#mostly harmless just needs a good smack or two

[thomasstaples]

C.S. Lewis in a letter to Charles A. Huttar March 30th 1962

[number8bciate]

I couldn't let myself forget you.

Set in season four, so spoilers ahead for that. This is based on episode five, I believe.

Cw: Lila and five in episode Five :P

You and five hadn't known one another long, a few years at most, but in that short amount of time, he had found himself growing quite attached to you. He wouldn't admit it outloud. That's just the kind of man he was. He didn't need anyone, but no one could understand him. He couldn't explain it either because he would sound just as insane as the people he had been investigating, but then there was you.

You were too nieve for your own good, but part of him loved you for it. It meant that anything he told you in your head made sense.

"Wait- that was our stop." Lila and Five spoke at the same time, pressing their hands and cheek against the door of the train as they tried to manipulate the train into going back but the platform that they needed to be on just got smaller and smaller and smaller.

Year one

Five thought about you all the time. When he was getting shot at, he thought of how you might bandage his wounds if he got hit or how you would scold him because he was in a dangerous situation. He sat down in the train station, watching Lila as she ate, wondering if she had been having the same thoughts about his brother, or if maybe she was thinking of her kids. He hated the fact that the memory of you was the only thing that kept him going, that kept him trying to get back home, not his family, but you... to be honest, you felt like his family now.

Year Two

"What's that?" Lila asked, peering over the older boys shoulder as she cut his hair for him, trying to catch a glimpse of what had been occupying his thoughts for the last few weeks. He shielded the book from her view, smacking it shut to ensure that she wouldn't see the contents. "Come on, Five!" She pressed, leaning over his shoulder, trying to grab his book, she thought it was harmless, he did not.

"Lila!" He yelled at her, with a different kind of tone in his voice, he was desperate, clearly, he was grieving too and she knew that but she was only trying to lighten the mood a little.

Year Three

Five had now filled three separate books with something in them, Lila wasn't sure what it was, but every time she tried to ask, she got a response not too far off a rabid dog that was protecting it's property, she knew it was important, which was why she wanted to know, which was why she waited until he was dead asleep to try and find out what it was one last time.

She skimmed through the pages that were mostly filled with useless words that made no sense put together, but Five's handwriting had never been the best anyway. She flipped through each page. Only one thing was recurring, and it was a random drawing of someone she knew but didn't know from where.

Year Four

The both of them were growing tired. It was hard to keep running and running with no sight of the end. Five knew Lila was fed up. He understood why, but he couldn't give up, not when he knew that you were still out there waiting for him because he knew you would be.

Year Five

"Hey Five." Lila leaned onto Five, both of them trying to find some sort of warmth between them as the cold metal of the train station dug into their backs. He hummed softly, looking around the room, trying to see if there was something they had missed. He knew there wasn't, but he thought he'd try anyway. "You know that greenhouse, the one with the strawberries?" She started, leaning her head fully on his shoulder now. He nodded, not willing to speak because he knew what her next suggestion would be. "How about we stop there for a few days? I- I know we've - I know we need to get home, I'm just... tired." He understood. Of course he did. He had been through this before, but the time before, he was all alone.

"Sure." He said softly, turning to look at the stacks of books that he had filled, he thought of you, and realized you'd want him to take a break, you'd beg him to, and so he decided he would go, but only for a few weeks.

Year Six

Five walked into the green house, looking at Lila and then the berry bush she was tending to. She tossed one strawberry at him, then another, then another. "If you keep that up, we won't have any left for the winter." He smiled as she threw one more and turned to her as she began walking towards him. She tripped up in a few watering cans that had been discarded on the floor, and he caught her just before she was able to hit the floor.

"Oh- sorry." He noticed the blush on her face, then felt his cheeks begin to heat. His hand rested on her cheek, cupping them and rubbing his fingers over her soft flesh, then he looked to the strawberries on the floor and pulled away, running to the stack of books on the table and joting down a few notes. "What just happened?" She walked over to him, her arms crossing as she leaned against the wall.

"What do you mean?" He asks, slamming the book shut and poking it into his bag. He turned to her, noticing that she had a slight pout across her face.

"Whatever that was." He stared at her for a while, shrugged his shoulders, and walked away.

Year Seven

"I'm going out to look for some more scrap metal."

"What happened to the stuff we already had?" Lila asked curiously, looking the boy up and down. He rubbed his fingers over the braclet in his pocket, the one he had made.

"I have no clue." He walked out of the house and back to the train station. He grabbed a few wires, tugging on them before he slipped and dropped his flashlight down onto the tracks. He looked both ways, just to be safe and climbed down onto them. "What's that?" He thought out loud as he grabbed a book he had never seen before. He climbed back up onto the train platform and opened the book. "That's my handwriting." He pointed out to himself as he read what was throughout the pages, figuring out that it was their way home.

"What's that?" Lila asked, sitting down next to him.

"A way home." He said simply, flipping through more of the pages, everything inside of his head clicking together like it had been obvious the whole time. He shook his head in disappointment in himself.

"Wait, what?" Lila asked, chasing after him as he ran back to their house and packed up his bag. "Should we think about this first?" She suggested.

"Think about what?" He asked, stuffing the books into his bag as he changed into what he had been wearing the day they had left.

"That- Maybe this is a trap of some sort? Set by the older, uh? Younger? You." She followed him around the house, trying to keep his pace as he charged out the door.

"I'm willing to take the risk, why aren't you?" He turns around. She almost smashed right into him.

"I am. I just think we need to consider the fact that this could be a trap." He understood her concern. Some people would rather not take the risk, there was a chance that this was a trap, and that they would die.

"Stay here if you want, I'm going." He decided and made his way back to the train station, her following closely behind him.

When they returned, it had only been an hour or two, you were sitting in between Allison and Luther and bounced your leg nervously, wondering where Five could have gone. Lila, walked in through the door followed by Five who's eyes searched the room until they landed on you. You jumped up out of your seat and ran over to him, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close. He nearly cried, as much as he hated to admit it, his eyes welled with tears, feeling you pressed against him was something he didn't think he'd ever feel again. "I wasn't gone that long." His voice shook, but only slightly as you pulled away from him to check him for any injuries, because you knew how careless he could be.

"It was too long." You smiled though, no matter how pissed you were at him for not returning your calls or texts, you were just glad he was alright.

He looked around the room again and stuffed his hand onto his pocket, feeling the braclet that he had forgotten about. The two of you walked to the center of the room, you sat down where you had been and five remained standing, you glanced over to Lila who had a distant look in her eyes as she looked at her husband and then you looked back to five, who was now standing right infront of you, playing with something in his pocket.

Everyone's attention was brought to him as he cleared his throat, he knew it was sudden, and he knew he would jump off the side of a cliff if you happened to not reciprocate his feelings, but he dropped down onto one knee and pulled a bag out of his pocket. Allison, who was now sitting up straight with a face full of surprise gasped at the sight if her oldest brother on his knee.

"I- Jesus. Uhm." You looked to Lila who, unlike before, was now focused on Five, but it wasn't that unusual, right? Besides the fact that her face held signs of jealousy and sadness, it wasn't weird at all. Your heart fluttered when he held out his cupped hands towards you, his eyes pleading with you to take the bag that was in them. "Y/n.." He spoke carefully, as his cheeks began to redden as Allison's reaction threw him off the piller of confidence he was once standing on.

You nodded, ready to hear what he had to say, you hands grabbed the bag but remained in their place, trying to soothe the old man's nerves as he worked up the courage to speak. "Will you give me the honor of.. marrying me?" You squealed and jumped out of your seat, pulling Five to his feet and you kissed him. "Will you?" He whispered to you this time.

"Yes I will." You kissed him once more.

Once the excitement settled down, and the bracelet sat proudly on your wrist, you noticed the bag that your fiancé had brought in with him. "What's that?" You asked, pointing to the bag. He bit his lip nervously and pulled a few of the books he had filled up the bag. Revealing the contents to you. The words didn't make sense to you either, until you saw your face, the soft brush strokes that he used to draw your hair and your eyes, you had never looked so beautiful.

He kissed your cheek and whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against them. "I- I couldn't let myself forget you."

"You remembered I like strawberries." You pointed out, you ignored the way he flinched when you had mentioned it, but he ran his fingers over the words and nodded softly.

"Of course I did."

[hetalianskywalker]

The Bad Batch Prompt Event!

End of Avoidence

Summary: You find Commander Wolffe asleep on your couch after a night at 79s.

Authors Note: Thank you @arctrooper69 making this event. I did the SFW prompt with Commander Wolffe x gn! reader. The prompt is in bold. I had wanted to do the NSFW prompt, but the anxiety won out. Hope you all enjoy this instead.

Nickname for reader: Corvid-meaning a crow/raven. Partly based of the special relationship Ravens and Wolves have in the wild.

Warnings: Cursing and I’m pretty sure that’s it.

Word Count: 1225

Thank you for reading!

“Commander Wolffe?” You lean against the door frame in between your bedroom and the living room of your Coruscant apartment. You blink, making sure that you weren’t imagining things. Low and behold, your commanding officer was still half asleep on the couch.

His mismatched eyes give you a half glare as he sits up. You quickly glance him over, noticing the top half of his armor resting on the chair next to him. You both remain at this weird stand off before you sigh and head to the kitchen.

“Caf?” You call over your shoulder. You begin making the pot before you get an answer from him. You had seen the amount of caf Wolffe could go through when he had flimsiwork to do after a large battle or rescue mission.

You are the head engineer for the 104th. Usually your job would go to a clone, but after most of the battalion had been lost near the start of the war you had been recruited instead. Something or other about the Kaminoans at the time needing to train more engineers.

It had been weird at first being the only natural born on an entire Star Destroyer other than General Plo Koon and an occasional visit from Admiral Coburn. However, you grew to enjoy the company of the clones around you and they all seemed to get along with you. Apart from two that is and one of those was a recent development.

You can see Wolffe walk into your kitchen and sit down at your small table. While he doesn’t say anything, you turn just in time to see him take in a whiff of your brewing high grade caf. He almost smiles.

“I’ll take that as a yes on the caf than, Commander.” You state, unable to stop the smug smile from spreading across your face. Falling back on the jabs and glares that were the foundation for the majority of the conversations you had with him before whatever falling out had happened.

The trance of good smelling caf is broken as he now focuses his eyes on you and fully frowns, but still nods. You turn back to the caf, reminded once again that something had happened to change his opinion of you. You had no idea what though. At first he seemed to enjoy the banter with you until he started out right avoiding you a few months back. At least with the battalion’s CMO, you knew exactly why you two didn’t get along; you had a tendency of trying to take care of your own wounds yourself.

Actually for someone who can’t seem to stand me, how the hell did he end up on my couch? The thought hits you like a tidal wave as the caf machine beeps and you pour the two cups. You take them to the table and hand Wolffe his. You quietly add your extras in, once again trying to figure out why Wolffe was in your apartment, as he quietly enjoys his caf black.

“I don’t dislike you.” He breaks through your spiraling thoughts as you look up at him from your now much lighter caf.

“Since when?” You want to smack yourself when the unfiltered response reaches the open air.

“Since we met,” Wolffe snaps back. “Alright, Corvid.” You didn’t know how to respond to that. Both with the confession and the nickname most of the Wolfpack referred to you as. You were often perched in high places on the Star Destroyer when troops found you during any off time, wore mostly black when not in uniform, and you had somehow become a kind of safe house for Wolfpack contraband, which were mostly harmless things. Since most of your conversations recently had been unavoidable and professional, you hadn’t heard him call you that in months.

“You go down a different hall the moment you see me, how exactly am I supposed to take that, Wolffe?” It comes out far more resigned than the anger you wanted and he doesn’t deny it. “What brought this on anyway?”

“I overheard you tell a batch of shinies at 79’s that I hated you.” It’s the wrong answer to the wrong question, but it gives you information you wanted none the less. The heat rushes to your face and you watch him smirk. Fuck. You resist a very powerful urge to bang your head against the table. Cause if he heard that then he probably heard what your tipsy ass had said after that. At least you hadn’t been completely drunk and totally made a fool of yourself.

When he doesn’t say anything, your shoulders relax in relief. No hangover and he didn’t hear the more embarrassing half of that conversation. Today might actually be an okay day.

“Still doesn’t explain why you are on my couch.” You grumble as you take a sip of your slowly cooling drink.

“I came by to check that you got home alright and I wanted to talk to you. And you invited me in.” You nearly spit out your caf.

“I did not.”

“You were half asleep. You told me to spend the night with how late it was and waved at the couch.” Wolffe pauses before giving you a sharp smirk. “Besides, you wouldn’t rat out your favorite.”

“I totally play favorites. Mine just so happens to also hate me. Kriff, I’m fucking pathetic and toxic as hell, but oh well. You only live once.” You had raised a glass and the shinies had seemed to get a good laugh out of your self deprecating jokes. The memory makes your stomach churn.

No, he definitely heard the entire conversation with the shinies. Great, just fucking great.

“You’re the worst.” You growl.

“Yeah well you still like me.” The smug response makes you want to scream. But you're suddenly hit with the fact that he’s not rejecting you.

You inspect him for a moment; your mind trying to put together some other explanation for this situation. Wolffe smirks again as he sets his now empty cup down. Your thoughts take a carnal turn for a moment, having never seen his top half with just his blacks on up close. You shake them away as a new surge of anger comes through.

“Why did you avoid me then? I was trying to figure out for mouths why the fuck…”

“I thought avoiding you would end it. But it seemed to just make it worse for both of us apparently.” He cuts you off and you take a second to digest the words. It’s quiet for too long.

“And that was a mistake.” It’s not quite an apology, but he says it like it’s one. You open your mouth to except the peace offering.

“I’m sorry.” The genuineness of it soothes your remaining anger.

“Thank you.” As you say it, most of the tension finally leaves your kitchen.

“So what happens now?” Wolffe smirks again at the question as he leans in close.

“Well Corvid, you said we only live once.” You blush and stare at one another a quick moment before his hands gently rest on the sides of your face. He glances at your mouth and back at your eyes. A silent question.

You nod. A silent response earns you a kiss you have wanted and waited to long for.

[wrong-melody]

Teen!Hanma, General Headcanons

Chatacter: Hanma Shuji (16 years old)

Pairing: Hanma x Female Reader

Type: SFW.

TW: None, headcanons are based on what I personally think and my own analysis، they aren't necessary right and I don't force them on anyone.

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Hair + Hanma 

He would be the type who walks beside you and pulls your hair hard enough for you to be irritated and laugh at your reaction.

He would take your hair tie and wouldn't give it back until you beg, but even if you did, he might just say "you know what? I will use it. Go find another one". Even if it was pink in color with a cute butterfly or unicorn, no matter how it looks, he would use it on his hair at the same moment and good luck for your short hands to reach his head.

If you decided to style your hair and work hard on it, expect him to mess with it at one point through your day "you look better with messy hair". It is his way of giving compliments and probably he wanted to touch it. 

Annoying small things + Hanma 

If you wear bras, he would pull the straps because he likes the sound of the 'smack' it makes when it goes back to your body. But Shuji doesn't know how much that hurts sometimes. 

You two are drinking (coffee, soda, juice etc) but you need to use the washroom and so you gave him your cup ? Of course your drink mysteriously is half way or almost finished. He even wouldn't know which cup is for who if you bought the same drinks. Don't be angry, it is unintentional. He just doesn't mind really even if you drink his. 

Take your eyes off of your plate for a second and some meat is messing. Yes. It is intentional this time and he is as quick as a ninja. Bring it to him and he would shrug it off "seriously? I just saw you eat it and now you accuse me? Lets not start a food war and eat like decent civilians". You would question your memory many times.

He would extend his foot in front of you so you would trip over it and almost kiss the ground and break your teeth, but catches you on time every time, thankfully. He just wants to feel your warmth without asking and causes little harmless heart attacks. He lives on your reactions. 

If you have younger siblings I feel like he would have difficult times dealing with them, mostly because they are scared of this giant human, and for him, they aren't fun. You know that mentality that "I'm 16 years old. How do you think I can keep up with children? They are boring" (said your childish boyfriend). but one day your siblings are being brats and annoying more than usual ?? Believe me, Hanma took the lead and this is how they opened up to each other 😂. He would trick them into telling him all your embarrassing stories. Kids don't lie so you can keep denying as much as you want, he won't even listen to you. "Your little sibling told me you make their ears bleed becoz of your terrible singing skills. I wanna a free concert. Do one for me". He will annoy the hell out of you to sing for him but don't give in. If you did, you will be recorded and your amazing performance is gonna be his ringtone 😂.

Cooking + Hanma

Hopefully we are all agree that Hanma can't cook. He lives alone and probably his refrigerator only has water bottles or cheep bears. If you wanna visit, please pass by the grocery store first. He absoulty knows nothing about cooking but that doesn't mean he can't have opinions "I don't think this is how you are supposed to cut carrots, they aren't even in shape, your cooking skills suck as mine" just because one peice of carrot is a little bigger than the others. There is one time when he messed up the spices and your food had a questionable taste, he 100% blamed your skills. But seriously, he eats all things you cook even if you weren't the best at cooking in the first place. I don't see him as a picky eater but he has clear preferences. He would ask to be taught the easist things that can be done because cooking is boring. He isn't gonna waste time on it if he can quickly make something to live on. If you were baking a cake or cupcakes he will annoy you to ice it himself. Drawing skuls, writing HANMA, he will just be creative with his ugly icing but "it doesn't matter how it looks if it tastes delecious, right?" And you can't beat this logic. He would want to cook with you. See, keyword is (with you), which means him doing nothing but annoying you. Its gonna be fun though 😂.

Danger + Hanma 

He will persuade you to do things you have never done. "Skip the last class, you are just going home 1 hour earlier, it's not a big deal". Your parents told you must be home by 11 sharp ? He will try to make you go back by 11:30 "C'mon, thirty minutes aren't a big deal. Just tell them you lost track of time"

You would watch him buying beers/alcohol and no one is checking his ID. You can't be almost 2 meters tall and have tattoos if you are just 16, right? It's impossible, right?

He will convince you to try smoking and drinking with him even if you denied him few times. He would bring it up.  

Late night drives are about you on the back of his bike and him driving over the speed and skipping the red lights. 

There was a time when a police car chased both of you to give you a speeding ticket but they never caught you, thanks to him for being an expert of the small alleys and shortcuts. 

It was worth the thrill, the nice warm air and the bond that is getting stronger between you and him. Nights and days like these are many when he can't find any interesting fights. 

Animals + Hanma 

I mentioned that on my fiction but 10000% will hand you a small frog 🐸 because you just look similar to this creature. Not that you are disgusting don't get him wrong but you are just as tiny 🥺 "see, they look like you. Cute little thing" that's what he says but the truth is for teasing purposes. If you don't like frogs and started to run away, be sure he is running after you with the devil in his hands. 

I personally believe he prefers bigger dogs rather than smaller ones but surprisingly he has a good relationship with animals. I just don't see him having pets because 1: he can't afford the money and time for them 2: he is irresponsible and he is aware of that. 

But say you have your own pet, he would play with them and they would like him. He would ask you about their care routine and show interests but that's it. He will go with you if its time to walk your dog for example, and he might do it himself. He is generally nice to animals in comparison to humans.

This is why he gives me the vibes that he would catch small frogs after the rain, talk to them sometimes, tell them all his thoughts and secrets until they jump from his hand, they can live on their own and they don't get attached to humans.

But he would dislike spiders and insects. 

Pictures + Hanma 

He would take pictures of you when you aren't paying attention. He will capture almost all of your facial expressions. But he will only show you (or blackmail you) the most embarrassing pictures of you. Picture of you drooling, having some food between your teeth, spacing out with your mouth open, there are many. You won't know about the nice pictures of you at all, that would just expose how soft he can be and soft Hanma is hidden most of the time. 

Hanma is 192 cm tall. So taking selfies with him depends on you. If you are 170+ cm you are just .. as tall (😂 said the 157 tall writer) so taking selfies isn't a problem but if you are shorter then we have different stories.

You need to ask him if you want to take selfies because with your short hands he won't be on the camera range, so he has to either take them by himself or he bends a little bit down to reach your height and be on the camera (he always tell you that he is gonna break his back because of you being VERY short 😂). Or you have to stand on a chair or a box. 

Period/catching cold or illnes + Hanma 

He would be quiet around you when you are sick and catch cold, "its no fun when you are sick, get well" his teasing levels will go from 100 to 85 for you just this time 😂. See how special you are? You should be thankful he isn't annoying you and hiding the tissue box somewhere in the room.

but always mixes your cold medication with your yummy soup and ruin its taste. His intention is under question. To tease you or he really wants you to get well ? You never know.

The teasing level will go lower than that depending on the severity of your illness. If it's more than cold, he would visit you more if it's something serious. 

If you were to be hospitalized, he would come every other day and will always tell you stories about what he does "and in the end, you better get well soon to rule the world with me". 

If you are on your period he will be gentle (according to the gentle definition in Hanma's dictionary)

He is a giant human heater by default so heating pads are unnecessary when his hands are on top of your lower stomach.

You aren't in the mood to talk? You wanna silence ? You have it. 30 minutes maximum before he breaks it with a silly joke. As expected from Hanma.

If your emotions are all over the place in these days, he will try his best to tone down his annoying jokes and behaviors. keyword again: tries.

Study/school + Hanma 

Boy has dropped school, so if you are peacefully studying at home he will visit "Two brains preparing for a test is better than one right?" That's what he said but he just sits beside you and colors the black and white pictures in your textbook, draws random stuff, writes his initials and "I ♡ H" or " I LOVE SHUJI" on every page of your books/notebooks. You know how in kindergarten parents write their phone numbers in the first page of notebooks under their kids full name and class number? Shuju will write his number under your name as if you were a kindergarten kid. Oh? you are a high school student and you don't write your name anymore? Don't worry he will write your name for you and his phone number, just in case you got lost you know.

He would distract you with silly stories, videos, memes, you name it. And will ask you to take a snake break every 10 minutes. Probably he came to your home to eat food ? Probably.

He would take your pens away. If you are allowed to use a calculator in your school, he might play with it until he change its settings and you have no idea how to set it back. 

"lemme see what the hell you are studying. if X+10 =10 then find the value of X. Can we change X to H ? If Hanma fought 10 guys we will have 10 dead bodies. So the value H is so strong"

If you study something that requires a lot of your memory space like History or Literature, for example, you need to study about how kingdom X was destroyed by a Kingdom Y, he will create his own version of that history and that's what you will remember, Hanma's version. Good luck in the test. The teacher might praise your creativity for creating a new the history of these kingdoms.

You both would laugh at his lame jokes and suddenly the moon is in the sky and you studied nothing. Of course it is not his fault at all. He was just helping you, to make sure you aren't so stressed and relaxing.

If you scored bad on a test "you know you can always set the school on fire, I will help you" he is trying to make you laugh + comfort you at the same time. Clever Hanma.

Say you have a bad relationship with a teacher, they are being mean to you, Hanma would walk you to school just to see that teacher, and he will find ways to prank them. He will find their car/bicycle and break their tires, or attach a fake parking ticket, he will show his graffiti talent on their cars. He will write SHINIGAMI with red spray and the whole school will think the teacher has been cursed. Hanma is smart enough to not be caught on the car camera tho, so the SHINIGAMI remains a mystery.

Emotions + Hanma 

You would have your moment of silence amd they are comfortable.

He wouldn't mind having quiet times. He appreciates silence and would be a great listener if you needed to talk. 

If things were serious, he would listen and catch between the lines sometimes. 

He would have days when he is being very quiet. Very very quiet. 100% unlike his usual self. Days when his brain is full of thoughts and he is having a time with himself to think.

And when he has these days, he will kind of isolate himself from everyone and be somehow distant from you. 

He doesn't really know how to approach his own emotions so he might struggle with yours too. But the more you are together, the more he learns about you and himself. 

He would joke around his pain and laugh at himself sometimes just to not show you how hurt he is. You have to read between the lines to know what's hidden behind these jokes.

But he can snap and everything will overflow.

You already know how Happy-Hanma looks like and how Angry-Hanma looks like. He wouldn't try to hide his anger. His presence would feel different anyway, the atmosphere around him or his aura would feel different too. You will know and he will make it clear that he is angry without saying a word. 

It depends on the reasons and the causes but I don't think Hanma would be violent towards you as the first thing to do if he is angry. 

He might get calm if you insert some logic into his mind but as I said he can snap and be violent. 

He can break things, but that doesn't happen a lot. He would prefer to get himself into more violent or bloody fights until he calms down. 

Or at least until his physical pain from fights is stronger than all the emotions he has at these moments. 

I don't see him as the type to apologize, at least not by words. Actions speak louder for him. He would do the little things you like, his first attempt is to tell some jokes which would fail of course. But give him the chance to try, he knows when he has messed up and he will try in his own ways to make it up for you. 

I don't see him to be the type who would be quick to get attached to people for sure, but he would have difficult times dealing with any breakups or death of those who he considers close (did you see how he reacted to what happened to Kisaki? I won't say they have a nice friendship but hey he won't react like that if Kisaki wasn't close to that extent for him). Things would be more difficult once he realizes how empty his life is, and how your presence can fill it. But it is also when he realizes that how shitty he is as a person and that deep down he is not the best. Far away from it. There would be the conflicts inside of him no matter how much you assure him.

But as he gets older, he would stop doing most of the above. He used to joke about himself and laugh at his own pain? He would stop at one point. Not because he doesn't want to, or because he became mature and learned to handle his hurt self better, but because he couldn't, anymore. (Present age Hanma in all timelines). 

As he gets older, he wouldn't talk much about himself as he used to. Not about him keeping secrets (which he does anyway) but he changes the directions of the conversations to be more about you and less about him. More about your days and work and less about his. He does it a lot without you realizing that. And really if you have a long time relationship with him, at one point you would realize that you don't know him well or at all, and all the things you have known are just from his past self that doesn't exist anymore and the unresolved inner conflicts from his younger self would evovle into something more miserable, and this is a red flag because that where his manuplsntion tactics are coming from.

As he gets older, he would be more quiet. I think this is true seeing how he acts in all the timeskips but that comes with the things that used to cause adrenaline rush into him. 

The things that used to be fun aren't fun anymore, which means he seeks his adrenaline from something else, more dangerous and crazier things that are harmful for himself and everyone around too. 

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I think General adult Hanma headcanons deserve its own post. I'm thinking to write that but tell me if you are interested.

Feedbacks are appreciated

Thank you for reading.  

[secondhand-trash]

Sun Shower

Kinktober 2020 — knotting

A/N: I need everyone to know that anything I write that has something to do with foxes is immediately self-indulgent, I cannot begin to describe you the joy I feel whenever I write about it

Pairing: kitsune!Miya Atsumu x f!reader

Description: Foxes, they mate for life.

Warning: feral foxtsumu, biting, oral (receiving), vaginal penetration, knotting, creampie, borderline cumflation but just putting it here to be safe

Word count: 4551 

(more of the modern magic au here)

-

The sound of sizzling filled the small apartment you called home, the weak venting system of the old complex far too incompetent to truly stop the blended smell of oil from spreading everywhere.

You were laying on your couch that you bought from a second hand store when you moved in, one that could barely fit in the two of you if you sit any less properly. Atsumu had claimed that it would be alright, saying with his loopy accent that he could just turn back into a fox when you cuddle to save space. That, on its own was far too tempting of an offer to give up and so you used the money that you had saved from buying the couch that was technically a love seat to get high quality tuna sashimi to celebrate your first night in your new home.

It was a lie, he never did willingly turn into the cuddly fox like he said he would when you tried to get him to scooch over because his much larger frame was squishing against you, only pulling you above him in a position that defied human anatomy before dozing off to his nap again.

“You should know that foxes are deceitful creatures,” he mumbled in his sleep when you smacked his arm for him to loosen up his grip, “should have known better...”

Deceitful creatures indeed, who were infamous in folklores for casting illusions on innocent humans only to run away leaving nothing but echoes of laughter once their tricks were see through. Sometimes you would walk up to him and poke his chubby cheeks out of nowhere, replying with a smirk that you were checking if he would eventually show his true form when he winced.

You wondered if he had pulled any tricks to get you to be with him. You fell for him little by little with harmless bickering and occasional moments of sudden charm that had your heart beating faster. Even though you were groaning inwardly that you couldn’t believe you were swooning for Miya fucking Atsumu of all people when he was just deliberately pissing you off with his grinning face just moments earlier. But before you knew it, you had already gotten used to making space for him and his flicking tail that always accidentally hit you when he turned around.

You couldn’t say you were surprised when he brought you to the neighbourhood Inari temple that day, pulling you close to him by your wrist and confessed to you in a voice that he thought was incredibly swoon-worthy. You rolled your eyes when he tilted his head at you with a smirk that seemed out of place for what he just said, mostly because you could not believe this really was the guy you stayed up at night thinking about. 

You could never forget how almost immediately after you returned his feelings. a droplet of water fell from the sky. You gasped when you felt the rain soaking into your shirt but was far too mesmerised by the way sun filtered through the rain and made it looks like threads of gold and silver appearing in the middle of a sunny day. Atsumu looked up at the sky and laughed, opening his palm to catch the rain while his other hand held you close to him.

“They say sun showers are the signal that the band to welcome the fox bride has set off,” he said, golden eyes glimmering brighter than the sun as he leaned down. His breath was warm against your lips when he spoke again before closing the gap, “the gods must be sending a message.”

Much later into your relationship after his perfect confession, you would learn that he seemed to be very friendly with the god that resided in the exact same temple he brought you to. If the god seemed to be casually good friends with your lover, who was to say that the “message from the gods” was not deliberately planned?

But trick or not, you could not forget the way he smiled when you told him that you also liked him with a grumble. Not one of his usual lop-sided grins or mocking lift of his lips, a real smile, the kind where his mouth could not be wider and he had to force them shut so he wouldn’t be showing his teeth. Nor could you forget the feeling of his tail that appeared out of nowhere curling over your leg when he held you close, the soft fuzz of his fur sending tingles all over your skin as if the feeling of his lips on yours was not enough to have you going haywire. 

You could not say it was a scam when you fell for it willingly, that was what you believed. 

Right now, the cunning fox was standing in front of the stove with one hand on his waist, his tail swaying side to side as he whistled a tune you had never heard of before. Sometimes, when you blinked, you would see the shadow of what seemed to be more tails swooshing around only for it to return to just that one brush when you focused again. 

The number of tails a fox had was a sign of status and power, he had told you one time while he was forcing you to give him scratches with his head on your lap. The dart of red at the outer corner of his eyes furrowed when he scrunched his face up in comfort, whimpering in content as he moved his head around to make you scratch down on the right spot.

More often than so, his antics would make you forget that beyond grinning faces and smooth words, he was indeed a powerful youkai much unlike yourself. Until he would crouch down in front of you after an argument, turning leaves into all sorts of strange objects just to make you laugh even though you were determined to give him the cold shoulder. The soft glow on his skin when he curled up next to you on the bed after just coming down from his high making you admit that he did look whimsical at times.

Some foxes were the gods’ messengers, even though the same fox that might have been worshipped centuries ago was here singing off tune in your kitchen while cooking dinner.

Calling it “off tune” was a bit of a merciful statement, you sighed and stared at the ceiling as his singing got louder and louder. Standing up, you made sure your steps were light enough that even his superb hearing would not catch onto as you slowly made way to the kitchen. His tail was swaying like a gigantic paintbrush, and you held your hands out to focus on your target.

“Heh??????”

The chopsticks he was holding in hand dropped onto the frying pan with a clink as he felt the sudden grip on his tail. You could feel his fur standing up like a pompom under your hand, your lips curling up at his reaction as you continued to rub your face against the soft fleece.

“What, what, what are you doing?” he stuttered, his nostrils flailing when he felt a very untimely wave of heat rising in his core. Shivers run down his spine as you handsily toy with his tail, your nails scratching lightly at his skin beneath the coat as you ran your hands up and down.

“Nothing, just checking on your progress.”

Atsumu gulped at how nonchalant you sounded, your hands not once stopping. If you had peeled your eyes away from the floof that had taken up all your attention, you would see that his ears were twitching uncomfortably on his head. His shoulders tensed as he bit his lips, focusing on anything but how he could feel himself popping a boner if you don’t stop it with your hands anytime sooner.

His breathing halted to a paused when you put your chin on his shoulder, your hands still around his tail as you pressed up against his back. He could feel the softness of your chest through your thin shirt and it was not helping with how hypersensitive he was. 

“The patty is starting to burn.”

“Huh?” he let out an incomprehensive string of curses when you let go of him with a light shove, his hands flailing to save the poor piece of meat that was crisping up under his lack of attention earlier.

He huffed, wincing at how long it would take him to get the burnt bits off the perfectly fine pan while thinking that he was definitely going to let his frustration be known later.

-

Atsumu leaped on you the moment you were about to pull your phone out to do some scrolling before bed.

“Tsumu, what is it?” you asked, letting your phone slide out of your palm as you stared flatly at the man that was pinning you down. He was smiling, like the scheming foxes straight out of a fable as he looked down at you. His pupils were squeezed into two thin lines, slicing his golden eyes into two halves. You could see the pattern like amber as he stared you down, the dart of black pulsating as he exhaled through his nose.

“You knew what you were doing.”

“Know what?” you asked again, this time slightly more amused than the last when the answer you were seeking for slowly appeared in your head. His ears were standing up on his head, the thin strand of fur at the very tip flicking as it twitched. His tail was swaying between his legs that trapped you under him, his position much like a predator that was ready to feast on his prey.

The chase was part of the fun too.

“You were railing me up,” each word fell off his lips with a short pause in between, his tone a special kind of sultry as he exaggerated the slight raise of his voice after the sentence.

Still laying flat with your face right below his, you glanced down at where a slight tent was poking against the material of his sweats.

Horny bastard.

“How did I rail you up?”

He snorted in bafflement, his head tilting like he could not believe what you just said as the wagging of his tail got wilder. “You know that my- hmph!”

You bite your lips to stop the chuckle from slipping past when he let out a choked whine the moment you hooked on leg over his waist and brushed the heel of your feet along his tail. 

“Like this?” you said, widening your eyes to forge innocence when you could physically felt the fur on his tail standing up at the stimulation. His face was contorted, the nonchalant smile on his face replaced by a scrawl. You would not mistake the grumble from the back of his throat when your hand reached up to rub his pointy ears between your fingers, scratching your nails down on the soft fleece at the bottom as your feet not once stopped.

He glared at you, his eyebrows locking together in place when he felt the dull ache in his groins growing. His face was on fire, a flush dusting at the top of his cheek and threatening to spread everywhere else too. 

“Or this?”

You were grinning ear to ear when you press your pelvis up against him with the help of your leg around his waist. What was only a small tent before was now a full on bulge and his tail stiffen under your foot at the pressure. His arms that were at both sides of your head was shuddering, his muscles flexing as you continued to blatantly feel him up.

One press of your heel on the base of his tail where the fur met with his hips was what made him snap. The animalistic growl that rumbled out from the back of his throat shaken you to the core when he latched on you, pinning you down by the shoulder with one hand while the other gripped onto your thigh that was still at the side of his waist. His lips were messy on you, forcing your mouth open with a bite on your bottom lip before his tongue dominated your senses. Muffled moans and breathy groans slipped out between heated kisses, his hand trailing down and groping anything he could get his hands on when you melted under his force and let him take the lead as he pleased.

You let out a breathy sigh when he released your lips and proceed down your neck, leaving trails of saliva as he went with the bites and sucks he left. His canines brushing against the sensitive skin had you whimpering, giving him the perfect opportunity to bite down. You yelped at the pain, your hand shooting up to find leverage in his hair as he licked at the sore spot he just clamped down on. The warmth of his spit left your skin tingling, the mark of his teeth still apparent to your senses with the dull ache that remained. 

His hands clawed impatiently at the thin shirt that clad your body, slipping underneath immediately when you scurried to peel it off of you with a slight arch of your back in the brief removal of his weight on you. You arched against him when he took your nipple in his lips, licking and sucking on the sensitive bud that sent you into an overdrive of pain and pleasure. You moaned when you felt his bared teeth brushing against the perky tip, the air of the room feeling exceptionally chilly with the slight sheen that was left on your skin. His fingers replaced his lips when he moved to the other side, his hand kneading and fondling roughly with your breast while his tongue swirled around the other bud.

His hips were held up as he lost himself in the want to feel more, taste more of you. Out of the corner of your eyes that was threatening to shut tight in reflex, the vigorous flick of his tail was all you can see between your lashes. He looked like a wild animal waiting to pounce on his defenseless catch, the pointy tips of his nails hooking onto the band of your shorts before yanking down with a forceful pull. You arched yourself off the mattress while his lips trailed down from the valley of your breast to the center of your stomach. Nothing could stop you from whining out loud when he shamelessly shoved his nose against the thin cotton of your panties where a damped spot was starting to form, the loud inhale making you squirm underneath him and wanting to push him away in embarrassment.

“Tsumu, don’t-”

Your breath hitched when he cut you off with a snap of his head upwards at glare at you. The low growl that was gritted out from his bearing teeth had your knees weak, the sharp tip of his canines on show as he warned you from stopping him. The look in his eyes was dangerous, like he was about to tear you apart and it was shameful how it made your cunt clench around nothing.

You could still hear the purr from his throat when he dipped his head back down, his tongue poking out to lick a stripe up the crotch of your panties. He had your knees hooked on his shoulder, holding you in place as his tongue mapped out the print of your folds and making you threw your head back against the pillow. You bucked your hips forward, urging him to give you more and his ears twitched at your antics.

One finger hooked under the strip of fabric and you hissed when he shoved it to the side, revealing your pussy that was already coated with a thin shine. He did not waste a moment before latching onto your folds, his tongue that had always been anything but well-behaved parting your pussy and delving in. He groaned at the taste of your arousal, his tail tugging neatly to the side as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs and pushing them back further. 

He was lapping at you like he had been starved and you were the first meal he had, salvaging every inch of you as far as his tongue could reach and drowning in your scent. His hips were humping against the mattress, trying to relieve some of the ache in his pants that was fueled by the feeling of your skin right under his hands. Your voice came out as broken moans and pants as his tongue plunged in and out of you, the brief moments when he slipped his tongue out of you to catch a breath was when he smeared your juices coating his lips over your clit and sucking on the engorged nub. 

Your panties were shoved to the side but the flimsy cotton was still too much of a constraint to the greedy fox and he let go of your legs with a displeased hiss before pulling it down until it was out of his way completely. He did not bother to fling it to the ground before scooping your knees up again, a high-pitched moan ripping from the back of your throat when he flicked his tongue furiously against your sopping folds, your toes pointing in pleasure with your panties still barely hanging on your ankle with how hasty he was at removing it from you just earlier. You felt your limbs numbing at the coil that tightened every time he growled between his teeth against your cunt, kicking your panties off of you before letting your eyelids fell from the white you were seeing in your vision. His name rolled off your lips in a cry when you cum around his mouth, his tongue rubbing against your walls encouragingly as he basked in the sweet sounds you were making.

The fox perked up from between your legs, his long tongue swiping across his lips to lick up your juices that was tinting across his face and strong jaws. His eyes were glinting when he rose up, ears pointing upwards as he took your quivering lips in his once again while his hands fumbled to pull down the band of his sweats. You whimpered into the kiss when you tasted yourself on him, his tail brushing against the side of your waist as the comb of fur swayed behind him now that he was bare. His cock was pressed against his lower stomach, the vein at the side pulsing and beads of pre-cum rolled down his length from the leaking tip. He held your legs up once again, the time pushing your knees all the way back until they were right against your chest. 

He sucked in on your scent at the crook of your neck in satisfaction, loving how you were always smelt more euphoric after you were lost in bliss. Rubbing the side of his chin on your neck, you whined at the stretch pulling at the side of your thighs as he messily glided his cock across your folds that was dripping with the mixture of arousal and his spit.

Your soft moan overlapped with the feral grunt he let out when he pushed his tip inside of you with ease from the wetness, the stretch making your fingers dug into his back as he filled you up inch by inch. 

Atsumu’s warm huffs of breath was moist against your neck, his nostrils flaring at how warm and tight you were around him. The first thrust set him loose as he focused on breaking you into pieces, each surge of his hips hilted deep inside you with how you were bent in half underneath him. Your brain was in a mush as his tip rubbed against your velvety walls, the vein at the underside of his cock creating extra friction and making your skin burn.

He was not shy with letting you know how much he was enjoying himself, grunting and growling in your ear as he jackhammered into with frigid snaps of his hips. His tail was stiff at his back, the fur on it spiking up as his stomach spasmed. His nails were almost painful on your thighs as he gripped onto you tightly, his broad frame completely towering over yours as he drilled inside of you in a force that felt like he was not going to stop until he shattered your bones. 

“Tsu- tsumu!” 

He groaned at the way you mewled out his name, your eyes struggling to stay open as a wall of mist glossed over your pupils that were blown out in wanton lust. Your hands clawed at his back for leverage before they found hold on his hair, a loud grunt falling off his trembling lips when your fingers scratched down on his ears. 

His thrusts were short and fast, not bothering to bottom out of you completely before slamming back in. The position he had you in allowed him to plow as deep as he wanted, making your toes curl each time his tip slammed against the spongey spot in your lower stomach.

Your breath hitched when you felt the swell at the base of his cock starting to form, stretching your cunt out even more than he already did. He panted in your ear, nibbling at your collar and trailing his tongue along the marks that he had left as his primal desire started to kick in. You whimpered at the feeling of him filling and growing in you, your hands fisting his golden hair egging him on to keep slamming his hips down on you.

“So big...” you whimpered as his knot grew larger and larger, feeling like you were being pulled apart by the seams when he pushed the rounded base inside of you until it locked him in place. The burn from the stretch had you seeing stars and you felt the band in your core snapped when his thrusts turned into rigid humps from your cunt clenching down around the thick base of his girth. His chest was heaving as his breath got heavy, your legs pressed up against his shoulders as his brows twisted together. 

Your head was thrown back but if you could look down and see your stomach, you could imagine the outline of his knot being visible even in your belly, pressing up against you and filling you up like nothing else. 

The first time you experienced that, you jokingly told him that you could never try anything else after having a taste of getting your brains fucked out with his knot to which he replied with a humph that you should not even think for a second that he would give you the choice of having anything else. 

That was a useless statement to make, because you were certain that no one could make you feel as good as he could.

Your pussy was fluttering around him from your high and the tension made him moan. His shoulders were tensed, shuddering as his cock pulsated inside of you. His jaw felt painful from how hard he was clenching it tight, his hands no doubt leaving bruises on your thighs with how hard he was gripping down on you.

A choked whine leaked out from his lips when he finally felt the pent up frustration in him coming out like a river. You whimpered at the warmth that rushed over you as he shot ropes and rope of cum in you, his body stiffening on top of you as he bit his lips from the pleasure that had his mind in blank with no thought other than how you were all wrapped up around him. The was a faint glow on his skin as his muscles clenched, the dart of red at the corner of his eyes like they were actual spurts of flames as he lost control of his power at a moment of vulnerability. 

The specks of gold reminded you a lot of the sun shining through the droplets of rain on the day he told you that he was in love with you.

He held you there for a while, the fat load of his release making you felt like you were about to combust from how much he was cumming. The knot at the base of his cock slowly eased down, allowing him to give a few sloppy thrusts before pulling out of you. The last few spurts of his cum splattered across your lower stomach as he heaved, the sticky substance that filled you up gushing out with each flutter of your sensitive cunt. You felt used and worn out, the feeling of his fullness still lingering even though it was just his release mixed with your juices that stuffed you now.

“You,” you said with a pant as Atsumu flopped down on you in content, “are an animal.”

“Low blow...” he mumbled, his cheeks squished out as he laid on top of your chest. It was an amazement how fast he went from feral beast to this harmless looking baby that had his face buried between the soft mounds of your breasts. His tail was now swirling happily behind him, brushing against your legs in a steady rhythm. The softness did help to coax you down, and he grumbled in satisfaction when you put your hand on the back of his head and rubbed his ears gently.

“You better clean up the mess you make later.”

“You’re ruining the atmosphere," he complained with a pout, smiling a little at the snort you made. He pressed a light peck onto the center of your chest, nuzzling his face against you before looking up at you with his jaw leaning on you.

Fine, you would have to admit that Atsumu always looked cute when he was in his post-sex clingy form with his tail curling around your leg and ears flicking at the top of his head.

“You know,” his words sounded off with how he could barely move his lips. His eyes were squinted into two thin curls on his face that was tilted to the side, pressing his ear against you to hear the steady rhythm of the pounding of your heart, “foxes mate for life...”

You wanted to tell him that you do know, because he told you that every time he was feeling mushy. When he just woke up, when you two were in the bath together, when he was in your arms like he was now, he liked to remind you every now and then that he was ready to do all that with you for the rest of his life as long as it might be, like how he seemed genuinely overjoyed when the drops of rain fell from the sky as you told him that you loved him too.

So you stayed silent, and basked in the simple bliss of knowing that the universe had sent a message and it was that you made the right decision choosing each other.

[aggressive-positivity-network]

Tf2 headcanons? Aw yeah! So let's say a new merc joins the team. They're a total asshole: Cocky, sarcastic, overconfident, refuse help. But both Spy and Scout see right through that, it's a defense mechanism. How do they go about making this person comfortable enough to not be an asshole?

*chanting* HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMF

Okay, jokes aside, this is one of my favorite tropes. Maybe I’m too naïve to believe that some people are just mean to be mean, or maybe it’s a sort of comfort to know that even the worst people can be understood, but either way, WOOOOOOOOO!

*****************

An Ass For An Ass

Headcanons

Scout:

To be honest, Scout’s threshold for asshole-ery is pretty high. Growing up with eight brothers will do that to you.

But when the new recruit came around, something immediately rubbed him the wrong way.

Recruit always stole his thunder with the crass jokes and over-the-top displays. Every battle turned into a competition, which messed with Scout’s system of fighting. He never had to focus much on his own team before, and now he had to worry about keeping his own reputation upheld while trying not to get stabbed, shot, or blown up.

Recruit also kept hitting on Miss Pauling - even after reminding them again and again that she was lesbian, and was not and never will be into dudes.

“Come on…you just haven’t been with a real man yet…”

“No, no, I’ve been with a lot of men. Real men. I just wasn’t into any of them. After a while, it was kind of obvious.”

But what really pissed a lot of people off was Recruit’s fighting style.

They were an absolute monster on the field - that’s why they were chosen - but every interaction was treated as some sort of survival scenario.

One would think that would be a good thing, but Recruit was ridiculous.

No matter what the situation was, he was fine, he was okay, he could take it, he could fix it.

He could be killed only inches away from a Medic because he would never yell for one. Sometimes Recruit would even show visible anger at being healed. It got to the point where Medic didn’t heal him at all, and just allowed him to die as to not waste time he could give too more grateful patients.

Missions were even worse.

He followed orders to a T, but Pauling had to beg him to leave a failed mission, or to leave without completely destroying the site.

Everyone just took it as Recruit showing off, or having something to prove as a rookie.

It was annoying, but ultimately harmless in most circumstances.

However, it all came to a head when Recruit tried disengage a sentry by himself and was severely injured.

Both Engineer and Medic, who had had to fix most of Recruit’s past and current recklessness, ripped him a new one, one chewing out after the other.

“What we’re you thinkin’, son?! One crossed wire and you woulda blown the whole base!”

“Zhe only reason you are allowed in my lab at all is because it’s in my contract. Personally, I vould have rather left nature to it…”

Since then, Recruit did exactly as he was told, and nothing else. And most of the team liked it that way.

But Scout recognized some warning signs immediately. Fatigue, near silence except for missions, self-isolation, snapping when people got too close…it all paved the way for a pretty nasty (and, for Scout, very familiar) result.

One night, Recruit was sitting on the balcony, and Scout came out with two bottles - a beer for Recruit and a root beer for himself.

(Scout can only drink on the weekends because one, unlike most, he can’t go to work hung over because his job requires a lot of movement, and two, he has no restraint and can’t stop once he starts.)

“What do you want?”

Scout shrugged. “Depends.”

“On what?!”

“What are ya willin’ to tell me?”

Recruit just looked at the beer and sneered.

“Can’t we just skip this?” Scout said. “Maybe get to the part where you tell me what kinda Sally Sob Story we’re dealin’ with here?”

Recruit looked away.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me you don’t got one. ‘Cause you do. I can see it a mile away. So what happened? Pop leave? Somebody died? Lotta brothers and sisters? Ma had a few too many and smacked ya around?”

Recruit didn’t turn around, but Scout could tell he was crying. He had hit a sore spot. Hard.

“Hey, pal, listen…”

Scout trailed off, then slowly began again.

“…the only reason I know is ‘cause I’ve been through it, ‘kay? Outta everybody I knew, I only trusted me. And that was great when I did a good job, ‘cause I knew I put me there.”

Scout opened his bottle of root beer and took a long swig.

“But when I screwed somethin’ up, it’s like everybody I ever knew just let me down. The one thing I could count on was gone.”

Recruit looked at Scout with tears in his eyes.

“But ya can’t do everything by yourself,” Scout continued. “Believe me. I learned that the hard way.”

Scout laughed, but it was mostly to clear the air. He didn’t get serious very often.

Recruit hadn’t touched his beer, but was leaned over the balcony with his head in his hands.

Scout sighed and looked up at the stars.

“But here’s somethin’ that nobody told me - it gets easier, y’know that? You just gotta relax and cut yourself some slack.”

Recruit shifted uncomfortably. “But the Administrator said…”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know what she said. Gave ya that whole speech about how bein’ part of the team means discipline and focus and whatever. It’s all bull crap. She don’t know the first thing about bein’ on the field. If she did, why’d she hire us?”

“Sh-she said my perseverance was an asset to the team.”

“Perseverance, my ass. You know what would be an asset to the team? Stayin’ alive for more than fifteen minutes!”

Recruit looked at his feet. He had blinked away his tears, but he still looked on the verge of falling apart.

Scout put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it a little.

“You’re a great fighter, Recruit. You’re one of the best…that’s why you’re here. You got nothin’ to prove to nobody. Not to me, not to the team, not to the Administrator…not even to yourself. You’ve made it, kid. You’ve made it.”

Scout slid his hand off Recruit and started to walk away.

“Hey.”

Scout turned to see Recruit in the process of opening his beer.

“Thanks.”

Scout smiled. “No problem, pal. Plenty more under Demo’s mattress.”

“No, I mean…for that. I needed that tonight.”

“Oh…yeah! Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

Scout went back inside and to his room - but not before checking the cameras on the balcony a few times. Just in case.

Over the next few months, Scout kept helping Recruit break some old bad habits.

Recruit learned to take criticism without getting angry, to leave tanked missions, and to take care of himself.

He still occasionally flirted with Miss Pauling, but it was now more of an inside joke than anything.

Recruit still isn’t perfect - he still cringes a little when he’s healed, and falls back into survival mode when times are stressful - but he is now a much happier, much healthier person.

Spy:

Spy’s asshole wasn’t a merc, per se.

They were more of an informant, usually giving out important facts about locations, missions, and a target’s history.

Sometimes they would even use the Administrator’s PA system to announce new rules and reminders.

This would be perfectly fine - after all, you get kind of tired of hearing the Administrator all the time - except for the fact that Informant was the most sarcastic, most nasally, most apathetic, most matter-of-fact person on earth.

Even outside of a work setting, which was rare because they stayed in their office most of the time, Informant would go out of their way to be as condescending as possible.

Especially to whoever they considered to be in the “less intelligent” category: Heavy, Pyro, Scout, Demo, and Soldier.

To all the “others,” he turned every briefing into a contest to see who knew more at any given time…which, of course, usually meant he won.

“Now, does anyone know where his address is? Come on, any takers? Yeah, I thought so.”

Unlike Recruit, which would only warrant a few grumbles here and there from the team, Informant was the subject of a lot of hissed complaints and terrible rants from even the calmest of members.

Informant was the only one who could get under Heavy’s skin - a personal pet peeve of his was being considered less intelligent or less of a human being because English wasn’t his first language, which Informant chose to remind him of constantly.

It began with a few simple jabs at his grammar or word structure, but once Informant figured out that Heavy wouldn’t hurt a fly outside of battle, the taunts grew more and more daring.

Heavy would usually ignore Informant, which would only exacerbate their need to be noticed. This led to some pretty nasty interactions - from spouting the statistics of Russia’s average intelligence to even saying Heavy was a disgrace to his country by being a literature major.

“How’s that Russian literature major treating you? You know - in America.”

Sniper and Medic had tried to set Informant straight, but Heavy refused to accept any help. This was something that was his to bear, and his alone. He knew that they both took their own helping of harassment.

But one day, Informant went a little to far.

He did the one thing you should never do: insult Heavy’s family.

“You mother and sisters can’t do anything more than wait for you. No wonder you’re the only source of income.”

Before he knew it, Informant was against a wall, struggling to breathe, blood running into his eyes.

Heavy walked away after the incident, and told Medic about it, but he refused to heal him. Informant had called Medic a Nazi on more than one occasion.

This, finally, is where Spy comes in.

Spy was walking by Informant’s office, when he heard a strange sound - barely suppressed hiccups and sobs.

Despite his aversion to displays of emotion, the promise of seeing one of his greatest enemies as their lowest was too amusing to resist.

He knocked lightly on the door, then slowly opened it - always the master of drama.

Informant was under their desk, bloodied and bruised, sobbing into their knees.

Spy entered noiselessly, sitting in Informant’s office chair and lighting a cigarette.

It was only when Spy made a dramatic exhale of the smoke that Informant looked up, tears streaking their face.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Spy finally spoke.

“Oh, how the mighty fall. Flown too close to the sun, have we?”

Informant couldn’t do much more than snivel and retreat farther below the desk.

“Who did it?” Spy asked. “I want to give them my regards…and maybe a bottle of wine.”

“H-Heavy…”

“Oh? Well, if anyone can bring him to blows, it’s you.”

Spy put his feet on the desk and continued to blow smoke out of his nose, thinking.

“It’s strange,” he said. “Most offices have at least a few pictures of family. A trip to the beach, perhaps the zoo…?”

He took a quick glance around.

“No children. No army mates. No graduation photos or a large catch at a local lake. The only personal item you have is this…”

Spy picked up a Rubik’s Cube. The plastic still around it crinkled.

“Unused.”

Informant looked at the floor.

“I like to keep my personal and professional life separate.”

Spy pursed his lips and squinted.

“How noble of you. But I don’t think that’s the case. You know what I think, Informant?”

Spy took his feet of the desk and bent down, looking Informant in the eyes.

“I don’t think you have a life.”

Informant’s eyes went wide for a moment, then his face immediately crumpled. Bullseye.

Spy smirked and got up from the chair, starting to leave.

Informant’s sniffling turned into sobbing, and before Spy could put his hand on the doorknob, muffled wailing filled the office.

Spy closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He was trying not to remember something. But the imagery was too strong.

He remembered hiding under a table, like Informant was. People screaming and cursing at each other in French. His knees all scarred and his nose runny from a cold that should have resolved weeks ago. Waltz music coming from next door, trying to drown out the fighting. Glass breaking. Biting his knuckles so he wouldn’t whimper or cry.

Spy’s hand closed into fist. He took a deep breath, and turned to face Informant again.

“But to be fair…”

He walked towards the desk, putting his hand in his suit pocket. He got on his knees and pulled out a pink handkerchief.

“…I don’t have one either.”

He offered the handkerchief to Informant, who put it to his face, still staring at Spy through red eyes.

The pair were silent for a moment, with Spy putting out his cigarette and lighting a new one while Informant cleaned themselves up.

“But the difference between you and I,” Spy said, his voice wavering a bit, “is that I am a Spy. If my information got into the wrong hands, it could be the end of me and my team.”

He tapped his cigarette on a nearby trash can, letting the ashes fall into it.

“But what are you hiding from?”

Informant took a shaky inhale, the handkerchief still covering his nose and mouth.

“W-what?”

“Why do you feel the need to be, as Scout puts it, a tier five jerkazoid?”

Informant sniffled. “I…I didn’t think I took it that far.”

“Took what that far?”

“I just…snrk…I thought that’s what I had to do to get them to take me seriously.”

Informant laughed, but their heart wasn’t in it.

“I’m five foot four with red hair and freckles. I look more like someone’s Andy doll than a contract killer. I thought maybe if I knew everything…I’d be worth it.”

They shrugged.

“At best, they’d be impressed. At worst, they would never get close enough to me to know the truth: the only reason why I’m here is because I can rattle off a few names and that I had good grades in school because I had nothing better to do.”

Spy’s chest ached. He didn’t know why, but it was a strange feeling to him.

“Mon ami…”

He cleared his throat.

“If half of the team is any indication, you don’t need to be Nikola Tesla to be hired. Hell, the fact you can read is an anomaly in itself. But there is something you must understand…”

Spy cleared his throat again. His voice had gotten quite unstable all of a sudden.

“Intelligence is measured in different ways. Scout could never read even the simplest of children’s books, but his physical intelligence - reflexes, spatial awareness, aim - is phenomenal. Medic would have to put my spine back together if I even attempted to do what he does on the field.”

Informant snickered at the joke, or perhaps the image it conjured.

“And me,” Spy continued. “I can speak almost any language, adjust to any social setting, charm anyone, fool anyone…kill anyone. Just like you, I can remember, and I use the information I absorb mostly to show how superior I am to all my lowly colleagues.”

Spy furrowed his brow and looked away.

“But I know less about myself than even my enemies. I have hidden it so deep within my mind that I can hardly remember…or perhaps would rather not remember…who I was before this mask of mine.”

Informant hesitated. “I…I’m sorry, Spy.”

Spy sneered and puffed a few smoke rings.

“I don’t want your sympathy. I want you to have some self-respect - and respect for my teammates. Because next time you are beaten within an inch of your life, you might catch me in a less generous mood.”

With that, Spy got up, reached into his suit pocket and presented a small MediKit, which he tossed to Informant.

“I’d suggest freshening up before going to any more briefings.”

Informant nodded, and set to work healing himself.

Spy started to leave, then stuck his head back in.

“And hang a few posters, would you? Your office looks like a prison cell.”

Finally, the Frenchman took his leave, adjusting his suit and nodding solemnly to the team members he happened to pass - or scowling at them, depending.

He glanced over the security feed, and once he was satisfied, made his way to his smoking room.

Spy closed the heavy oak door, poured himself a small glass of scotch, and sat down in his chair next to the fireplace.

He put a magazine on his knee and began to flip through the pages, but his gaze soon started to wander.

He closed the magazine, tossed it into the fire, leaned into his hand, and wept.

…So what became of Informant?

Well, after a reluctant heal from Medic and a few well-deserved apologies, Informant began to try and break the cycle of self-sabotage.

The process took a lot longer than Recruit’s did - especially since Informant’s transgressions were a lot more egregious - but, little by little, they began to heal.

A lot of the time, the other mercs would have to tell them to tone it down a bit, or to cut him off completely if necessary.

Informant still almost has a panic attack if he doesn’t have the right papers, and his office is still pretty bare, but he took Spy’s advice - a few AC/DC posters hang on the leftmost wall.

As for Spy, well…he needs to have a talk with Medic.

******************

I am so sorry…this is all so messy and weird. One is so much longer than the other, and I’m not even sure half the dialogue sounds right.

The two headcanons were just typed out at different times, the first where I had less motivation and the second when I had more motivation. This wasn’t on purpose, it just happened.

I hope you still like it, though!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt - Wen Ruohan insists that Jiang Yanli come to the Wen "lecture" as well...

ao3

Jiang Yanli tended to deal with stress in one of two ways: cooking and taking care of people. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the Wen indoctrination camp provided many opportunities for both, although not with the people she might have expected.

Wei Wuxian spent most of his days being valiant and light-hearted, trying to give them strength and courage, and Jiang Cheng followed his lead the way he always did, brave and serious and thoughtful and – well. It’s not that she didn’t appreciate both of them, because she did, but it was only that her own anxiety was more easily dealt with when she could distance herself from her current situation and focus entirely on someone else.

She might have tried to take care of Jin Zixuan, but the Jin sect disciples closed ranks around him, glaring at her as if she were the one who broke off their engagement. Either way, she won’t go where she’s not wanted, and so she backed off and went elsewhere to look for someone that needed her.

Luckily for her, Nie Huaisang was very loud and very vocal and very, very needy.

They made for a surprisingly great fit.

Jiang Yanli had perhaps been forced to step into a maternal role a bit too early – Jiang Cheng had always been a soft child, and their father’s dislike of him had hurt him deeply where it had always seemed somewhat unimportant to Jiang Yanli, and Wei Wuxian was of course a big baby masquerading as a man. Her mother had always been disinterested in playing the mother, more fond of training and discipline, and so they’d turned to her when they were young, and still did today. Back at home, they would often descend to bickering and playing for her attention when she was around, knowing how much she liked it: Wei Wuxian demanding to be called A-Xian and fed spoonfuls like a toddler (albeit one capable of eating extremely spicy food), Jiang Cheng too proud to go that far but somehow managing to lose at least ten years of maturity, always looking at her hopefully to affirm that he did well and to sneak him treats behind everyone’s back.

That was the way she liked it, too. Possibly more than she really should, but it made her feel wanted and useful in a way that her weak cultivation never would.

Nie Huaisang, in contrast, had always been babied - by his father, by his over-protective older brother, by his long-suffering sect that nevertheless indulged him in everything. He’d suffered some things (his father’s death, first and foremost) when he was very young, and it sometimes seemed as he’d reacted to that by purposefully staying that age forever: useless and self-indulgent, spoiled and with a tendency to fuss, an unreasonable expectation that he could just turn his big eyes on anyone in his vicinity and they would immediately feel moved to cater to his every need.

Nie Huaisang, in other words, was just her type.

He was calling her ‘Jiang-jiejie’ within a shichen, putting his head on her shoulder a shichen after that, and kicking up such a dramatic fuss about everything that even Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng – who had come over with threats in their eyes about a strange man, even one of their friends, sticking himself so close to her – had ended up encouraging her to see what she could do to calm him down a little.

After they left, she looked down at his pathetic form and said, “You did that on purpose, you little brat.”

Nie Huaisang looked up at her with an impish grin that somehow still suited the tear stains on his face. “That’s true, but Jiang-jiejie won’t tell on me,” he said, as certain as any child. “Besides, this way we get to spend time together – and if we’re together, my guards will protect you as they do me, and your brothers won’t have to worry so much. Aren’t I smart?”

“Such a thoughtful child,” she praised, and he puffed himself up. “But you shouldn’t mislead your big brothers like that, you know. You could have just told them what you were thinking.”

“But where’d the fun in that be?” he said, and put his head on her shoulder again. “Jiang-jiejie will take care of me while I’m here.”

“Of course,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t punish you if you’re naughty, either.”

She did, too. She made him food out of the terrible provisions they received, she brushed his hair and let him teach her how to do his braids, she tucked him in at night before heading back to her tent, and even sat with him and helped him with his memorization and his chores – and when it was called for, she smacked him lightly on the backs of his hands that he held out to her for the specific purpose, scolded him and made him apologize.

She didn’t have any time to spare to worry about the Wen sect.

It was great.

“Uh, shijie,” Wei Wuxian said after a while. “Are you sure you’re okay with Nie Huaisang? He’s really…sticky.”

“He’s adorable,” Jiang Yanli said.

“He’s taking advantage of you,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed how he gets to sit with you in the shade instead of working with us.”

“He sits in the shade because the Nie sect disciples do his share of the work,” Jiang Yanli pointed out. “Just as you do for me.”

“Yeah, but…”

“He’s harmless,” Jiang Yanli said, even though she suspected that if he were pushed to it Nie Huaisang could escalate from brat past menace into actual threat. Hopefully it would never come that. “And it’s good to have company.”

“What do you even talk about?” Jiang Cheng asked. His cheeks were oddly flushed red, and he was averting his eyes – even more oddly, so was Wei Wuxian, who she previously would have said was too shameless to be embarrassed by anything.

“Art, mostly,” she said, puzzled, and even more puzzled when they both flinched. “Recently we were discussing famous landscape artists from the southern part of Gusu.”

“Oh, landscapes,” Wei Wuxian said, exhaling in relief. “That’s all right then. Glad you’re having a good time, shijie.”

“Have fun,” Jiang Cheng agreed, bobbing his head up and down like a fishing bird.

Later, Jiang Yanli narrated the conversation to Nie Huaisang and gave him a stern look when he started giggling. 

“Would you care to explain the joke to your Jiang-jiejie?” she asked, and he waved his hands for a moment of time to catch his breath before explaining to her that he had spent most of his time at the Cloud Recesses acting as a purveyor of a very different type of art.

Jiang Yanli rolled her eyes – fondly, of course, she was always very fond of her boys, even when they forgot that she was three years older than they were – and said, “All right, then, and when were you going to share some with me?”

“I was trying to figure out what types of things you liked first!” Nie Huaisang protested, and this was why she spent so much time with him even when her other boys were also here – he didn’t forget that she was the jiejie, the one who took care of him and made the decisions about what was appropriate, and he was the didi. He didn’t assume that being a man was more important than age, didn’t put aside their “games” of caring in favor of a valiant warlike demeanor; he remained, wonderfully, the same. “I’d gotten it down to three – here, you take this one; let me know what you think.” He winked. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out to make sure no one comes by while you’re reading.”

“If it’s anything too filthy, you’ll be punished,” she told him, and he looked so delighted by the notion that she suspected she was going to be getting something very filthy indeed. “Little boys don’t need to be looking at such things.”

“Without supervision,” he clarified, and sat down next to her with bright eyes full of anticipation, somehow even more shameless than Wei Wuxian. “From a qualified adult. Like Jiang-jiejie!”

The artwork was utterly filthy, but it was, in fact, just the sort of thing she liked when she snuck into her mother’s rooms to sneak peeks at books filched from the high shelves – better, even, and Nie Huaisang seemed to have an endless supply of it even though he complained bitterly that he’d only brought the cheap stuff that he wouldn’t mind losing, and that the best of that had been mostly bartered away.

That was what it was for, she discovered. Nie Huaisang was selling pornography to bored Wen sect retainers in exchange for creature comforts – better food, a nicer resting place, leniency when he inevitably failed to complete some chore or another – and using the conversations to elicit information.

Not spying, per se, that was far too serious for someone as determinedly frivolous as Nie Huiasang, but it was nice to know when the Wen sect was planning a surprise inspection in the morning or if it was a good day to put on their worst clothing because they were going to be wading through mud.

“You could be quite dangerous if you wanted to be,” she commented to Nie Huaisang one evening while she was brushing his hair. He was very particular about his braids, but he let her do the brushing and oiling; the repetitive action calmed his anxiety, and seeing him calm down and relax into her care in turn calmed her own. “You’re very good at being underestimated.”

“I think I’m estimated at just about right, actually,” he joked. If it had been Jiang Cheng saying it, he would have been turning a dagger on himself with the words; if it had been Wei Wuxian, he would have been boasting; with Nie Huaisang, it was just a joke. He had the confidence to be openly useless – the surest sign of a supportive loving family, she thought wistfully. “What about you? How dangerous are you when you’re not thinking about how to take care of someone?”

“I’m always thinking of that,” she chided him, and tugged lightly on his braids in chastisement; he shivered and quailed very satisfactorily when she did that. Such a good boy for her, when he wanted to be; a very good little brat the rest of the time. “And you know I’m not much of a cultivator.”

“Neither am I,” he said. “I still think Jiang-jiejie could be very scary if she put her mind to it.”

It was nice that he thought so. Nobody else did – perhaps what was why she’d become so interested in caring for people, in making food that they liked and brushing their hair and taking care of their clothing, the sorts of feminine arts that puzzled her mother and weren’t even necessary for a sect leader’s daughter to know how to do. She did it because it was something she could do that, and after a while it became something she longed to do.

Jiang Yanli loved taking care of people.

And Nie Huaisang was so very good at being taken care of. 

Even better than her little A-Xian, if she would allow herself the traitorous little thought – Wei Wuxian liked to play the child for her sometimes, to be spoiled, but he would get bored soon enough, staying only long enough for a few bites of soup and then running off to bicker with Jiang Cheng or to be the brave and chivalrous da-shixiong of the Jiang sect.

Not so Nie Huaisang. He was her little brat all day long: whining and in need of comfort one moment, running too far ahead and in need of a scolding the next, always pushing his luck to see what he could get away with. He was soft, like her; bad at cultivating and good at things like painting and cooking and gossip, feminine things, domestic things, which meant that they had an endless supply of things to talk about that no one else cared about. He made mischief but was obedient, and he thrived under the structure she provided for him, coaxed into doing what he ought and directed away from doing what he shouldn’t.

He was adorable, in a way that she’d never felt about her actual brothers.

Her newest little didi, her A-Sang.

They were, perhaps, growing a little too close.

(But no, Jiang Yanli still maintained the boundaries of being a proper young lady, good obedient Jiang-guniang. Even if she had picked up a very specific pornography habit – but she was never going to tell anyone about that.)

Still, it came as a surprise when they were all in the dark, wretched cave, when the Wen sect threatened them and the corrupted Xuanwu lashed out against the walls to bring down rocks, when one of the Nie sect disciples pushed her behind a rock, shouting, “Take care of Nie-gongzi!” to her as if they really expected her to keep him safe.

“Your men trust me too much,” she said into Nie Huaisang’s hair – his arms were wrapped around her, his eyes watching the battlefield, flicking from side to side as he tracked the course of battle with far more expertise than her. “Don’t you think they meant for you to take care of me?”

“They want you to help keep me from being upset,” he said, and disengaged from her long enough to pick up a fallen sword and throw it with surprising accuracy into the fray – it pieced one of the Wen sect soldiers from behind, breaking their battle line, and the Nie sect disciples overwhelmed them. 

It was a masterful stroke, but Nie Huaisang recoiled from his own hand as if he’d been burned by it. His eyes were wide and white all around the edges, old fears rearing up to rend him into pieces from the inside - she knew the look of it.

“It’s all right,” she said, whispering in his ear. “You did well, didi.”

His shoulders relaxed.

Whatever had made Nie Huaisang so very afraid of shedding blood must had hurt him very deeply, Jiang Yanli thought, and the Nie sect knew it. It all made sense now: that was why they indulged him, why they spoiled him, why they allowed him to grow up as useless as he was, even as they feared him falling into danger. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be dangerous - but he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

(Jiang Yanli was very curious to meet the older brother he spoke so very much about. Nearly as much as she spoke of Wei Wuxian or Jiang Cheng, in fact, and didn’t that say everything she needed to know?)

“You should be careful, Jiang-jiejie,” Nie Huaisang murmured as they watched from their safe place as the battle raged on. Every once in a while, he intervened, each strike perfectly placed to cause maximum damage and showing that no matter how much he whined about training there was still muscle and deadly instincts beneath his skin; after each move, she would squeeze him tight and help him regulate his breathing, suppressing the panic attack he immediately fell into so that it could be postponed until a more convenient time. “I might grow to rely on you, and then where would we be? You’d have no choice but to come back to Qinghe and spend your life there with me.”

It was an offer, she thought in surprise, however gently phrased.

It seemed she wasn’t the only one getting a little too close. 

As it happened, Jiang Yanli didn’t have time to respond before the battle finally ended as abruptly as it had started, the Wen sect fleeing the Xuanwu and closing off the exit to the cave, trapping them inside with a ravenous Xuanwu – although one that couldn’t reach them in the corner where they cowered away from it.

The valorous men and women debated what ought to be done next.

The useless ones sat around and waited for their fates to be decided.

Oddly enough, this was the part that began to wear on her. The battle had passed almost without her noticing it, all her attention on caring for Nie Huaisang, but this aftermath - or preliminary, depending on how you looked at it - was utterly agonizing. Watching her brothers ignore her (useless in a fight), think nothing of her (they don’t need her to care for them), no one thought anything of her (what use is she if they don’t need her?) – and then watching them yell at each other and argue and fight without quarter, without mercy, and knowing that she couldn’t intervene, that she was pointless. Her own stress began rising rapidly, her heart beating hard, her breath starting to come short –

“Hey, Jiang-jiejie,” Nie Huaisang said.

She looked at him.

He smiled at her. “I’m hungry. You should make me some soup.”

“Brat,” Jiang Yanli said automatically, and her shoulders slowly came down, calm returning to her heart. He was obviously saying it to comfort her, she wasn’t stupid, but at the same time the request somehow suited her down to the ground and did the trick the way nothing else might have – after all, if her cowardly little brat had enough energy and attention to spare to be begging for food, things couldn’t be that bad. “What type of soup were you thinking?”

His smile widened as he watched the Xuanwu thrashing in the lake, dissatisfied that it could not capture them and rend their bones with its teeth. “Turtle soup.”

(They served it at their wedding.)

[surlybobbies]

(here’s a late holiday offering for all of you)

deancas, 2.5k, AU, friends to lovers, baby jack

-----

They stopped at a park on the way back to Dean’s apartment. Baby’s trunk was full of gifts, evidence of a successful Christmas shopping trip, and so it was with satisfaction that Dean leaned against the hood of the car and pulled out his burger from the takeout bag.

Cas was similarly content, and they enjoyed each other’s company in silence for a few minutes as they began their meal. At a nearby jungle gym, children threw snowballs at each other from the little flakes of ice they’d been able to scrape together. Dean tried not to watch them too closely - you could never be too careful - but Cas observed them with a furrowed brow.

Apropos of nothing, he said, “How do parents handle the Santa situation?”

Dean wiped his mouth with a napkin. “What do you mean?”

“When would one begin telling a child about Santa? And how does one deal with the inevitable fallout when they realize he isn’t real?”

Dean’s stomach turned a little bit. “You thinkin’ about kids all of a sudden?”

“Not sure,” Cas said, examining his burger and plucking out a piece of onion with his fingers.

Another silence descended. Dean frowned at his meal, his appetite lost.

Meanwhile, Cas plucked out another onion slice. “I don’t think I believed in Santa,” he said eventually. “But I knew about him. I wish I could remember who first told me the tale.”

“I learned about him when I was in middle school,” Dean admitted. “The first time I stayed at one school for more than a few months. Pretty sure by then I was too old to believe.”

Cas lifted his eyes to the playground again. “No doubt at least a few of these children believe in Santa.” He sucked some stray ketchup off his thumb, and Dean had to look away.

“Good for them,” he said. “They should enjoy being kids.”

“In a few years, maybe even this year, their parents are going to have to admit to their lies.”

“It’s harmless,” Dean replied, waving away Cas’s curious stare. “It’s good for ‘em. Teaches ‘em to question things, question motives. Gets ‘em ready for the adult world of backstabbing and lies.”

Cas smiled at him. It was wide and affectionate. “I thought you said they should enjoy being kids?”

Dean bit down on a reflexive smile. “It’s one little thing, alright? Santa’s like - 1% of the kid experience. They’ve got the other 99% to think about - cooler, more important shit.”

“Like what?”

“Like the shit they do on the daily, y’know? If they can con their parents into letting them have candy for breakfast. Or sneaking down at midnight to have some ice cream. Or building a pillow fort. Or stickers. Or farts.”

“Farts?”

“Kids like farts.”

“No one likes farts.”

“You don’t know kids then.”

Cas conceded with a tilt of his head. “You’re right. Maybe they do enjoy farts.”

They finished their burgers and sipped at their sodas. It was when Dean was returning from the trash can that he saw the wistful look on Cas’s face as he listened to the yells and laughter of the kids. He smacked Cas on the arm. “You good?”

Up close, Dean could see the downturn of Cas’s lips. “Just thinking about the future,” Cas said eventually. When he turned to Dean, he was smiling woodenly.

Dean’s gut turned sour again, and he knew himself better than to blame it on the burger. “So you are thinkin’ about kids.”

Cas looked down at his shoes. “I think I might be.”

Dean ran a hand over his chin, then cleared his throat. “Good for you, man. I think you’d be a good dad.”

Cas looked at him. “And you too. You’d be an amazing father.”

The expression on Cas’s face - sincere, soft, affectionate - made Dean’s throat tight. He laughed too loudly. “Hey, listen, when you do have kids, you can tag me in any time, alright?”

The wistfulness had vanished from Cas’s face. He was smiling. “Agreed. I’ll let you handle the Santa situation.”

-----

Cas started fostering Jack a year later, and it was apparent very early on to Dean that fatherhood was Cas’s calling. Yes, he was always tired, and yes, he didn’t have nearly as much time for Dean as he did before, but Jack was thriving and Cas was happy - and because of that, Dean was happy, even if it meant losing Cas’s attention to fatherhood.

Dean’s disappointment was lessened by the fact that Jack quickly became just as attached to Dean as he was to his foster dad, so if Dean spent a few days a week at Cas’s place to “help out with the baby,” no one questioned his motives.

“You ever going to tell him?” Sam asked one day as he and Dean watched Cas carry Jack around Sam’s garden. Jack was a grabby kid, and Cas was constantly having to stop him from putting flowers in his mouth.

Dean didn’t bother asking what Sam was talking about. “He doesn’t need that on his plate right now.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean, unconvinced. “So when? When he gives Jack up? You and I both know that’s never happening.”

“Then never,” Dean snapped, even though just the thought of holding it all in for one more day made Dean’s chest feel tight.

Sam ran a hand over his mouth like he was trying to stop himself from saying anything else, but Sam was nothing if not nosy. “We both know never’s not an option. It’s gotta be now, Dean. Or if not now, then soon. You’re already playing house with Cas. Plus there’s a kid involved now - a kid who absolutely adores you - so I hate to say it, but if things have to go south, it has to happen before Jack’s any older.”

Dean stared at Sam. “That’s fucked up, Sammy.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know this already,” Sam said, though his tone was gentle. “I’m just saying out loud what you don’t want to admit.”

Cas was approaching with Jack, so Dean didn’t respond.

“I apologize,” Cas said to Sam. “Jack might have destroyed a few blooms.” He opened his palm and offered the crushed red blooms up for inspection. It could have been Dean’s bloody heart for how much he was hurting.

It was obvious that Sam was still watching Dean out of the corner of his eye, but he spared a smile and a tummy tickle for Jack. “No harm done, little guy.”

-----

Dean knew Sam was right, knew that for Jack’s sake, his two de facto parents needed to be on the same page about what they were to each other - but there was never a good time to bring it up. Was Dean supposed to just spill his heart out onto the dining room table with Jack’s sliced fruit? He contemplated asking Sam for advice, but 1) Dean did not want nor would he accept any pity from his little brother and 2) Sam was busy getting ready for his wedding.

So Dean, Cas, and Jack went on with their lives - separate but hopelessly intertwined, and all Dean could do was lie awake at night hoping that when the time came, he’d be able to make sense of the mess of tangled knots they’d created.

-----

Jack made the cutest ring bearer. Cas was a groomsman, but he’d asked to escort Jack up the aisle, and Sam and Eileen had loved the idea. Dean had loved the idea too, mostly because he knew he wouldn’t have been able to stomach the sight of Cas walking down the aisle in his smartly-tailored suit, arm-in-arm with Eileen’s cousin Sara. In the moment, however, Dean loved the idea simply because Cas was incandescent, smiling widely down at Jack, holding Jack’s hand as the toddler took his too-big, unsteady steps down the garden path.

At the end of the walk, when Cas had deposited Jack safely with Gabriel in the front row, he took his place by Dean’s side.

Dean couldn’t help but smile at him, helpless with affection. “I’m happy for you, Cas,” he said, just as the guests stood up to welcome the bride.

Cas ducked his head bashfully, but he put a hand on Dean’s back in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”

-----

Cas cornered him at the reception, where Dean was lurking at the edges of the dance floor. “Can we talk?” he said, leaning in to be heard over the music.

Dean had two servings of whiskey in him. “Always, Cas.”

Cas looked him oddly, but he said nothing. He led Dean away from the reception tent (where Gabriel and Garth were taking turns to dance with Jack in their arms) and stopped when they were far enough away to hear each other without yelling.

Cas was pink-cheeked from champagne, his hair was a mess, and Dean was so in love with him it hurt. “What do you need?” he asked, because concentrating on what Cas needed kept Dean from focusing on what Dean wanted.

“I thought I should tell you before it gets any farther in the proceedings - I’ve started the formal process of adopting Jack.”

Dean’s heart was full to bursting. He swallowed down a sudden urge to cry. “That’s great news, man,” he said, pulling Cas into a rough hug. “Congratulations!”

Cas’s arms wrapped tight around Dean, his chin hooked over Dean’s shoulder. There was a telltale sniff at his ear, so Dean just held on tighter to his best friend.

When Cas drew away a minute later, his nose was red. He kept his hands at Dean’s elbows. “I’ve asked so much of you already - “

“Stop right there,” Dean said, shaking his head, “because that’s not true. Whatever I did, I did because I wanted to. Because I’d do anything for that kid.”

Cas looked at Dean so tenderly it made Dean’s throat tight. “And I’m so grateful for that, Dean. You’ve been the best support I could have asked for.” Cas looked down, his eyebrows furrowing. The hands at Dean’s elbows tightened. “But I have to ask of you one more thing.”

There was no universe out there where Dean would have refused Cas anything. “Spit it out, Cas.”

“If something were to happen to me,” Cas said, eyes brimming, “would you take him in?”

Dean took hold of Cas’s elbows too, a reassurance that Cas was still there in front of him, still alive, still breathing. “Cas, you’re going to be kicking for a long time. Jack will have grandbabies before you check out.”

Cas smiled softly. He indulged Dean. “Still, if I should go before you - “

Helpless, absolutely wrecked, Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Sammy had just gotten married to the best woman on Earth a few hours prior. A few yards away, the people Dean loved were dancing to “The Cha-Cha Slide.” And now Cas was asking Dean to take on the biggest honor of his life in the same sentence that Cas was talking about his inevitable death. Dean’s eyes welled up.

Cas touched Dean’s face for a brief moment. “I’m sorry to do this to you.”

Dean swiped at his eyes stubbornly. “Cas, I meant it when I said I’d do anything for that kid. If he ever loses you, he’s going to have me. Don’t even think about apologizing for that.”

“Thank you,” Cas said. There were tears on his cheeks too. “That makes me feel less scared of the future.”

Dean sniffed. He straightened Cas’s tie. “But hey, no takebacks, alright? Even if you go and get yourself hitched, I’m not giving Jack up.”

Cas’s mouth lifted at the corner, but Dean knew it was just for show. “I don’t think marriage is in the cards for me, Dean,” Cas admitted.

It was the way Cas looked at him that made Dean remember what Sam had said a few months before. If Dean was ever going to say something, it had to be right at this moment.

“Listen, Cas,” Dean said, clearing his throat, “now that we know Jack’s gonna be sticking around, you should know something.”

The hands at Dean’s elbows tightened again. “Tell me,” Cas said, his eyes growing worried. He stepped closer, studying Dean’s face.

Dean was crying again, and he despised it. “I’m in love with you,” he said. He was terrified, anxious, and angry with himself at the same time. “So if that changes things - if you want me to fuck off and never talk to you or Jack again - now’s the time to tell me.”

Cas took a shaky breath. He cradled Dean’s face. “My love,” he murmured, eyes warm though they were still brimming with tears. “Love of my life.”

Dean almost laughed. Incredulous, he asked, “What? Who, me?”

Cas kissed him. It tasted like salt, and Dean was still crying, and honestly he had no idea what was happening, but Cas was patient with him, kissing his cheek when Dean did nothing but stare.

He drew back after the first few seconds, smiling despite Dean’s shock. “Yes, you,” he confirmed. His hands went to Dean’s tie. His voice was thick when he spoke again. “So no, in case it isn’t obvious, I do not want you to ‘fuck off.’”

This had not been what Dean was expecting. Tentatively, he touched Cas’s face, just a brush of fingers against Cas’s cheek, not bothering to hide his amazement when Cas smiled at him.

“Kind of slow on the uptake,” Cas said. His nose was still pink. “Maybe I should be in charge of Jack’s studies.”

It hit Dean all at once. Cas was his. Jack was his. Everything he’d ever wanted in this world was his. He kissed Cas properly this time.

-----

They returned to the reception a few minutes later. Eileen, upon seeing Cas’s glossy eyes and pink nose, instinctively grabbed a butter knife to throw at Dean’s throat, but Sam tugged her arm down and pointed at Dean and Cas’s joined hands.

The pair mingled with the guests hand-in-hand for most of the night, only letting go to pick up Jack and swing him between them.

Later on, in the parking lot, with Jack asleep in his car seat and buckled safely in the back seat of the Impala, Cas turned to Dean, who had his arm around Cas’s waist.

Cas smiled at him. He said two words: “Marry me.”

Dean didn’t know how he had any tears left in him. “Jesus. Give a guy a break,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Earlier I said marriage wasn’t in the cards for me,” Cas explained, smiling widely, apparently pleased that he was making Dean cry so much. “I don’t want you to misunderstand - it’s in the cards if it’s you.”

Dean touched his forehead to Cas’s, so happy he could barely get any words out. “Cas, you know it’s a yes.”

-----

Jack was five years old and came home from kindergarten with a coloring sheet of Santa. Cas looked at Dean, mouth thin. “I’m tagging you in,” he said, then left the room.

“Can we see Santa at the mall, dad?” Jack asked, tongue between his teeth as he scribbled with his crayon.

Dean put a hand on Jack’s back. “Sure, bud,” he said. “You can tell him what you want for Christmas.”

He pulled out his phone. You’re dealing with the tooth fairy, he texted Cas.

Fine. You talk to him about the Easter Bunny then.

-----

Hope you liked it! I only ask that you do me one favor if you did - go and read my most recent fic on ao3 - I posted it at a dumb time and wish more people could see it. 

[heroes-of-olympus-next-gen]

“Our kids got in a fight?”

Prompt 19 requested by @rue-cimon ❤❤❤

Nico and Will receive a phone call from their kids school.

Getting a phone call from the school in the middle of the day is never good. “Didn’t they tell you if it was about Ryder or Jasmine? Not that Jasmine has ever gotten into trouble.” Will asked Nico as they were heading inside the school.

“No, they didn’t specify. Just that we needed to come to the school quickly.”

“What did Ryder do this time?” He complained. It was the 5th time the school had called them to come and talk to the principal. It was mostly about Ryder’s harmless shenanigans, but the principal thought that a student like Ryder shouldn’t be involved in foolish pranks.

“Probably blew up a lab or something like that. I guess we’ll just find out.”

Outside the office Percy and Annabeth were there as well. “Wait, they called you too?” Annabeth asked them.

“Yes. Did they tell you what all this is about?” Nico replied.

“Something that has to do with your daughters.” The secretary said from her desk.

“Our kids got in a fight?” Percy was more confused than ever.

“Wait, Jasmine got into trouble?”

The principal opened the door of his office. “Please come inside. We have a lot to talk about.”

The four of them sat down inside the principal’s office. Next to the principal was standing a woman in her forties with a lab coat on top of her dress. “This is Mrs. Michaels. She teaches Biology to your daughters. She has reported an issue that occurred during the lesson.” The principal said and then motioned to the teacher to start talking.

“Your daughters were partners in our biology class. In today’s lesson they had to examine and dissect a pig’s heart. I didn’t exactly saw what happened, but Lana threw Jasmine the heart, so Jasmine smacked her with a book. Which made Lana also throw pig’s blood on her and then Lana slipped on the ground, and she dragged Jasmine down with her.” The biology teacher said to them.

“Oh Gods. That’s horrible. Are they all right?” Annabeth said.

“Just a few bruises. But we thought that we should let you know what they did.”

“Of course.”

The office door opened, and the two girls walked inside. “We are in big trouble.” Lana whispered.

“Stop talking.” Jasmine replied.

“I’m just saying if it wasn’t for the book I wouldn’t have spilled the blood.” She exclaimed.

“You shouldn’t have thrown the heart on the first place!” Jasmine said exasperated. Then she decided to sit quietly as everyone was looking at her.

“Why did you throw the heart?” The principal asked Lana.

Lana stared awkwardly at his side. “I didn’t have a specific reason to be honest. I just did it.”

“One of your classmates told me that you did it because you cut the heart the wrong way and Jasmine pointed that out.” Mrs Michaels told.

“It might had played some part to it, but there wasn’t a very specific reason. It was instincts.” Lana explained.

“Jasmine you get one afternoon in detention and Lana one week in detention. You can go back to your classes.”

[forzalando]

Lessons | George Weasley | Pt. 1

Pairing: George Weasley x F!Reader AU: Royalty!AU Word Count: 2,240 words Warnings: mentions of sibling d*ath, a very rude knight grabbing the reader, mentions of bruising on reader, reader sl*pping aforementioned knight, aggressive language and behavior

A/N: hello friends! here is part one of a two-part George Weasley Royalty!AU! I am so very excited. I apologize in advance for any inconsistencies throughout the story, there isn’t really a specific time period except that I didn’t want it to be modern! thank you to @awfulmoons for being the first person to read this and for her support! part two will be posted tomorrow! :) 

Summary: After the tragic loss of his twin brother, George Weasley finds himself using his talents to secure a job as the new Potions Master and Healer for the Royal Family. Unbeknownst to you, he takes a particular liking to you knowing that you have more in common than you realize.

part two here

***

Your mother playfully glared at you as you giggled, watching one of your father’s knights trip over a bit of wire and slam into the wall outside her study. He was a rather crude man, always touching your arm or lower back when he walked past you in the castle, and seeing his dazed expression and the bruise forming on his cheek brought you far more enjoyment than you’d ever admit.

“Sir Cormac, are you alright?” Ana, your younger sister, asked as she fled to his aid. She never minded his lingering touches and had always envied that you received his “affections” as well, even though you hardly wanted them.

“Yes, yes, quite alright, Your Highness. Just lost my balance is all,” Cormac grumbled as his eyes lingered on the wire. He didn’t want to be seen as foolish enough to be bested by a simple prank, but unfortunately the evidence was far from discreet.

“Come, I’ll take you to the infirmary. I’m sure there’s something we can do about that bruise.”

You watched with disgust as your sister practically carried Sir Cormac down the hall, until the clearing of a throat broke your attention.

“Y/N, did you lay that wire?” your mother asked, the accusatory tone evident in her voice.

“No, Mother, but frankly I wish I had. Do you see the way he’s always caressing my arms?! He’s even dared to touch my back and he does it to Ana as well! Of course, she doesn’t mind, though it truly escapes me why she doesn’t. He’s horrendous.”

Your mother stifled a laugh; even though she was the Queen, you knew your mischievous and independent ways had come from her.

“Next time he tries to touch you, tell him that your Mother will have his hands,” she spoke with a smile. “I have business to attend to in the dining room, please try to stay out of trouble for once.”

She turned on her heel and left you on your own, but you knew her warning was playful. When the sound of her footsteps receded, your mind and feet began to wander. Your thoughts were consumed with all of the small, mostly harmless, pranks that had been occurring around the castle.

Just the other day, your handmaiden and close friend Luna had witnessed one of your tutors walk out of the kitchen sopping wet. She asked around and found out that a bucket of water had fallen on her head that morning seemingly out of thin air.

You wished that you would have felt sympathy for her, but she had scolded you until you cried last week because you couldn’t remember the first name of a Prince that you would never meet.

A little over a month ago you noticed that Lady Priscilla, a dreadful, awful young woman from a noble family in your Father’s Court, was itching constantly at her corset. You recalled receiving an actual stern glare from your mother for laughing at that one.

But, the little things you noticed weren’t always directed at people. Occasionally you’d find furniture askew, flower arrangements and paintings altered, sticky substances on the railings (you had gotten caught up in that a time or two). You recalled finding every piece of furniture in the Great Dining Hall practically glued to the floor once and thought your parents were going to have coronaries, but to your surprise, they laughed alongside you.

Your father had suspected you at first, of course, but when the pranks continued while you were away last month visiting your best childhood friend, Lady Hermione Granger, it was obvious you were not the culprit. No one could recall when the odd occurrences started happening, so it just became a way of life around the castle. Not that anyone minded, you’d even seen your grumpy sister crack a smile or two at the jests.

Sometimes you wished you knew who it was, that you could dismantle the mystery, partly because you wanted them to include you in their havoc. However, a far greater reason, was that over the past few months, you had found yourself smiling and laughing again after the untimely death of your elder sister, Clara, during the Great War. Whoever this mystery prankster was, you owed them a thank you about a million times over.

Fearing that you’d smack straight into a wall while your mind was reeling over the castle’s secret joker, you shook the thoughts from your head and found yourself walking towards the gardens.

As you began opening the door to the greenhouse, it suddenly flung open to reveal a rather tall and beautiful man with hair the color of a roaring fire.

“Pardon me, Princess,” he apologized immediately. “I was all too focused on not dropping these herbs and didn’t realize the door was opening.”

You realized then that you had stumbled into Mr. George Weasley, the Potions Master and Healer that your Father had employed months ago. He was supposedly brilliant; had a way with creating concoctions that even the brightest minds had never thought of. When your Mother fell ill earlier this year, George had her right as rain within days.

You also recalled from palace gossip that he used to run a business with his twin brother a few years ago, but his brother had died in the Great War and George refused to carry on the business without him.

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Weasley. Do you need some help carrying your things?”

“I-I-You know my name?” He stuttered quietly.  

“Of course I do,” you chuckled. “My Father speaks very highly of you, especially after the way you took such great care of my Mother. Thank you for that, by the way. I tried to find you to thank you in person before, but it seems we always miss each other.”

“Yes, it seems we do, and please, call me George,” he trailed off lightly, a twinkle in his deep, brown eyes.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you; you could have been gazing into each other’s eyes for hours, you couldn’t be sure, but the trance was broken when the hoard of plants fell from his arms.

“Here, please let me help,” you said as you bent down to the ground, gathering the discarded herbs.

“If your Mother or Father catches you helping the insignificant Potions Master – ”

“They would be thrilled that they had raised a kind and helpful daughter. Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

George smiled down at you, a blinding smile that reached his eyes and made the corners crinkle.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to say.”

The two of you headed off towards the East Wing of the castle where his living and work chambers were located. Once you had helped him sort out the herbs and tidy up any fallen leaves or stems, you sat down and sighed, admiring his workspace.

“I’ve always been fascinated by potion making and medicine,” you said quietly. “I wish it were part of my studies. I learned a little bit during the War to help with the wounded but nothing more in the past few years. Now that I’m older, my lessons, if you can even call them that, only consist of recalling Monarchial history and information about other kingdoms.”

You noticed George stiffen at the mention of the Great War, his cheerful demeanor suddenly disappearing from sight, but as quickly as it was gone it was back again.

“The War is what got me into all this in the first place. I figured I’d use my talents to help people if I could, and it turns out I’m pretty good at it.”

He managed a weak smile, and the sight of it broke your heart.

“I’m sorry about your brother, George. I-I heard about him in passing, some Noblewomen were discussing your tragedy like it was front page news since they never have anything better to do. I suppose I’m no better for listening, even if it wasn’t entirely on purpose, but I’m still so sorry.”

“I appreciate that, Princess. I will always miss him but in the past year I feel like I’ve finally started moving forward with my life instead of standing still.”

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, embarrassed that you had brought up such a sensitive topic upon your first time meeting George, but you couldn’t help it. You wanted him to know you were sorry, and that you understood his pain.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmured. “You lost someone as well, didn’t you?”

“My sister, Clara. She was always rebellious, even worse than me, and she was in love with a man from the village just outside the palace grounds. His name was Thomas and they were just perfect for each other. When my Father got word that Riddle’s Army was headed towards the castle, she snuck away through one of the secret passages to the village to save him, but Riddle’s Army was already there and she died with him when they destroyed the village.”

George couldn’t say anything, the tragic story rendering him speechless. Your sister’s bravery and your obvious heartache, he didn’t know what to say, but you began speaking again.

“We probably have a lot more in common than you think, Mr. Weasley,” you teased, although he didn’t miss the glimmer of tears in your eyes.

“I’d love to find out what more, Princess, and I told you to call me George.”

“I’ll call you George only if you promise to call me Y/N.”

“Your Father would have my – ”

“He would have your utmost support because I asked you to call me by my name and it’s never polite to refuse to request of a Royal, right, George?”

“Absolutely, Princ…I mean, Y/N,” George said with a smile.

You decided instantly that your name had never sounded better.

Once again, a comfortable silence fell between you two as you rose from your seat and traced your fingertips along his equipment. Cauldrons, beakers, books with the directions to make the most difficult of healing draughts, when suddenly you had an idea.

“George,” you began, turning to face him, “what would you say to a little extra work?”

“Well, that depends. Is it difficult?”

“Well, that depends. Do you find me difficult to spend time with?”

“Not in the slightest,” he answered immediately with a smile.

“In that case, how would you like to teach me your ways? I want to learn all that there is to know about potion making, herbs, plants, medicines. And who better to teach me than you?”

“If…I mean if the King and Queen do not mind, I have no objections,” George spoke, failing to stop the hopeful grin that appeared on his face.

“I’m sure they won’t but I will speak to them this evening. Shall I come find you tomorrow? Will you be here?”

“In the morning, yes. Let’s meet here at, say, nine o’clock?”

“That sounds perfect,” you said eagerly. “I’d better get back, I’m sure someone’s wondering where I’ve been, but I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow!”

With a quick wave goodbye, you swiftly made your way out of George’s workshop before he could tell that you were practically trembling with excitement.

Unbeknownst to you, George had to steady himself against a table so he wouldn’t faint at the prospect of seeing you not only again, but so soon.

Your hurried steps had brought you back to your Mother’s study and you were delighted to see she had returned from her earlier meeting.

“Mother, what would you say if I began taking lessons from Mr. Weasley?”

“Well,” your Mother began as she closed her book, “I’d be curious to know how this proposition came about.”

“I bumped into him in the gardens earlier. He’s brilliant, Mother, and you know how interested I am in his specialties.”

“Are you interested in his specialties or him?” She asked with a sly smile.

“I…I suppose maybe both?”

Your Mother stared at you for what seemed like ages, taking in the sparkle in your eyes and the giddy smile on your face that had been absent since the passing of your closest sister.

“As long as you’re able to attend to your duties and join Father in court meetings, I don’t see why not. You need something substantial to fill your time anyway, I swear you’re either always in the garden or sneaking tarts from the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you exhaled, not even realizing you had been holding your breath awaiting her response.

“Go find your brothers, supper should be ready soon. I’ll speak to your Father about these lessons and let you know what he decides.”

You nodded your head and went off in search of your younger siblings wondering what color dress you would wear tomorrow.

Elsewhere in the castle, George Weasley was in front of a mirror fiddling with his hair and already planning what he would say to you when he saw you in the morning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed another trip wire safely tucked away near the Knight’s living quarters.

For once, you didn’t stick around to wait for the inevitable chaos because the quicker you found your brothers and ushered them to supper, the quicker your day would end, and the quicker you would again be able to see Mr. George Weasley.

***

taglist: @thoseofgreatambition @theboywhocriedlupin @theseuscmander @fortisfiliae @carolinesbookworld @starssayhello @finnofamerica @swellwriting @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy @marauderskeeper @wildfire-whizbangs @woakiees also tagging some mutuals who maybe might want to read! if you do not, PLEASE let me know and I apologize profusely!: @ickle-ronniekins @hollands-weasley @weasleytwinswheezes @theweasleysredhair @sleep-i-ness 

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Callbacks & Cannoli Cake

Requested by: The wonderful Wignony! (“If I haven't missed the cut off, could I request an imagine with Joe and reader? Something sickeningly sweet and romantic, maybe along the lines of a proposal/ wedding day/ honeymoon?”)

Summary: Joe got good news at work, but tonight you’ll have something even better to celebrate. 

Warnings: Language, literal sugary sweetness, a tiny bit of angst (I’m sorry, you know me, I couldn’t help it! 😂).

Word Count: 1.5k.

You’re reading the text for the fifth time when he walks through the front door. I GOT THE PART!!! See yo fine ass at 6:15 ;)

“Hey, firefly!” Joe calls brightly, racing into the kitchen and linking his arms around your waist from behind, kissing the back of your neck with loud, comedic smacks as you giggle and try not to massacre the icing you’ve been painstakingly smoothing with a spatula. He’s called you that since your first date, a picnic in Grand Hope Park that was supposed to just be lunch and turned into drinks, tapas, dinner, and ice cream for dessert as fireflies crept out of their shelters and freckled the sky with their harmless, inborn lightning.

“Joe, babe, stop, please stop, I’m going to ruin the cake—”

Joe gasps, spying it for the first time. “A cannoli cake? You made me a cannoli cake?!”

You lift up the heavy glass cake plate and gingerly show him, wearing a sheepish smile. “I thought we should celebrate. There’s lasagna in the oven, it’ll be done in twenty minutes.”

“So we get to eat the cake first.”

You laugh, ferrying the cannoli cake to the kitchen table as Joe picks up the spatula and licks it like a lollipop, moaning orgasmicly, mascarpone frosting peppered with miniature chocolate chips dotting his nose and chin. “Tonight, Mr. Mazzello, you get everything you want.”

Today was his third callback for the part, a co-starring role of the protagonist’s best friend in a romantic comedy directed by Richard Curtis. And while you are firmly of the belief that Joe is more than worthy of lead roles—especially in romantic comedies, a genre in which he has been criminally underutilized—you know he’s thrilled to have landed it. Rebel Wilson, Colin Firth, and Zendaya are involved in the project as well, and filming will take place mostly in the gorgeous island paradise of Turks and Caicos. Which means that Joe will soon be jetting off to the Caribbean for months on end, leaving you here in Los Angeles to tend your bakery and catch up on your reading list and snuggle with the cats and try not to grow bitter about the fact that most people don’t have to give up their significant others for vast, volatile stretches of the year, most people don’t constantly feel like they’re battling to keep a surfboard level over waves of impermanence. And that’s what you’re really trying to do tonight: not just celebrate Joe’s accomplishments, not just make him happy, but to make sure he doesn’t notice the sadness around your eyes, the mournful slump in the set of your shoulders.

But as he sits down at the table and cuts two messy, hulking slices of cannoli cake and gives you the bigger one, Joe does notice something. His dark eyes catch on you and narrow. His brow furrows in concern. “What’s up, firefly?”

“Nothing,” you reply, slipping into the chair beside him, running your fingers through his hair and forcing a smile. “I’m so proud of you, Joe. And I know you’ll love it. I just...you know.” You take an unenthusiastic bite of cake and shrug, apologetic, feeling childish and selfish and ridiculous. “I’ll miss you.”

“Aww, I know, firefly. I’ll miss you too. But we’ll talk all the time, we’ll text and call and I’ll comment heart-eyes emojis on all your Instagram posts, and you can take a few long weekends to come visit me...and we can FaceTime so I can say hi to the cats and our beloved apartment!”

“Our apartment,” you murmur; because it doesn’t feel much like both of yours. You’ve only shared it for three months, and Joe has easily been out of town for two of them. And although you have no right at all to be disenchanted with an arrangement that you knowingly signed up for, you can’t help but fear that it all has an inescapable aura of transience, that one day Joe won’t come back home at all, and that the apartment won’t even feel that different without him in it; like he’s a comet that comes with the decades, a passing marvel that you can see but never own.

Joe reaches out and takes your free hand, the one not holding your fork. “Hey,” he says softly. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m not mad, I’m really not, I want you to have this. I know it’s what brings you happiness, I know it’s what you’re brilliant at, I just...I guess I just wish this all felt a little more permanent.”

That seems to surprise him. “What, like, you and me being permanent?”

“Yeah.” You take another bite of cannoli cake. It’s good. It’s really freaking good, actually. Joe’s massive slice is gone already; he cuts another, peering uncertainly over at you. He still doesn’t appear to get it. “What I mean is that I feel like you’re never here long enough for the apartment to start feeling like ours. You’re more like a guest. Petunia and Iris might think you’re just my hot friend who occasionally sleeps over and takes bubble baths with me.”

“I don’t think cats have a particularly deep understanding of commitment anyway.”

You laugh, mostly to break the gravity. This is the precise opposite of how you wanted this night to go. “Never mind, I’m being dumb. Forget it.” You smile again, as convincingly as you can. The scent of lasagna now fills the small kitchen; the orange-pink light of the sunset pours in through the open windows. “Enjoy Turks and Caicos. Make a hilarious movie. Slurp down your weight in daiquiris served in coconut shells. And try not to get too sunburned, I want to be able to touch you when I fly down to visit. We don’t need a repeat of Miami, lobster boy.”  

Joe sets down his fork, crosses his arms over his chest, and grins at you thoughtfully, craftily.

“Uh oh. What?”

“Well, you see, it’s interesting that you brought up this whole permanence thing.”

You shake your head. “Joe, really, I don’t want to make tonight about me. I just want to celebrate. Can we do that?”

“Oh, we’re still celebrating, firefly. But I have one more thing to tell you about.”

“It better not be another cat. That’s really not the solution to this problem. Is it another cat? Jesus christ, if your mother is trying to get us to adopt another one of her rescue cats, I’m going to fucking scream—”

“It’s not a cat.”

“Then what is it?”

“Well,” Joe begins, grinning broadly now. “I guess it’s less of something I have to tell you and more of something I have to ask you.”

“...Ask me...what...?”

His hand slides into the pocket of his Hawaiian cargo shorts—not his best look, if you’re being totally honest about it—where for the first time you notice the faint outline of a tiny square. He takes out the ring box and sets it down between you on the table. Your fork tumbles out of your grasp and hits the floor, splattering frosting and cake crumbs. An ecstatic gasp rips from between your teeth. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth.

“No way...”

“Yes way.” Joe gestures to the box. “I don’t know what continent I’m going to be on six months from now. I don’t know how often I’ll find myself home in our apartment. I don’t know how great of a cat dad I am. But I know that I want you with me every step of the way. So, if you’re down to make this thing permanent, and to bake me cannoli cakes for the remainder of my earthly existence, I’d like for you to marry me. I’d love for you to marry me, actually. And if you need some time to think it over before giving me an answer, I completely understand—”

You rush out of your chair and into his shocked but welcoming arms, almost knocking him out of his seat as you climb into his lap, laughing, crying, kissing him as tears stream down your cheeks. “I don’t need time. I’m saying yes. Right here, right now, Mr. Mazzello.”

“You don’t even want to see the ring first?” he teases.  

“Nope. I’m in no matter what it looks like. I swear on our neglected feline daughters’ lives.”

“Oh thank god, because my bank account is super sparse until this new gig starts paying and it’s a literal Ring Pop.”

Joe’s joking, of course; he’s joking almost all the time, which is one of the innumerable things you love about him. But you really don’t care what the ring looks like. You care about what it means, about the promise it holds, about the peace it gives you to carry around like armor against all the uncertainties of the world.

And Joe whispers, beaming: “Now, future Mrs. Mazzello, I really do have everything I want.”

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

his name was chad - chapter 1

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: All the sides Rating: Teen & up (see Warnings) Relationships: Lamp (with a focus on Logince and Moxiety), Dukeceit Warnings: Language, sexual humor/innuendo, mostly non-graphic violence, temporary major character deaths, minor animal death (not all of these are in this chapter, but I like to put general fic warnings on the first chapter) Word count: 1782 Notes: Based on that one short Thomas made ages ago; fic is mostly to be treated humorously. 

Read on AO3!

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My writing masterpost

Summary:  “We thought it’d be fun to make an apocalypse game!” Roman explained. “One we can fully immerse ourselves in!” “Well, technically,” Remus put in, “it’s part apocalypse, part western, part post-apocalypse, part zombie apocalypse—” “No! No zombies! We’ve been over this!” Roman snapped. “Right, right, I keep forgetting. Part horror, part thriller, part mafia game, part—” “I think we get the picture,” Logan interrupted. “A mishmash of ‘edgy’ genres you both enjoy, am I correct?”

 Chapter 1

“Everyone!” Roman shouted from the common area at the top of his lungs. “Hey, everyone, c’mere! Right now!”

“What the hell do you want?” Virgil demanded, rising up at once.

“Wait, wait, wait wait wait. Logan! Patton!” Roman called for their other boyfriends.

Remus popped up between Roman and Virgil, making them both jump. “Janny!” he added in an ear-grating shriek.

“What on earth is the matter, Roman?” Logan inquired as he and Patton made their way into the room.

Roman glanced around just as Janus rose up in the corner, taking up residence lurking in a dramatic puddle of shadow. “Good, everyone’s here. Come see what me and Remus made!”

“Oh, you mean the thing you two have been holed up working on for two weeks now that nobody has been allowed to ask about?” Logan said, sounding interested.

“Yeah, that!” Roman grabbed his and Virgil’s hands. “Everyone come on!”

Patton followed just behind his three boyfriends; Remus and Janus, somewhat surprisingly, followed at a more leisurely pace, Janus leaning on Remus as he wrapped an arm around Janus’s waist, held his hand, and talked a mile a minute in a voice too low for the others to make out.

Roman led the group to the workshop he and Remus shared, having everyone gather in a huddle around a table with a large piece of fabric covering whatever was on it. “Ready?” he asked dramatically.

“No, can I take a nap first?” Virgil inquired sarcastically.

“Some other time, my stormy darling. Behold!” Roman drew the cloth away with a flourish.

“Ooh, it’s a little world!” Patton exclaimed.

“Fascinating,” Logan commented, leaning closer to examine the miniature landscape, dotted with buildings and trees. “What is it for?”

“It’s a game!” Remus piped up from the back of the group. He let go of Janus and elbowed his way between Virgil and Patton. “And we’re going in it! Blood and guts and gore and death!”

“What?” Patton inquired, sounding distinctly nervous.

“What do you mean, in it? What do you mean, death?” Virgil demanded.

“Oh, cool your tits, the death is just for realism,” Remus said, waving his hand.

“That is not reassuring!”

“No, no, wait, listen!” Roman interrupted frantically. “He’s explaining it all wrong! Virgil, listen, I promise it’s not that bad!” He paused. “Well.”

“See?” Virgil pointed an accusing finger at him. “What the hell are you two up to?”

“We just thought it’d be fun to make an apocalypse game!” Roman explained. “One we can fully immerse ourselves in!”

“Apocalypse?” Virgil demanded, sounding torn between delight and outrage.

“I don’t know…” Patton put in hesitantly.

Logan looked up from where he had still been examining the table. “This is an impressive level of detail work, Roman, Remus. You should be proud of yourselves.”

“Don’t encourage them!” Virgil snapped. “Not when they’re apparently trying to get us all killed for fun!”

“What?” Logan blinked. “Oh, that. I imagine it will be harmless.”

“Yeah!” Remus backed him up immediately.

“Yeah,” Roman echoed a beat later, less certain.

“Logan,” Virgil said, “they are trying to put Patton in an apocalypse. In what world is that a good idea for anyone?”

“Well, technically,” Remus put in, “it’s part apocalypse, part western, part post-apocalypse, part zombie apocalypse—”

“No! No zombies! We’ve been over this!” Roman snapped.

“Right, right, I keep forgetting. No zombies yet. But it is part horror, part thriller, part murder mystery, part mafia game, part—”

“I think we get the picture,” Logan interrupted. “A mishmash of ‘edgy’ genres you both enjoy, am I correct?”

“Oh, that’s a good way of putting it.” Remus nodded.

“It will be fun, I promise,” Roman said. “We made it! Just for everyone in this room! So it’ll be okay. We made such cool character designs for everyone, you’re going to love it, just please can we play just one time please?” He turned pleading eyes on all three of his partners.

“And you’re sure this will be safe?” Logan asked, just to be sure. Both Patton and Virgil looked too nervous for his liking and could likely use the reassurance.

“Absolutely!” Roman assured him.

“Probably,” Remus amended.

“Shut up! We know what we’re doing!” Roman smacked his brother’s arm.

“The effects will look, feel, sound, and smell realistic,” Remus said. “Try not to die gruesomely. Or don’t, it will be lots of fun to watch guts going everywhere.” He lit up and looked over at Roman. “Hey, can we add—”

“For the sixteenth time, we said no zombies on the first run!” Roman stamped his foot.

“Boo.” Remus rolled his eyes and glanced back to Patton. “But yeah. It’s safe from the outside. We’ll just be on the inside, you know?”

“What does that mean?” Patton asked nervously.

“Don’t worry about it,” Remus said instantly, grinning very wide indeed.

“Patton.” Roman took both Patton’s hands in his own. “I would never ask anything of you if I wasn’t perfectly sure I could keep you safe. It’s all just effects, I promise.”

“You’re sure?” Patton said.

“I promise,” Roman repeated. He glanced up at Virgil, who was hovering darkly just behind Patton’s shoulder. “And that goes for everyone here, Doom and Gloom.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes and looked over at Janus, who was standing a little distance away from the rest of the group, examining his gloved nails. “And what do you think of all this?” he demanded suspiciously.

Janus looked up, blinking comically wide and raising his eyebrows. “Hm? Oh, I’m sorry, I was under the impression that you ‘don’t like liars.’ Why would you ask me?”

Virgil growled under his breath. “You know you’re self-preservation too,” he snapped.

“Oh, yes, of course, it’s just fun to make you admit it.” Janus gave Virgil a very self-satisfied grin.

Virgil glared at him. “Just shut up and answer my question. Are you going in there?” He pointed at the landscape on the table.

“Maybe. I haven’t decided.” Janus shrugged, seeming disinterested. “You should definitely go, though, I’d love to watch you get taken out by tripping on a rock or something.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Janus smirked. “I suspect your boyfriend collection would be unhappy with that idea.”

“Fuck off, you know I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Oh, is it bullying Virgil hours?” Remus inquired, looking up from the landscape on the table.

“No, hey, wait—” Patton began in protest.

“Shush, Daddyo, it’s all in good fun,” Remus said without looking away from Janus.

“Isn’t it always, darling?” Janus responded as if Patton’s interruption had not taken place.

Remus grinned. “Ooh, fair point.”

“I hate you guys,” Virgil announced.

Janus blew him a kiss. “Thank you ever so much.”

Remus draped himself over Virgil, with his chin resting on Virgil’s shoulder. “So whatcha talking about?” he asked.

“This loser won’t tell me if he’s participating in the game or not,” Virgil snapped, jerking a thumb at Janus.

“Ooh, ‘loser.’ Very nice. Classy. Screams ‘seventh grade,’ that’s how you know it’s a mature and grownup insult,” Janus commented.

“Baby, you aren’t playing?” Remus gave Janus a pair of very distressed, pleading puppy dog eyes. “I worked so hard on it! You’re going to be so sexy, I made you such a cool backstory!”

“No, no, of course I’ll play,” Janus assured him composedly. “I was only messing with Virgil.”

“Hey!” Virgil snapped.

“I’d love to see all the horrors your mind has come up with,” Janus went on with a startling sincerity, serenely ignoring Viril. “You’ll have to be sure and show me everything.”

Remus lit up. “Oh, I will!” He pushed away from Virgil and ran to take both Janus’s hands in his own. “I made you a whole lair thing, it’s so cool, it has so many—”

“Why don’t you show me?” Janus inquired, raising one of Remus’s hands to his lips to press a kiss to it.

Remus vibrated with excitement. “Yeah, okay!” He glanced over at Roman.

“You can go ahead early, you have a little more setup to do anyway,” Roman said, waving his hand. “We’ll catch up to you.”

Remus grinned and drew Janus close by the waist—and they both vanished.

Virgil yelped, looking distinctly alarmed.

“Never fear!” Roman assured him. “They’re just in the game!” He pointed down at the landscape; two little tokens, in green and yellow, had appeared on it. “Is everyone ready to go?”

“How long will this take, again?” Logan asked.

“A couple of hours,” Roman said. “Time goes slower inside the game by default, but Remus and I can mess around with it a little if we need to.”

“And the goal of the game?” Logan asked.

“To have fun! Also not die. There’s a little bit of a story but there’s also lots of room to play around. Don’t worry, the only thing that happens if you die is you’re out of the game and you come back here. The winner gets a minifigure of their character! And bragging rights.”

Logan and Virgil both perked up at this second prize. Roman snickered. “So, is everyone ready?” he asked again.

“I just feel like it’s a little scary…” Patton said.

“Oh!” Roman snapped his fingers. “I knew I was forgetting something. We made a filter for you, Pat! It puts you on easy mode. Way less things will want to attack you. And me and Remus both have some of our mod abilities available for emergencies if you need us to change something!”

Patton thought about this for a minute, then nodded. “Okay. I think I can try it out, then.”

Roman grinned and kissed his cheek. “How about you, Gerard Gay?” He looked over at Virgil. “You in?”

Virgil grumbled to himself for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, fine, whatever. Jan went in, and he’s a better judge of safety than you or Remus.” He glanced away and mumbled, “Plus it sounds really cool, or whatever.”

“Normally I would be very offended, but I’m just happy you want to play.” Roman offered Virgil a dazzling smile. “Logan?”

“I will participate. I am curious to see what you have come up with.”

“Oh, I love you all so much!” Roman declared. “Alright, everyone come over here.” He shuffled them around until each of them was holding somewhere on one of his arms. “Now, the game will drop us in randomly within a certain area and timeframe, and then we just have to find each other! Have fun—it’ll start off easy and get more challenging as we get used to it!”

Roman pulled at the fabric of Thomas’s imagination itself, and there was a funny yanking feeling in everyone’s gut, and the world went dark for just a second.

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): 

@fivehargreeves05 @theimprobabledreamersworld

[boxoftheskyking]

Pick Up Every Piece, Part Five

In which we have a scene at the bar

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

--

Early November 2000

When Jiang Cheng comes to the bar on his own, he lets Wei Ying watch his back. Which is to say, he sits at the bar and doesn’t spend the whole time half-turned to keep an eye on the door. When Jin Zixuan joins them, he hangs by the corner of the bar by the weird old poker machine that hasn’t worked in years, and he mostly avoids eye contact.

“Hey Zixuan,” Wei Ying says, grinning. “How’s your cousin?”

“Hm?” He’s so polite, always, in a snobby kind of way. Like he knows he’s better than you, but he’s far too well-bred to admit it. Wei Ying sometimes wonders if he got that from his mother. Wei Ying has never really spoken to Mrs. Jin outside of an awkward few minutes at the wedding, but what he knows of the rest of the family is far more in the “knows they’re better than you and will tell you to your face” camp.

“Your cousin, you know.” He winks at Jiang Cheng. “It’s the liiiiiife of the Jin!”

Jiang Cheng joins in, “What’s going down in Lanling—”

“Cut it out!” Zixuan reaches out like he’s going to cover Jiang Cheng’s mouth, but he doesn’t. 

“It’s catchy!” Jiang Cheng giggles. It’s a gratifying sight.

“That show should be outlawed,” Zixuan says darkly.

“It’s genius,” Wei Ying argues, drinking in the two of them there, together. “Nie Huaisang is a visionary.”

“I’m going to have him imprisoned. He’s a curse.”

“He’s a genius. It’s a totally new art form.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Art form. It’s boring. I like seeing Jin Zixun humiliated as much as anyone, but it’s just rich people sitting around being stupid and rich.”

“It’s reality, but also pure escapism. It’s brilliant.”

“It’s a threat to national security,” Zixuan says. Wei Ying cackles.

Jiang Cheng makes a face. “There’s no story! There’s no, like, script.”

“There is a story! It’s all how Huaisang edits it.” Wei Ying hasn’t actually talked to Nie Huaisang in years, so he’s not that personally invested, but he can’t resist the chance to disagree with both Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan at the same time.

Zixuan slides his glass over for a refill. “Zixun is never going to get a real job. He has no skills, he can’t do anything useful, so he sits around and has cameras follow him? It’s a disgrace.”

“It’s the most watched show in the country. I watch it every week.”

Jiang Cheng intercepts Zixuan’s glass to steal a sip. “That’s because you also don’t have a real job.”

“Serve yourself then, asshole.”

“We don’t watch reality TV, we work. We’re civil servants.”

“I’ve written six columns on The Life of Jin, I’ll have you know. So it is my job. And I’m more of a civil servant than you, I barely make any money.” It earns him a pair of eyerolls, but they won’t insult the paper to his face. Not anymore. “I can’t believe they made you both work today.” It’s the wrong thing to say, and Wei Ying covers his wince to fill a row of pints.

“Yeah, well.” Zixuan scratches the back of his neck. He keeps his hair a bit long, like Jiang Cheng does, but on him it feels like a memorial. “Five years. I guess I can’t keep getting time off forever.”

Jiang Cheng is drumming his fingers on the bar, looking away.

“Five years to the day, though,” Wei Ying offers. He leans in, almost wanting to touch . . . something, then twirls away to ring someone up. He feels like a bird, a swallow, dipping and soaring and coming in close for a moment before getting scared back up to a tree top.

When he comes back the tension has receded.

“Dad wants me to move over to the business side of things,” Zixuan is saying.

“Leave intelligence?” Jiang Cheng’s brow furrows, clearly already imagining following his brother-in-law over to the corporate hellhole of Jin Industries.

“Yeah. He keeps talking about the CEO gig, as if I’m qualified.”

“No offense,” Wei Ying says, “but your dad has never been big on qualified.”

“What about Guangyao?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“He’s not the face Dad wants for the company. I don’t know, it’s like during the war, he’s staying back in his lab and his back office, tinkering with stuff. Dad wants a stupid— A face. You know, dynasty bullshit.”

“Like those propaganda posters.” Wei Ying grins at him. “That noble profile. I had one on my bedroom wall.”

“Don’t be creepy.” Jiang Cheng goes to smack him, but he ducks away. “You did not.”

“It wasn’t propaganda.” Zixuan sighs, having lost this argument before.

“It was good propaganda,” Jiang Cheng argues.

Wei Ying keeps his thoughts to himself, for once. He doesn’t comment on Jin Guangyao, either, though he could. A drunk girl yells at him from the other side of the bar, which helps.

“But like—” Zixuan takes a long gulp, spinning his fingers in frustration, looking for the words. “This is what I trained for. I joined the army at eighteen. I was in the army when it was just prison security and diplomatic escorts. My degree is decoration, and he knows that. It’s an art piece on the office wall, it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just become this business guy. It’s like— He doesn’t actually know me, who I am, what I’m good at. He just expects me to work wherever he plugs me in, to just be the best at whatever he thinks I should be the best at. I’m already the best at something. Right? I’m too old to be the best at something else.”

Wei Ying shrugs in sympathy. “Welcome to your thirties, eh?”

Jiang Cheng drains his glass, his third already. “He wants you to be a liquid.”

“What?”

“He thinks you’re a liquid. Your dad. Fit the shape of your container.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m not a fucking liquid.”

Jiang Cheng points at him. “That’s right. You’re not a fucking liquid.”

“I’m a solid.”

“You’re solid as shit, man.” Jiang Cheng pounds on Zixuan’s chest, and he winces slightly.

It’s nine o’clock, so Wei Ying decides he gets to pour himself a whiskey. He puts an orange slice in it, for vitamins.

Jin Zixuan looks into his own glass, thoughtfully. “Although, I mean. What’s a liquid without a container? Just a puddle, right?”

“Or a river,” Jiang Cheng says. They pause to contemplate rivers.

“What kind of liquid would you be?” Wei Ying asks, watching the gold of his liquor swirl around the melting ice cubes and the orange peel.

Zixuan huffs a laugh. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Vegetable soup,” Wei Ying says, then winces again.

“Soup,” Jiang Cheng agrees, quietly.

“Yeah,” Zixuan says. “Soup.”

They stare down into their glasses, drink.

“That reminds me,” Zixuan says, rallying after a long moment and pulling his fancy silver business card holder out of his breast pocket. “I got a new number.”

He hands Wei Ying a classy white card. It’s not his government one, just his phone number and his new email. Of course Jin Zixuan would have a personal business card, printed up by a printing company somewhere.

“Did you get rid of the old phone?” Wei Ying asks, carefully. Jiang Cheng looks between them, also careful, saying nothing.

“No, I just had to— I moved it to the basement. I can’t keep . . . The answering machine is still hooked up to the old one. I’ll still wipe the tape, so you can call—”

“Thanks.” We don’t talk about it. Let’s keep not talking about it. Wei Ying rinses a glass that’s already clean.

“If you want. It’s not a problem. I just can’t keep—”

“Yeah.” He wipes the glass, too quickly, the damp microfiber squeaks a little.

“A-Ling gets confused. He hears you say her name, you say ‘Jiejie,’ and he—”

“Yeah, I get it, no problem.” Wei Ying rinses the glass again.

“You can call me, though.” Jin Zixuan is looking at him, which he rarely actually does right in the face, horribly earnest. “You know that. You can call the new number and talk to him, or to me.”

“I know. I will.” He probably won’t. He looks over at Jiang Cheng, who’s chewing on his lip. Yanli would scold him for that, say that’s why it keeps chapping, worse now that it’s getting colder. He doesn’t leave her messages, Wei Ying doesn’t think. He doesn’t need crutches like that, he straps the anger onto himself like steel braces and gets on with things, limping.

Wei Ying would like to be angry, especially today on the five year anniversary. Five full years without her. That would be a comfort, such a relief, to be angry. But he doesn’t get to be angry when Jiang Cheng is around.

Jiang Cheng clears his throat. “I can’t believe your dad allows Zixun to do that show.”

Zixuan draws himself up, sucking in a breath like he’s coming out of water. “He must get something from it. Like some kind of PR or something.”

Wei Ying goes into the back and carries out a case of wine and a case of cider, loads them into the cooler. It takes a while, he has to pull things out so the warm bottles go in the back. He can vaguely hear his brothers insulting Jin Zixun and the state of modern television, keeping it light. He stares at the label on a bottle of cider—it’s an apple with a face, one of those unnerving cartoon faces where all the teeth are the same size and shape. No one’s teeth look like that.

He shuts the cooler and returns.

“If Zixun looks like a fool,” Wei Ying says thoughtfully, interrupting them like he’s supposed to, “then he’s mostly harmless. He’s a goofball. It must be useful for the great and powerful Jin to have a goofball side. It makes you look less, I don’t know . . .” He could say a lot of things. He could say things like tyrannical or despotic or calculating or morally questionable. He doesn’t say any of it, just waves his hands around.

Zixuan looks like he hears the words anyway, and as usual, he stares out across the bar. “He’s a sacrifice, I suppose. Zixun. He’s always been the spare.”

“Do you think he knows he’s being played?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Would he keep doing it if he knew?”

“My dad,” Zixuan says slowly. “Doesn’t play Go. Metaphorically speaking. Not like A-Yao does. But he does play poker. Zixun—” he spins the glass between his hands. “Zixun plays hopscotch. Badly.”

Wei Ying snorts, and it feels nice.

“I guess I don’t like the show so much anymore,” he says, pouting.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng reaches out and flicks his ear. Wei Ying lets him.

“Why does everything have to be nefarious?” Wei Ying whines, meaning reality TV but also Jiang Cheng and his mean fingers “Can’t we have something that’s just dumb? Aren’t we there, as a country, where we can just have stupid shit that’s stupid and doesn’t mean anything?”

“You mean besides you, and also your face?” Jiang Cheng asks. Zixuan sighs at them in a judgmental way.

Wei Ying taps his chin. “Although, there’s a column there. The insidious political machinations of so-called reality.” He hits the button to roll out some receipt paper and makes a few notes.

“I just don’t get why he does it,” Jiang Cheng muses. “He has to know he looks bad. Right? Like, he has to.” As if everyone is as pathologically obsessed with their public appearance as you are, which is something Wei Ying does not say. “It’s not like he needs the money.”

As always, that’s its own flavor of uncomfortable. Zixuan makes more money than Jiang Cheng, and has a trust fund on top of it. He keeps trying to make it up by buying expensive presents and starting a tab wherever they go, but Jiang Cheng won’t take it. He used to, back when Zixuan was just their shitty rich brother-in-law, or Yanli’s shitty rich boyfriend. He used to call it “Yanli’s dowry” when he’d leave his birthday dinner with a new stereo or a nice watch. Now that they’re friends, though, he gets pissed off. He’ll get mad if Zixuan buys him a hardcover instead of a paperback, now that they’re friends. He’s a complicated man. So is Zixuan, in his way.

That’s probably why they get along so well, and why Wei Ying is always a half a step off of their weird masculine choreography. Wei Ying fancies himself a complicated man, but it’s different. He’s in control in a way they don’t seem to be, not of his life but of his face and his voice and his sentence structure. It makes him a good reporter.

They, on the other hand, have always been good soldiers.

Wei Ying had cried when Jiang Cheng enlisted, mid-’93. 

“You watch too many war movies,” he’d said, looking down at this lap, twisting his hands together, face hot and heart racing. “It won’t be like that, A-Cheng, there’s not any glory in it, it’ll just be horrible—”

“It’s the right thing to do.” Jiang Cheng had been stubborn as always, chin jutting out. “Wen Chao’s last attack—I can’t just sit here.”

Yanli hadn’t cried at all, she’d just looked between them, silent.

“Why don’t you come too?”Jian Cheng had asked him, eyes like a six-year-old. “You’d be good at it. We could do it together.”

“No, I gotta— Someone’s gotta report on all your heroics, right?” Wei Ying had been sweating, panicked, chills running down his arms, blowing his nose again and again. “Maybe I’ll get an assignment so I can follow you around and sing about your adventures. Like something out of those ancient poems, right?”

He’d been wrong about his role in the war, but more right than he’d be able to guess about ancient poetry. Because cultivation was real. Magic was real, and his brother was somehow mixed up in it.

He got drunk with Yanli the week after the first cultivator battle. The first battle with the new cultivator corps. Zixuan, Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan, Mianmian, and the others.

“You husband is a wizard,” Wei Ying had said, slurring.

“Your brother is a wizard.” Yanli had flicked a sunflower seed into his lap. 

That was her secret: when Yanli got drunk she could go through two bags of sunflower seeds by herself. She got the cheap ones from the gas station on the corner and split them with her teeth, scattering shells everywhere like a little disaster zone. She’d clean up all the evidence in the morning, before anyone woke up. She was almost never hungover. 

Wei Ying loved that about her, the evidence she left, her secret messiness. He’d catch a stray shell in the corner, behind a potted plant or caught in the fringe of an area rug, and he’d get so rocked with love—violent, breathless love for her—that his vision would go spotty. 

Or maybe that’s just how he remembers it, now that she’s gone.

“Actually, he’s your brother too,” Wei Ying had said at the time, poking her nose. “Your husband and your brother are both wizards. So what does that make you?”

“Well, there’s Lan Zhan. You’re blushing, see, you’re blushing. And Mianmian. They’re your—”

“Friends.”

“Yeah, but you kissed both of them.”

Wei Ying had stuck out his tongue at her, or done something equally childish.

She’d cracked a sunflower seed and popped it into her mouth. “We could be wizards if we wanted to.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely”

“We just aren’t.”

“We’re busy.”

“We are busy people.”

Wei Ying is shaken out of the memory by a pint glass slamming down on the bar, just missing Jiang Cheng’s elbow. It’s Li Wangcheng, youngest son of his usual source, Li Riseung.

“Fill ‘er up, asshole,” Li Wangcheng says, listing into his buddies on either side. Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are both looking at him with equally disdainful nose wrinkles. “Chop chop.”

Wei Ying sighs. “Sorry, Wangcheng, you’re cut off. I already over-served you, and I promised your dad and your brother I wouldn’t.”

“Fuck you.”

“Your liver can’t take it. Here, have some water and go sit down.”

“Fuck you, Wei Ying. Fuck you.” He’s pushing off his friends, leaning over the bar with his tobacco-stained teeth and his mix-of-alcohol breath.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Ying moves away, wiping down the counter, and Wangcheng follows.

“I’ll fucking kill you. You watch your back, bitch, I’ll fucking find you, and I’ll kill you.”

Wei Ying puts up his hands. “Okay, man, take it easy.”

“I know where you live. I know where you park your bike. Your stupid little fucking— Your stupid bike.”

His two biggest friends start pulling at his elbow, pulling him away. He shakes them off.

“Don’t think I won’t. Don’t think I won’t find you, motherfucker.”

Jiang Cheng is off his stool, now, and Zixuan is moving around behind him, coming in to engage. Wei Ying waves them off, desperately. Wen Ning is leaving his spot by the door.

“When you leave tonight, you better—”

“The fuck did you say?” Jiang Cheng is up in his face, now, and Wei Ying has to come out from behind the bar. He hates leaving the bar, it’s his comfortable place to be.

“Leave it. A-Cheng, A-Xuan, leave it, leave it.” He gets himself between them all, holding his brother back. Wen Ning has a good hold on Wangcheng’s shoulders.

“Fuck you.” That sprays a bit in his face, the plosive. “Everything was fine before you came here. Yiling was fine before you came here, and then everything went to shit.”

“That’s not—” Jiang Cheng tries to butt in, but Wei Ying sticks an elbow in his gut.

“I said, leave it.”

“Fucking worthless,” Wangcheng spits at him, and Wen Ning and his friends haul him back towards the door. “Fucking demon. You’re a fucking demon, Wei Ying! Fucking cursed!”

Wen Ning throws them out, and the silence following is awkward, no one looking at each other. Wei Ying wipes his face, straightens Jiang Cheng’s shirt collar, and goes back to work. There’s a short woman standing there, frozen, holding out her empty glass. He gets her another gin and cranberry, pleased that he remembered, and she gives him a pitying kind of smile. He hides his hands down by his sides, but he knows she’s seen them. Everyone can see them; he doesn’t cover them.

“Holy shit,” Jiang Cheng says, still staring back at the door.

“Yeah. Never mind.” Wei Ying readjusts his t-shirt.

“Never mind? That was a death threat. For what, cutting him off?”

“Forget about it.”

“For cutting him off? What the fuck?”

“A-Cheng, forget it.”

“I’m not gonna forget it, that guy knows where you live.”

“It’s fine, it happens. Leave it. Please? Leave it.”

Jiang Cheng sits down. Zixuan says nothing, looking between Jaing Cheng and the door.

“Does it happen a lot?” Jiang Cheng is interrogating, intelligence-mode.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Wei Ying, does it happen a lot?”

“I mean, a bit. Okay?”

“For cutting—?”

“It’s not about cutting him off. It’s not about that. It’s not about me. Calm down.”

“Sure sounded like it’s about you. ‘Demon,’ really—”

“If it wasn’t me it would be someone else. Wen Ning. His friends. His dad.” Wei Ying chops more limes than he needs to, calmed by the sharpness of the knife. “He’s dying. Actually dying, everyone knows it. His liver is shot. He’s been laid off for months, and he can’t pay for any more treatment. His dad’s broke, mom died in the war. He’s lashing out.”

“But that’s not your—”

“You can’t swing at the clouds forever. Right? He’s not the only one. People feel good here, they feel comfortable here, and so they can hit someone here if they need to. You get beaten down and beaten down for year after year, eventually you have to fight back. Right? Otherwise what are you?” What am I? he doesn’t ask.

Zixuan clears his throat, still not looking at him. “What’s the use of fighting you? You’re not—”

Wei Ying laughs at him, mean. “What’s he gonna do, fight your dad? The whole fucking government? Who can he hit? After a while, you have to hit something or you’ll go mad. You have to make contact. Right?” He chops another lime. “You have to have an effect on something. You have to hit someone and see the bruise, or yell at someone and see them flinch. Otherwise it’s like you don’t exist at all. You’re already dead.”

“Wei Ying,” Zixuan says it, which is a surprise. He almost never says his name.

“Somewhere like this, somewhere like Yiling, all you can reach is the guy next to you. Once they put the crabs in the bucket, they put the lid on.”

The chatter in the bar is back, which is nice since there’s an awkward silence between the three of them. Wei Ying puts the chopped limes into the cooler and washes the cutting board, washes the knife. He replaces a drink at the other end of the bar earlier than he normally would—the guy is only halfway through, but he nods a thanks.

“What about—” Zixuan starts, hesitant. “Wei Ying, what about police?”

“Ha!” Wei Ying snaps it at him, not a laugh, not at all. “Don’t you— You don’t come here, into my bar, talking about police.”

“I didn’t come in talking about police, I’m just saying—”

“No cops in Yiling.” He shuts a cooler with his heel, a satisfying slam. “Cops are military, and the military hates Yiling.”

Zixuan bristles. “No, we don’t.”

He always does this. It’s one of the things Wei Ying can’t process about him, and one of the reasons they’ve never been close and probably never will be. It’s always “we.” The Jins, the government, the military. Wei Ying can like him if he doesn’t see Jin Guangshan, if he doesn’t see Jin Guangyao, if he doesn’t see the war when he looks at him. But then he comes in with the “we.”

It’s probably sad, actually, how long he’s been a soldier. How much of him is wrapped up in being his dad’s perfect soldier.

Wei Ying bites his tongue, takes a breath. “Of course you do. Everyone in charge hates Yiling.”

“I don’t hate Yiling.” Zixuan is getting stubborn. He looks like A-Ling, almost a pout. “It’s where you live, and you’re my family.”

Wei Ying blinks at him. “I don’t know how to talk to you when you get like this.”

“Like what?”

“Sincere. All, you know—” he waves an empty bottle around in Zixuan’s face. “Sincere.”

The pout becomes more of a pout. “I’m always sincere.

“Yeah, that’s why we don’t talk.”

Jiang Cheng leans across the bar and snags the rail whiskey bottle to top off his own glass.

“I can beat you up later, if you like,” Zixuan offers.

“Yeah.” Wei Ying doesn’t want to smile, but he does anyway. “Maybe.”

The silence isn’t awkward this time. Wei Ying takes the whiskey bottle back from Jiang Cheng and makes a show of wiping it off with the bleach rag. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

After a while, Jiang Cheng asks, “Is there something happening here this month? For the five years? Like a memorial or something?” He’s looking away, all careful again.

“Is Lanling doing something?” They look at Zixuan, only slightly accusing on Wei Ying’s part.

“No. I mean December 3 there will be a whole . . . Armistice anniversary.”

“But nothing for Sunshot. Nothing for the massacre I mean,” Wei Ying says.

“I mean, not specifically.” Zixuan licks his lips. “I’m sure it’ll be mentioned.”

“Nothing here, though?” Jiang Cheng asks again.

“Trust me, people around here aren’t the ones that need reminding what you’re— what Lanling is capable of.” 

“That’s not fair,” Zixuan says.

Wei Ying looks down at his hands, the mottled brown of them. Flies, flies and dirt and flies and chemicals and flies. “Don’t talk about fair. Not about this.”

Zixuan opens his mouth, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head, violently.

“A-Cheng, it’s not—”

“Stop it.” Jiang Cheng is glaring at him now, the kind of look Wei Ying gets all the time, but Zixuan doesn’t see so much. It makes him stop.

Wei Ying goes to the back and grabs the broom. Jiang Cheng reaches over for the gin bottle and tops off Zixuan’s glass. Wei Ying pretends he doesn’t see it and starts at the far end of the bar. It’s getting slower, people heading out for the night to more exciting places.

A song comes on, something from his college days. He remembers recording it onto a cassette tape from the radio, keeping it in his backpack. Lan Zhan didn’t really like it, but he let Wei Ying play it all the time on his cheap little dorm room stereo.

Wei Ying sings along under his breath as he sweeps. “And if I lied, would you forgive me. Whoa-oh-oh. Fit to be tied, but you still live with me. Oh, whoa-oh-oh.”

“This song,” Zixuan says, smiling a little. “We used to— We used to fight a lot. A-Li and I. Stupid stuff. I was late for dinner. My mom would get so overbearing and we’d fight about that. Her mom would— Well, you know. We’d fight about that. Baby stuff. We didn’t know what to do about baby stuff, so she bought out the whole section of the book store and said we’d divide and conquer. But every book was different, so we’d argue. Dr. Po says this. Well, Dr. Wen says that. She could be so— You’re all so stubborn. Stupid stuff. And we’d be so pissed off we stopped speaking to each other. But I bought her this CD once, not for a birthday or anything, just because. She loved them from way back. And she’d put it on, and we’d dance, and we wouldn’t be mad anymore.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said, clearing his throat. “She liked that sappy shit.”

“Do you play it for A-Ling?” Wei Ying asks.

Zixuan shakes his head. “It makes me sad to hear it. I spend most of my time trying not to be sad around A-Ling.”

Jiang Cheng moves like he’s going to touch him, his arm, his shoulder. He aborts the move and grabs his glass instead, slides it over to tap against Zixuan’s. 

“You’re doing good,” he says.

Zixuan looks down, blinking seriously.

“You are,” Wei Ying agrees. “You’re doing good. And you know it pains me to say it.”

Zixuan gives him an echo of a laugh.

“A-Ling is lucky.”

“He’d be luckier if his uncles would visit. Both of them.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying say in unison.

“You want me to change the song?” Wei Ying asks.

“No, leave it. It’s good. It’s a nice song.”

An old woman leans on the bar—she’s familiar but Wei Ying can’t remember her name. “Hey, hey, Wei Ying!”

“Yeah, auntie?” he smiles charmingly at her.

“You know my daughter’s coming home soon. December 21.”

“Cheers to that!” he gives her a half-salute.

“I’ll set you up, once she’s home. Just you wait, she’s the prettiest, even now.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“She makes that jumpsuit look like runway fashion. Still has her figure, even with the prison food.”

“Can’t wait,” Wei Ying says politely.

“December 21,” the old woman waves her finger at him and heads for the door. 

“Invite me to the wedding,” Jiang Cheng teases.

“December 21,” Wei Ying rolls it around in his mouth. “The Wens are coming home.”

Zixuan straightens up. “Really?”

“That’s what we’re celebrating. We don’t celebrate the Massacre, but innocent people coming home? That’s worth it.”

“Innocent is—”

“Zixuan, think about where you are.”

Zixuan nods.

All of the Wens who’d been scooped up post-Sunshot, post-war, those related to rebels or in the wrong place at the wrong time, they’d all been sentenced to five years in prison. “Just to be safe.” The majority came from Yiling, Dafan, other small towns in the West. People who couldn’t afford to run to Lanling, to Gusu, somewhere safe during the worst of the fighting. People who wouldn’t turn their backs on brothers and aunts and cousins in Nightless City. 

But five years have almost passed, and the Wens are coming home.

“It’ll be weird, won’t it?” Jiang Cheng asks, diplomatic in his insensitivity.

“A hundred and forty-three people,” Wei Ying says. “At least, that’s how many went in. I’m sure a couple fucked up inside, got their sentences extended.”

“But still.”

“But still,” he agrees.

“Are you going to do something for it? In December?” Jiang Cheng asks him.

“Dunno. I should stock up though, shouldn’t I? I’ll make a note.”

Later, after Jiang Cheng and Zixuan leave for Jiang Cheng’s Yiling sublet—a two bedroom so Zixuan doesn’t have to get his own place in town—Wei Ying sweeps up while Wen Ning flips chairs up on the tables.  

“Have you ever gotten over something?” Wei Ying asks him.

“Like what?” Wen Ning stops working and looks at him. He always does that—Wei Ying has always wondered if he had hearing loss as a kid. If he’s talking to you, he always has to stop whatever he’s doing and look at you right in the face.

“I don’t know. But have you ever stood there a second and realized you were over something? Or through something. You know, on the other side?”

Wen Ning thinks for a while, and Wei Ying sweeps around his feet. “School, I guess.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“What about you?”

Wei Ying leans down with the dust pan. “I don’t think I’ve ever come out the other side of anything. I think maybe if you stay in something long enough you adapt. Grow gills or whatever, so you can breathe. So you can survive when the world turns unlivable around you. And maybe you aren’t living at all, maybe you’re a stone, or you’re a dead fish with rotten eyes, washed up on the bank of a river that dried up years and years ago.” 

Wen Ning still looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn’t ask Wei Ying to make sense. It’s what Wei Ying appreciates the most about him. 

“So maybe you’re dead, or maybe you’re evolving. Like, maybe that’s just what the world is now, and what you would have previously defined as dead, what you’d look at ten years ago and say that’s a dead thing, maybe that’s just what life looks like now. Evolution.” 

Wen Ning nods and picks up a chair. “I think . . . I might be remembering wrong, but I think evolution takes a long time. Like many generations. So maybe you should look at the kids.”

“The kids?” 

“Yeah, see if the kids have gills. Or whatever. Whatever you said.”

Wei Ying leans his chin on his broom and watches Wen Ning go table by table, strong and methodical. He sets the chairs so gently on the tabletops that it doesn’t make any noise. He flips them with complete control and lines up the seats.

“Maybe,” Wei Ying says. He goes back behind the bar and turns up the music. There’s work to do before heading home

[dragonslayer-5fanfiction]

My Burly Love Chapter 10

I finally finished it, and got it up. I know it takes a while, but I eventually get there. I keep moving things around in my plot, and this is gonna be longer than I anticipated. 

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

    Without a second thought I stepped in front of Kili. Before I was set on the ground, I was pushed behind someone. I immediately recognised the stature of man before me. Dwalin. My eyes rolled so hard I thought they would fall out of my head. 

‘He just can’t leave me alone. No matter how endearing it is that he feels the need to protect me’. I thought.

“Excuse me, but um…you’re from Lake-town, if I’m not mistaken? That barge over there, it wouldn’t be available for hire by any chance?” Balin asked gesturing to the barge in the distance. I placed my hand on Dwalin’s shoulder and peeked over it. The new man lowered his bow and stalked over to his barge without a word. I lowered myself and slid around Dwalin. I followed the new man over to the barge, while he and Balin talked.

“What makes you think I would help you?” This new man asked. I stood there studying him. He was tall, dark hair, well built, and incredibly handsome. 

“Those boots have seen better days, as has that coat.” Balin answered. “No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed? How many bairns?”

“A boy and two girls.” He responded. I smiled at that. Fatherhood fits him. 

“And your wife, I imagine, she’s a beauty?” I watched his face fall and looked slack jawed at Dwalin. 

“Aye, she was.” He responded looking mournfully at the water. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I spoke up. He turned towards me, seeing me for the first time. 

“Oh come on, enough with the niceties.” Dwalin piped up from my side. My hand flew before I could think and smacked him in the chest. I gave him a glare.

“Wha-” He started before he was cut off. 

“What’s your hurry?” 

“What’s it to you?” Dwalin shot back, without a moment’s hesitation. 

“Are you serious?!” I hissed. He turned to argue with me, but stopped when the man spoke.

“I would like to know who you are and what you are doing in these lands?”

“We are but simple merchants from the Blue Mountains, journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills.” Balin explains. 

“Ever the diplomat.” I muttered under my breath. Dwalin turned to me with a surprised look. “What he has an answer for everything, and is always ready to de-escalate the situation. Why aren’t you like that?” I whispered.

“Cause love, it’s all foo-foo crap. We don’ need tha’ to get what we wan’.” He whispered back. I rolled my eyes. 

“Obviously it gets us somewhere.” I gestured frantically in front of me as we walked onto the barge. He let out a huff and went and settled in the front of a barge. I went and sat at the back with the new man, but felt multiple eyes watching me. “What’s your name?” I turned wide-eyed and curious to the man standing next to me.

“Bard. And yours?”

“Y/N. Nice to meet you Bard.”

“And you. What brings you here with all these dwarves?” He asked, nodding his head in their direction. I let a smile spread across my face as I turned to look at them. They were all huddled together, scheming something up. It could be nothing good knowing them. I let out a sigh and turned towards him. 

“I kind of fell into it. After that I didn’t have much of a choice. It took some getting used to, but they’re quite the lively bunch.” My face broke into an excited grin and I grabbed his arm. “And they’re teaching me to sword fight!” I almost yelled I was so excited. “I’m getting quite good you know.” I added as an afterthought. Bard gave me an amused smile. 

“I’m not sure I would dare cross blades with you.” We both laughed and I gave him a gentle shove. When the laughter died down, he gestured with his eyes, and lowered his voice. “What’s with the death glare?” I looked where he gestured and shook my head. 

“Oh, that’s Dwalin. He’s mostly harmless, well actually, it depends.” I shrugged my shoulders at the end.

“But why is he giving you a death glare? Does he not like you?” He asked turning the boat to the right. 

“He does that a lot. Don’t be intimidated.” I gave a long look to the men, and smiled at Dwalin. I could see him scoff and turn away. I finally turned back to Bard, “I’m pretty sure that he likes me. I think that’s why he’s so protective, but it’s complicated right now.” I sighed and sat down on the edge of the boat.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh no it’s fine. We’ll figure it out.” I waved my hand to the side. We stood in silence and watched as a massive mountain crept out of the mist. The dwarves stood in awe as their rightful home came into view. 

“Come with me.” Bard gestured me towards him as he walked to the dwarves. I nodded and followed. When we got closer I slipped on a slick spot and my world tilted up and back. 

“Ope!” I threw my hands into the air, ready to feel the bruise on my tailbone. I felt two different hands wrap around me to steady me. 

“Ya alrigh’ lass?”

“Are you okay?” Dwalin and Bard asked at the same time. 

“Mmm yeah, m’ fine.” They nodded and let go of me. Dwalin is a little more hesitant than Bard. Once he finally released me, Bard turned towards the company. My body felt like fire where Dwalin caught me.

“The money quick, give it to me.”

“We will pay when we get our provisions, but not before.” Thorin finally spoke up.

“If you value your freedom, you will do as I say. There are guards ahead.” Bard’s voice was serious, no room for argument. 

“What is the plan?” I asked, turning to Bard. He grimaced at me, “Oh no. I’m not going to like this am I?”

“I need you all to get in the barrels. Please.” 

“Why?” Gloin asked. 

“Please, we don’t have much time.” Bard responded urgently. I saw the flicker of rebellion spark in the eyes of the company. 

“Nope, not doing this. Everyone gets in the barrels. No time for argument.” I turned my mom voice on pointing to the barrels. They grumbled to themselves and climbed in. 

“Y/N, yer coming with me.” Dwalin called out. He gave no room for an argument.

“Okaaay…” I trailed off and carefully climbed into the barrel. 

“I need you all to crouch down and keep quiet.” We complied and carefully crouched down. I set my feet on the right side of his hip, and his were placed on my left hip.We felt the barge come to a stop, I’m assuming this is what he needed the coins for. 

“What is he doing?” Dwalin whispered when we felt the barge come to a stop. We sat there for a moment trying to see what was going on, when Bilbo spoke up.

“He’s talking to someone. He’s pointing right at us. Now they’re shaking hands.” Bilbo gave us a play by play.

“He’s selling us out.” Dwalin hissed body tense as malice wove its way into his tone. He twitched almost like he was going to leap out of the barrel. 

“Don’t.” I moved my hand to his shoulder and pushed down. He looked at me and I felt his body relax. We sat in silence staring at each other when freezing, slimy, scaly fish came raining down on us. I was surprised and opened my mouth to shriek, when Dwalin’s hand covered my mouth. My face contorted into repugnance as the fish settled on us. As everything seeped down into my bones, I felt bile rise in my throat. He moved his hand from my mouth, once he was sure I wouldn’t shriek. “Dwalin, I feel like I’m going to retch.”

“Don’t ye dare.” He whispered. My eyes widened as the stench reached my nose and I covered my mouth. “Love please….” He trailed off. I swallowed hard and removed my hand.

“I won’t. I promise.” The rest of the time I squirmed and gagged while Dwalin watched me with concern. When the barge stopped again, we heard Bard talking to a man. We heard one of the barrels tip and I peeked through the crack in the wood. The barrel Bombur was in, was being tipped over the edge of the barge. If he tipped any further, Bombur would have fallen out. We sat there for what felt like ages, when we finally started moving again. It wasn’t too long after that we came to an abrupt stop. Bard went to get some help, and we were left alone. By the time he got back and we were allowed to get out of the barrels, I was cramping up. Dwalin stood up and swung his leg over the side, climbing out. He peered over the edge at me, and I lifted my hands up. 

“Wha ye doing that fer?” 

“I need help. I’m all cramped up.” I gave him a pout and made grabby hands. He laughed and grabbed my hands, gently pulling me up. I stood there for a moment, flopping onto the side. “Ugh, it hurts.” I groaned.

    “Here lass.” He gripped me under my armpits and hauled me out of the barrel. He slid his hands down to my waist to keep me steady. 

    “M’good thanks.” I mumbled pushing his hands off of me. He pulled them back in surrender. 

“I have a plan to get you into my house.” Bard stated.

“What is it?” I asked hesitantly based on his prior plan. He gave me another grimace. 

“You’re not going to like it.” He shook his head as he spoke.

Chapter 11

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[statticscribbles]

Ghost Snake

Summary: Sweet Pea/Reader Request: Reader’s new to riverdale/ related to a ghoulie and maybe the serpents freak out and her being like wtf

You weren’t entirely sure why your cousin was so insistent about you coming to Riverdale, why he needed your help. When you show up, bags surrounding you and he walks out, beaming, black leather tight against his skin you understand. “Hey Y/N, you been doing okay? You heard what happened to the rest of them yeah?” He flashes the back of his jacket as he drags your bags in. “Sam, what happened then?” He throws himself on the couch before pointing into the house. “You room is the third door down. I’m in the second, Mom’s in the first.” “This is Auntie’s house?” You let your eyes wander before returning to Sam’s figure. “Yeah, she’ll be home in a few, big job she’s sorting out.” “Course.” You settle into the arm chair watching as Sam relaxes flicking through the TV channels. “Riverdale High isn’t bad.” He offers. “You never went there.”

“Yeah, but Kurtz is there so Mom wanted someone to keep an eye on him” “So I’m a fucking babysitter? You called me down here to play house with my psycho half-brother?” ‘I called you down.” You freeze, nervously turning to see your aunt in the doorway. “She’s here!” Sam calls out. You watch your aunt frown. “I can see that. I told you to call me when she got in.” “I did. Just now.” Your aunt rolls her eyes and flashes you a smile. “Come on, we can get Pop’s” “You sure you’re allowed in there now? That’s Serpent territory, you-“ Sam taunts. “Shut it you little slug.” She snaps, you snort following your aunt out. “Sam wouldn’t-“

“Long story short, some kid got shot, the Serpent’s almost took the fall and I almost got my hold back on them as their snake charmer, they cut me outta the Serpent’s and I got my revenge, and now I’m trying to lay low.” You nod as she retreats from the diner holding a to go bag. “So lots of almost’s then.” “Yes and now your idiot brother got himself into the Serpent’s and-“ “Half brother.” “Your half brother. Why do you always make that distinction? It’s not like it matters.” You nod to her pulling a burger out. “My mom says its dad’s side of the family that the crazy is in.” You wrinkle your nose.

“Course Dad said it was the women he slept with that were psycho. Either way I don’t like being associated with him, he’s usually off his rocks anyways.” You shrug and your aunt nods. “They’re just gonna know you as a new kid. The Ghoulies don’t really exist anymore.” “I never was one.” “Mhm, that tat you have just for fun then? Either way-“ She arches an eyebrow and you squirm under he gaze. “I know, keep him from killing anyone.” You nod to her stowing your burger as she pulls back to the house. —————————————————————————————

“Okay one more time, let’s go through all the Serpent’s” Sam drills you as he drives to Riverdale High. “Jones is the leader, he’s dating Betty’s who’s not official, Toni and Cheryl are Serpent’s but they also aren’t. Fangs and Sweet Pea are the two main guys Jones uses. And the Kurtz, who’s also not really one.” “Good, now what’s the goal?” “To keep Kurt from killing any of them.” “Again.” “Again? Who did he?”

“Tried to kill Fangs.” You groan smacking your hand against your forehead. “Why didn’t anyone teach him murder is not an appropriate crush confession.” “He was high if that-“ “He’s always high. Thanks.” You nod and stretch as Sam drops you off down the street. “Just up-“ “I can see the school, I think I’ll survive walking down he road.” ——————————————————————————–

You rub your temples as you look back down at your schedule, circling the hallway looking at the door numbers. “You okay?” You turn, watching Sweet Pea walk up. “I got lost.” You huff thrusting your schedule out to him. “Oh you’re in my class, jeeze you really are late, come on.” He nods pulling you along towards the one hallway you hadn’t gone down. “Sweet Pea who’d you find then?” “Y/N, sir, I’m the new student.” “I can see, sit next to him and just listen for now, take notes if you can.” You nod sitting next to Sweet Pea.

“Come on lunch now. You can meet everyone.” He smiles and you follow him once more. You watch the Serpent’s nod to him, waiting for him to introduce you. “This is Betty, Veronica, and Archie, and then Jughead, he’s the leader of the Serpent’s which include me, Fangs, Toni, Cheryl, and Kurtz.” You wave to all of them and Kurtz smirks at you.You shake your head and he nods as he stands up exiting the lounge.

“Where are you going Kurtz.” Jughead shouts after him and he pauses in the doorway. “Home, my aunt needs me to help her move some stuff.” You roll your eyes. “Have fun, don’t get lost.” Jughead laughs and you turn to him. “Kurtz is usually high, either on Jangle or Fizzle rocks. He’s harmless, mostly.” “He tried to throw me off the second floor, but it’s just cause he was having a bad trip.” “And you say he’s harmless?” You scoot closer to Sweet Pea as Fang’s laughs. ————————————————————————————-

You join the River Vixen’s, Sam applauds your efforts to blend in and you silently beg for him to return to college. You get no such reprieve; he seems to settle back into the house the same as you do. Kurtz is surprisingly sober and you manage to find babysitting him painfully easy now that he’s not high and hallucinating gargoyles like he used to. You find yourself settling in with the Serpent’s their close knit bond nothing like the Ghoulies have. You spend the most time with Sweet Pea, and it doesn’t take long before he asks you out. You accept with his assurance he won’t be bothered when he meets your family. ————————————————————————————-

It’s been three months but Sweet Pea seems to have reached his limit on not asking about your family. He offers the option for them to come to the annual Serpent cook out, it’s held in Sunnyside, and after clearing it with most of the residents he gives you the go ahead. You try your best not to throw up from nerves as you brief Kurtz, Sam and your aunt on what they’ve been invited too. “Wait you’re dating a Serpent and you didn’t tell us?” Sam glares and your Aunt narrows her eyes at Kurtz. “You knew?” “I’m not about to rat my half-sis out. That’s just mean.” “Do you even have a moral code?” She glares at Kurtz who just laughs. “Anyways, we’ve been dating for three months and-“ “Three months?!!” “Yeah, please just, don’t cause a scene. Please.” ———————————————————————————-

You’re shaking when you pull up in Sam’s car. You step out first, Kurtz looping his arm in yours and Sam’s forcing Sam to stumble as he gets out to keep up with you both. “Okay just-“ “What the fuck.” You cringe, your aunt standing behind you looking unimpressed at FP Jones and the Serpent’s who form an almost barrier. “Relax Jones, I’m just dropping of my niece, call me when they need to leave.” She nods to Kurtz and Sam who frown. “Why doesn’t she have to leave with us!”

“Cause, at least for now she’s with one, unless either of you two cozy up to any of ‘em you’re coming home when they kick you out.” “Penny?” You can see Jughead walking up fear in his eyes; you catch the scar on his arm, understand the revenge comment. “Like I told your dad, just dropping them off.” She turns away and slides back into the car. ——————————————————————————————-

You find Sweet Pea instantly; he looks oddly at Kurtz and Sam trailing after you. “Wasn’t your aunt-“ “Penny Peabody.” You cringe at Sam’s voice. “Your aunt is;” He’s about to say something else when you track his eyes to the tattoo on the inner part of your bicep, almost hidden but exposed because Kurtz’s arm is looped in yours. “You’re a fuckin’ Ghoul.” “They don’t exist any moreeeee” Kurtz laughs and you untangle yourself from him shoving him away. “Aw come on sis, you really going to play like that?” Sam pulls him back. “They need to have a couple’s talk.” He snickers dragging Kurtz over towards the grill. You turn nervously to face Sweet Pea.

“My place.” He nods and you follow him to the trailer. You step in waiting for him to yell, to scream, to tell you how betrayed he is, how angry. He steps forward closing the door behind you. You try your best to keep yourself still. His arms wrap around you, the closest he’s getting to hurting you being the crushing huge you’re now in. “Are you okay? They aren’t hurting you?” “What no? they’re my family they wouldn’t- You’re not mad?”

“That’d be like you being mad about me being in the Serpents.” “The ghouls tried to kill your leader!” “And we partially skinned you aunt. We all do bad things, besides, never took you for a rebel.” “Rebel?”

“Going against your family, your gang to be with me.” “Why wouldn’t I? I love you.” You try your best to look up at him and he seems to understand as he loosens his grip around you so you can look up and smile at him. He smiles back about to kiss you when he can hear a crash outside. “Shit, please don’t be Sam or Kurtz. Please don’t be Sam or Kurtz.” You mumble rushing back over to the main area to see Kurtz sitting smugly on a chair and Sam on the ground next to him glaring.

“Sam it’s only fair, you’re still a Ghoul. I’m mostly a Serpent.” “Y/N’s more of a Serpent than you Kurtz.” Jughead smirks and Kurtz frowns shocked. “Jones, I’ve been through things with you..” “Things you caused, you fuck.” Kurtz nods laughing and moves from the chair, Sweet Pea sits down pulling you onto his lap. Sam scoots over letting Kurtz sit next to him. Jughead swings around handing both you and Sweet Pea plates with burgers on them. You sit on his lap, watching the sunset.

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[kalaluchi]

chapter 03: Game Night

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Marinette found that she could say no to a lot of things.

She could say no to Chloe’s attempts to give her a makeover, she could say no to Kim’s challenges to a 50-meter freestyle race, she could say no to Nino’s invites to a movie screening with a bunch of friends. (Especially on a school night. Waaaay too much work to be done, sadly.)

And usually, usually, she could say no to her best friend Alya’s elaborate schemes.

But apparently not when it was disguised as a harmless game night with some of their classmates.

And definitely not when her best friend got her super ultra crush, the gorgeous Adrien Agreste, to be the one to invite her.

“Hey, Marinette,” he said, walking up to her one day. “I heard from Nino that Alya’s planning a game night this weekend. A sort of class bonding activity, I’m guessing. Seeing as you’re Alya’s best friend, I take it that means you’ll be there, right?”

Marinette suddenly wanted to strangle said best friend. Alya most definitely did not say anything about a game night the last time they talked. This invitation reeked of “Alya Césaire’s Half-Brilliant Plan #143” or whatever the brunette liked to call them. Marinette was fairly sure her best friend would try to pull something to get her and Adrien together.

(Not that she was complaining. She appreciated it, of course, but one still had to be wary when dealing with the great fairy godmother Alya Césaire.)

But more importantly-- how dare Alya not warn her that Adrien would talk to her that day. Then Marinette could’ve at least worn the new top Alya had said looked cute on her.

“Uh,” Marinette hedged, trying to come up with a reasonable excuse to avoid all embarrassment , “I’m actually not sure if I can be there since I have… things… to do. I also have...stuff.” She gulped. “Yup, that’s… that’s what keeps me busy… things and...stuff.” She smacked herself internally.

“Oh, that’s too bad. I was looking forward to seeing you there. I heard you’re a master at board games.” He chuckled, and, no, Marinette’s heart did not flutter and her cheeks didn’t burn at the sound. “But I get what you mean about… things… and stuff. Life of the busy, eh? Try to take breaks when you work, though, ‘kay? Good luck with… things and stuff. Uhm, see you around, Marinette!”

Marinette forced a smile as he turned away. Don’t cave, it’s for your own good, don’t cave, don’t cave, don’t--

“But!” Marinette added suddenly, causing Adrien to turn back in surprise. “If that’s the case, I mean, psh, what’s one weekend, right? I could… probably push my schedule back a bit, have some fun for once. I think I deserve this,” she said firmly, talking mostly to herself.

Adrien grinned, and her heart skipped a beat at the way his eyes shone with excitement. “That’s good to hear! I agree, you deserve this break. See you Saturday night, then!”

With that he walked away, leaving Marinette imagining that he’d said those words in the context of a romantic first date, perhaps a candle lit dinner after a cheesy film, and not in the context of a seemingly harmless game night where she was almost sure her luck would abandon her only for the fates would laugh in her face.

.

.

.

Alya told everyone the game night would start at 8pm. Naturally, this meant Marinette had to be at Alya’s place at 7:30pm, helping set up.

“So, what game are we playing,” Marinette asked, trying for a nonchalant tone as she opened a bag of chips.

Alya laughed aloud. “Ha! Nice try, Mari. But no spoilers. You’ll find out at the same time as everyone else. Now can you pass me those vases? I’m betting Kim’s gonna knock them over if we don’t put them away.”

Marinette handed them over with a sigh. “Okay, that’s fair. But I already know you’re up to something. Isn’t it just easier to tell me your plan so I can mentally prepare for it? Who knows, I might even choose to play along.”

“Plan…? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Alya turned away, but not before Marinette caught the mischievous gleam in her best friend’s eyes.

She was about to press further, when there was a knock on the door. “Yo, Alya!” Nino’s voice. “Open up, will ya?”

“Coming!” Alya shouted back, carefully stepping around the pillows she’d set up on the floor. Just like that, the matter was dropped as the guests started pouring in.

There were about 10 of them, all talking lively as they sat on the floor around a table. Marinette started passing around bowls of chips while her best friend got the stuff for the games from her room. She tried to hold on to one last bowl though, eyeing the pillow-seats at the far end of the room and trying to come up with an excuse to go over there and hand Adrien the bowl herself.

She was halfway there when Alya suddenly appeared. “Esteemed guests!” she announced in a loud voice. “I have, behind my back, the game we will play tonight. We’ll be playing--” She paused for dramatic effect, making sure everyone’s eyes were on her. “-- the Modified Game of Life, aka Game of Life: Alya Césaire edition!”

Marinette inwardly groaned, her own plan forgotten. Handing the bowl of chips to a seated Juleka, she made her way to a pair of empty seats in one part of the room -- one for her, one for Alya of course. Despite her initial want to approach Adrien that night, a part of her told her she should be grateful she wasn’t seated next to him.

“Alright, everyone, settle down!” Alya said, obviously excited to be facilitating. She took her place next to Marinette and grinned. She moved to open the box… and paused. And looked around the room as if deep in thought. “Actually,” she said, “I kind of want to sit beside my boyfriend.”

Marinette’s eyes widened, knowing where this was going. “Alya,” she hissed, “don’t you dare--”

“Adrien!” the brunette called across the room. “I was wondering if I could sit beside Nino, but I don’t want everyone to move one seat up just for me. Is it ok with you if we switch places?”

“Sure,” the blond said easily, getting up.

All Marinette could do was open and close her mouth as her best friend gave her a wink and a squeeze of the hand. “Good luck!”

Luck? Why would Marinette need luck?

“Hey,” Adrien greeted as he sat down beside her. “You ever played this game before?”

“No,” Marinette said through gritted teeth, “I actually have not.”

“Ah. Me neither, of course. May the best… Life-er win, I guess?”

Despite her apprehensions about the game, Marinette had to laugh. “May the best Life-er win!”

The first few rounds, Marinette had to admit the Alya Césaire edition was pretty fun. Instead of the careers you might normally see in the game (doctor, engineer, accountant, etc.), this one had all sorts you could pick and choose from. 30 minutes into the game, Marinette was quite satisfied with her life as a professional fashion designer who lived in a 3.5 story all-pink cottage-house with her pet ladybug, turtle, bunny, cat, horse, and snake, and who loved to fight crime in her spare time.

Naturally, that was when everything went wrong. Okay… not everything. And not wrong, if Marinette had to be honest. But still.

Of course it was Adrien’s turn to draw a card (right after Marinette got her fifth paycheck. Score!). And of course it was one of those marriage cards. But with a twist. Of course.

“Congratulations!” Adrien read aloud. “You’re married to the love of your life, the person on your right. Collect 2000 for your honeymoon.” He turned to the right, where Marinette was staring straight ahead, stiff as a board, trying not to let the blush on her cheeks spread.

So that’s what Alya meant when she said good luck-- good luck, I hope Adrien picks up the marriage card. She turned to her in-game husband, and forced a smile. “Woah, look at that. Married. Fun.”

“Uh, Adrien,” Alya called out. “I think there’s an additional note at the bottom.”

“Huh, you’re right.” He read it silently, then chuckled. “It says, ‘call your new wife ‘babe’ to get another 500.’” He grinned at the blue-haired girl. “What do you say, babe? Do you want to live the rest of our lives together?”

The only thing Marinette wanted at that moment was to melt into her shoes from embarrassment, but instead she managed to force out a, “Sure thing. Babe.” For a second Adrien looked shocked, and she thought she saw a light dusting of pink on his cheeks. But then he laughed and it was gone.

Which obviously left Marinette wondering whether she imagined it or not. So much so that she lost focus on the game until it was her turn again. And just like real life, the game proved yet again to be full of surprises.

She began to read aloud, “Woo-hoo, you got kids! Spin the wheel to find out by how many your family has grown. Married? Get more people pegs to put in the car you share with your spouse. Unmarried? Get more pet pegs to put in your car, and maybe some doggy wipes while you’re at it.” She spun the wheel. Three.

“Perfect,” Adrien said good-naturedly, reaching for the bag of pegs. “I’ve always wanted three kids. What’ll it be? All boys? All girls? Two boys, one girl? Vice versa?”

Marinette mumbled something under her breath, trying to fight back a blush.

“Hm?”

“Y-you can choose,” she stammered. “I, uh, I think I want more… food.” She turned away, pretending to scan the room. It was only half an excuse. She really had wanted something 10 minutes ago, but she couldn’t at the moment remember what.

“You want popcorn? It’s right--” Adrien stopped abruptly, caught off guard to find himself nearly nose-to-nose with Marinette.

How cliché. Horribly, horribly, absolutely cliché. Marinette felt her face heat up, though she was frozen in place.

“Honey,” she breathed out, finally remembering what she’d wanted to get. Honey to go with the cereal in her bowl.

“Yes, honey?” Adrien replied without missing a beat. “What was it you wanted?”

“Uh, n-no, not, no, I meant,” Marinette sputtered, unable to finish a coherent sentence for a full 10 seconds. She was pretty sure her face was beet red, right down to her neck. She cleared her throat, and stood up. “I’m gonna go look for the honey,” she said, praying he didn’t notice her blush.

Well played, Alya. Well played. From then on Marinette swore to never go near a Game of Life again.

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