentally close, while he stands as still as possible, and lets them acclimatize themselves to his scent. The foliage isn't dense enough to block out all sunlight, and every now and again the path will emerge onto an outcrop of rock and grass, probably intended as a rest-stop for the weary. Dean's only slightly out of breath, though the air gets cooler as he goes higher. But the sun is warm enough for a sheen of sweat to form, making his t shirt stick to his spine.

He sinks down onto a convenient grassy knoll and takes a few breaths. Clouds float lazily over the valley below, that stretches out farther than his eye can see. The river he's hearing winds through it, clear and blue, through acres and acres of green and violet, and brown and red. He turns his face up toward the sky.

Was it possible to get sunburn in Heaven?

Well, he was going to find out.

He turns his head a little.

He's about half way up the mountain, he estimates.

Given the position of the sun, he's been climbing about three hours.

Making me work for it, huh, buddy? Dick move, Cas, gotta tell you that.

Something rustles in the grass near him: a tiny grass snake, slim and green.

Snakes in paradise, wow, wasn't that theologically wrong or something?

But it gives him a beady eyed look and slithers over his outstretched palm and then away, unbothered, leaving behind a fleeting sense of dry leather.

Dean sighs.

"Cas?" he says, softly. "You're waiting for me, right?"

He doesn't know what he'll do if Cas isn't.

The thought makes his heart triphammer in his chest, fear gripping it.

What if he was too late, again?

But he's got to believe that he's right about this.

That he's here because Cas is ready, finally, to let Dean find him.

In those years after Purgatory, they'd never managed, somehow to make it work.

Every time Cas left—every time Cas came back—it got harder, somehow, to say, don't go, please, I need you, forgive me, stay.

Dean- he'd just become angrier and meaner, falling deeper and deeper and this was a grave that even Cas couldn't pull him out of. And then, when he'd been ready-almost—that second time in Purgatory, it had seemed like Cas wasn't ready, though surely, he knew, why else had he stopped Dean—

But the joke was on Dean, because Cas hadn't known, and then it had been too late. Cas was slipping through his fingers one more time, beatific in his joy, as he threw himself into the pit for Dean, and Dean had known, had known, that it was the last time.

 When it was all over, he had waited.

Hope was a thing with feathers.

He had waited for Jack to bring Cas back to them, to Dean.

But Jack hadn't.

No way that Jack hadn't sprung Cas from the Empty, there was just no fucking way that would have happened, so that meant that Cas didn't want to see Dean.

And alright, maybe Dean deserved that, maybe that was his penance, and he would do it, gladly.

He wouldn't complain, and he'd go through the rest of his life with a piece of him missing, and it was what it was, there were things you couldn't undo, there were sorrows that had to be borne.

On the bad days, after a hunt that went wrong- there were, after all, still some of those—he'd lie  in bed, every tendon and muscle and bone aching, and when he closed his eyes, he'd try to will himself back there, to that cave in Purgatory, the safety and comfort of Cas' shelter, and the sweet press of his lips against Dean's.

Sweeter than all the honey in the world.

 He blinks awake.

Apparently he'd taken a nap, though given that the sun was still steadily beating down on his face—and yes, you could get sunburn in heaven, thanks for nothing Jack—it hadn't been too long.

It takes another two hours, and he's almost giving up hope, wondering whether he's going to end up just spending the night alone on this mountain after all, when he breaks through a particularly dense grove and finds himself in a middle of a garden.

The garden- in flagrant, dizzying bloom around a cobbled stone path that leads to a small wooden cabin nestled against the wall of the mountain- has an occupant.

Dean feels like his breath was punched out of him.

My true form is as tall as the Chrysler building, Cas had once said, the lying liar that he was, because he's probably twice as tall. He's all iridescent wings that span twenty feet either side, and a dozen wheels spinning in different directions and something that looks like blue flames trailing the edges of his wings, and Dean is—

Jesus.

Cas turns toward him at that, and Dean senses his-shock?- before the almost unbearable brightness dims slowly, coalescing into a familiar shape.

"Not quite", says Cas. "Hello, Dean."

Dean's feet seem locked to the ground, and Cas doesn't make a move toward him either.

"Hi", Dean breathes out, the air rushing out of his lungs with the word. "Cas."

Cas has switched out the trenchcoat and suit for comfortable looking pair of white linen pants and a loose short tunic of sky blue, that match his eyes, and there's what looks like a week's worth of stubble along his jaw.

"Heaven can't afford a razor?" is what Dean says next, like the idiot he is.

Cas' eyes crinkle. "I've been told it makes me more attractive".

What, who- no- fuck.

Dean's already up in Cas' space before he realizes it.

"Who told you that?" he rasps, and up close he can see the flecks of grey in the stubble, and at Cas' temples, and yes, it made him breathtakingly hot, but damned if Dean was going to— "They were lying, just so you know."

Cas is smiling at him.

"Dean," he says, softly.

Dean reaches out to run a finger against his jaw, going against the grain, ends up with his fingers resting lightly against Cas' cheek, just under his ear.

"You’re a dick" he says, softly, "you know that?"

Cas nods.

"I've been" starts Dean, and then finds he's out of words, takes a shuddery breath instead, furiously trying to blink away the wetness in his eyes.

Cas's hands cup his face, warm and sure, and he draws Dean's forehead down to his.

"I know", Cas says, softly. "But I would do it again if it meant I saved you. I would do it all again."

"I should have told you," whispers Dean, "I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough."

"Dean", says Cas, softly, "You've always been enough."

Above them the sky starts turning a fiery orange as the first of the suns starts to set.

Cas' wings- which he hasn't tucked away- take on a metallic shine, but they feel warm, and safe, just like Dean remembers.

Dean kisses him, softly, once, then again, then again.

"Sweeter than all the honey in the world", he whispers, glad that there's nobody to hear this but Cas.

"You don't even like honey", says Cas, after a moment. "You never let Sam put any in your tea."

Dean draws back.

"You don’t remember", he accuses, genuinely horrified.

Cas' brows draw together in a frown.

"What?"

"You kissed me! And said—well you said what you said! Back in the day when you were all crazy!"

"Which time?"

Dean groans, thumping his head onto Cas' shoulder.

Cas buries his nose in Dean's hair and tucks him closer in his embrace.

"I remember" he confesses, quietly, after a moment. "But I thought you'd want to forget it."

"Cas", Dean, sighing, as he turns to nuzzle the soft, tender skin beneath Cas' ear, placing a small kiss there, as he presses closer. "Let's never talk about this again, ok?"

[absurdiskas-brutalus-avangardas]

You seem conservative. Were you ever liberal?

I don't like labels, I prefer using simply common sense and critical thinking, so I always find something more to add to what I thought before, but yes, I am, you could say, conservative. I am not afraid to admit I was liberal as a teenager-young adult, mainly, because we are naive then, they do teach it in schools, I must say, it's more ''fashionable'' among peers, in our pop culture and not all of us have direction from our parents. Which I didn't. My brother and mother are very pro-abortion, pro LGBT activism, pro-listening to authorities, pro-refugees and multicultural societies, kinda anti-patriotism and appreciation of history (which they mistake for almost being a full blown fascist), brother even went as far to say that we should demolish Churches because they're useless and similar. I would go as far to say that I was depressed, confused, lost, tormented and maybe even possessed at the time I had liberal values. I smoked two packs a day of the strongest cigarettes, couldn't sleep for 3 nights in a row often, drank, cursed a lot, struggled with enslaving lust and thoughts from it (though I did not sleep around and had not done it until I was an adult), had horrible fights with my parents, hated and had distrust of humanity, hanged around atheists, mentally ill, promiscuous, satanists, at times I would shut myself in silence and would not speak to anyone even if they spoke to me, which scared my relatives. I was destructive and godless. I practiced occult, new age religions that feed ones pride. I was, for some reason, healed by Christian faith little by little, first, for some reason I told my friend I'd like to patiently read The Bible for once and I received a beloved Bible as a gift from him, and with skepticism, but gave it a chance, then, for some reason, I thought about how many times my mother defeated Death or getting even more ill when I prayed, how many times my prayers came true, even though I didn't believe in God and didn't respect Him, I remembered how my grandmother, co-worker has had very concerned discussions with me, saying that I'm just running from the Truth, because deeply I know that I'm just angry with God, that something bad will happen to me, for example, a physical illness will take me because I deny God, which spoke to me in a way, then, even if I thought it's useless, I started attending Mass, going to Church, and by all of this, one day, the darkness left me, there was no burden in my chest anymore, no pain or unbearable sadness, I could finally breathe with ease and find beauty in humanity, I saw the Creation with a different perception, I saw everything shouting about God and His greatness. I've had random children smile and wave at me on the street and noticed the goodness in it, I've met soft spoken strangers, elders, people who suffer who just decided to speak and open up to me, I had wonderful, light dreams, it's like finally, I was open to love and mercy. I've completely forgiven everyone that broke me in some sort of way, I help my parents now. It hasn't been long, a few years maybe, but it's like I'm a different person, I'm ashamed of who i was, of how much sin I was bearing. Maybe as they say, the Holy Spirit was leading me to healing and I've listened. I have what they call now, a testimony. And don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with liberals or ''different'' people, if you are a nice person, I like discussion and respect while we defend each of our values, though I must say I've met more liberals that quickly get aggressive and act like bullies, but I've also met friendly liberals. What I was before, taught me to judge only rightfully and actually pray for those who are kinda in the same spot I was, I cry for them and for those who couldn't understand my choices and new way of life. I believe some individuals are screaming for help and love, maybe were abused, felt like outcasts, and really, search for acceptance in wrong places, where their destructive behavior gets even more support.

[remmushound]

Damage, part 5; the Hogosha

@errorfreak88 @brightlotusmoon

Splinter did his best. Ever since that night he had first gotten the boys, he tried his to do right by them. To feed them. To teach them. To encourage them. To make them happy. He always made an effort to go out of his way for their wants and needs, because that’s what a father does. He made an effort to make them laugh and ask how they were doing. To touch them and to kiss them and to love them and make them know they were loved. It was times like this that made it so difficult.

He didn't care about his own wounds. The pain was nothing compared to the pride he felt for his sons. Raphael, for tossing himself on top of Donatello and protecting the younger shinobi with everything he had. Leonardo for fighting with all he had to protect Michelangelo. Michelangelo for being so strong and so willing and eager to recover. And Donatello, for dragging each and every one of them from their deathbeds and giving them a second chance at life.

The old mutant slowed as he passed by Michelangelo’s room. Drawn on by the sound of voices, the shinobi father couldn’t help but press his ear to the door to listen.

“... telling you, it’ll work!” Leonardo’s voice was heard above all, “Trust me, Raph will love it!”

“A suggestion if I may?”

Donatello’s voice came as a surprise to Splinter and drew the old rat even further into the conversation. Donatello didn't wait for an answer.

“We’re talking about Raph, right? Our Raph? The Raph that regularly busts through walls and ears glass? That Raph?”

“Yep! That’s the one!” Michelangelo’s voice chirped.

“Then foam and cloth just isn’t gonna cut it.”

“Well what do you suggest, big brain?” Leonardo asked.

“Well there have been significant successes with 3D printing bones for transplant, and even an example of a turtle shell being printed successfully! Maybe we do that? Except with the section of shell Raph is missing.”

“Oh oh oh!” Michelangelo chirped his normal ‘I have a question’ noise.

“Yes Michael?”

“Maybe we do both! You do your printy-thing and then we put some foam over it to make it more comfortable and then we add the cloth!”

Donatello hummed. “Hm. Sounds doable. Though we may have to build a framework out of wire to support the foam so it doesn’t shift too much and cause irritation. And several layers of cloth so we can secure it properly to the framework—“

“Yeah yeah yeah, less talky more doey!”

“Hey! Do you have any idea how long it’s gonna take?! I can’t do it snappy-snappy!”

“Why not?!”

It made Splinter’s heart soar to hear the bickering of his sons carrying on in the other room. They sounded happy, and most importantly they were awake, and together. He wiped his beady eyes as he walked away, tail swishing his euphoria as the newfound hope made this day one of the best in months.

When night came, Splinter didn't need alarms or clocks or the chore chart to tell him what to do. He just did what fathers do, like he always had. He knocked on Raphael’s door before entering.

“Oh! Hey pops!” Raphael’s tail wagged at the sight of his father. He was sat at his vanity looking at himself in the mirror like he often did.

“Hello Raphael.” Splinter’s wrinkled face split in a smile as he walked over to Raphael, tisking his tongue along the way as his tail swept through trash and collected it. “Really, Raphael? Four water bottles? You’re turning your room into a pigsty!”

“Goodnight to you too, pops.” Raphael laughed, closing his eye as Splinter heaved himself up the snapping turtle’s arm to kiss him on the cheek.

“Honestly, I don’t think you need this old thing anymore.” Splinter mused as he helped Raphael untie his shell cover and folded it on the nightstand.

“Donnie’s orders.” Raphael laughed.

“Well I say you’re perfectly healed.” Splinter eyed the scars curiously, “And if anything, the scars make you look badass.”

Raphael’s shoulders shook as he bellowed. “Thanks dad.”

Splinter smiled and nosed playfully against his son's cheek a moment before giving the mutant a gentle tap with his tail.

“Now scoot! It’s bedtime!”

“Dad, I’m almost sixteen.” Raphael said, “I think I can choose my own bedtime now.”

Splinter raised his brow.

Raphael started to sweat almost immediately. “Uh— I mean— yes. Right. Bed time.”

“Good boy.” Splinter pat Raphael’s shoulder as the snapper lurched over to his bed. “Remember: I didn't put the fear of God in you, I put the fear of rat!”

Raphael climbed into bed and churred happily as Splinter came over to tuck him in and give him his teddy bear.

“There we are… Good night, little Red.”

*****

“Oh Baby Blue~” Splinter poked his nose into Leonardo’s room, “I’m respecting your privacy by knocking, but asserting my authority as your father by coming in anyway!”

Splinter blinked as he saw the state of his son. Leonardo was on his bed, having tried to remove his day clothes by himself and failed miserably. Somehow, he had managed to get his head stuck in the arm hole and his arm locked at an odd angle in the head hole, his trousers hanging half-off.

“Help me.”

Splinter couldn’t hide his laughter as he helped his son undress the rest of the way and assisted in helping him put on his pajamas.

“There we are, silly boy.” Splinter rubbed Leonardo’s head before putting the turtles nightcap on. “Now, I know you like magic, but you’re not quite Houdini status yet.”

Leonardo snapped. “Darn! I’ll get there one day!”

Splinter hummed his agreement and used his tail to open Leonardo’s bedside drawer and pull out a soft, blue sleeve. He gently slid it over Leonardo’s wounded arm and secured it before giving the nub a kiss, and then kissing Leonardo on the head.

“Thanks dad.”

“Anything for my little one.”

****

“Orange~ why, would you look at that?”

Michelangelo was already snug in his bed, dressed in his sleeping onesie and clutching a story book with a bright smile on his face.

“Someone was ready for me.” Splinter pulled himself onto the bed and took the book from Michelangelo, clearing his throat as he started to read. “In a warm and sultry forest far far away, there lived a mother fruit bat and her new baby. Oh, how Mother Bat loved her soft, tiny baby. “I’ll name you Stellaluna.” she crooned…”

By the end of the story, Michelangelo was snoring softly. Splinter carefully crept from the bed and slid the book back into its place before giving Michelangelo a kiss on the head.

“Love you, my son. Sweet dreams…”

****

Splinter always left Donatello last. Not out of malice, of course! Donatello just needed the most comfort, the most time! And it wouldn’t be fair to make the other brothers wait so long for their fathers affection. But now the rest of his sons were tucked safely away, Splinter crept into the softshell’s room with a gentle knock.

“Donatello? Purple?”

Donatello was laying in his bed with his back turned to the door. Splinter hummed and quickly approached the bed, laying a hand on his son's shoulder.

“I hope you didn't think I forgot about you.”

“No.” Donatello’s voice was soft and somber.

Splinter cleared his throat and shifted himself onto the bed, pulling the blanket over Donatello’s head and starting to hum softly as he traced his paws across his son’s arm and shell bridge in a comforting manner, like he always did when they were turtle tots.

“Mori mo iyagaru, Bon kara saki-nya. Yuki mo chiratsuki-shi. Ko mo naku-shi…”

Donatello grabbed Splinter’s hand and held it while he started to hum along to the lullaby.

“Bon ga kita-tote, nani ureshi-karo… Katabira wa nashi, obi wa nashi…”

Splinter sang the lullaby to its entirety and, though Donatello was still awake by the end of it, neither father nor son made any attempt to leave or interrupt the comfort of each other's presence. They both fell asleep together.

****

“Keep your eyes closed! Keep 'em closed! Closed closed closed closed closed!”

“They’re closed, Mike!” Raphael bellowed his laughter at the eager young mutant that covered both Raphael’s eyes while sitting on his shoulders. “What’s the surprise!”

“Wait for it! Wait for it!”

“The suspense is killing me!”

“NOW!”

Michelangelo pulled his hands away with a happy squeak and Raphael opened his eyes. Raphael blinked a few times to get used to the light again before he processed what was in front of him. Leonardo and Donatello, both smiling as they held a large something between them.

The prosthetic piece was an impossibly bright red color, the cloth some of the most vibrant Raphael had ever seen! There were several ridges on it and Raphael’s eyes widened when he recognized the shapes from his shell. He looked back at his shell, then to the prosthetic, then back at his shell.

“Tadaaa~” Michelangelo jumped from Raphael’s shell, landing with a loud grunt, and did jazz hands.

“It’s made of reinforced acrylic— it’s not as strong as your actual shell, but strong enough to take a solid hit.” Donatello explained, “I wanted to make it a more natural color, but Nardo here insisted it stay red.”

“What? Red is totally his color!” Leonardo scoffed, “the Kanji was Mikey’s idea— figured Bo-su was most suited to you.”

“And Donnie made sure the measurements were right so it could fit over your shell!” Michelangelo squeaked, “Do you like it?”

Raphael didn't answer. He couldn’t answer, not for an uncomfortably long time. And when he did answer, it wasn’t with words. It was with a loud, whimpering squeal as he scooped all three brothers in for a hug and crushed them against his chest.

“I love it…” Raphael nuzzled each brother in turn, “And I love you all so much…”

[fablesrose]

Drunk on the Memories

Summary: Eliot gets drunk with an old friend, before he even joined the military, they insist on singing to each other

Word count: 1805

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Fem!Reader

Square filled: Drunken Confession

Masterlist ~ Bingo Masterlist

Warnings: Talk of war, drinking (obv)

Songs: I Wanna be in the Cavalry by Corb Lund, I Wanna be in the Cavalry Reprise by Corb Lund, Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd

A/n: this is for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo, I did cut out a verse or two on the first too songs to keep it shorter and less graphic but I really enjoyed writing this, so enjoy! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you drunk enough yet?”

I shook my head and knocked back another drink, “Now I am, you?”

Eliot took a large swig of whiskey right from the bottle, “Hand me the guitar.”

I passed it to him with a smile. He grunted and strummed it a couple of times, grumbling that it was out of tune. He started turning the knobs to change the pitch of the strings and my mind drifted to the last time I had heard him sing.

It was years ago, we were both young, broke, and stupid as hell. His one brain cell was telling him to join the military, so that’s what he did. He was being deployed the next morning, so all of our friends and family gathered round a fire, passed the booze around, and insisted on having a swell time. It got to the point where we were drunk enough to do anything, so someone shoved a guitar into Eliot’s hands and told him to put on one last show.

He laughed but started to sing all the same.

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war

I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before

I wanna good mount when the bugle sounds and I hear the cannons' roar

I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war.”

Everybody quieted down to listen to him. It was an upbeat song, but it settled in that he was going to war. And with a voice like his, how could you not listen?

“I wanna horse in the volunteer force that's riding forth at dawn

Please save for me some gallantry that will echo when I'm gone

I beg of you sarge let me lead the charge when the battle lines are drawn

Lemme at least leave a good hoof beat they'll remember loud and long”

Wolf whistles rose from our group as the energy picked back up again. His face was smiling, young, and full of joy.

“I'd not a good foot soldier make, I'd be sour and slow at march

And I'd be sick on a navy ship, and the sea would leave me parched

But I'll be first in line if they'll let me ride, by god, you'll see my starch

Lope back o'er the heath with the laurel wreath underneath that vict'ry arch”

We laughed. He stood and we cheered him on as he danced around the fire and wove through us. I became mesmerized by him as his voice seemed to light up the area as much as the fire, and warmed me the same amount. Before I knew it he was singing the last verse.

“Let 'em play their flutes and stirrup my boots and place them back to front

For I won't be back on the rider-less black (jack) and I'm finished in my hunt

I wanna be in the cavalry if I must go off to war

I wanna be in the cavalry, but I won't ride home no more”

I was pulled out of my trance as the Eliot before me started to sing, similarly drunk, but different in every other way.

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war

I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before

“Courageous at first we took their worst, our positions we held stout

We clung to belief and we hung on the speech from our trusted leaders' mouths

Overwhelming odds and a hopeless cause and our cities overrun

There were them that said we was badly led and God were we outgunned”

When we met earlier he seemed okay, happy even, but with the alcohol came a weariness that only someone who had seen too much could hold. His hands were precise and aged, far from the man I knew that was young and quick, but they still held the same grace with the music.

“I lost count of the worthy mounts that from under me were cut

My favourite mare with her head in the air took the cannons in her gut

In the first two weeks on that bloody creek my brother lost his arm

Was only sixty days till all we prayed was get us home unharmed”

My heart ached as I remembered similar prayers that left my lips, prayers for peace, for safety, for an end of the pain, anyway necessary at points. I could tell that more feeling was in this version of the song then the one I remembered so long ago. That every word that flowed from his mouth was a more of a memory.

“O for the day that we signed our names and the well that we were wished

The men's congrats and the pats on the backs and the ladies that we kissed

The band that played and the grande parade and the patriotic shouts

All faded fast, didn't even last till the uniforms wore out

“We were finally forced to feed on horse and carcass we could scrounge

When the wagons stopped and we'd burnt their crops to charred and barren ground

With morale in doubt and our pride run out no honour did I see

All I seen were a thousand dreams piled dead in front of me

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war

I wanna be in the cavalry, but I won’t ride home no more.”

The apartment echoed the reverberations of the strings. I felt myself sway a little before I grabbed onto the counter with a clap. The alcohol was stirring up some unwelcome feelings in the silence.

“Come on little filly, I believe it’s your turn.”

I chuckled, shaking away the previous emotions, “Fine.”

I grabbed the ukulele that was laid on the floor by the counter.

He laughed, “You still play that thing? What are you gonna sing? Somewhere Over the Rainbow?”

I shook my head, “Yes, as a matter of fact I do still play this thing, and no I won’t be singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

I did think about it. I will admit that, though only to myself. Instead, I chose something that I remembered. Something familiar. Maybe the alcohol had something to do with it.

I strummed the strings, making sure it sounded right before plucking out a tune.

“So, so you think you can tell

Heaven from hell?

Blue skies from pain?

Can you tell a green field

From a cold steel rail?

A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?”

I felt my eyes water. I kept telling myself I drank too much. It was the alcohol making me emotional, but I knew that was only part of it. It’s been years since I last saw Eliot. We had led different lives, but somehow we still ended up here, more similar than we would have thought.

“Did they get you to trade

Your heroes for ghosts?

Hot ashes for trees?

Hot air for a cool breeze?

Cold comfort for change?

Did you exchange

A walk-on part in the war

For a leading role in a cage?”

Eliot’s face was blank, cold. Maybe he was lost in some memories of his own this time. I blinked away the wet eyes and focused back on the strings under my fingertips.

“How I wish, how I wish you were here

We're just two lost souls

Swimming in a fish bowl

Year after year

Running over the same old ground

What have we found?

The same old fears

Wish you were here.”

I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut.

“That was real pretty.”

I smiled bitterly, “Why thank you, you aren’t so bad yourself.”

“What made you pick that song?”

I poured myself another drink, “What made you pick yours?”

He paused, not expecting the question.

“Memories.”

I smiled and nodded, “Me too.” I moved to take a sip, when I hesitated and placed it back down, anymore and I would be sick. “You know, I sang that song to myself every time I missed you.”

“So once every couple of years?”

“Everyday sometimes.”

There was a pause between us.

“It almost hurt worse when I saw you afterwards, because I would still sing it. Because you still weren’t here with us, not really. Now here we are, both drunk as hell, both got dirt, probably more on our hands, and I’m singing it to you.”

I touched my face to find the tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Now what does that say about me?” I wiped my face and sniffed, trying to compose myself again.

Eliot slid off his stool and stood between my knees,  “It means that you’re still that same girl I left in that small and dusty town.”

I scoffed, “We both know that’s not entirely true.”

His hands came up to my face, “Sure it is, you’re still strong, beautiful, caring, and the best friend I could barely hope for.”

His hands were warm on my jaw, rough, but soothing. I couldn’t help but whisper, “What if I told you I wanted to be more than friends?”

He took a step closer to the point where I could feel his breath on my face. I looked up at him, still a little taller than me even on the stool.

“What if I told you I wanted to kiss you?”

“I’d tell you I feel the same.”

“Me too.”

He dipped his head to my lips. He tasted of the whiskey we’d been drinking, but maybe the taste of my last shot was just lingering on my tongue. His hands drifted to the back of my neck, his fingertips caressing my scalp. I found myself gripping his shoulder and forearm, trying to keep myself anchored. Eliot took another step that pushed my stool backwards. Now my back was against the counter and Eliot’s chest was pressed against mine.

We paused for a moment with our eyes closed and foreheads pressed together.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” I could feel the vibrations in his chest as he spoke, and I let out a sigh.

“Yeah.”

Eliot’s hands softly untangled from my hair and drifted over my shoulders, down my back and traced my waist. He slipped them under my thighs and lifted me up onto the counter, pushing the stool underneath and out of the way. He didn’t make a sound as he wrapped is arms around me, burying his face in my neck.

I ran my hands through his long hair, holding him close. Eventually he left soft kisses on my neck, leading up to my jaw, before leaving one more on my lips.

“You don’t have to sing that song alone anymore, I’m here.”

“Yeah, you are. You rode home. You rode home to me.”

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