#my hands are so unsteady when it comes to drawing on paper ugh

[crayoncat-works]

back on my olba bs

[aifastic]

Winning Lines

The @talesofteufort zine has been shipped, and the PDFs sent! Thank you very much to everyone who contributed. I’m very glad to have been able to participate in this project; it was a wonderful experience and it’s been great working with everyone aaaa ♥

I’m really happy to share my piece for the zine! I really hope you all like it ♥ (Read it below the cut)

Title: Winning Lines Words: 1845 Warnings: None Summary: BLU has a drawing contest. Demo just wants his magazine back.

-----

“ARE YOU MANN ENOUGH TO DRAW THIS BETTER THAN US?”

The header caught BLU’s Demoman’s attention. He’d been reading the latest issue of Hat-Wearing Man when he found the ad at the bottom of one of the pages. There was a somewhat simple drawing of a monkey in a spacesuit. “If you draw Poopy Joe better than our extremely talented artist, we’ll give him the boot—and kick his ass in the process! And your picture will be the new image of our project and you, our lucky friend, will win nothing less than $700 dollars!”

“Huh, it doesn’t look that hard…” he said, pensive. Suddenly, the magazine was snatched from his hands. “Hey!”

“Ohohoh, what’s this?” Scout said, grinning at the magazine. “Hey, I’d win this in the blink of an eye!”

“Oi! Get your own!” Demo took the magazine back. “I’m gonna try this. Mum will love the extra money,” he added to himself.

“Pffft, no way, it’s a waste of mail money, pally. If someone should participate, that’s someone who actually has a chance.”

“Heh.”

They turned around to see Sniper in a corner, grinning.

“What’s your deal, Long Legs?”

“Shut up, ya scoundrel. If anyone has a chance here, it’s me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Demo asked. “Where’s your credentials, mate?”

“Don’t need any,” he said. “Quiet kid, hours at the back of the classroom sketching the teacher being eaten by a croc.” He grinned. “It should be easy as cake.”

“Oi, do ya remember the magazine is mine?”

“I agree, though—the chance should be for whoever’s got the talent.”

Demo sighed. “Aye, alright. But I’m not gonna just give it away.” His face lit up, an idea coming to his mind. “You’ll have to beat me for it.”

“Huh?” Both mercenaries stared at him quizzically.

Demo grinned, eye glinting.

“Let’s have a drawing contest.”

-----

They emptied the kitchen table in order to make room for their sheets of paper, pencils and pens. In the meantime, they threw evaluative gazes at each other, competitive strike flaring up.

The rest of the team slowly wandered to the room to find out what was going on.

“What is noise?” asked Heavy, scratching his chest. Medic, who was right behind him, had just closed it, having found himself too distracted by the ruckus to continue his surgery.

“We’re about to find out who’s gonna win 700 dollars!”

Medic perked up. “I am in. What is the bet?”

“We’re not betting, mate.” Sniper showed him the magazine’s ad. “It’s a contest.”

Medic’s smile turned dangerous. “Even better.”

“Heavy is in, too.”

“Aw, come on, guys! It’s not as if you’re gonna beat me!”

Heavy threw Scout an unimpressed look. “It is fun. I want extra money. I am in.”

“Alright, alright, mate. Sure.” Demo handed them both some extra sheets of paper they'd brought just in case.

Medic excused himself to go search for a couple of pens. On his way out, he almost crashed onto Soldier.

“Ach, watch where you’re going!”

“I need sustenance, maggot! And you’re on my way!” He shoved Medic away, making him stumble on the way out. A couple of German swears could be heard from the corridor. “Hello, everyone!”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna get in too,” Scout groaned.

“In what?” Soldier inquired, tilting his head. Demo showed him the magazine’s ad.

Engineer peeked over his shoulder.

“Oh, a drawing contest?” he said, looking at it with a fond smile. “Heh. It’s been a while since I tried my hand at one o’ those. But I thought they allowed only one entry per ad?”

“That is point,” Heavy said. “We are fighting to get chance to earn money.”

“Oh…” Soldier grinned. “I’m in, maggots! I actually studied art with Kickasso.”

Everyone stared at him.

“Sure, mate,” Demo said, patting his back and attempting to lead him into the kitchen.

“You don’t believe me!” Soldier looked at everyone. Engie shrugged. Scout picked at his nails, and Sniper scratched the table distractedly. Heavy’s eyes said it all. “I will prove it to all of you!” And he headed to the table, snatching a paper sheet from the pile.

Demo brushed a hand across his own face. “I hope Medic brings enough pens.”

“I’ll go for mine,” Engie said. He added, “And I’ll go look for Pyro; they’ll love this.”

Scout groaned. “Anyone else? Maybe Saxton Hale?”

Spy’s laughter can be heard from a corner of the room.

“Oh, this is priceless. I wasn’t going to butt in, but this looks like too much fun to pass on the opportunity.”

“The opportunity to what?” Scout said, miffed.

“You’ll see,” he said with a glint in his eyes. “Besides, you need a referee, don’t you?”

“Ugh,” Scout said, bonking his head on the table.

-----

Everyone looked at each other from their respective places. Scout’s leg bounced nonstop; Sniper picked unconsciously at his pencil. Heavy’s grip on his pen was strong enough for Medic to worry about it breaking.

“Alright,” said Spy. “You have to draw…” He squinted. “Poopy Joe, following the ad’s instructions; the best artist wins. The rules are: no interfering with anyone’s drawing. No kicking under the table. No destroying anyone’s drawing. No rising up from the table until all this is over. No showing your drawing until everyone is finished. Understood?”

Everyone nodded. Pyro hummed happily.

“Excellent. So, on the count of three: One, two… Three!”

Scout’s pen tore onto the paper. “Shit! Do you have a spare?” Spy handed him one. “Thanks,” he muttered.

The truth was, Scout wasn’t that confident of the fact he was going to win. When it was just him and Demo, he’d been sure he’d win to the unsteady hand of a drunk man. And Sniper was all bragging anyways. But Medic? He’d probably drawn lots of skeletons and stuff at college. And Engineer’s schematics always look exactly like the finished product. Shit. And—did Soldier really paint with Kickasso? Nah, he shook his head. He didn’t think so. Heavy was a wild card, though.

But he had to try anyway! He couldn’t back off now. So he put his all into it.

Engineer turned his sheet of paper down. Hell! That was fast. He tried to concentrate in the lines that formed Poopy Joe, and emulated them the best he could. Damn, his hand was sweaty… He hated drawing. His cousin had always been better at it, and it pissed him off even now, far from home.

He slapped his drawing on the table, face down. “Done!” He looked up to see everyone had finished. Crap.

“Alright, then,” said Spy. “Let’s see what you came up with.”

“Come up with?” That had many meanings, but the way Spy said it… “What do you mean?”

“The challenge was to improve on the design of Poopy Joe drawn by the artist, not to copy it.”

“Oh, darn,” Engineer said, showing a perfect copy of the Poopy Joe logo. Holy shit. “Guess I got a bit carried away. I’m more used to copying stuff, ya know.”

Soldier snickered.

“Let’s see what you did, Soldier boy.”

“Alright! Look at it and weep!”

He showed them all a mess of lines with dots in seemingly random places.

“Soldier, that’s…” Scout got elbowed by Demo. “That’s cool. What are… those?”

“Those are his eyes!” Oh, God.

“Let’s see Demo’s!” grinned Soldier, confidently.

“Ach, you know I’m no artist, mate,” he said, showing his drawing. It was… Actually, it was pretty decent. His drawing had a cartoonish style that drew everyone’s eyes in.

“Interesting,” said Spy, nodding approvingly.

“Demo did great job,” Heavy said, crossing his arms.

“Aw, thanks, mate.” Demo shrugged it off, somewhat flustered. “What about yours?”

Heavy showed his drawing. It was simple, a single line delineating the silhouette of the monkey astronaut. It was stylish, though it was difficult to guess what it was at times.

“Wonderful, mein freund!” Medic clapped, and revealed his. It was… Oh, my god. “I might have put a bit too much emphasis on his organs.”

“Next!” yelled Scout, tearing his eyes away from the gory drawing. Shit. Now he had to show his. Alright. You can do this, he told himself.

He turned the page face up.

“Mate,” Sniper said.

“Oh, buddy, we made the same mistake.”

“Y’know? I saw RED’s Scout draw once and I secretly thought we were doomed.”

“Oh, shut up!” Scout said, face beet red. It was true, he’d tried to copy the drawing, like Engineer did. And his lines weren’t as sure as Demo’s or Heavy’s. Shit. He screwed up big time.

“It’s good overall, mate,” Sniper said. “You just need more confidence.”

Scout flushed. “What about yours, Mister Expert?”

Sniper grunted, and showed his drawing. Oh, wow. It was really good! The monkey looked like it’d come out of the page and tear them apart. He felt as if he would be able to touch its fur.

“Wow, Slim! That’s one helluva good drawing!”

“Thanks,” he said, grinning. “I told ya: quiet kid.”

“Where is his spacesuit, though?”

His face dropped. “Aw, hell.”

“Hmmmph!” Pyro yelled, pointing at their sheet of paper.

“Alright,” Spy said, grinning along with Engineer. “The moment of truth has come.”

“What do you mean—?”

Holy shit.

The drawing was astounding. The monkey looked cartoonish enough not to look real, but in a way that made the drawing look alive. Everything was there, and in wonderful detail: The space-suit, the stars… Even an additional full moon in the background that was a perfect circle.

“Holy shit, Py!” Scout said. “How did you do that?”

“Hhmph?” Pyro asked, pointing at the moon. Everyone nodded. Pyro mumbled happily, grabbing another sheet of paper, and drew a classical Greek style face, then erased the rest of its features little by little until they got a perfect circle.

Oh, for the love of—

“Well, it seems we have our winner,” said Spy, handing Pyro the magazine. Pyro clapped with glee, running off with it.

“Aw, man. That was totally unfair. You knew this would happen!” Scout pointed to Spy accusingly.

“I had my suspicions,” he said, grinning.

“Hey, maggots,” Soldier said, sniffing. “Is that smoke?”

They all turned around to watch Pyro as they set the magazine on fire.

“Ach! My magazine!” Demo ran and stomped on it. However, many of the pages, including the drawing contest ad, didn’t make it. “Hell. Why, mate?”

“Hmmphmmphmmph!” they said, pointing at everyone in the room, then at their drawings. Then they clapped.

Everyone looked at each other, and found a common understanding. Who knew what Pyro said? But they had the feeling they meant they were all winners today.

“So it was a huge waste of everyone’s time. Fantastic,” Spy said. “Entertaining, though.”

“Shut up, Spy, we were having a moment,” Scout said.

And yes, indeed. Because even though Demo lost his magazine, he left the room with a good feeling inside. And he was sure that the rest felt the same way.

Poopy Joe’s artist could keep his job for another day.

[professordrarry]

I'm sorry to just ask out of the blue, but I'd love if you wrote some drunk Draco. Might help me feel better.

You know, Anon, I feel that to my core. I’m sorry that this is…not great. I hope you feel better independently of my slightly tortured pre-Drarry. Draco is also not as funny as he normally is when I write him drunk and for that, I can only blame my own slightly weird mood. Sorry friend ❤️ ❤️

Harry jolted awake to a large crash, wand in hand and alert. It had been a decade and a half, yet noises in the night still freaked him out. He bolted upright and realised right away why he’d heard the sound; he was not in his highly-Warded and unplottable flat above the cauldron shop of Hogsmeade. Instead, he was haphazardly sprawled on the very nasty sofa in the staff lounge.

He took a few seconds to reorient himself, trying to work out why it was that he hadn’t made it home. The details shuffled through his mind slowly. Grading papers now so that if he finished on this random Thursday evening, if he caught up on the many hours of marking he’d put off, he could go to Ottery St. Catchpole at the weekend. Visit Molly. Play with the kids. Sneak in a few seeker games with Ginny.

Reoriented and no longer afraid in the safety of the castle, Harry was focused on the soft curse words from the small kitchenette around the corner that now made him chuckle. He casually wandered over, smoothing out his rumpled robes as best he could.

“Buggering fuckery fucking nitwit,” the quiet voice was whispering from the floor, surrounded by tins and boxes that had clearly just been wrenched from various cupboards.

“Need any help?” Harry asked.

The figure jumped slightly, then leaned back from a cross-legged position until it was lying with its back on the floor, revealing a very crumpled Draco Malfoy.

“Oh, of bloody fucking course it’s you,” he cursed, letting his legs fall to the floor too so that he was now completely prone and staring at Harry upside down. “Why in Salazar’s name are you in the lounge at…wait, is it still three?”

Harry glanced at his watch, then nodded, considering Malfoy’s slant and slur, his general dishevelled nature. “Um. Are you…no. Never mind.” “Drunk?” Draco sighed, closing his eyes. “Indeed.” “And you’re looking for…tea?”Draco giggled, the sound positively unnerving given who it was coming from. “Hid some biscuits in here last week. Ran out of snacks upstairs in my room.”

“Biscuits?” Harry repeated.

“Hungry.”

Draco didn’t explain further. Instead, his upside-down smile turned predatory, his eyes sweeping up and down Harry’s body; even from this unusual position, Harry flushed at the scrutiny. Draco’s face was always an open book, and the expression they’d landed on now seemed to be lust. Harry was flustered. It didn’t help that Draco looked like he’d been through a trial. His hair was a mess, the remains of black eye makeup smudged at the corners of his bright grey eyes, his clothes were wrinkled and stretched. He wore a tight, dark blue t-shirt with a deep vee that let his sharp collar bones escape. Black jeans and high boots added to the come hither outfit.

Harry cleared his throat.

Draco looked away. “You sleep here now?” Bit pathetic, even for you.” He reached his hands up into the air. “Help me up?”

Without a second thought, Harry walked around the boxes and gripped Draco’s hand, dragging him up. He faltered and stumbled a moment before regaining balance, laughing the whole time. The sound was carefree and out of place.

“Grab this,” he demanded with a violent poke of his wand that sent the box flying. Harry caught it deftly and sent the other boxes back into the cupboard with his own wand before following after Draco as he seemed to tumble and bounce from the room.

When they reached the second-floor staircase that led to the staff quarters, Draco stared at them a moment like they were the tallest of mountains and then giggled as he sat heavily on the bottom step and leaned his head against the rail.

“What’s the plan, Malfoy?” Harry teased. It earned him a glare that he appreciated more than was decent. It also forced Draco up again.

“Gonna ask me what happened?” he asked with a glimmer in his eye,

Harry smirked, offering an arm that Draco clung to instantly as they set off up the stairs. “No offence, clever clogs, but this isn’t really that hard to work out, even for a failed Auror like myself. It’s Thursday… Pub night. I’m guessing blue drinks, based on your…nevermind… I also have a feeling I can blame Professor Perkins, but that one will take more evidence.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know why I was in the lounge,” Draco tried to retort vehemently. He tripped instead, ending up against Harry and jabbing him with a finger in the chest that may or may not have been intentional. They carried on upwards in silence, Harry wrapping an arm around Draco’s back when he stumbled next.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr Potter,” Draco sneered as they reached the top of the stairs. “Very chivalrous. You should be happy you aren’t…someone else.”

“Why?” Harry asked boldly.

“Might try to kiss you — Ooh!” Draco interrupted himself, looking more excited and alert than he had for the past five minutes. “Let’s go to the Potion’s classroom!”

Harry laughed and shook his head, extracting himself from Draco’s grasp and holding out the tea box, which Draco ignored. “I think you should probably avoid brewing for the next few hours, Professor Malfoy.”

“You’re no fun,” Draco pouted. “You used to be fun. I remember that. It’s why I hated you.”

Not waiting for a reply, Draco smiled broadly and whirled around in a flamboyant and extremely unsteady spin. “Do what you want, I am going to make some Felix Felicis.”

Harry started to protest but was disrupted by Draco halting in his path and turning around, smile still glued to his face.

“Did I look like Snape?” he giggled. “With the whirling and the dramatics?” He looked expectantly at Harry, who burst out laughing and grinned despite himself.

“You might have,” he agreed eventually. “But you aren’t wearing robes.”

“I know,” Draco scowled, looking down at himself and then planting his hands on his hips with an exaggerated pout. “I’m quite annoyed at this shirt, you know. I always pull in this shirt. This is my Pub Shirt. My Pirt! No, don’t say that. I never said that.”

“Right.”

“Right?!” Draco continued unhindered. “It’s very…purple-y, this shirt. And —”

“It’s blue,” Harry interjected.

“Ugh, no, don’t. It’s purple. Trust me. I’m not having this argument with you. It’s purple and it’s pretty and I look very fucking hot in it and I should, at this very minute, be making regrettable choices where I’m probably no longer wearing it.”

“I mean, that seems like a lot to expect of a shirt,” Harry teased.

“And instead,” Draco continued, “I’m in a school corridor with you at half three in the morning, arguing about purple. Because life is very unfair, even when you drink.”

Draco dropped his hands and waltzed back to where Harry stood, in front of the large portrait that presumably led to his quarters.

“Look,” he insisted, stepping very close and drawing up the hem of his shirt for Harry’s inspection.

Harry meant to look. He really did. He was ready and willing to look at the shirt, and then argue it’s blue-ness no matter what he colour he found there. He had a whole plan. But, when he lifted his eyes to examine the fabric before him, he instead found three things that simultaneously made him stop breathing. First, he discovered that Draco’s fingers were perfect and lithe, delicate and manicured where they gripped the fabric and held it aloft. Second, he realised that Draco’s eyelashes were incredibly long, but were so blonde that he’d never noticed (a part of Harry’s brain did realise that it might be weird that it was one of the few things he hadn’t noticed about Draco Malfoy).

And third, Harry noticed that Draco’s stomach, so pale it was almost blue, was soft. The rest of him was so defined, from chiselled jaw to sinewy forearms, that Harry had possibly been expecting abs. But instead, there was a softness to his stomach that existed nowhere else on Malfoy and Harry had to know what it felt like. He reached forward to trail his fingers down the skin before his brain caught up to him and he froze. They stared at each other in silent dare for a moment.

“I could be your regrettable choices,” Harry whispered finally.

Draco hesitated only a moment, Harry’s fingers still sitting on his stomach, before he leaned forward and made contact, mouth so full of whiskey that Harry felt like he’d taken a shot.

“You could be,” Draco muttered against his lips a moment later. “So regrettable. But no. Not like this. Not tonight. Please…regrettable choices should be things you won’t mind regretting.”

He pulled away and gently took the tea from Harry’s hand, turning on a still very uncoordinated heel.

“Serenade,” he whispered to the portrait behind him, causing it to swing open.

“Wait,” Harry protested, ignoring Draco’s slight flinch and wince when he turned back to face Harry. “One thing. Are there really biscuits in there?” he asked, gesturing to the box.

Draco snorted. “Guess you’ll never know. Goodnight…Harry."

[the-walking-memelords]

A2 - Chapter 3: The Deal

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Series is rated M

Word Count: 4030

Clementine and crew arrive at the Caravan's camp, but their reunion isn't as sweet as originally hoped.

Not when something so bitter lurks beyond the forest.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

The fenced-in play area of an old elementary school was brimming with the chatter of a rather large group setting up camp. Faded paint was barely visible on the ground, drawing out hopscotch sets and basketball courts. Rusted poles with off-white boards sticking out of the ground, nets long worn away from the hoops. Guards watched the gate leading to the parking lot while others patrolled the field where horses rested from the long journey.

The sharp sting of the peroxide reminded Clementine of where she was. Lost in her own head for so long, the remainder of the trip was more of a blur. She couldn’t remember the things they talked about on the way, or being escorted to the medical station. 

“It’s shallow, doesn’t need stitches.” The olive-skinned woman said, brushing a lock of her short, sleek black hair behind her ear.

“Just keep it clean and it shouldn’t even scar.”

Scars were never something Clementine ever paid attention to, but some had rather loud memories attached that she tried to ignore. 

She let out a sigh as she shifted on the crate she sat on, nails scratching into the water-stained wood. This woman was a stranger to her. Another new member of Layla’s crew. She acted friendly but there was an air of skepticism around her as if she was evaluating Clementine.

“You the new doctor around here?” Clementine questioned, not seeing the older gentlemen who usually greeted them, eager to help treat any injuries.

“I was... enrolled in a med school at some point, yes, but no.” She chuckled, crow’s feet appearing next to her eyes.

“Doc took Paige inside the second it was secured so she could get some real sleep away from the noise. I swear she’s such a light sleeper a walker could step on a twig a mile away and she would bolt upright.”

“Pretty useful for a traveller.” Clementine commented. She’d met Paige a few times, her and her two younger brothers. Her blond hair and fair skin were quite the contrast with the two younger boys, who were closer to resembling the woman in front of Clem.

“Is she alright?”

The woman paused for a moment, hands hovering over the first-aid kit she had been packing.

“She got bit almost a month ago.” She said quietly.

“The walker took off a few of her fingers, and Doc had to take off the rest of her hand.”

“Shit.” 

“No kidding…” She sighed.

“To make things worse it got infected like a week later. She’ll live but she’s still a little unsteady. Doc feels guilty about it I guess, he cares about her and those boys like his own family. Boss was talkin’ about convincing her and the boys to stay at Alexandria on our next rotation but it’d be hard to get them and Doc to say goodbye.”

Clementine shifted her left leg, her prosthetic feeling like dead weight tied to her body. All this time and she wasn’t quite used to it. There were some days she woke up, pulling back the covers with a shock to realize it was really gone. Even still she had some bad nights spent with her face buried into the crook of Louis’ neck quietly sobbing as he held her, aches and cramps shooting through a part of her that didn’t exist anymore.

“CLEMENTIIINNNEEEE!” An extremely worried voice rushing towards her made Clem look up just in time to catch the young woman who practically flew into her arms. 

“I missed you so much and Louis told me you were in the med bay and I was so worried and ohmygodareyouokay?” 

“Layla please I can’t breathe.” Clementine begged her friend to release the crushing grip on her ribcage.

Layla was a young Persian woman about the same age and height as Clementine, but their personalities were quite opposite. If you hung around her for long enough you wouldn’t think the world had ended. She was bright and cheery not out of naivety but perhaps just to spite the horror of everything else. 

“Oh my god yeah I’m so sorry I just wanted to make sure you were okay and ADDIE!” Layla’s curly black ponytail whipped around as she faced the woman.

“You made sure she isn’t dying, right?”

“Relax, boss, it was just a scratch.” Addie replied exhaustedly as she casually put up her arms defensively.

“Yeah but it’s the Clementine! She’s a hero!” 

“Please stop calling me that.” Clem sighed. Clementine hardly thought anything she did was heroic. It was just… war. Nothing to be glorified.

“Hun, the Delta fell because of you! Maybe not directly… but it was a huge blow.” Layla reassured her.

“Either way, you made our jobs a lot easier. Y’know how hard it is to keep up like five trade deals when people try to rob you every other day? You’re late a lot.”

“Things seem to be settling down now.” Addie said, stretching back in her chair.

“Saviors are gone. Delta’s gone. The Whisperers are gone. Hell, even the Pack seems to have dropped off the face of the Earth. Probably fucked with Hilltop or something and got demolished by the alliance.”

Clementine’s blood ran cold at that last one. She scratched at her hands, trying to pick away the blood that would never truly wash away. 

Two wrongs don’t make a right, Lilly.

We were never the good guys.

“The lesser of two evils.” Was how that vile woman justified it. How everyone justified it. How Clementine tried to justify it to herself as she stood by, watching the people she tricked suffer her fate over and over. 

There was nothing just about any of it.

“Clem?” Layla’s voice called to her a lot softer and calmer than it had been. Her dark brown eyes seemed to see the storm inside of her.

“Are you alright?”

I thought I was.

“I’m fine.” Clementine hoped to convince her.

“It’s just not a time I like to think about.”

The two of them nodded in understanding. Layla pursed her lips as if thinking of a way to change the subject.

“Clem! C’mon, let’s go get Connor to look at that leg of yours.” Layla said as she grabbed Clementine’s hand, tugging her out of her seat and dragging her into the crowd.

“You better have been keeping up maintenance or you’re in for a lecture. That guy is worse than my old dentist when I forgot to floss.”

---

Louis and AJ wrapped the jars of preserved fruits in cloths as he placed them in Louis’ duffle bag, keeping in mind not to jostle it too much on the way home. Across the table from him, a brown-haired man with striking green eyes examined each fish a second time before placing them in an ice-filled cooler.

“Thanks, man.” Eric said.

“God, it feels like forever since we were last at Oceanside. It’s hard to get decent amounts of fish anywhere else.”

“We get lots from the river.” AJ stated with a wide grin.

“I help fish all the time!”

“Well, you’re doing us a favour. This is our farthest stop from Oceanside so we don’t get a lot of fish trades around here.” Eric smiled at AJ, leaning on his elbows on the fold-out table.

“You ever seen the ocean?”

“No.” AJ’s eyes filled with wonder and intrigue.

“It’s a giant body of water so big you can’t see where it ends. Filled with colourful fish big and small, some friendly and some deadly and so deep, even before the dead, we never figured out what lived at the bottom. For all we know, it could have been some great beast from ancient times, hidden forever from our mortal eyes.” Eric dramatized, speaking in a hushed whisper as if sharing the secrets of the universe.

“Woah.” AJ whispered back, his eyes as wide as they could possibly be.

“Louis, will we ever get to go to the ocean?”

“Maybe someday, little dude.” Louis pushed the brim of his hat down over his eyes as he turned to leave.

“Wait! One more thing...” Eric stopped them as he dug through his coat pockets.

“Here it is. Think fast, kid.”

Eric tossed a small pouch in the air towards the boy, who barely caught it. He untied the string, pulling out a marble-sized ball wrapped in wax paper.

“What are these?” AJ questioned as he unwrapped the paper, revealing a sticky dark gold ball that smelled sweeter than anything he’d ever eaten.

“Honey candies Raha cooked up a while ago.” He explained.

“Where the hell did you guys get good honey?”

“That shit never goes bad, dude.” Eric cheered.

“As long as it’s sealed right, that is. Hey, no one’s gotten sick yet! They were a hit with the kids at the last few communities. She asked me to give some to AJ since you’d probably be hiding from her again.”

“Louis!” 

Speak of the devil, and she shall appear.

The bellowing voice of the small woman rang from halfway across the yard. She wore an immaculately white blouse in contrast to her knee-length black skirt, boots, and headscarf. Her brows were knit together in frustration as she approached the freckled man.

“Well if it isn’t the fashion police.” Louis teased, sighing as he knew what he was in for.

“That coat of yours looks sadder every time I see it.” Raha frowned, the older woman ignoring his comment in her own disappointment. Thumb on her lips, she squinted at him behind the black frames of her glasses, flicking an old piece of tape stuck to one of his sleeves.

“At this point, I might just give you a new one for free if you’ll let me put that old one out of its misery.”

Louis rolled his eyes and sent AJ to check on Clem as she dragged him over to her collection of textiles and jewelry. She sifted through neatly sorted boxes until she found the one she was looking for.

“I saved this one just for you!” She said excitedly, holding up the jacket.

It was a deep brown leather jacket lined with creamy white fur. It was waist length, a lot shorter than the one he’d been wearing all this time. But winter was coming, and it did look pretty warm, not to mention clean.

“Hmm... I don’t know.” Louis pretended to closely examine it, rubbing his thumb over the material and deciding to ruffle her feathers a bit more as payback for all of her nagging.

“Not sure it really suits my taste.”

“Sorry I don’t have anything as filthy as you prefer.” Raha tsked.

“Ugh! Just take it! In return, it’ll give me a little hope I may be able to save you from dressing like the dead.”

Raha threw the coat at him as she defeatedly closed the lid on her box of jackets. Louis could almost see the lightbulb appearing above her head as she gained a sly smirk, pulling out a wooden jewelry box.

“If you can’t find anything here that fits your style, perhaps you could find something that fits Clementines?” Raha sang as she showed Louis a selection of rings.

Raha’s collection was nothing narrow. Some were simple and cheaper designs while others would’ve fetched a pretty penny. Silver bands to gold ones all with varying gemstones and settings, all evenly displayed in the box’s green velvet interior. 

“Where the hell do you find this stuff?” Louis gave a slightly nervous laugh.

“From a lot of people who weren’t using them anymore.”

“No thanks.” Louis couldn’t bring himself to take a closer look at any of the shining stones. It was as if his hand preferred to retract farther away from the box, his fingers instead tracing a circle near the collar of his shirt, feeling the band of his mother’s ring that hung from a chain around his neck.

I’ve already got one.

“Oh, c’mon.” She groaned.

“I know a lot of people don’t care about that crap anymore but don’t you think it would be romantic? I mean you two and that kid are already a family, don’t you think it would be a romantic way to show your undying devotion.”

And people say I’m dramatic.

“If you’re so much of a love guru then why am I the one with the girlfriend.” Louis teased.

“I-” Raha’s mouth hung open as she tried to think of a retort.

“Listen here you little shit.”

Laughter roared from a few meters away from where Eric had been eavesdropping. Raha immediately followed after him, hurling a string of something in Arabic he couldn’t understand.

The freckled man smiled at the idea. Marry Clementine? He couldn’t picture himself marrying anyone else, but getting married in this world? Would she even want to? 

That’s a thought for a different day.

---

The young woman sat awkwardly in her seat inside the patchwork thin tent. Its purpose more to offer privacy than protection from the weather. Crates of tools and materials scattered the ground is just enough array to be quickly packed if the situation arose. Clementine pulled the hem of her dark teal jeans over the scarred stump of her left leg, hanging over the empty boot she wore over the wooden prosthetic which sat a few feet away laying on Connor’s work table. She rubbed the skin of her thigh over her pants, never realizing how much the straps dug until she took them off.

“Any malfunctions since the last time I looked at it?” The old Nigerian man stroked his salt and pepper goatee as he surveyed its condition.

“No, it’s been steady” Clementine scratched the dirt around her nails nervously. She hated doctor’s appointments when she was a kid and this was… almost the same thing? Kinda similar? Something about it made her uneasy at least.

“It’s cracked.” Connor stated flatly.

“What?” Clem sat up straight with a jolt. How could she have missed something like that? If it were to break in the wrong situation, that could be it. 

“Look.” Connor pointed to around the joint of the ankle. Tiny splinters poked out like lightning bolts from under the screws holding it together. It wasn’t a completely worrying amount of damage, but wear and tear would only make those cracks grow.

“I could fill these with resin now and then have a new one ready for this time next month, or your group could stick around and I could have one ready by tomorrow. Although, one is more pricey than the other.”

Clementine didn’t want to risk her mobility if she didn’t have to.

“How much for an express order?” 

“Bones and antlers are very good materials for making strong joints, and rumour has it your boy shot a deer recently.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Plus Layla is very good at finding work for people to do, surely she’d appreciate the help of you or a few of your friends.”

“Clem?” AJ peaked past the tent flap.

“C’mon in, kiddo.” Connor said in a friendly voice.

“You still got those deer bones?”

“Aasim has them.” He said, eyes glued forward as if he was trying not to stare at Clementine’s stump.

She knew he didn’t like being here, in this tent. A lot of guilt clung to him, and Clem feared it always would. She knows he doesn’t regret it, but sometimes the gravity is enough to weigh him down.

“I saved you, but at the same time now we’ll always be paying for it.” Was how he always described it.

“It still hurts you. You can’t move like before. And you always worry about your fake leg breaking.”

Clementine gave him a small smile when he did glance her way.

“Let’s go find him.” Clem said, cheerfulness slightly exaggerated as Connor helped reattach the prothetic before slipping her boot back on.

---

Clementine found Aasim in what appeared to be a mildly heated conversation between himself and Mitch, with Brody looking exasperated as she tried to referee it while Louis seemed to watch in amusement.

“It’s a stupid idea.”

“One stupid idea is still one more idea than you have, Aasim.”

“Oh thank god.” Brody whispered under her breath and Clementine and AJ approached with puzzled faces.

“What the hell are you up to now?” Clementine raised an eyebrow at them, which Louis shrugged off. “This moron wants to trade the last of the deer skeleton for a goddamn medieval battleaxe.” Aasim huffed in disbelief of his own sentence.

“...Seriously?” Her disbelief mirroring Aasim’s.

“I tried to make him at least pick something more practical.” Brody sighed.

“It sounds stupid but they have a shit ton of badass weapons and they’re not willing to trade most of them!” Mitch pleaded with their leader.

“C’mon Clem, you know it’d be cool.”

Clem stared at the freckled man, his sincerity surprising and unsurprising at the same time, to a very exhausted redhead and finally to Louis, who had been struggling to contain his laughter for a while.

“Sorry Mitch, but I need a new leg.” Clementine said, crushing Mitch’s dreams.

“Aasim, can you drop off what’s left at Connor’s tent?”

Clementine explained the rest of the deal to them, Louis and AJ agreeing to stay behind while the others brought their haul back to the school. 

As the day dragged on, the rock that had formed in Clementine’s stomach only grew and no amount of manual labour seemed to distract her enough. A chill settled on her skin as the sky began to darken. She needed to talk to Layla. And Louis. 

The Pack.

The Delta.

Saying their names was like poison on her tongue.

When will they ever let me go?

Clementine lost time as she sunk into her own thoughts. She jumped when she felt a firm hand on her shoulder, whipping around to see the smiling face of her boyfriend.

“Layla wants to talk to us.” He said as he held out his hand to help her stand and once she reached for it, she didn’t let go as they walked into the school building.

Water-stained papers laid practically cemented to the floor, coloured green and brown not by the gleeful hands of children, but the cruel hands of time and neglect. Lockers caked in chipped blue paint lined each side of the hall, some frozen shut with rust while others hung slightly ajar and some with no doors at all. The contents revealing long-abandoned backpacks of kids who had little time to escape or never made it out at all. The mental image was enough for her to walk a little closer to AJ.

The end of the hallway was heavily sectioned off by neatly stacked piles of desks and chairs from floor to ceiling ensuring nothing got through and if it did, it would certainly cause a scene. 

“Come in.” Layla’s voice called from the last room of the hallway just as they approached.

Layla sat at the teacher’s desk, a detailed map of every community on her route laid before her. She chewed on the end of her pen as she scanned the elegantly written notes jotted around each indicated area. Ink of many colours traced streets and pathways between each plotted point, some older routes more faded than others. As Clementine got closer, she could see a dark spot on the map where something had been crossed out with a black marker, all of the newer routes avoiding this area. Just barely, she could make out the name written next to it.

The Kingdom.

“Thanks for helping out today, guys.” Layla said as she folded up her map, sliding it into an inner pocket of her jacket.

“Every set of hands helps, though I heard it was because of Conner driving a rather hard bargain.”

“We owe you guys a lot.” Louis acknowledged, giving Clem’s hand a squeeze.

“Plus, it’s probably fair payback for all the haggling ‘Sim puts your merchants through.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Layla laughed with a snort.

“Anyways, you guys can sleep in room 303. It should be easy to find, since it’s the only room with a number still on it.”

Louis and Aj began to move towards the door, but Lou’s hand ended up pulling on a non-budging Clementine as she decided there was one more thing she needed to discuss.

“Clem?”

“What ever happened to The Pack?” Her question came out in a flurry of words and suppressed emotions.

“Addie said they ‘Dropped off the face of the Earth.’ but what happened?”

“I wish I could tell you.” Layla’s face softened.

“I’ve asked around and they just… disappeared. If I were to guess they moved on to another area looking for someplace more divided to pick apart.”

Layla scowled at the grain of the wooden desk as Clementine stood with just as many questions as she started with. So much uncertainty in the situation. How does a group that large and malicious just… vanish? At first, it was a relief, knowing they had nothing to fear in the aftermath of the war. But now it was beyond frustrating. Fang-marked walkers appearing after all these years… It left her with an overwhelming beg of “Why?” 

“Why are you bringing this up now all of a sudden?” The caravan leader asked with a tone of deepening worry.

“We’ve been finding his walkers.” 

Clementine watched the colour drain from the young woman’s face. Louis must have seen it too, because he finally spoke up with panic edging into his voice.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His voice begged to be let into the loop.

“What the hell is ‘The Pack?’”

“They’re the reason I was sent to recruit you.” Clementine’s voice fell flat, hand letting go of Louis’ as her fingernails dug into her crossed arms. Her heart raced a mile a minute as the realization sunk into everyone in the room.

“A-Are you sure it was them?” Layla got up from her chair, biting her thumb as she began to pace.

“What if it was just some of their walkers that got loose.”

“Dead walkers don’t disappear on their own.” Clementine looked at AJ.

“I saw the symbol.” AJ spoke up, very confused about what was happening.

“Fangs. But the walkers weren’t there anymore when we went back. I know I killed them I aimed for the head.”

AJ bit his lip before taking a deep breath.

“The Delta tried hurt us, and they lost. If these guys want to hurt us, they’ll lose too.” 

A heavy silence fell over them as Layla appeared to fight an internal battle, trying to cling to any reason to deny what was beginning to look obvious.

“I’ll send a patrol out tomorrow.” She decided, facing away from them and looking through the parts in the boarded-up window.

“Get some sleep, we’ll talk about it in the morning.” 

Feeling defeated physically and emotionally, Clementine turned to leave, loosely tugging on her boys to follow her to the room Layla had mentioned earlier.

Most of the debris had been piled in one corner of the room to make the tiled floor somehow more comfortable. A light-haired woman handed them a few blankets and pillows from the pile before the three of them picked a spot on the floor amongst the other sleeping people. Clementine elected to wear her prosthetic that night, not feeling anywhere safe enough to take it off. Even with the thick faux-wool blanket beneath them, she felt as if the broken tile sapped whatever bit of warmth she had left in her. She cuddled closer, AJ laying between her and Louis. Her boy wasn’t as small as he used to be, but getting to grow up was something Clem was overjoyed about.

Is that something I can still guarantee?

“I love you both.” Clementine said in a choked whisper, attempting to make determination replace her overwhelming sense of dread.

“We love you too.” Louis hugged the both of them close, placing a soft kiss on Clem’s forehead and a ruffle of AJ’s hair as the three of them dozed off.

[amanda-teaches]

Undercover

Summary: Dean and you are dancing around your feelings for each other when Sam finds a case that might just draw the two of you together.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2638

Warnings: A tinsy bit of swearing. Mostly fluff.

A/N: This one is for two challenges. The first is @kas-not-cas’s 2.5k dialogue challenge. My prompt was “I can’t marry her. She’d kill me within a week!”. And, the second is for @itswitchcraft-not-googlemaps‘s Golden Girls 1.5k challenge. That prompt was Dorothy: “I have a date” Blanche: “With a man?” Dorothy: “No, Blanche. With a Venus Fly Trap.” Congrats to both of you wonderful ladies on your milestones! I hope you like what I put together. :)

You trudged into the motel room just behind Sam and Dean, all three of you looking visibly exhausted. You had just wrapped up a week-long hunt, and you and the boys were running on fumes.

Sam peeled off from the group and walked over to the chair by the window to sit down, stretching his feet out in front of him. Dean, on the other hand, moved straight to the bed and fell face down on his stomach, letting out a long and dramatic groan. “I’m so tired, I think I could sleep for a week.”

Sam chuckled wearily. “A week already? On the drive home, it was only a day.”

“What can I say? I think I’m growing more tired by the second.” Dean said. “Besides, I think I deserve a week after that fight.”

You sat down on the bed beside him and laughed. “Take it easy, grandpa. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, yeah?” he muttered. “That’s easy for you to say, Y/N. You didn’t have to be that vamp’s bait.”

“Oh, you big baby,” you said teasingly. “You loved being the center of attention.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean grumbled, turning to face you with a smile. “And, just for that ‘big baby’ crack, you get to make the beer run.”

You laughed again and stood up, stretching your arms up over your head, willing the fatigue away. “As tempting an offer as that is, I’m going to have to pass. I have a date.”

Dean sat up straight at that announcement, his fatigue suddenly gone. “With a man?”

You glared at him. “No, Dean. With a Venus Fly Trap. Yes, with a man!”

Sam laughed at that, drawing a glare from Dean. He immediately closed his mouth and looked down, a small smile still on his face. You looked at the two of them questioningly until Dean turned back to you.

“Who’s your date with?” Dean asked, his voice sounding uncharacteristically unsteady. You raised your eyebrow, but answered him anyway.

“That cute cop we met at the crime scene. Officer Pearson.”

“That moron?” Dean scoffed. “He couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag, let alone solve a crime. He’s not worth your time!”

“What are you talking about?” you asked. “I thought you liked Bryce? You said he was a good guy when we worked with him.”

Dean crossed his arms and frowned. “Well, I don’t like him now. You shouldn’t go out with him, Y/N. You can do better.”

You looked down. You knew you could do better. But, the only man that you were truly interested in only saw you as a friend: Dean. He was the only man for you, but he was more interested in the waitresses and barflies he met on the road than you. He always had been. You had long ago given up hoping that Dean would ever pick you.

So, when Bryce asked you out, you’d said yes. He was a nice enough guy, and he’d treat you to a good time. You knew it could never go anywhere, because he couldn’t make you forget about Dean, but it’d help for the night. “I appreciate your concern, Dean, but I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.”

You waved goodbye and left to go to your room to shower and change, leaving Dean dismayed and Sam concerned. “You ok, man?”

Dean blinked twice before looking over at Sam. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because Y/N is going out on a date. With someone other than you.”

“Hey, Y/N and I are just friends. She can go out with whoever she wants.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Come on, Dean. It’s me. You don’t have to hide your feelings.”

Dean frowned. “I hate when you go all psych on me, Sammy.”

Sam stared at him intently, until Dean finally gave in. “Fine! Yeah, it’s bugging me. I want to rip that guy’s throat out. But, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“You can tell her how you feel.” He held up his hand before Dean could object. “Trust me, Dean, if the choice was between you and Bryce, she’d pick you.”

“I can’t,” he snapped back, before softening his tone. “What if something went wrong, Sammy? What if someone used her to get to me? It’s not like that hasn’t happened before. I can’t put her in jeopardy like that.”

Sam gave him a look filled with sympathy. “You can’t stop living life because you’re afraid.”

“I am not afraid!” Dean growled.

“Mmm hmm….” Sam muttered, unconvinced. “I’m just saying that if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you and Y/N. You could make each other happy. You shouldn’t pass that up.”

“Yeah, whatever you say Dr. Phil,” Dean said sarcastically. He jumped up and walked towards the bathroom. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“Not anymore!” Dean yelled over his shoulder before he slammed the bathroom door shut.

Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Geez. Those two really are clueless.” He shook his head resignedly before opening up his laptop and getting to work on finding their next case.

The next morning, you sauntered into Sam and Dean’s room bright and early with three cups of coffee in your hand. Your date with Bryce had been boring, which was disappointing because you’d been hoping for a fun escape from your feelings for Dean, but, you had gotten a good night’s sleep, leaving you energized and ready for the day. So, the night hadn’t been a total loss.

You put the coffee on the table by the window and moved to pull open the curtains. Bright sunlight filled the room, causing both Sam and Dean to sit up and shield their eyes.

“Good morning!” you announced happily, turning towards them with a smile. Sam muttered a quiet ‘good morning’ in response and got up slowly, moving towards the coffee like it was a magnet.

Dean, on the other hand, laid back down with a groan. “Turn off that light…”

You laughed. “That light would be the sun.”

“Then turn off the sun,” he muttered before rolling back over and covering his eyes with a pillow.

You narrowed her eyes and bit your lip in concentration. Then, you walked past Sam, a clear purpose in your mind, and kneeled down on Dean’s bed, bouncing gently. “Come on, sleepyhead! Rise and shine!”

“Ugh…” he groaned, more gruffly this time. You kept bouncing, going faster in an attempt to get Dean to give in and get up. He started to bat at you with one of his hands, pushing you away, but you dodged his blows and continued to bounce.

After a minute, Sam stepped closer to the two of you with his warm smile in full effect, the coffee already taking a noticeable effect on his energy level. “Y/N’s right, Dean. You’ve got to get up. We have to hit the road. I found us a case.”

Those four words had Dean moving immediately, years’ worth of hunter instincts kicking in. He sat up quickly, nearly knocking you over. He reached out and steadied you before you could fall and pulled you gently towards him, throwing an arm around your shoulders to anchor you. “What case?”

As Sam answered him, you ducked out from under Dean’s arm and scooted towards the other end of the bed. You tried to ignore the way your heart sped up the second he touched you. Or the butterflies in your stomach when he pulled you against him. You were over Dean. It was just a little crush that you had under control. Going on that boring date last night proved that. Right?

Yup, this is healthy, you thought to yourself. Obsessing over Dean. Again. Time to snap out of it, Y/N.

You took a deep breath and tuned back into what Sam and Dean were saying.

“I can’t marry her!” you heard Dean exclaim. You turned to him, suddenly interested.

“Marry who?!”

Sam turned to you with a questioning look in his eyes. He was probably wondering why you hadn’t been listening. “You, Y/N. He needs to marry you. Well, pretend marry at least.”

“ME?! Why?”

“Like I said, we need someone to go undercover at the fundraiser to provide a distraction so I can get into the computer system. I can’t do it, because I need to get to the computer, so it has to be you and Dean.”

“Wait a second…” you said, holding up your hands. “Rewind and pause. What kind of a case is this?”

Sam sighed, but repeated himself calmly and patiently. “Last night, I was tracking some demon activity in Chicago. I traced it all back to one house, which seems to be the source.”

You shook your head, still confused. “Whose house is it?”

Dean responded very quietly and seriously, still looking straight at Sam. “Senator Geoffrey Cardin.”

“Whoa…” you whispered. Senator Cardin was one of the most powerful politicians in Washington. If he was a demon, that could only mean bad things.

“Yeah,” Dean said, echoing your shock.

Senator Cardin was currently running for reelection, which was probably why there was a fundraiser. A VIP only fundraiser. Sam had to have pulled a lot of strings to tickets to that. Probably pledging some money from a “big name donor” who would never end up paying up.

Suddenly, you had a thought. “Wait, why do we need to go undercover at the fundraiser? Can’t we just sneak in and gank him the old-fashioned way?”

Dean grinned and pointed at you. “I like that idea better.”

You nodded, but Sam sighed. “I already told you. I need to get into the records on his computer. He could have information on other demons, or even Crowley, that we could use to beat them. This is bigger than just one demon.”

“Fine,” Dean growled. “I understand that. But, why do Y/N and I need to pretend to be married?”

“The only tickets I could snag were for a couple, not two singles.”

“But, I can’t marry her. She’d kill me within a week!”

“Hey!” You yelled. You tried to ignore the hurt that tore through you at the realization that Dean couldn’t stand the thought of being married, even pretend married, to you, but it still stung.

Dean turned to you and gave you a small smile. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You know what I mean. No one would ever buy us as a couple. They’d see right through it.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to make it work,” Sam said firmly. “Because it’s the only option we’ve got.”

You looked over at the man you were in love with. How could you possibly get through this without messing everything up?

The next night, you were standing in front of the bathroom mirror in a motel on the outskirts of Chicago, IL, where Senator Cardin was throwing his campaign fundraiser at his massive estate. You smoothed out the fabric of the long, black, figure-hugging evening gown you had picked up that morning. You didn’t usually dress this extravagantly, so you felt incredibly self-conscious. It was bad enough that you had to pretend to be married to Dean all night without somehow slipping up and admitting that you loved him, but now you had to do it in a fancy dress and heels.

You sighed deeply, trying to will yourself to step outside the bathroom to meet Sam and Dean. “Let’s get this over with.”

You stepped through the doorway, your eyes instinctively seeking out Dean. He was standing by the door, with his back to you, talking to Sam. You couldn’t even see all of him, but you could already tell that he looked amazing in his tuxedo. Not that you were surprised.

You waited patiently until Sam looked up and saw you. He did a double take before grinning and gesturing for Dean to turn around.

When Dean turned, he had a frown on his face, probably from whatever Sam had been saying, but it instantly vanished the second he saw you. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened as his gaze moved down your body, taking in your outfit.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, as if he was trying to decide something. Your self-consciousness flew back, and you assumed he was trying to figure out how to tell you how awful you looked. “Does it look alright?”

Dean grinned, like he was suddenly sure about something. “Sam, can you give us a minute?”

Sam smiled knowingly and nodded before stepping out into the hall. You really started to worry then.

“Dean, what is it? Do I look horrible? I knew it. This is never going to work.”

Dean drew in a breath and walked towards you slowly, not stopping until he was right in front of you. “Y/N, you look beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that I’m wondering why the hell I waited so long.”

You scrunched up your face. “Waited for what?”

“For this,” he whispered just before his lips crashed into yours. You stumbled in surprise, but he steadied you, pulling you into him. The second your body touched his, you melted, your arms sliding up to wrap around his neck and your mouth opening to respond to his. He took control, the heat and passion radiating from him and into you, making your knees go weak. It was a good thing he was holding you up, because, if anything was going to make you pass it, it was going to be a kiss from Dean Winchester. And, boy, did that man know how to kiss.

When the kiss was over, he pulled away, leaving you bemused and dumb-struck. “What….Why did you….What?”

Dean laughed quietly. “What?”

“You know what! Why did you kiss me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Dean…” you said warningly.

Dean grinned broadly and tightened his hold on you. “I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I like you, Y/N.”

Now it was your turn to smile. “You do?”

“Yeah, I do. Of course I do. How could I not? You’re beautiful, smart, funny. Kickass.” He added with a smile, drawing a laugh from you. “And seeing you standing there looking so drop-dead gorgeous in that dress, I couldn’t stand the thought of not kissing you.”

You leaned in to kiss him again but then thought better of it and pulled back, tilting your head up to look into his eyes. “But, wait a minute. If you liked me, then what was that, ‘I can’t marry her’ stuff about?”

He looked down, chagrined. “I was worried that if I had to pretend to be married to you, even for just a night, I wouldn’t be able to hide how I felt about you and I’d mess up our friendship. So, I said that to try to get Sam to drop the plan.”

You grinned and started laughing. “I was thinking the same thing about you!”

Dean started laughing along with you, before leaning in and silencing you both with a kiss. “I guess we really are alike.”

“I guess we are,” you whispered. You pulled back and grabbed the lapel of his suit jacket. “Let’s go show everyone just how in sync we are, husband, and when we get back, I’ll show you all the fantasies I was trying to hide from you.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Then he leaned in to devilishly whisper in your ear, his breath tickling you. “And, you’d better rest up now, because I’m have a feeling we’re going to be up allllll night.”

The way he said it didn’t sound like an idea, but like a promise. A promise you were more than happy to let him keep.

Tags (List is open! Let me know if you want on or off!):

@hamartiamacguffin @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @katymacsupernatural @impandagrl @cyrilconnelly @jpadjackles @damnandriel-in-hell @impala-dreamer @castielhasthetardis @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes

[therealmnemo]

11 Questions

Ok, so I think I got everyone who tagged me in this. I’m sorry I’m going to add more questions because I’m drawing a blank, but I’ll answer the questions I was tagged in under the cut >.> 

From @sixlilypetals

1.     What is your favorite fan fic by another author and why? Oh no.. why. I have so many favorites!!! Ok. I’m going to pick one out specifically because it affected me so much that every time I hear the song that the title comes from, I will literally tear up in public. It’s You’ll Remember Me (When The West Wind Moves) by @foxnonny. It’s a FenHawke where Danarius was able to recapture Fenris, but starts with Garrett and co. rescuing him after his memories had been erased. After some time back at Kirkwall, Garrett is able to show Fenris his memory of their captivity (both he and Fenris had been captured, but Garrett had been freed once they reached shore), and Fenris realizes he needs time away to realize who he is again, because he is not this Fenris. And what KILLS me, is that Fenris’ last words to Garrett before giving himself back is “Be Well, Garrett Hawke.” And it’s said again later and everytime I think about it I want to cry. And then the last chapter when he starts writing to Garrett and picking up random memories.. I just.. GAH. It’s so beautiful. And this is why I cry like a baby at Fields of Gold. 

2.     What is your favorite fan fic you’ve done and why? Ugh. Well, I’m in that slump where I’ve been unable to write in a while so nothing looks good.. but I think I’m going to say You Could Be Happy. It’s the collection of my fic for Fenris Week last year, and contains two of my more well-received pieces. Surprises, which laid the foundation of the FenHanders I really wanted to delve into, and then Flight, a Pern AU one-shot that I put a lot of thought into and would like to pull out into a long fic one day. This question might change if I ever get my WIPs finished. 

3.     How did you discover Dragon Age? Steam Sale? I’m pretty sure Origins was really cheap during a Steam sale and a few of my friends had it on their game lists and I was like.. uh.. this seems like my kind of thing. Then I spent a couple hundred hours on it... 

4.     If you were going to do a get rich quick scam in Thedas, what modern thing would you peddle? condoms. idek 

5.     What is your dream hobby? i’d love to get going on voice work, and also beekeeping. 

6.     If you could create one law that could never be changed, what would it be? Oh god, something dealing with minimum wage and having to stay in line with cost of living and productivity levels and/or requiring the government to provide homes to the homeless. 

7.     When you’ve had a rough day, what makes you happy? IRL, cuddling with friends and watching a movie, if that is not possible (like 90% of the time) getting online to read fic and talk with friends <3

8.     What other universe do you think would be fun to cross over with Dragon Age? oh god.. too many? but the one I’m most interested in is doing a Pern crossover because.. uh.. dragons!!! (and of COURSE Hawke and Bull would be dragonriders)

9.     If you could own a pet dragon, would you and why? who in their right mind would answer no to that? YES.. because DRAGONS. 

10.  In what ways do you see yourself as a leader? As a follower? Uh.. hmm. I guess when it comes to things that I’m knowledgeable about or interested in, I’ll tend to take the lead in a group setting.. especially in cases where I can foster communication. Things that are task oriented that are easy to follow up on. I tend to fall back as a follower if it’s something that isn’t in my wheelhouse, or something I have no business being at the forefront of. 

11.  If you could go back in time and tell yourself one thing about the future, what would it be? fuck more people. i know how that might sound in general, but like, i wish young me would have had a different view on this. if i did, some things would have been very different. 

From @jawsandbones

Click this link and tell us what your super power is. Are you a hero or a villain? Your powers are super hearing, seeing through illusions, and manipulating shadows. um, a flipping hero. mostly for that last one.. because I would totally put on the most badass shadow puppet theatre.

What hobby would you get into if time and money weren’t an issue? BEEKEEPING. :D (I would say location too, but I’m sure that wouldn’t be an issue because money wouldn’t be)

What fictional place would you most like to go? Toss up between Thedas and Pern. 

Are you usually early or late? Uh, late. Usually depends on if I’ve taken my meds that day. It’s the focus part that usually screws me up on timing. 

What do you wish you knew more about? I’m going to cop out of this question because I’m literally a sponge for useless information. I will rabbit trail on wikipedia for hours. Things I will never need to know, or wanted to know to begin with, but now I have that tidbit stored away. I just want to know all that I can. Did you know that Mike Nesmith of the Monkeess’ mother was the inventor of Liquid Paper? 

How do you relax after a hard day? Check # 7 above!

Something you’ve been meaning to try but haven’t gotten around to yet?hmm, i don’t really have anything for this one. i have games i’ve not played yet and shows i haven’t watched yet. 

What one thing do you really want but can’t afford? a month long vaca to see my BFF in Scotland. 

What are you most likely to become famous for? not really anything, but along with my dream hobbies, well known VA or rockstar beekeeper would be amazing right?

What are you absolutely determined to do? Right now? Just be a fully functioning adult. 

What question do you want the answer to? Why haven’t we bred dragons yet? I mean, come on. 

From @littlexabyss

1.  What’s your favourite kind of dragon? I’m talkin’ any fandom here - Potterverse to HTTYD to…. well.  Dragon Age, I guess.  PERN DRAGONS \o/

2.  Across any/all of the games, what’s one decision you regret making plotwise?  Did you not recruit someone?  Break up with an LI?  Make a decision which broke your approval rating with someone?  C’mon, spill.  The first time I played DA2 I skipped Fenris’ cutscene and didn’t use him the whole game... I even thought he was a rogue... >.>

3.  Who’s the best-looking monster or creature in Thedas? (Mine’s the Envy demon at Therinfal Redoubt, wowee, that’s a stunner.)  Witherfang. 11/10

4.  What’s the most awkward ret-con of the Dragon Age series, in your opinion? Leliana if she was killed. Don’t get me wrong, I actually really love the reason that you get post DAI, because it just adds another level to lyrium and the Titans.. but like... awks. 

5.  List your current three favourite pieces of fan art and/or fics? WHY. ok, i did a fenhawke above, so i’m going to do three more ships eyyyy.  Walk Softly and Carry a Big Axe, Windfall, Inquisitor Hawke series

6.  Of the Dragon Age characters, who do you think would survive best should they be plonked into the Mass Effect universe? I’m going to flake on this because I really haven’t played ME yet. 

7.  Do you think Isabela’s ever had scurvy? Nah

8.  You know that bit in Inquisition, where Haven’s fallen and shit is getting a bit real and everyone starts singing that song half way up the mountain as your Inquisitor is freezing their buns off?  On a scale of 1: I totally joined in at home, it wasn’t awkward at all to 10: I had to leave the room and hide with my hands over my ears it was so awwwwkward, how’d you feel about it? Yeah, that was a 20. 

9.  Do you think you’ll be back for DA4?  Of course, DA owns my ass. 

10.  If you were a Circle mage, which (if any) fraternity would you belong to?  (As a brief recap: Aequitarians - “Shut up and play nice”; Isolationists - “Society is overrated”; Libertarians - “FUCK ALL THIS”; Loyalists - “Yes, Knight Commander, No, Knight Commander, how high, Knight Commander?”; Lucrosians: “MONEYMONEYMONEY”). Libertarian :D

11.  Think of your favourite character from the series (or just who springs to mind first): what is the song that they would rapturously describe as “their jam”? Shit. You know it’s Anders and Fenris and I have several playlists.. but as a single song? For Fenris, "Disarm” by the Smashing Pumpkins and for Anders, gawd, uhm, it changes constantly but give me some “Unsteady” by X Ambassadors for some young Anders feels.