#not ruined. not a mess. not ugly and full of trash

[almostempty]

the meet ugly (javier peña x f!reader) 

WC: 1.6k | Other fics | Rating: it’s ? fluff? No smut

last one for today, sry for spamming anyone, it was an all-or-nothing scenario in my mind 

Summary: your bad day gets worse when a trash bag spills on you. your neighbor javi tries to help but you both get stuck trapped with him and a dumpster. 

Note: this was for the meet-cute, but i had to do something nobody asked for aka make it gross ??? it’s my clown blood idk 

Tags/warnings: au modern javi lives in your apartment complex, description of cold leftovers from your garbage spilling on you, it’s just flirty peña idk it was an exercise for me to write something short and without smut, i’m assuming that dumpsters locked behind fences are relatable enough for all, no y/n, reader is able-bodied, all mistakes are mine just pretend like you didn't see them, i think that's all ty <3

 

You groan as you wrestle with the trash bags, their weight pulling on your arms while you trudge down the cracked concrete stairs. The holly bush at the bottom catches on your shorts again, its spiky branches scraping across your leg. Mocking you. You bite back a curse. The day has been a disaster from start to finish, and now you’re hauling half your apartment’s trash to the dumpster, trying not to lose your temper.

Why does this apartment complex even have holly bushes? It’s like someone got paid just to make everything as inconvenient as possible. Whoever designed this must have never experienced the luxury of hauling garbage bags between two overgrown defensive security bushes. 

You’re still fuming about it, whoever designed this hellscape of an apartment complex, when you reach the gate for the dumpster. One of the trash bags, full of leftovers you’d rather not think about, digs painfully into your fingers. You adjust your grip, unaware the straining plastic is a ticking time bomb. 

You trudge toward the dumpster enclosure, spotting your hot neighbor rounding the corner of his SUV, cigarette between his fingers. Of course, he would be out here to witness your personal walk of garbage shame.

He glances up, and you catch the moment his dark eyes land on you. His gaze sweeps over the bags, then to your face, a smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t say anything, but his look is enough to make your face hot. 

Damn him.

"Rough day?" he asks as you approach the dumpster, his deep voice laced with amusement.

"You could say that," you mutter, already feeling defensive. He’s really the last person you want to see while you’re sweaty and cranky. 

With a huff, you push the gate open and step into the dumpster enclosure, tossing the first couple of bags into the bin. The smell is overwhelming, but you just want to be done with it. You lift the last bag, but just as you hoist it up, the thin plastic rips apart, and cold, week-old pad thai leftovers land on your chest, feet, and everywhere but the dumpster. 

You freeze, mortified. Of course.

Before you can even process what just happened, you hear boots scuff against the pavement. Javier’s already hustling over, cigarette still between his fingers, that damn smirk still in place. 

"Need a hand?"

"I’ve got it," you snap, despite the fact that you aren’t moving. Unsure what’s going to make the situation any worse. 

It’s hard to focus on the mess when he’s standing so close. His presence makes your embarrassment worse. Like, you could climb into the dumpster yourself and wait until the garbage truck picks you up on Thursday and takes you away. 

"You sure about that?" He doesn’t move to help—just watches you with a look that’s far too amused for your liking.

"I’m sure," you grumble, tossing the ruined bag into the dumpster. "I don’t need your help." You commit to the mess, peeling cold noodles off of your chest and tossing them into the bin. You frown deeply, fishing out the leftovers that made it down your shirt. The smell and the texture make you nearly gag. 

Javier steps closer, chuckling under his breath. "Right. Because you’ve got everything under control."

You glare at him, wiping your hands on your already-ruined shorts. “I think you’re a little late to be a hero. I’m already wearing the leftovers.”

"Never said I was a hero," he replies smoothly, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Just trying to be neighborly."

As you turn to face him, the gate behind him swings shut with a loud clang. He tries to shove it open, but it doesn’t budge. His expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a flicker of realization in his eyes.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “We’re stuck?” 

He tugs at the gate one more time before turning back to you, that smirk still in place. "Looks like it."

You stare at him, your frustration mounting. "You aren’t even going to apologize? How are you calm about this?” 

Javier shrugs, leaning back against the gate and taking a long drag of his cigarette before acknowledging your question. He’s like the opposite of an anti-smoking campaign. You want to be the cigarette. 

"Not my fault the gate’s a piece of shit. And I’m not in a hurry."

"You closed it," you counter, flustered and looking for someone to blame.

But even as you glare at him, you can’t help but notice how infuriatingly attractive he looks, the way his leather jacket pulls tight over his shoulders, the way his dark eyes glint with amusement.

Javier catches your gaze and quirks an eyebrow. "You’re staring."

You roll your eyes, heat flooding your face. "I’m not."

"You are." His voice is low, teasing, and the way he looks at you—like he knows exactly what he’s doing—is making it harder to keep your composure.

You step back, trying to regain control of the situation and you catch him laughing to himself. 

“I really don’t see what could be funny about any of this,” you wave your arms, gesturing to your ruined clothes and the small space you’re both trapped in. 

“Could be worse ways to spend the evening,” he drawls, taking a step towards you. 

You pick another piece of rice noodle out from between your tits. “Yeah, like if the dumpster was on fire?” 

You’re too aware of him. Of how his voice gets lower and rougher when he’s this close.

He chuckles, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. "I’ve been in worse places. With worse company."

You swallow hard. The way his eyes flicker over your face, how his smirk never fully fades–it’s maddening. He knows what he’s doing to you. It feels like a sick joke. 

"Yeah?" you mutter, your voice sounding breathier than you’d like. "And what makes me such good company?"

Javi’s eyes darken, and he takes another step forward, close enough now that you could smell the leather of his jacket, the faint tobacco on his skin if it weren’t for the foul stench of all of half the apartment complex’s trash in the container behind you.  

"You’re more fun to argue with."

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. “Don’t fuck with me, Javier. I’m already having a day from hell.” 

He gives you a pouty look that makes you want to scream. “Why would I be fucking with you?” he asks quietly, almost sounding hurt. 

You snort, incredulous. “I’m wearing last week's lunch and the only clothes that weren’t in the laundry. Don’t act like you’re flirting with me.”

He steps closer until there’s barely any space left between you. His voice drops, smooth and dangerous. "What if I am?"

For a moment, you forget where you are. 

“What if I think you look good? Even with a garnish?” he asks and pulls a piece of cilantro off of your cheek. 

All you can focus on is how close he is, the way he waits like he’s daring you to make a move. There’s no way he’s serious. He rarely says more than a curt hello, even though you walk to your cars in the parking lot at almost the same time every morning as you head out for work. Sometimes, he’ll wave if you pass him on your walk to the corner store. 

You only knew his name because of the time he caught you trying to drag a dresser you’d scored at an estate sale up the stairs to your apartment on your own. He’d helped you carry it, despite your protesting, all the way into your bedroom.

“I’d say you’re literally stuck in here with me for the foreseeable future, so of course you’d say that.” 

He sighs heavily, muttering under his breath at you, “Tan terca.” And in a move that makes your jaw drop, he turns away from you, stalking towards the fence with a fluid arrogance. Like an oversized cat in a leather jacket, he leaps at the chain link fence like he’s done it a hundred times. He hoists himself up, swinging over the top and dropping onto his feet on the other side. 

He’s grinning at you when he unlatches the gate and swings it open, but you snap storming towards him. “How long were you gonna wait to let us out?” 

He shrugs, “I thought Randy would’ve been out for a smoke before we had to wait long. Don’t exactly enjoy having to climb over a fence.” 

“Right.” You slip out of the gate with a thanks, but when he says your name, you feel like your whole body is drawn towards him.  

He eyes you, leaning in just close enough to make your pulse race again. “And if I were to flirt with you now?” 

“I’d question your judgment,” you point to yourself, “I’m still in desperate need of a shower.” 

His eyes lift, looking just past you, before he grins. 

“Oh my god,” you cut him off before he says a word, “were you about to tell me I could use your shower?” 

Everything about his mockingly sheepish look says you are right. You shake your head at him in disbelief, but you can’t stop the smile that spreads on your face. It takes all of your strength to walk away but head towards your own apartment. 

You make it to the top of the stairs before the sinking feeling hits. You deny it until you check the door for yourself. Of course. After everything that went wrong today, it only makes sense that you would lock yourself out of your own apartment. 

You berate yourself all the way to his door. It swings open after the first knock, and he gives you a look that has your cheeks burning. His eyes gleam, and you just know he’s going to enjoy this before his smoky voice even reaches your ears. 

“Changed your mind?” 

divider @cyberangel-graphics

General tags 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange

[moon7jay]

Enhypen with a s/o who suffers from an ED (hyung line)

Warnings : ed behaviours, body dysmorphia, low self esteem, self depreciation, suggestive in jay's, fluff, comfort, triggering content ahead, please proceed with caution<3

Requested by .・゜゜・ @onlyni-kis (I tried my best to make it realistic, I hope it helps you somehow)

Heeseung

He'd be so attentive and accomodating to your needs. As someone with an Ed, you're often not taken seriously. Your mental problems are not considered valid. And so you usually avoid social settings where people can pass up unnecessary comments on your body or eating choices and heeseung never pressures you to get out if you don't want to. Because you lack confidence and even slight comments trigger you, heeseung makes sure that no one can do so while he's around. If he's around, you can freely go anywhere and do anything. He would have a reputation of a 0 tolerance boyfriend who did not like people perceiving you in anyway. So whenever he is around, people usually know to keep their words in check. He's your safe blanket. The only person you can be yourself with.

You were hanging out with heeseung's cousins in a family get together, sitting on heeseung's lap and indulging in oily food for once, trying to let go of the food guilt.

"y/n that's a lot of food for one sitting" one of them commented and even though the comment was harmless with no real intent to hurt you, it did hurt. Your appetite dying instantly as you gave them a sheepish smile ,standing up from heeseung's lap and excusing yourself from the setting, not wanting your useless tears to fall and ruin everyone's mood. Heeseung let you walk away to collect your emotions but the instant icy glare he shot towards his cousin was something his family would never forget.

"I thought I made it clear that when y/n comes over you better watch your fucking mouths" he gritted through clenched teeth, the nerve on his forehead throbbing with how much effort it was taking him to stop himself from punching his cousin's stupid face. He found you standing in the kitchen, the food that was previously on your plate was now in the trash can and you just stood there staring at it, your small sniffles reaching his ears. You jumped upon feeling two strong arms wrap around your waist but melted into heeseung's touch in an instant.

"Baby, it's okay, have you seen the amount of food that i eat? On the daily basis?" His words made you snort, how ladylike. It was true, heeseung always made sure to load his plate full, piling stuff to the top just so he could make you laugh and forget about your own portion size. It always worked.

"Let's get out of here and I'll take you to this new ice cream parlor I've been meaning to try, would you like that baby? Just me and you?" He peppered small kisses along the length of your neck tenderly, making you close your eyes and just bask in his love. "Yeah I'd love that" you whispered. He was enough for you. You could deal with anything as long as you were in his arms.

Jay

Watching yourself in the mirror was always daunting for you, having no idea of what you really looked like, just constant voices in your head chanting "ugly" were all you could focus on. The dress that you were trying on was tight, it was suffocating. Not thin enough, not pretty enough, starve, starve-

A choked sob escaped your lips and you covered your mouth instantly, realizing that you were in a public space and your boyfriend was right outside. Jay's thought made you cry more, all of your self doubts creeping in and you turned away from the mirror, unable to look at your distorted reflection any longer. You often questioned why he was with you, you were nothing but a mess of a person, not pretty, not normal... just a gaping wound was what you were. Always bleeding. A sudden knock at the changing room's door jolted you out of your thoughts and you quickly wiped your tears, breathing in through your nose to make your voice less wobbly "yes?" you asked, hoping it was just a staff.

"baby let me in please" came jay's sweet voice and you closed your eyes, a defeated sigh leaving your lips. He knew you were having a breakdown, of course he knew, he always knew. You trudged towards the door and yanked it open, presenting your tear stained face to your worried boyfriend. Jay took you in his arms in an instant, cooing and shushing you when you started sobbing in earnest. "talk to me love, I'm right here" he whispered, running his palms all over your body, caressing you with so much tenderness it made you tighten your hold around his neck.

"I just-i don't like this dress" you choked out in the crook of his neck and he hummed in understanding "but I think it looks stunning on you baby" He whispered. His words made you pull back, still sniffing but staring into his eyes to detect a lie being told to placate you.

"You do?" you asked softly, not trusting your voice just yet. He nodded and turned you around, a gasp leaving your lips while your back rested against his chest. Your eyes met his in the mirror and you shied away from the intensity of his gaze. You watched as he ran his hands all over your body, your breath hitching when he cupped your chest, travelling down to your waist, then to your hips "so perfect" he whispered in your ear, making a shiver run down your spine. "look at the way it hugs your curves sweetheart, and the vibrant blue which brings out the color of your eyes", your eyes widened upon realizing that he was right, the dress did do wonders in highlighting your eyes. " look at the way it hugs your hips baby, driving me crazy" and it did, it hugged your hips so snugly, the fit so perfect now that you were seeing yourself in new light. His fingers dug into your waist, his lips touching your earlobe while he told you how beautiful you were. "let me take you home and show you how much I like this dress" He groaned and you bit your lower lip at his suggestion, suddenly feeling so sexy and so desired. He was so good at making you feel like this gorgeous person that you never thought you were. But he was here. And he wanted you. He thought you were pretty and that's all that mattered to you. It didn't heal you but it did make things easier.

Jake

He would be the type of boyfriend who keeps you stacked with your diet soda and 0 calorie foods. After he started dating you he had quickly grasped the severity of your condition, and even though it was out of his hand to actually help you, he did try his best to just be there for you.

"Jake I didn't order these" you asked your boyfriend in confusion, pointing towards the two full boxes of konjac noodles sitting on the kitchen counter. He walked towards you with a smile and pulled you into him. "I did, aren't they your favorite noodles? I was just trying to be a good boyfriend".

Favorite noodles. No they weren't. And you knew that jake knew that, but he didn't like to make you feel like there was something wrong with you, and you appreciated that so much. Your lower lip wobbled upon seeing the new cans of coke zero stacked on the side counter as well. Never had anyone cared so much about your needs and it was making you choke on your emotions. You had been running out of your ed foods and were trying to push back buying them because of the increasing prices, not wanting to waste money on your own hunger because according to you, you didn't deserve to eat anyway.

"How'd you know?" you whispered through a sniffle, already feeling the onslaught of tears. "because I know you, and I love you" He whispered back, wiping your tears and capturing your lips in his own, kissing you through your breakdown.

Sunghoon

You didn't want to overthink it. You really didn't, but your boyfriend was gorgeous and so it was inevitable that he got female attention wherever he went. And most girls ignored your presence beside him, fawning over him as if he didn't have his fingers intertwined with yours. She was beautiful, the girl your boyfriend had been laughing with when you stepped into his office unannounced. That was your biggest mistake because now you couldn't help but compare. Compare the thighs, the arms, the waist... you were nothing like her. Were these the women sunghoon spent his entire day with? and he still chose to come back to your plain self? What were you even doing with yourself? You should be starving harder, you decided. Just a few inches more and your waist might start looking like her, and maybe a few more inches on your thighs would make everything better and the- you were spiralling again. Unable to stop it even though you knew the consequences.

"This is the 3rd order this week baby" sunghoon's voice made you turn towards your bedroom door, mentally cursing upon finding the packaged waist trainer in his hands. You panicked and snatched it from his hands, mumbling a quick thank you and not meeting his eyes. You could feel his probing gaze on you. "You haven't stepped outside of this house in weeks, care to tell me what's going on?"

You hadn't lost weight, you weren't pretty enough yet, didn't he understand?? You couldn't just go outside looking like this, was he out of his mind?. Warm hands cupping your cheeks pulled you out of your inner monologue and you looked up at his intense eyes staring down at you. He rubbed his thumbs onto your cheeks and rested his forehead against yours

"Do you remember the first day of high school? When you had the biggest zit on your nose?" He asked and you looked up at him confused, not knowing where this conversation was headed but nodded regardless. "I loved you then" he whispered and your throat tightened, remembering how he was probably the only one in your entire grade who didn't make a comment on your acne. "And the time when you fell face first into the muddy water before class cuz you were an idiot who never looked at the ground while walking" The memory made you giggle but sunghoon only smiled fondly , kissing your nose "you were drenched from head to toe but i loved you then. I loved you so much y/n". You could feel the moisture gathering in your eyes at his confession, knowing that you spent your entire teen years hating yourself so much to the point that you failed to see the love that was around you. Remembering how you would shy away from your own reflection in the class windows because you despised yourself to the core. "And I loved you when you slapped me, loved you so much that it hurt". Tears were falling freely now, the painful memory of you slapping sunghoon after he confessed his feelings for you because you thought he was trying to make fun of you, coming back to you. cuz in your head there was no way that a guy like him could ever want something to do with you, so you automatically concluded that it was a prank, a distasteful one. "and I love you right now y/n, I love you because you're you. I can't live without you because your soft snores are the only thing helping me fall asleep most days. Because your stupid jokes are the only ones I'd ever fake my laugh for- you gasped through your tears and slapped his chest lightly, making him chuckle. "I love you because I can't help it. It's that easy to love you. " he continued , wiping your tears, "don't you understand baby? You never had to try to make me love you, so why now?". You buried your face into his chest and sobbed, feeling like a huge rock had been lifted off of your chest. His assurance was what you craved the most. The reminder that you were enough for someone. For him.

"I want you just like you are sweetheart, flaws and scars intact. Raw and unfiltered. Now that I have you in my arms, please don't take that away from me" He whispered, wrapping his hands tightly around your heaving body.

"If it's hard for you to love yourself,please let me do it for you" and just like that, he was again fixing the parts of you that he didn't break.

[sometimesraven]

Perfect

Whumptober No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” Safety Net | Swooning |

Fandom: Quantum Leap (2022) POV Character: Ian Wright Whumpee: Ian Wright

Mental illness isn't pretty, and sometimes the thing that sparks a spiral seems completely unrelated to the spiral itself -- Jenn knows this. Sometimes supporting your friends means a patience, forgiveness, and knowing when to walk away.

AO3 Link

Doors locked. Windows locked? No, windows open. Stinks in here. Adjust the rug. Adjust it again. Adjust it again. Why? Something bad. What? Something. Do it again.

Ian huffed to themself, sweeping dust out of the rug for the sixth time that day, ready to be vaccuumed again. Was that a stray hair settling on the table? Hm. They made a mental note to spray and clean it again, chiding themself for letting the place get this dirty. They'd just have to work harder whenever they got back from Quantum Leap. Sleep be damned.

"You know the place is fine, right?" Jenn was here. Right. They'd forgotten she had a key, and now she was stomping all over the rug they just cleaned and eating chips near the couch and putting an empty can on the table.

"Are you stupid?" The words snapped from behind clenched teeth before Ian could stop themself, snatching the can up and throwing it unceremoneously into the trash. Jenn rolled her eyes at them, smart enough to at least fold over her chip packet and shove it back in her pocket, but then dusted her hands off on their jeans, which led to another bout of rug-sweeping.

"What? I was gonna throw it away in a minute."

"The place is not fine," Ian snapped, ignoring her defence entirely, "it's gross and you're not helping."

"Oooh-kay." Jenn rolled her eyes again, flopping down onto the couch with a huff. "Lemme know when you're done with whatever this is."

Of course she didn't understand. She never understood when it was important; nobody did. A wave of deep, crushing loneliness squeezed at Ian's chest and settled like poison on their tongue -- she couldn't understand how important this was. They were alone with it, as always. Worse still, they couldn't even begin to describe the mess of directions in their head when everything they felt just mixed and soured into rage: she's mocking you. Wants you to fall apart. If you listen to her she'll ruin you. "Just because you can live in that nasty-ass apartment doesn't mean we all have to live to that standard, okay?"

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Jenn was offended now. The vague judgement that seemed to permanently live in her eyes was narrowed into hurt and somehow the guilt only made them more mad.

"It means stop sitting there like you're trying to ruin my life and help me or get out!"

Jenn winced at the tone of their voice. She hated being yelled at, especially by Ian. She hated being told to leave. Ian knew all this, but they continued scrubbing the table as if the state of the glass was directly responsible for this entire situation, while their stomach clenched and their chest pounded just leave just leave, I don't want to hurt you any more.

But then she was gone. A door slammed and a cry tore from their throat. Don't leave! I need you!

When did they end up on the floor? Why was the world swimming-- when did Jenn come back? Why were her arms around them, guiding them to the couch, they should be mad they should be screaming at them, they were imperfect.

They couldn't bring Ben back.

"I'm so scared," they whispered, Jenn's shirt already damp from their tears.

"I know," she sighed, petting their hair in soothing circles.

"I screwed everything up..." Great, they were full on ugly-sobbing. Jenn was gonna have to change her shirt and Ian was going to be all puffy for days.

"It's not your fault."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

[jonathanvik]

Krisis - Chapter 2

“Tsk.” Police Chief Rolf scowled as his secretary brought him the daily report, chalky smoke filled his office from his cigar as he scanned the reports. He suppressed a yawn, quickly skimming through each paper to get home early. If anything important happened, he’d learn about it in the morning.

“Another Demon protest.” Rolf smothered his cigar against the report, annoyed he’d have to deal with that nonsense again. 

If they were so unhappy about their pay, why didn’t they move to Vanderfall? There, they’d probably treat that trash better. If the Demons lived in his country, they lived by UOP rules. They should be proud to be citizens of the UOP, regardless of their living conditions. Some hell gas should suffice to clear that rabble. The agony caused by the nerve agent would make anyone think twice about continuing their worthless cause.

“Sir! Apologies for the interruption, but there’s an emergency!” His view screen said, flickering on. Sitting inside its frame was a cartoon green-haired girl in a police captain’s outfit with flashing police sirens acting as hair buns.

“Phú. I left my monitor off for a reason. This better be good.” While he could have easily gone through his reports with the AI’s assistance, Rolf preferred the tactile nature of paper. The higher-ups had forced the damnable AI upon his department, believing it would be an enjoyable mascot for children.

But his desk rattled as he abruptly stood up when he caught the AI’s stark expression. “It’s your nephew, Joven. He’s in the hospital. He’s suffered severe brain trauma. The prognosis isn’t good.”

Rolf was already charging from his office to the parking garage. People scattered at the sight of their irate police chief. Above him, a flying monitor followed him, Phú’s hover engines struggling to keep pace.

“He was attacked?” Rolf demanded, mind racing as the AI explained the scant details. “And this Rocke Ralss brat is responsible?”

“Correct. We’re taking testimony from both witnesses.”

“Keep them here. Once I return from the hospital, I want to hear their testimony myself.”

“Sure thing, Cap!” Phú said, giving him a thumbs up. “We’ll squeeze them for everything they got!”

“Rawr!” A roar echoed around the main lobby, officers were struggling to subdue a suspect. The brute was massive and violent, resembling more a wild beast than a human. Even with five officers on him, they couldn’t contain him.

“One moment,” Rolf said, forestalling Phú with a hand.

“Gah!” The suspect howled as Rolf delivered a powerful kick to the face. Stunned, he was helpless as Rolf grabbed him by the skull with both hands and drove his knee into his chin. With a thud, the man collapsed unconscious.

“Thanks, Chief.” Sergeant Halkken said, giving him a thumbs up for the assist.

“Throw that scum into a cell, Jan. Perhaps he’ll calm down after a day or two without food or water.”

---

“By Solv, I...” Rocke shook his head, hoping to wake from this terrible dream. This couldn’t be happening. His stolen car increased speed, zipping between two trucks. Metal squealed as he clipped a truck’s side, leaving an ugly gash in the car’s rear end.

“I appreciate the assist, young man. How about slowing down before you kill us?” the prophet said wryly. “The Sovereign might have saved my life, but I’d rather not risk it again, if you catch my drift.”

“R-right.” Rocke tried to gather his racing thoughts. Had he just killed Joven? No, impossible. It’d only been an ugly head wound. He’d be fine, surely.

“Dear Solv! I’m in a stolen car fleeing from a crime scene!” The full impact of his situation struck him like a brick to the skull, hands trembling with pent-up emotion. He’d just ruined his life, hadn’t he? Rocke doubted his family would think highly of him throwing away everything for some bum. His uncle would be furious about his debacle, maybe even refusing to help him legally through this mess. And Rocke’s dad? He’d rather not dwell on that.

“It’s okay, son.” The prophet said, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze. “We can get through this. The first point, I would imagine, is ditching this stolen car.”

“You’re right.” Nowadays, cars have trackers for just such a situation. It wouldn’t take long for this vehicle’s theft to be reported. After taking a deep breath, Rocke guided Joven’s car to a back alley behind a warehouse. At this late hour, nobody was around. With a hiss, the vehicle parked behind a  bin brimming with trash bags.

An idea struck his dulled mind, and his fingers danced across the flying car’s controls. While people usually drove their cars manually, they had an autodrive function. He programmed a course that would drive the vehicle halfway across the city.

“Okay, now what?” A million scenarios passed through Rocke’s head as his feet landed in the dark alley, almost pitch black from the lack of moonlight. Behind him the car started up on its journey.

Should he turn himself over to the police and plead for their mercy? But Rocke trembled, terrified by the prospect of going to prison. How could this happen? The UOP promised its citizens perfect peace and prosperity. People like him never committed crimes!

“I have a friend who lives nearby. Let’s stop by there to rest. After your day, you’ll need it. Besides, I doubt good decisions are made in a foul-smelling alley.” The soothsayer wrinkled his nose at the alley’s smell of indeterminate bodily fluids. 

 Rocke watched as Joven’s car sped away to parts unknown. “Okay, lead on.” Some sleep sounded nice. It might sober him up for better decision-making tomorrow.

“Matthias Daliven.” The prophet said, extending his hand. “I haven’t properly thanked you for saving my life.”

“Rocke Ralss.” While a wiry fellow, the soothsayer’s grip was firm, a sharp contrast to Rocke’s more feeble one. Despite his father’s emphasis, Rocke had never attained an imposing grip.

After a slight smile, the prophet led Rocke into a district of Vladus he’d never visited. It shocked him how grimy it was. Didn’t the automatic robotic cleaners come down here? He even noticed some streetlights weren’t working. With palpable unease, Rocke followed Matthias to parts unknown.

“Matthias, is that you?” A woman said. She waved as they entered the shantytown, a makeshift village within his grand city. The lady was an Ottomon, her tribal markings stretching across her middle-aged face in a sharp, zigzag fashion.

To call these huts homes would be generous. They appeared more like tin boxes of thin metal than a house. It shocked Rocke that anyone could live in them. Did they even keep you warm at night? North UOP had harsh winters with meters of snow every year.

“Evening, Maple.” The prophet replied, limping over.

“By Sovereign, what happened to you?! You’re all black and blue! Did someone hurt you? Angry about your prophecies, no doubt.” Maple said, fretting over the older man. “And who’s your friend? A higher district folk, from the looks of him.”

“Rocke,” he said bashfully under the woman’s scrutiny. Her penetrating gaze reminded him of his grandmother. That woman’s stubbornness could force a building to move if she wanted.

“He saved me from a bunch of hooligans,” Matthias said, giving Rocke’s back a friendly pat. “The Sovereign sent him to save my sorry keister.”

“That’s very brave of him.” The woman’s smile was grateful and full of admiration. It made Rocke somewhat self-conscious, but the glow from her respect felt nice. “Come in. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Maple. You’re a dear.” Matthias said, limping into the woman’s shack.

“Sure thing.” The metal hut was even smaller on the inside, barely larger than Rocke’s bedroom. Yet, its owner maintained it with obvious love, making do with whatever was available. The air didn’t smell as bad as he’d expected. Instead, the fragrance was of cooked vegetables. An old metal stove sat in a corner, and above it were stacks of shelves with different utensils and spices. Two beds sat in a corner, not giving the occupants much room for privacy.

“No use staring, lad. We might be poor, but we manage.” The older woman said. “But make yourself at home. I’ll get you something to eat. You’ve suffered quite the ordeal.”

“Sorry,” Rocke said, blushing. He found a stool next to a fold-up table and sat.

“You’re too kind.” The prophet said, groaning as he pushed himself onto the stool.

“Mom? Are you talking to someone?” A young woman said from outside. “Has Matthias come to visit?”

Rocke gasped as a familiar face slipped into the shack, recognizing the distinctive tattoo markings anywhere. What an impossible coincidence.

“Didn’t you give me a few copper coins a couple of hours ago?” The beggar’s eyes became suspicious. “Why are you here?”

“None of that, Kallane. He’s our guest. Please make him feel at home.” Her mother said.

“He got me out of a nasty scrape,” Matthias said, providing the backstory.

“What happened to you?” Kallane said, alarmed. She examined the prophet, making sure his injuries weren’t serious.

“Don’t fret. I’ll be fine.” The prophet said.

“The fool has been prophesying again.” Maple poured a thick broth into wooden bowls and placed them on the table. His mouth watered, despite being a simple affair made from vegetables, mostly celery from his guess. “Like those uptown fools will even listen to him.”

“Someone needs to warn them,” Matthias said, pulling his spoon to his mouth. “The Sovereign tells me they must be warned before judgment. They need time to repent.”

“Brave, silly Matthias.” The older Ottomon woman shook her head.

“And are you a repenter?” Kallane asked, eyeing Rocke with interest.

“Naw, I don’t believe any of that,” Rocke replied, trying the soup. It was excellent and flavorful, much to his surprise and delight. It helped remove any lingering effects of the drinks he’d had earlier.

“Yet you helped me,” the prophet said, raising an eyebrow. “Against your own friends, no less.” This caught their hosts’ attention, increasing their curiosity about what had happened.

Rocke’s hands covered his face, the futility of his situation crashing down on him. “I’m a wanted man now.”

“It was the Sovereign’s will. He put you there to help me,” Matthias said, his words kind.

“Thanks for ruining my life, Sovereign,” Rocke replied, not hiding his bitterness.

“This life is temporary. What we do for the hereafter matters more. The Sovereign will judge us for our transgressions. Being a good person isn’t enough. Unless we confess our sins, they hang over us like a noose.”

“Sure,” Rocke said noncommittally. He’d heard this speech countless times from his grandmother, too. She was the only person in his family that ever believed in the Sovereign. The controversy had gotten her kicked out of the family.

“Now Matthias, let’s not scare away our guest,” Maple said, scolding her friend.

“Tsk. Seems no one wants to hear the truth,” the prophet said, his tone going sullen. “It’s like I’m talking to myself. 40 days isn’t enough time!”

Why bother then? Rocke wanted to ask, but decided against it. It wasn’t his job to tell people what they should do.

“Well, I’m proud of you. Someone needs to speak out! The Uupies need to understand there are consequences for what they’ve done. Making us live in squalor while they live in palaces!” Kallane spat on the dirt floor, her tone venomous. “When judgment comes, they’ll get everything they deserve!”

While disapproving of her tone, the prophet patted Kallane’s hand. “I’m proud of how much you care about your people, Kallane, but don’t allow your anger to poison you. The Uupies are human too. I was once one of those snooty uptowners.”

The prophet was an uptowner? What poor luck drove him to become a prophet of a dead religion? Despite himself, it sparked Rocke’s curiosity. 

“Tsk. You’re different. You’ve always had a heart.” They’d clearly had this argument hundreds of times. Rocke shifted uneasily in his seat. He’d never realized how badly the Demons despised his people.

“Dessert?” Maple asked too loudly, trying to break into the awkward mood.

“That sounds lovely,” Matthias replied.

“Sure.” His host gave them each a sweet cake. Despite its simple flavor, and small size, Rocke enjoyed it. When Maple left with her daughter to do the dishes out of a basin, it left Rocke mostly alone with the person he’d lost everything to save.

“Are you okay?” the prophet asked, catching Rocke’s forlorn mood.

“What should I do now? I have no future.” While his uncle had money, he doubted he’d spend a copper to defend his disgraced nephew. Joven’s family had even more powerful connections. His father was a powerful local politician who aimed to become Vladus’ mayor. 

If Joven survived, Rocke would suffer only a short jail sentence. If the big man died, Rocke’s uncle wouldn’t dare fight that to save his own political skin. He’d consider it wiser to toss away his nephew like useless chaff. Like his father always said, it’s a dog-eat-dog world. 

“The Sovereign will provide,” Matthias replied cryptically.

“Sure. Thanks for the meal, but I should go,” Rocke stood up.

“No, stay the night,” Maple replied.

“You’ve been too nice. If I stay, you’d only get in trouble.” Where he’d go, Rocke hadn’t a clue. He couldn’t bear these good people getting hurt because of him.

“No, you’re staying. It’s dangerous at night in these parts, especially for Uupies.” Maple’s tone was emphatic.

“Yeah, everyone here knows Matthias is a friend and holy man, but a rich Uupie like you would get sliced to bits in seconds.” Kallane’s frosty glare sent a shiver down his spine.

“Okay.” Rocke’s tongue caught in his throat.

“We have a spare mat you can use,” Maple said kindly. She offered the same to Matthias too, and he accepted the offer with a grateful nod.

Rocke grimaced, disliking sharing a cramped room with three people. But it wasn’t like he had much choice. He’d lost any claim to comfort when he’d attacked Joven. He hoped by tomorrow, things would improve.

---

“Explain again what happened?” Rolf said, getting into the witness’s face. The young man was a scrawny thing that flinched under his piercing gaze.

“Like I told you. My friend Rocke went crazy and just attacked Joven. It’s nuts. There wasn’t any reason he did it!” Sweat trickled down Marshion Parra’s face.

“He messed up, you mean?”

“Sorry?”

“Last night, Joven was at the bridge for a purpose — discarding trash.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The prophet, kid. That’s the reason my nephew was near the bridge late at night. It was to dispose of a nuisance who's been disturbing public peace.”

“We’re just talking about that?” Parra said, surprised. “Openly?”

“Yes.” The boy flinched at the tone of Rolf’s voice. His men wouldn’t dare betray him. Besides, no one would care if that traitor died. “Answer the damn question. Where is the prophet?”

“Rocke stole him away. Took Joven’s car.”

“Better.” The picture of the scene became clearer. Joven asked his friends to join in the fun. But this Rocke kid wasn’t as keen about it. The situation escalated, and Rocke struck Joven with a baseball bat to defend the prophet. Panic struck, and he fled with the injured soothsayer in the nearest car.

“Phú, my nephew’s car has a tracker. Locate it.” 

“Got it!” The AI said, her monitor flashing before switching off. 

If the kid was stupid, he’d keep running with the stolen vehicle. It shouldn’t be hard to trump up some charges for the prophet so he’g get locked away in some cold prison somewhere. Death during a fake escape attempt was another promising idea. Still, it was nothing compared to when they caught…

“Sir,” Halkken said, bursting into the interrogation room.

“What? I’m busy.” But the sergeant’s face told Rolf everything.

“It’s your nephew. He didn’t make it. The brain damage was too severe. He passed ten minutes ago. I just learned about it.” Halkken said in obvious dismay. A lump caught in Rolf’s throat. Despite the grim prognosis, his nephew had still been alive when he’d left the hospital. His sister’s wailing still tormented him, guilt stabbing into his heart like a knife. It’d been his fault the boy had gotten hurt. 

After a brief silence, Parra uttered something stupid. “I’m sorry for what happened. He was a good friend.” The brat howled as a fist impacted his nose.

“You little brat. Don’t you dare speak of my Joven!” Rolf channeled all his rage into his words, an avenging angel. “He had a bright future. He was going to be police chief one day, but you allowed him to die. You allowed that Ralss kid to hurt my boy!” 

“I...” Parra trembled, words failing him.

“I’ll leave you be,” Halkken said, motioning to leave.

“No.” Rolf regained his temper. Although he'd enjoyed venting his fury on this pathetic whelp, he wasn’t Rolf's true target. “Throw him out of here, and none too gently.”

“Understood,” Halkken said, nodding.

“Phú!”

“Yes, sir?” The AI said as the room’s monitor reactivated. “I overheard what happened, Chief! My deepest condolences!” 

“Shut up. We’ve got work to do!” 

“What’s the plan?” PhúLAX, or Phú or short, asked, her voice chipper as always. “Are we going to hunt that murderous scum down and make him pay?”

“I like the sound of that.” Halkken said, amused. Rolf’s heart soured with pride at his officers’ sense of justice. 

“You read my mind.” A devilish smile spread across his features. “Put a city-wide APB on this Ralss kid. Shoot on sight with stun weapons, highest level.” The weapon was powerful enough to make an elephant twitch in erratic spasms. The agony would be pure misery. “But I’ll handle the rest myself.” 

“Of course, chief.” Phú gave a salute. “Your blood. You deserve to avenge him.”

“Damn right.” Rolf left the pathetic Parra whimpering on the floor. He had a job to do. He’d burn down half of Vladus if need be. No place could protect Joven’s murderer from him.

[castawaytheblood]

Oof, I can relate the OP.

To do some math for everyone, the current exchange value in Venezuela-USA is 4M Bolivars for each dollar. It can, and will, rise as soon as the day ends. That's just how most of us here deal with it.

I've seen some fanbooks (which, let's be real, they are fanbooks/art books, not zines, but y'know) go between 40-80$ in price. That's... A quarter of what I have to pay for my college trimester/half of what I pay for my college trimester. Even worse, that's half/a full shopping cart for a month.

I have... very mixed feelings about what is happening in fandom, in economical areas, ofc. I could make a post about the rest of the issues I see, but yeah, for now, I don't particularly want to on that.

On the one hand, it's... Harder to access zines (I'd basically scour the web seas for a free zine, if it allows it to be, but the majority? pay for them, which is reasonable, to an extent, but I still can't in good conscience understand it). Not only zines, but also fic, bookbinds of fic (some fanbinders do commissions, which does end up making some fic able to survive a purge/more lasting than other fic, simply because the author had more money), anime, videogames, media in general. Netflix was one example, but Crunchyroll, too, is in there. By virtue of not being from the US (or not being able to use a VPN for too long), I miss access to a ton of media, for good or bad.

(please don't take this as if I am blaming people for having money and things, that's definitely NOT what I wanted to convey, lol).

I mentioned before having to pirate... Basically every piece of media I had, and it's completely true, tbh. Since I was a kid I took to piracy to enjoy media. My earliest (and best, let's be real) memories of playing games were when I finally got the game in physical copy, which meant that I could finally play well without risking the loss of memory cards and stuff (it was on my 3DS, tbh).

And this not only extends to videogames, it goes for well, everything. Books, too, I had to pirate. Movies as well. Series, dramas, anything I couldn't (and there were MANY) get my hands on, those things I had to look for on the internet

(ah, those old memories of me having to crawl through 20 google pages, searching for something very, very specific).

IDK, I do wish things were more like the earl(ier) days, though I'm taking a bit of a break in fandom stuff, it'd be nice to see more fests/events that don't involve screeching over which paper dolls people are smushing together. Most of the time, there are events I either a) can't participate bc I'm not in the fandom, b) the event's date is VERY inconvenient for me and my schedule and c) it'd be hard for me (specifically) to participate, because the people involved are most likely going to scream over the stories I've written (though it would be more of a matter of WHICH story I've written that raises hackles).

Ah, well. One day I WILL get to making an event, though let's pray I can get enough strength of will to do it.

Edit: I felt very seen by a certain paragraph, due to IRL political/economical parallel with OP, to wit:

"Given where I was born, I was always told I don’t belong in certain spaces. I am by default not allowed to enter certain countries and spaces without going through lengthy approval processes and without being able to prove I can afford being in that space."

God, do I feel seen in that (there have been a few incidents of hate crimes towards Venezuelans in other Latin American countries, hell, just a day ago my father was attacked for simply being Venezuelan in public).

"To tell me I don’t belong in a place or that I don’t deserve to be in a space based on the place I was born and the currency I earn is casual discrimination in a smaller scale, and one that is not often thought about by the people perpetuating it. And to experience it as bluntly as that above — well, let’s say I have never felt as alienated in an online space than I did about four days ago, but it is an alienation I feel regularly in my real life, especially when I visit the USA."

This also hits me hard because... In online fandom spaces... I do feel that isolation creeping in. Like trying to speak in a common language but no one ever gets to speak back to me, no matter how much I try to talk.

God I had a tear running down my face.

Good stuff.

This kind of hints at the definition of a gift economy without fully going into it. But basically, gift economies are places where “payment” is in intangible social benefits. You buy community membership with your labor/products/kindness/presence. It’s not very compatible with commerce in the same way that offering to pay your grandma for the cookies she baked you is not a friendly or normal way to interact within a family.

[whumpshaped]

trigger warnings: eye gore, blood, torture, restrained, pet whump, humiliation, dehumanization, conditioning, emotional/psychological whump, ableist language, victim blaming, manipulation, extreme mood swings, self-deprecation, suicidal ideation

"No, w-wait, no, please, Sir, Sir please don't-"

Seth could've been one of the squeamish whumpers. One of those people who were able to produce breathtakingly accurate descriptions of gore, yet couldn't stand the sight of blood in real life.

They weren't.

Pumpkin let out a bloodcurdling scream as he dug his finger right next to their eyeball, then another, grabbing the sensitive little thing. They had never experienced such raw pain, such raw panic before. Their eye- their eye was being plucked right out of its socket. They pulled against the restraints, screaming until their lungs burned as Seth ripped their eyeball out, leaving them to pant and cry.

They couldn't see. They couldn't see. Their only remaining eye was full of tears and their vision was blurry, and their other eye was gone. It hurt. Please, stop the pain. Please.

"I can't take it anymore!" they cried out, broken and desperate. "Please! Please, make it stop, make it stop! I can't do this, I can't, it hurts, it hurts so much!"

No one came to the rescue. They were left to hang there, still secured to the wall, limp in their restraints as their body gave out from the shock. They could feel the blood trickle down their face, they couldn't even begin to imagine how Seth was planning to patch them up later. If he patched them up.

"My eye... m-my eye..." They let out another cry, wanting nothing more than to free their hands and cover up the disgusting wound. "My eye- my eye's missing, please, p-please no more... Please stop... Please stop taking, stop taking parts of me, I can't- I can't do this-"

"Stop your whining," Seth snapped, and they flinched. "Can I just enjoy this moment for a bit? In peace? Or do you want me to throw this one in the trash and take the other one too?"

"No! No, please, please no!"

"So shut the fuck up already! You can't do it? Too fucking bad, freak, you came over to my house, so you're gonna shut up and take what I give you."

Pumpkin couldn't stop crying. There were no threats severe enough in the world that could've made the tears stop falling. Why was he being so cruel? He used to hold them after torture sometimes. Used to praise them, pet their hair, tell them they were a good pet. Why was he so immeasurably cruel recently?

They let their head hang, staring at the puddle of blood on the floor. It was still dripping from their eye- where their eye used to be. They must've been so ugly by now. A broken, ruined mess. Maybe that was why Seth stopped being nice to them. He was taking them apart bit by bit, taking everything they had, and maybe the result of that wasn't as appealing anymore.

"Sir..." They couldn't stop themself. They just wanted to be held. "S-Sir, why- why is Sir s-so- so mean t-to me... I'm sorry... Please..." It hurt. It hurt on the outside, it hurt on the inside, it just hurt. "Please, Sir, p-please, can you- can you tell m-me I d-did okay? Like- like y-you used to?"

"Did you? Did you do okay?"

"I... I..."

"Yeah. That's what I thought. Disobedient little brat. Whining and crying all the way through, trying to pull away, shrieking like a banshee, telling me you can't take it... Sure, that sounds like an okay job. Fucking idiot."

Pumpkin was trembling. They weren't good anymore. They weren't. They were useless, stupid, disobedient, a nuisance. They failed. They should've just died.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The puddle on the floor was still growing. Pumpkin couldn't tell how much time had passed before they felt a gentle touch on their bloodied cheek.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Pumpkin."

They slowly raised their head, only stealing a glance at their owner before they realised how disgusting their face must've been. But instead of making a comment on it, Seth tilted their chin up, his gentle smile never faltering. He didn't even flinch at the sight.

"S-Sir..." They bit their lip to keep themself together, choking out a sob when Seth kissed them on the forehead.

"It's okay. I know it hurts. Let's make it all better, alright?"

[ethan-torchio-angelo]

Isn't It Lovely

Summary: two girls in a town where if anyone knew of their feelings towards each other, they'd be locked away

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: sadness, angst, a love that feels illegal, a few swear words

A/N: so I was in my feels. You're welcome for this sad little bit

2 a.m.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The words tumble from her mouth before she can even think to stop them. When she gets no reply she fears she’s messed up, ruined the night like she’s done so many times before. A hand touches her cheek, her head moving to face the girl laying beside her, and she’s met with a warm smile that calms all of her nerves.

“My mind constantly races with thoughts of you.”

It’s whispered so quietly, afraid the loudness of a confession like that could break their peaceful bubble right apart. There is a fire that burns in both their veins, fueled by words unspoken, words that feel illegal to even think. They can’t say what they really want to. In this small little corner of the world, the words I love you seem like a death sentence if anyone hears them coming from the two girls. So it stays between them and the three boys that are more their family than anyone else.

They’re laying on the roof of Victoria's trailer, it is dark and quiet, the stars being their only company. There’s a bottle of Damianos moonshine and a pack of cigarettes stolen from the corner shop being split between them. The closest thing they can get to a real date.

“One day, we’ll leave this place behind. I’ll take you to the ocean and we’ll get married, right then and there. And the best part is, no one can stop us.”

Victoria is always the optimistic one, always telling her of the things that seem impossible. “What about the boys? Lord knows they’d be lost without us.”

She sits up to face the girl, a goofy grin on her face, “Well, they’ll come with us of course! We’ll need someone to protect us from the scary sea monsters.”

She laughs, sitting up now too, and takes a swig of the bitter alcohol. She loves how Vic talks about the life they could have. It’s nice to dream, she thinks.

The wind picks up suddenly, a cold breeze floating through the space around them, and they’re reminded of the quickly changing seasons. Victoria shivers and she’s quick to wrap the girl beside her in one of the blankets. The summer had been short and autumn was quickly approaching, a reminder that this could be the last few hours they’d have together.

Victoria had gotten accepted to Julliard on a full scholarship, something she’d applied to on a whim with no real hopes of getting in. She’d be gone in the morning, off to live the dream she’d always wanted. While the other girl still had no idea of what she wanted from life, no connections anywhere, she’d most likely be stuck here working at the corner shop for the rest of her life.

Victoria huddled into the warmth of the blanket and took a long drag from one of the cigarettes. She could feel eyes on her, turning her head to look at the girl beside her, “What’re you staring at, pretty girl?”

The girl blushes, caught in the act of trying to commit her face to memory. “You. Trying to make sure I never forget what you look like.”

Victoria sighs, “I don’t have to leave, ya know. I could stay here, with you and the boys. We could be trailer park trash together.”

“No. You’re going to go off to New York and live the life you’ve been dreaming of, don’t worry about me.”

She takes another swig of the burning liquid, trying to drink away her sorrows. They’ve talked about it before, Vic staying here, but she’s always refused the offer. She knows it’d make her miserable and she can’t bear to be the reason why her love is sad.

“Then come with me. We could get a little apartment, you can find a job while I’m at school. We could be free.”

She’s got a line of tears pooling in her eyes, a flush covering her cheeks, and the alcohol is running rampid in her veins. She can’t help but hope, wanting nothing more than to have the one thing she knows she can’t.

“I can’t come with you Vic, you know that. I’ve got nothing going for me, I’d only keep you from doing what you want. I can’t do that to you, it’d break my heart.”

Another sigh leaves the girl. She dreams too much, she knows that, but is it so awful to want to be happy? “Do you love me?”

It’s a question that strikes her right in the heart. “You know I do.”

“No, I don’t. You’ve never said it, and you only act like you do when we’re alone. I’m the one who always says it, but I’ve never heard those words leave your lips.”

There’s a fire burning through her. She wishes she could blame it on the alcohol, but the question has been haunting her for weeks now, it was just a matter of time before they were brought to light.

“You know what it would mean if anyone heard us say it.”

Vic stands up abruptly, throwing the blanket from her body and pacing the length of the rooftop. “I don’t give a damn about anything but you! I love you, and I don’t care who knows it! They can burn me at the stake for all I care, I just want you.”

There are tears running down her cheeks now and she feels like her body is on fire. Her next words are barely above a whisper, but the girl hears them loud and clear, “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

She stands and walks over to Vic, reaching out to grab her, pulling her into her arms. She rubs circles into her back as she freely cries. Victoria gasps for air, feeling like she’s drowning. “Am I not enough for you? Am I not good enough?”

“No, no. That’s not it,” She takes a deep breath before pulling away to look into her eyes, “I love you. There’s no doubt about it.”

“Then what is it? Why does everything have to be a struggle with you? I feel like I’m trying to convince you of something I’m not even sure is worth fighting for anymore.”

She’s taken aback by the confession. “You don’t mean that Vic.”

“Maybe I do. Clearly you don’t know me that well if you don’t think I’d give up everything to be with you!”

She’s shouting and pacing again, and she knows someone could hear her, but she doesn’t care. She’d climb the tallest building and declare her love for the girl if it meant she could convince her. “Is it really so horrible to think that we could get away from all of this and be together?”

“You know we can’t.”

She stops her pacing, turning to stare at the other girl. “You’re the only one saying that. There is nothing keeping you here, nothing. But yet you keep saying you can’t leave. What is so important that it’s keeping you from being happy?”

Everything falls silent, and moments pass before she can bring herself to speak. She starts crying and it takes everything in her to speak her next words, “I’m pregnant.”

The words hang in the air like a knife over their heads. Victoria feels like all of the air has been sucked from her lungs. “How? Who?”

“At the graduation party Thomas threw. We’d been fighting, and I saw you hanging with another girl and I got jealous. I needed something to distract me so I got drunk and when he kissed me I didn’t even think of pushing him away. I don’t even remember his name, I don’t think he even told me. I regretted it the second it was over. We used a condom and I took plan b, but it clearly didn’t work. I found out last week, Dami drove me into the city. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

It is silent for what feels like hours. The wind whips around them, a storm forming overhead. They stand facing each other, staring into the other's eyes.

It’s Victoria who breaks the silence, a laugh escaping her lips. It is loud and ugly, strained by the tears still falling from her eyes. It’s not the time to laugh, but she can’t help it. “I hate you. Not because you’re pregnant, because if you had just told me we could have gone through this together. But because you’re choosing to subject it to the same life we were so desperate to escape. You could leave with me and we could raise that kid in a life far better than either of us had, but you’re a coward.”

The words feel like venom on her tongue. She can see the hurt cross the girl's face, a feeling of guilt settling in her gut, but she can’t take the words back now.

“Maybe I am. But that is my choice to make.”

Victoria turns away, heading to the ladder, whispering words that hurt them both, “Then It is your choice to make alone.”

Sometimes the hardest thing in life is loving someone and letting them go.

[somerpmemes]

Disenchantment S3 Starters

Change as needed

“Who can resist a creepy mom hug?”

“She’s not an ugly, evil bitch. But she is sluttier than I imagined.”

“When I last saw you, you were a lot more dead.”

“Is your life so awful you have to keep wrecking mine?”

“You were a model of regal barbarism.”

“Something’s going on.”

“Like any two numbers, this don’t add up.”

“You’re a bloodthirsty bastard.”

“I’m no decision-maker, I’m an action-taker.”

“Oh, I wanted to gloat directly over our victim’s corpse.”

“Hand me a murder stick.”

“For a dying man, he’s making a lot of noise.”

“World domination can wait.”

“I’m allergic to pandering.”

“Trust me, I’m not playing mind games with you.”

“Just promise you’ll think about giving me another chance.”

“Hallelujah, amen, and ka-ching.”

“You realize you’re all I have.”

“I know you’re lying but I hope one day you’ll mean that.”

“Is it still true love if your wallet is missing?”

“I just figured out this is a bad idea.”

“Oh, this ruins so many fantasies.. but opens up so many new ones.”

“Actually, pretending to care about your feelings was exhausting.”

“___, do what you do best. Take your mommy issues out on somebody else.”

“This is the sinister plot that just keeps giving.”

“Souls are meant for damnation, not soup.”

“Fooling foolish fools is so satisfying.”

“Oh, that’s delightfully craven.”

“Okay I get it, I have a hot mom.”

“It’s not even good cake.”

“Aww, he spelt it ‘yer’.”

“I believe it’s pronounced ‘skedaddle’.”

“I always wanted to get lost in a labyrinth. It's like a puzzle you solve with your feet.”

“If someone else is plotting without us, I will be really miffed.”

“Aren’t boots supposed to bend at the knees?”

“They’re just being really hurtful.”

“I’ll never fall for one of your tricks again.”

“I won’t say that doesn’t hurt.”

“And now, I just wanna lie down.”

“I think we’re getting away with it.”

“Ugh, I swear these tight, sexy clothes were designed to cut off cognitive thinking.”

“Disappointment’s a form of caring.”

“Who you are is a nobody and what you are ain’t nothing.”

“Stop being so agreeable!”

“I dreamed of this moment for so long, but I’m more worried than validated.”

“He looks so different with his head sliced off.”

“You have the worst luck I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know how this could get any more degrading.”

“Don’t ever walk barefoot around here. And never eat at the strip clubs.”

“But often the craziest thoughts are the most true, you nutloaf!”

“This is a classy affair, more cleavage.”

“This means so much to whoever I am.”

“I’ve got a nice thing going. I don’t wanna mess it up by opening up my big mouth.”

“I would love to have you as one of my exes but I think it’s best if you think of me as your slutty grandma.”

“The faster you run the more beer you get.”

“Sorry, I’m a little damp and cranky.”

“I’m addicted to stealing wallets now.”

“A veritable sandwich of danger.”

“Neither of us are cats.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna knife you in your throat.”

“Now swim for it before the crabs swarm over you.”

“Wow! You can really taste the rage.”

“So it’s agreed, we don’t get caught.”

“Man, after-work drinks taste so much better than instead-of-work drinks.”

“If I were afraid I wouldn’t be here.”

“I know a lot of psychos.”

“Pretend like we planned on meeting here so no one yells at me for cutting in line.”

“It’s as educational as it is moisturizing.”

“Ha! That’s what you get for believing in love!”

“You were always good at sticking to things.”

“I know you don’t trust me, but whatever you do, do not trust him.”

“If I can’t trust you, how can I trust you to tell me who to trust?”

“What are you offering here?”

“This is big, I really need some time to drink about this.”

“Who is interrupting my insomnia!?”

“You act angry on the outside but deep down you’re lonely and inadequate.”

“I look like a macho flowerpot.”

“Like, I’ve hear of fashion disasters but you, sir, are a genocide.”

“Now to blend invisibly into the crowd.”

“I’m your knight in rusty armor.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but, shut up ___.”

“Oh my god, I’m insulting myself.”

“We’re all ashamed of some flaw we can’t change.”

“Nature is full of green.”

“I bring good old-fashioned psychological torture to the party, okay? Just like your grandmother made.”

“Wow! This malnutrition is really slimming.”

“Oh my god, enough with the romantic fantasies.”

“That hot trash is with me.”

“I will never find that boot again.”

“Love is risky. That's what makes it so great, it pays off!”

“All I have is nightmares now.”

“How do you want to die? Slowly or extra slowly?”

“We’re one step away from happily ever after.”

“___, who have you pissed off this time?”

“Everything is either trying to kill me or kiss me.”

“From what I’ve heard, I’m both obnoxious and amazing.”

“Chalk one up for ignorance!”

“Here, drink this coffee. It’s been boiling for hours.”

“I’ve got so much love and nobody to give it to.”

“Apparently I’m not film friendly… or friendly.”

“Tell me what drugs you’re on so I know what to do when you pass out.”

“I got a lot of experience with relationships coming to a grinding halt.”

“Wait sorry, what were we talking about? Oh, wait, yeah, your pathetic love life.”

“Stop looking at me like that! I’m so vulnerable and you’re so mean.”

“Why’d you come back for me?”

“I left because I didn’t want to get hurt again and I came back because... I’ll never learn.”

“I’m not gonna ask where you pulled that from.”

“___, I tried to get help but nobody wanted to.”

“I would say it’s good to be back but I can’t shake the fact that life is meaningless and I’m gonna die alone.”

“I’ve got a lot to do now. Like go to my room and cry in the fetal position.”

“Don’t say “wink, wink”. Just wink.”

“You can bother me again when I grow a new heart.”

“Wallowing is underrated. People no longer expect things from you and you get to stop showering.”

“Sweetie, you’re young and beautiful and sandy.”

“Someday the right man or woman or creature will mate with you. Then you must eat them.”

“Oh my god, I want to shower again. That means I’ve regained the will to live!”

“Love the homicidal impulse but no.”

“But I only like gratification when it’s instant!”

“Oh, this ain’t good.”

“Oh god, they’re getting uglier.”

“Hey ___, who do you think I should punch first?”

“Sorry, I tend not to notice things that aren’t me.”

“I’m crestfallen and I can’t get up.”

“Don’t you know you can’t trust anyone but yourself?”

“I’m not kneeling, I’m dying.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna die soon.”

“You know, you have an impressive number of enemies for a girl your age.”

“Don’t be a drama queen. That is my job.”

“Well those are mixed messages.”

“My needs outweigh your scorn.”

“It’ll either cure him or kill him.”

“You do not wanna go in there unless you’re a fan of, like, dying.”

“Any operating instructions or ominous warnings?”

“You’re afraid to let people in and you hide behind sarcasm.”

“___, work on your issues.”

“So, this isn’t gonna get more normal anytime soon, is it?”

“You don’t have to die at home but you can’t die here.”

“I’ve had a lot of people leave me in my life but I’ve never ever ever not had you before.”

“I always thought you’d be dead in a ditch by now.”

“Why is it, ___, that every time you’re braiding my hair you tell me I’m going to die?”

“Braids hurt my brain.”

“Oh, you’re so going to die.”

“The key to getting dumped is not knowing how to take a hint.”

“Stop tempting fate.”

“I have resting sinister face.”

“I don’t know who to disobey.”

“Haven’t you ever seen an enchanted broom before?”

“Wow. Brutal honesty, that’s true friendship.”

“She blindsided me. While I was looking right at her!”

“I don’t know why you always bring the good half out in me, ___.”

[kilyra]

Asking for Trouble

A/N: Well no one asked for this so I’m not sure how much interest there might be, but after watching S1 of Cobra Kai, I finally got hit with the urge to write for the first time in ages, so I ran with it. I started watching S2, so I’d say this fic takes place maybe mid S1, when he’s still subletting to a yoga class but is starting to get more students. 

As the city starts to feel a little less friendly, you approach Johnny Lawrence, after your yoga class, for some help. 

Warnings: Bad language but no spoilers. I try to make my stories neutral but this one ended up being based off my own experiences which means it probably is more through a female lens even though I didn’t actually mention gender. Just a heads up.

If you want to be on my tag lists, (all or just a character) just let me know! Gif credit for this amazing gif to @deadlightcircus​

Did he...go by Johnny? Were you really supposed to call a grown man Johnny? Not that there's anything wrong with that, it just felt odd. But you sure as hell weren't going to call him Mr. Lawrence – that was just as awkward since you were also a grown-ass adult. So that left you with...?

And why did he have to be so good looking? It's not like his perfect blond locks made up for the dismissive looks he shot your class, but it added up to him being intimidating in more ways than one.

Hesitating in the doorway, you started picking at the edge of the rolled-up yoga mat that hung off your shoulder. Squishing it between your fingers, you tried to push past your sudden nervousness when you heard the last of the yoga class clear out of the dojo behind you.

Now or never.

Your hand felt numb as you finally forced yourself to knock on the frame of the office door. “Uh...excuse me?”

“You lost? Exit's on the other side.” The man behind the desk gruffly answered without even looking up from his papers.

Taking it as the closest you'd get to an invitation, you stepped inside the office, hovering near the door. "No...actually, I was hoping you had a minute?"

A faint sour scent hit and you glanced towards the trash to spot the source. Three stubby beer bottles were peeking out around the crumbled garbage. Your eyes snapped back to Johnny as he cleared his throat.

“Yeah? Why's that?” His bright blue eyes swept over you once he finally acknowledged your presence. Heat flushed your cheeks under his scrutiny, but if he made any sort of a judgment, his unchanging features didn't offer any clues.

“It's just that you teach karate here, right?”

“And you are?”

It was a basic question, but you felt thrown. “Oh, uh...I'm Y/n.”

Leaning back in his chair and pressing his shoulders back in a subtle stretch, a faint smirk played on his lips. “So what, Y/n? That pansy-ass crap out there not doing it for you anymore?”

It wasn't exactly shocking to confirm he was an asshole.

What did surprise you was how that calmed your nerves. Instant annoyance had its benefits. “I like it just fine, thanks. I was wondering if you had any self-defence classes.”

Johnny's eyes lit up as his eyebrows lifted, changing his entire demeanour. A quick smile replaced the smirk as he sat forward. “Oh! So you want to learn how to fight, huh? My classes are more for kids, but I think I can help you out.”

By the time he finished, he was standing next to his desk with his hands set at his sides. His form-fitting shirt somehow made his posture seem stiff and relaxed at the same time as he cocked his head and kept his focus on you. The arrogance he exuded was stifling.

“No, no I...I'm not looking to fight like that. I'm just looking to, y'know, protect myself.”

“What better protection is there than to kick ass?”

The confused glare he shot you as he spoke cemented the irritation swirling in your chest. Dropping, it became a lump in your gut. He wasn't going to get it. But you couldn't stop yourself trying at least once more to get your point across.

“I guess? But I'm just looking to learn some self-defence moves, not to take a class on fighting.”

Scoffing, his lip curled as he spread his hands apart. "Trust me, there's no better defence than putting your opponent down hard enough that he's not getting back up."

“What opponent? I'm not talking about...Holy crap, you know what? Just forget it.” Slinging the strap of your mat over your shoulder, you backed out of the office.

You were barking up the wrong tree. He definitely wasn't going to get it.

“Whoa, hey wait...”

Ignoring his attempts to get your attention, you crossed the dojo, heading to the exit. It was clear he didn't offer the classes you were after, and the last thing you felt like doing was sitting through a tone-deaf sales pitch of sorts from a guy who refused to listen.

“Would you just stop a sec? I can help.”

His hand clamped around your arm with just enough force to break your stride. His grip was firm enough for you to feel the power behind his grasp, but gentle enough that you pulled from his fingers just by turning toward him.

With his palms facing you, he took a step back before dropping his hands by his sides again. “Hey, I'm being serious here. No one messes with my students once I'm done with them.”

“I get what you're saying.” Pausing, you nodded to the cafe across the street. “When I get here early, I wait there and I see your class going either through the moves or sparring. And I'm sure in competitions or maybe even fights at school, they're going to be amazing. So I get it. But that's not what I'm looking for. I want something for now.”

His eyebrows drew together, softly scrunching his features. “It doesn't work like that, you've got to be willing to put in the wor-.”

“I don't want to wait for three months before I can start feeling safe.”

The air in the room grew thick as a silence stretched out. Apparently, for once, he heard you.

Narrowing his eyes, Johnny's voice was softer, but it still carried an edge. “Are you danger or something?”

Of course he would think that. He was a tough, clearly fit man who could undoubtedly hold his own in any situation – not much could be a threat to him.

“No, it's not like that...just forget it, you wouldn't understand.” Despite the finality in your tone, your feet were glued to the floor.

As his hardened stare continued to capture your gaze, his fingers tapped along his thumb as though he was tempted to clench his fist. “Then explain it to me.”

Was he annoyed? Angry? Did he truly have the audacity to be the irritated one?

Dropping the yoga mat from your shoulder, you stood it in front of you, letting your fingers nestle into the curled edge. Ignoring your hammering heart, you let out a curt sigh. "Fine. Let's start with the fact that I work in a decent area. Nothing fancy, just a bunch of office buildings and cafes, but it's nice enough. And yet police are issuing warnings to stay aware of your surroundings because the purse snatching and pickpocketing is getting out of hand. In the middle of the day, it just happens so fast. I don't even feel safe running out for coffee, nevermind the fact I take public transit there. Pretty much just a matter of time, really."

The corners of Johnny's lips turned down slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

“And forget coming home to unwind now because they just issued a warning for anyone using the trails by my place. Lone joggers are being assaulted and they can't seem to catch the guy, so they're asking everyone to jog in pairs. Running without my headphones in isn't enough since there's not much I can do even if I did hear someone coming. And because I don't really know anyone in the area to go with, I just don't because it's better than being freaked out the whole time.”

Your rant picked enough speed that if he had wanted to say anything, he'd have to try to talk over you first. He didn't.

“Hell, just then, you grabbed my arm and didn't even give it a second thought.”

Swallowing back anything he might have said, Johnny's gaze finally broke from yours as his eyes darted to the side, but you kept going.

“And neither do the other assholes who do the same thing when I'm just trying to have a drink with friends. They just grab my...arm if I'm lucky...and the easiest way to stop it is to be polite and try to be on my way. Because if I tell them exactly what I think about it, it just draws the whole thing out into a big, ugly mess and ruins my night anyhow. I hate it. It's not fair. And, no offence, but I'm not interested in going through the motions like your students for months...I want to go for a run, now. Or sit and have a fucking beer, now.”

Huffing a long breath through your nose, you realized he was still staring off. Was he even listening anymore?

Before you could ask, he rubbed the side of his knuckle against his chin and nodded. “Alright. How does seven work for you?”

“What?” You were ready for another rant or even to storm off and hopefully make it out the door. But this?

Dropping his hand to his side, he turned his full attention back on you. “I still think...no...I know the best defence is a good offence. You know you're safe when the other guy is going down and staying there.”

He paused just enough for you to jump in, but as his icy eyes bore into yours, it was hard to focus.

Waving you off, even though you stayed quiet, he continued. “But...I hear you. I get it. I mean...I don't get it, I guess...but I can show you some basic ways to break a hold and create some space. It'll be a start at least.”

Slowly, your shoulders melted as the realization sunk in that you made your point.

“Hell, I can even teach you a wrist lock or two for when some uh...asshole grabs your arm.”

You couldn't help the chuckle that broke free. Your laugh seemed to pull a quick, lopsided grin from Johnny before his face grew serious again. It was gone in a flash, but your chest fluttered at that glimpse of warmth.

“So if you're really interested, be here tomorrow at seven. We can start with some basics and go from there.”

Chewing your lip, you started to wonder if this was such a good idea or if you were just asking for trouble. But you'd already come this far...

“I'll be here.”

Taglist:  @foreverfaeries  @flower-two-writings  @getlostinyourparadise   @selfishkiddo  @angelicshinigami  @parkersbabey

[sideblogformindtrash]

first part hurt; 

BB and Pastel

CW: Abandonment; pet whump; dehumanization; conditioning; swearing; low self-esteem; degradation; pushing;

…BB could tell something was off. They could see on owner-Alvin’s face. They wanted BB to go on the car… And they weren’t going for the park, or get snacks today. No. It wasn’t that cold, but Master made them put the warm set of clothes, and they picked up Mr. Tonsils, too. And… The collar tag was removed. Something bad would happen.

Still, BB smiled at their owner and hoped on the car, giving them big puppy eyes, the cheerful toothy smile… And stood in silence, hoping that would be enough. Hoping that owner would see how much the pet loved them, how much it just… was trying. Trying so, so hard to make him happy. BB knew they never could… They would never be good enough, be Blue… But they were trying.

So, Owner-Alvin drove into an abandoned looking neighborhood, very early on the morning, with no one around, and told them to step off the car… BB couldn’t hold the things any longer. They knew what would happen.

“What is the matter, BB?” They sighed, impatiently “Just get out”

“…Y-y-ou…” BB sniffed “Owner is… Is abandoning BB, isn’t he?”

…And owner-Alvin turned to look them, blushing, half ashamed.

“I-“

“Owner is… Is giving up on BB!” They nearly shouted, hugging Mr. Tonsils “…BB can b-be b-better owner… P-please? P-please? D-don’t leave… BB d-don’t want… Be abandoned again. P-please…?”

“…I’m sorry, BB. I can’t… Can’t handle you anymore” He sighed, unlocking the door, and not wanting to face the crying pet any longer “I’m sure you’ll find someone else to take care of you. Just… Just go”

…BB cleaned the tears, a broken sob escaping their throat. They tried to look at owner, just… Just remember their face… Just a bit… But no-longer-owner Alvin refused to look at them.

“P-please…”

“…It’s an order BB. Get out of the car”

“…Yes…Owner…Alvin…”

And they opened the door, as Master started the car again, driving away, crushing little gravel on the floor. And BB… Was all alone. Alvin… Thought they were so worthless they didn’t even sold them. Just… Threw them out. Like trash. BB was fucking worthless trash, a cheap copy, worthless worthless worthless…

Their contained cry was no longer under control. They started to sob hysterically, kicking the little pebbles of the alleyway, only Mr. Tonsils there for BB. Who would want a worthless dog like BB? They would die. They would just be left to rot. They touched their collar… No tag there. No owner. BB unbuckled it and threw it away. BB would never be like Blue, with all the people who wanted him, all the homes waiting, all the people waiting to care for him…

No. BB was all alone. Pathetic, alone, and… Didn’t even had themselves, all they knew how to be was a pale imitator.

----------

 “Hey, look” Reina pointed. He turned to look what had caught his girlfriends attention… A flash of Blue hair. Someone crying desperately. They seemed to have been there for a while, their clothes and face all dirt, bruises all over them, a half-ruined collar on their neck…

“…What?”

“You think that’s a pet?”

“Yeah…” He rolled his eyes. She would want to go and look, wouldn’t she? “People don’t usually go around screaming in alleyways…”

“You think it could be Blue? It looks like him” Reina smiled. Oh, yeah. She was quite a fan of those pet channels. He didn’t really pay much attention when they watched those together, but he thought he knew which one was Blue.

“What would a famous, expensive pet be doing around on a place like this?”

She chuckled.

“Yeah. Let’s check anyway”

…Well, of course it wasn’t that pet. But was someone similar. Reina seemed to like them, giving them a smile. …She… had been talking a lot about them getting a pet lately. He wasn’t a fan of the idea, but he kind of could see where this was going.

…The pet saw them approach, staring with big wide eyes, lifting their hands a bit, as if preparing to be hit.

“Hey, little one. Are you lost?”

…The pet shook their head.

“No, Miss… It D-ddoesn’t have… a home anymore…”

“Oh? You have name?” Reina’s smile broadened “You look like a famous pet, you know?”

“…Blue!” And the pet perked up immediately, jumping up, an ugly rat plush in their hands “BB is like Blue, Miss! BB can be… Be more… Be more like Blue if… If Miss helps…”

“Oh, BB? Is that your name? What does it mean?”

“…bootleg Blue…” the pet whispered, looking at their feet, voice nearly cracking.

“Oh… How about Baby Blue instead? “And his girlfriend giggled while messing with that pet’s hair, her red nail polish against the blue tint, and the sprouting roots. Fuck, she had already re-named the pet… “Would you like to come home with us?”

“…Excuse-“ He started, knowing damn well it was useless. She had already decided that.

“Oh come on, Paul… We have some space. And they will behave good for us, wont you BB? You’ll behave?”

“Yes! Yes Miss!” The pet jumped up and down, seeming over the moon with the idea of getting adopted. He could already tell they would be really fucking annoying “BB will be good! BB can be Baby Blue!”

…He  wanted to say no but… Reina was doing her puppy face. Shit, how could he say no to her? He loved that woman.

“…Fine…” He mumbled, defeated.

…And the dirty, stinking pet hugged him. He needed a lot of self control not to slap them, but he did push the thing away. This didn’t seem to shake them in the slightest, as they kept griming with that ugly, broken smile, full of dark holes where teeth were missing. Just like that other pet his girlfriend liked…

Hell, he would never understand why she liked those ugly things. She could at least want a cute, brand new pet, without the nasty scars… But no. She wanted this mutt.

Well… She seemed happy. She was smiling, baby talking the mutt. At least her happiness made it worth it.

[red-the-dragon-writes]

Treasure Hunting

Context: I agreed to write a few "explores" for an art game I play on DeviantArt, Fields of Valhalla. Doe is an intrepid treasure-hunting deer who has recently figured out how to break into dragons' homes and rob them blind go looking for treasure in dragons' lairs. There wound up being several thousand words of this, and three separate stories. As well as an art piece!

Listed here are three stories in one series.

Doe delicately stepped into the cave and ducked her head to avoid banging it on the ceiling. This close she could already tell that there was a dragon in here. Or, something, at the very least- but she figured it was most likely a dragon. She’d never seen a troll leave deep scratches in the wall and carve a fireplace out in the same space, at the very least, and trolls usually at least bothered with doors. And didn’t live in caves. No, this was definitely a dragon lair.

She’d come to see if she could steal away with an egg. It’d make for a spectacular prize, for sure; and to be honest she mostly just wanted to see if she could find one. What bragging rights that would make for; how fitting it would be. After all, if anyone were to return triumphant with a dragon egg from a trip, it should be her.

She made her quiet way into the darkness of the recessed cave and marveled at how neatly laid out it was. She hadn’t been in terribly many dragon caves before, but enough to know that most of their hidey-holes were kind of a… mess, really. Muddy or dirty, full of dust, for sure. Treasures scattered about on the ground, ripe for the taking, as though they were just haphazardly dropped trash and not spectacular jewels or pieces of gold. They were kind of sloppy. Doe always thought that it seemed kind of like a shame, that they kept their lairs in such disrepair, but it really wasn’t her problem at the end of the day. And the mess made it easier to slip a handful of precious treasures into her sack and be on her way, even if she found a dud hole and there weren’t any eggs in it.

She tiptoed deeper, the cave getting darker and darker as she went. There were little side passages clotted with stalactites, wet and dripping, but it looked like the main body of the cave had been cleared away. The floor was smooth and easy to walk on, and the ceiling was free of any dripping spikes though she could see that water was still running down the sides in little rivulets in places. It must have been an awfully uncomfortable, damp place to live. She still saw no treasures, but far off in the distance, dancing upon the walls, she could see firelight.

Well that was bad news.

Doe crept closer to the chamber that the firelight was coming from and then nearly flattened herself into the wall, getting dust and cave water all smudged into the pretty white fur along the ridge of her back and her sides. It was a massive central area. Smelled like someone was cooking something, spicy, almost like human foods. Maybe she was in the wrong place after all. And above the crackling of whatever massive cooking fire had been in there someone was humming.

Carefully, very nervously, Doe stuck her head around the corner to look into the chamber.

Hunched over what looked like a pot of stew, back to her, was a massive dragon. Its lizardlike body was perched upon a long stool, and it was standing up on its back legs, stirring a pot nearly twice Doe’s size and sprinkling leaves into it from what looked like the largest salt shaker Doe had ever seen in her life. The dragon itself was dark blue, with lighter blue feet; but where the firelight touched it it shone a brilliant red, almost brighter than the fire itself.

Tucked away into the corner, behind it, sitting in their own cheerily burning fire, was a large clutch of what looked to be nearly fifteen eggs. Each one was leathery, almost soft-looking, with a strange moving shape visibly shining through from the fire underneath. As she watched, one of them twitched and shook as the—what must have been the baby dragon inside rolled around in the egg, stretching out softly like a sleeping creature.

Doe took a step forward, to get a better look— and there. At this angle she could see the treasure hoard of the dragon as well, a neatly organized shelf filled with trinkets and pieces of gold and jewels taking up nearly a third of the room. Doe had never seen a neatly organized dragons’ hoard before, but it was neat. Still, with the dragon awake and active, she didn’t think it would be wise to sneak in there and try to grab anything—

Sitting on the shelf was what looked like nearly twenty Odin’s Eye tokens. With that many— she could have riches she never dreamed of. Gifts and items she could never have even heard of. That would be a prize worth having, for absolute sure.

She took another step into the room, as quietly as she could, and attempted to tiptoe her way across to the shelf; but she stepped on a discarded bone halfway over to the shelf and the dragon abruptly stopped humming to turn around. Up close, its face was scaly and reptilian, and its luminous eyes struck terror into her heart as they fixed directly onto her. The dragon roared, and Doe panicked.

She grabbed whatever was in reach and hightailed it the hell out of the cave, sprinting as fast as she could as the dragon came hot on her heels, scurrying across the ceiling and bellowing in fury the entire time. She got the fur on her back singed when it spat fire and fury at her, but her luck was great, and she made it out without dying. Once outside, she hid in a copse of trees, struggling not to shake, and the dragon looked around for her fruitlessly, squinting its big eyes against the burning sun, before eventually giving up and shaking its head and walking back into its lair.

That was terrifying.

Doe glanced into her heavy bag, laden with treasures. Well. She was probably never coming back here again, but the trip hadn’t been a total bust. Not by a long shot.

-

Story 2: Close Encounters of the Reptilian Kind

Doe tightened up her sack and headed out to the newest dragons’ den she’d scouted out. She was still on the hunt for an egg, of course; but this one was settled on the shores of one of the deepest, fastest rivers, and it was rumored that gold could be found there like common stones. Doe hoped this meant she could find jewelry, or pieces of precious metals, in the dragons’ lair. They were known for keeping large, messy hoards of gold and treasures, after all; and what greater treasure could there be than delicate pieces of jewelry? And what would suit her better, of course, than elegantly crafted, sparkling jewelry?

As such, Doe packed a nice, big, sturdy bag, something she could take heavy items without much difficulty in. She was hoping to walk out with it laden so full she could hardly even walk. That would be only fair, after all the work she’d put in to get the location of the lair.

The dragon that lived in this lair was a water creature, long and lanky. In the hopes of avoiding the same situation she’d run into last time, she’d sat herself outside and waited for the long black dragon to carefully emerge from its lair, straighten up, and then take a breath and dive into the river for a good swim. It should be out all day; or at least she would hope it would be. The creature was ugly and sharp-scaled, narrow in the face and the body, serpentine aside from the wickedly curved long legs that ended in talons almost like that of a hawk. It was a thoroughly alarming monster. She’d rarely seen a dragon that looked nearly as… predatory, as designed to hurt and cause harm. But it looked like an eel that had been turned into a dragon; and Doe was not a fan of eels either. So perhaps she was just biased. Maybe it just looked like a perfectly normal sea creature with jagged, jutting teeth and massive jaws and tiny, beady eyes that never blinked.

No, Doe had not wanted to find herself stuck in the half-collapsed structure with that thing inside it. She waited for it to leave. And once it had left, she slipped inside.

This lair was some half-sunken ruin, the remnant of some building that the ancient humans who had lived in this area had once made. It was, in its prime at least, a castle, white stone reaching up into the sky. Now the spiralling towers had collapsed, and weather had worn the once-bright stones, nearly the same color and sheen as Doe’s fur, down to a dull gray-green and brown. There was water all coating the uneven stone brick floor, and her hooves splashed and echoed loudly down the hall. Plants were growing through the broken windows, and vines hung lowly from the damaged ceiling. In places, Doe could still see faded paintings on the walls; but in others the paint had flaked off, or been peeled off. Here there was a mural of a knight, sitting astride a massive rukaan; the knight was battling with a massive creature. It was too faded and damaged for Doe to really make out the details, but the face of the knight had clearly been intentionally scratched off and defaced.

Doe figured that if she were a horrible gross monster, and she were living alongside a painting of some human killing a horrible gross monster like her, she might try and deface that painting, too. That was kind of sad, actually. She took an experimental swing at the painting with one hoof, and a big sheet of the paint fractured and fell to the ground, splashing into the muddy water.

Oh, okay. That was going to be noticed. Uh, hm. That wasn’t smart.

Doe decided to hurry up and go get her treasure instead of standing around looking at the scenery, after that. Everywhere there was the clear, crystal evidence of this being a dragon’s lair, of course. There were scratches on anything tall enough and sturdy enough to serve as a scratching post, and discarded scales sat in the shallow water. Finally she made it into what must’ve been the primary cavern of the dragon’s lair, a once-resplendent banquet hall that had clearly fallen into disrepair. Rotting wooden tables were stacked along one wall, and looked to have been made into a sort of rough bed, fur pelts and straw and fallen leaves stacked atop the cracked top of the highest one. Piled in one corner was a massive, shimmering hoard of old coins and precious stones, and perched on the very top of the pile was a spectacular set of golden armor, and a crown fit for a king. The armor was a bit big for her, but clearly made for a rukaan; the crown was far too small and probably meant for a human. Doe shoved it into her bag regardless, struggling to pull the armor onto her back; it was fortunately tied together in a bundle but unfortunately rotten and nearly falling apart at the seams regardless of the fact that the metal wasn’t even tarnished. It might have been ceremonial. Gold didn’t make great armor, did it? But she would look good in it, and everyone else would be jealous. And that was good enough for her, really.

Doe filled her bag with riches and went looking around for a nest or clutch of eggs, just in case, but she found none; and then she made her way out. While she was walking back through the watery halls she heard a loud, echoing splash, and then what sounded like massive footsteps; and in a panic Doe flattened herself into an alcove. There was no place to go, after all, and her hoofsteps were loud and obviously wrong. She found herself frozen, rooted to the spot, after realizing that. Oh, no, oh, no, she was doomed.

She realized abruptly she was right across from the mural she’d kicked, too. Even better. Oh no. It was going to know she was in there.

Before long the lanky creature pulled itself into the room, half swimming, half crawling on its belly. It didn’t see her, or at least it didn’t seem to; it came to pull itself up to its full height, looking at the mural quizzically. Doe held her breath in true, real panic. She could feel her body starting to shake. It was so close, and so big, its talons hooked and nearly as long as her head, and its teeth were even more jagged and dangerous up close, and it clearly could snap her up in one bite—

The dragon turned around to fix Doe with a clear, surprisingly intelligent look. She made terrified eye contact with it.

It nodded once, and went on its way.

Minutes after it left Doe finally relaxed enough to let out the breath she’d been holding and stumbled her way back out to freedom. She— she’d clearly taken some of its treasure. Did it just not care? Did it not notice? It definitely saw her. What did any of this mean?

Doe decided to leave that part out when she told this story. Because really. What on earth.

-

Story 3: Cooperation

This latest lair was an abandoned building again, once the cavernous hall of a giant and now the half-collapsed hidey-hole of a small dragon. Doe wasn’t sure if it was just young or if it was only about the size of a large ruk, but either way was cool by her. Maybe its hoard would be small, but she was confident that it had giants’ treasures in that building of its.

Besides, she’d seen it a few times, and it was a pretty thing, bright blue spangled with gold and silver like the sky. It reminded her of a kingfisher, really, the few times she’d seen it, skittish and delicate with broad wings and a narrow, delicate body. It was currently sitting perched atop the intact part of the roof, staring off into the sky as though it could see something more interesting than she could, something more than just the full moon and the stars sparkling brightly. Its eyes were fixed straight up. It had been doing this for nearly three hours. Doe had expected it to take off, but it hadn’t.

She waited a few more long moments, and then abruptly out of nowhere the sparkling creature sat bolt upright, glancing around nervously. It let out a loud caw, almost like that of a crow, and then a high pitched roar that sounded like it were mimicking the calls of larger dragons. Then it spread its wings, shuffled about a bit, and took off into the air. It made a loop in the sky, around the moon; and then it was gone, blending into the night sky as though its shimmering scales were made for this. It probably was, Doe realized after a second, watching what she thought were its wings flap into the distance. It sure looked like just a cluster of shooting stars.

Nonetheless, with the beautiful creature gone, she was free and clear to go break into its home and steal from it. Er. Explore. Explore its home. And steal from it.

Doe stood up, shaking herself, and went to walk through the long stretch of dark, craggy forest to make it to the dragon’s lair. She kept an eye turned to the skies to make sure it wasn’t coming back, and fortunately it didn’t, and she made her way up to the half-collapsed building with little issue. Up close it stank of mildew and rust, strong and disgusting, and it was cold and icy atop the peaks like it was. The wind blew so much more strongly it was unreasonable. Doe ducked inside the uncovered doorway and into the building, and then quickly realized she’d made a mistake as she looked at the blocked path in front of her. There was a little hollow arch, something she could maybe get through, but it was nearly flat to the ground. Evidently the dragon used that on the regular, but Doe’s legs weren’t designed to bend that way, and she didn’t see a way through. She stuck her head through it, struggling to push herself through, but eventually had to admit defeat after nearly getting herself stuck and hearing the whole of the partially-collapsed roof, leaning on the ground and above her, creak and groan as she struggled to free herself. If that came down, she would be dead, her spine broken. It wasn’t worth it.

She went back outside and let herself in from one of the broken windows instead, neatly making it in without having to worry about the broken segment. It wasn’t great, and she scraped herself up on the sides on the broken glass- evidently there was a reason that the dragon didn’t use that method of entry- but they weren’t serious wounds, and she would be just fine. Finally she made it to the central hall, freezing and shaking from cold, dripping little droplets of blood onto the stained and half-frozen floor. Not so triumphant. But surely the treasures would warm her heart, even if they wouldn’t warm her poor frozen ears or her poor freezing hooves.

But when she made it to the central room, fire cheerily burning in the cracked hearth, there was no treasure. The room was almost totally bare. There was clearly a little nest in the corner, built up with sticks and twigs and what looked like scraps of fur it had collected from somewhere, and there was a dead wolf lying in front of the fire. There was maybe twelve kroner lying in the center of the room on the floor. Probably the beginnings of this dragon’s hoard. It really must have been very young after all.

Doe sighed, and went to dig around in the halls. Maybe she could find some treasures the dragon had failed to turn up.

It turned out she was right. After nearly hours of searching, occasionally returning to the center room to warm herself up a bit more, she finally stumbled across what must have been a weapons cache that hadn’t been cleared underneath a rotten section of collapsed ceiling. She could see the glimmering red-gold and steel, still bright after all the exposure to the weather; but the debris was heavy and hard for her to get a grip on. She couldn’t free it, and she was starting to get seriously concerned about really hurting herself if she tried. Every time she shoved a piece of the rotting wood or collapsed brick over, the entire structure groaned and twisted, and the more she moved, the more unstable it seemed.

Then, horrifyingly, while she was tugging at a board with her teeth, she heard flapping overhead; and looked up at the gaps in the ceiling to see the eyes of the sparkling sky-dragon looking down at her curiously.

“Oh no,” Doe mumbled.

The dragon glanced at her, and then looked at the room she was digging at, and then fluttered down to the ground alongside her and struggled to grab the other end of the board Doe was pulling at. Doe registered that after a second and renewed her efforts.

Between the two of them, they were able to much more easily clear the path, though there was a scary moment when half the bricks behind them came down. Fortunately, they didn’t block the hall; but Doe jumped and pranced nervously, and the dragon took off and fluttered back to the ground after a couple seconds. It made a quiet coo at Doe after it landed, and she ducked her head and snorted reassuringly. On that note they went back to work, by mutual agreement.

The giant weapons, once they were cleared out, were far too big for Doe to even try to carry them out. There were flails and axes, heavy swords and massive knives, and even the smallest of them was too big to fit into Doe’s pack. The dragon watched in mild consternation while she struggled to take them, before eventually lifting one of the massive heavy tools and dragging it back to the central room without much of a care. Doe went to help with that, because even if she wasn’t walking out with the treasure the dragon sure seemed to want her help with getting it; and there, lo and behold, on the ground below the sword she’d picked up, was one small heap of gold coins sitting in the rotted remains of what had probably been a massive money-pouch. Doe scooped it into her bag, hoping the dragon wouldn’t notice, and then went back to dragging the weapons in to sit near the hearth.

When they had all been dragged in, the dragon chirped happily, sounding for all the world like a bird. Then it ducked its head to its chest, and carefully plucked one of the golden shimmering scales from its breast with both hands. It held it out to Doe shakily in what was clearly a demonstration of thanks.

Doe took it carefully and set it in its pouch, and she could’ve sworn the dragon smiled at her before curling up atop its new pile of weapons.

When she got home and could see it in better light, the dragon’s scale wasn’t gold at all. It glimmered, iridescent, in the light, and sparkled as though it held the entirety of the night sky in it. It looked gold on first impression, or maybe silver, but if she looked closer, she could see spots of pure black shining through, and bright gold and white and blue, and if she looked any closer than that she started getting dizzy, as though she were going to fall into it. Truly, she’d never seen anything like it.

And this is a model of the dragon's scale, made in Blender!

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, Worthless, 10: These trinket are garbage plain and simple. They would be termed vendor trash or junk loot in video games. They aren’t touched by stray magic or mystery as with regular trinkets, aren’t made from valuable materials and aren’t particularly useful even if they aren’t damaged.

A burlap bag containing a dozen assorted doorknobs.

A rather large and dead hairy spider that looks as if someone tried to make a wig out of it.

A small beige oilcloth sack embroidered neatly with the word ‘CHEESE.’ You can smell it from halfway across the room.

An expertly taxidermied rat with a built in candle holder capable of bearing a small tea candle. The mouse is posed as if scurrying

A lump of coal with runes carved into it.

A five pound pyrite (Fools gold) ingot.

A worn minotaur’s nose ring that has been bent and beaten back into shape many times.

A lacquered wooden coin engraved with the holy symbol of a minor God of Random Neutral Domain.

A smooth, flat, black river stone.

A small, tattered canvas sack containing a dozen half-rotted teeth that are as long as a thumb, but are decidedly identifiable as human.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A burlap bag containing a dozen assorted doorknobs.

A rather large and dead hairy spider that looks as if someone tried to make a wig out of it.

A small beige oilcloth sack embroidered neatly with the word ‘CHEESE.’ You can smell it from halfway across the room.

An expertly taxidermied rat with a built in candle holder capable of bearing a small tea candle. The mouse is posed as if scurrying

A lump of coal with runes carved into it.

A five pound pyrite (Fools gold) ingot.

A worn minotaur’s nose ring that has been bent and beaten back into shape many times.

A lacquered wooden coin engraved with the holy symbol of a minor God of Random Neutral Domain.

A smooth, flat, black river stone.

A small, tattered canvas sack containing a dozen half-rotted teeth that are as long as a thumb, but are decidedly identifiable as human.

A single feather hanging from a chain of slender twigs reminiscent of a bird’s nest.

A dull-red, cloth pouch filled with five pounds of finely ground, rust flakes.

A pair of minotaur horns, which were well used by their original owner.

A tangled mess of metal wires fused together with heat and attached to a wooden plaque. It may be a worthless mess of twisted scrap metal or a priceless piece of inspired artwork.

A heavily used hand cranked wood drill that creaks loudly when used.

A foggy hand mirror that when cleaned, immediately fogs back up.

A cracked and weathered hourglass that only has some sand remaining

A battered leather satchel filled with dried red beans.

A fishing hook that cannot be bent.

A large tin canister whose lid is crudely stamped with the word “JURKY”, which contains dozens of sticks of meat jerky. Any creature can clearly identify the jerky as “meat” but as to the exact animal the dried “food” came from, (If it is only from a single species of animal) is impossible to tell.

A battered stone shaped like a heart.

A child's wooden doll that makes whoever looks at it uncomfortable.

A cloth sack packed to the brim with cat fur.

A cloth sack packed to the brim with dog fur.

A flat, round, dark gray stone speckled with reddish flecks, and about six inches across.

A sewing thimble that, when poked by a needle, will roughly squeeze the bearer's thumb.

A small brass key.

A hand mirror with a horn handle. Instead of actually functioning correctly, the mirror reflects all creature's image as a specific bald human of unknown origin.

A very roughly drawn map of the surrounding area. A knowledgeable creature is able to tell that the map is not to scale and is barely useable for actual navigation.

A spindly iron key.

A chipped nautilus shell.

A moth eaten, gray velvet clutch purse.

A fairly convincing but ultimately inaccurate map, with a single red dot marking “You are here”.

An old scratched up lyre, strung with well-worn cat gut strings.

A Random Humanoid Race’s rotting, severed head.

A crudely made staff topped by a small skull.

An uneven, gnarled length of wood from a grotesque tree.

An old and cracked velum scroll whose script has been rendered illegible by the ravages of time.

A simple, springy rod made of twisting vines and twigs.

A rotting wooden goblet filled with a festering brew of pus, blood, wriggling maggots and worms that spill from the froth on the liquid's surface.

A dusty old pair of half-moon glasses of such a strong prescription that they are unwearable for most creatures.

A cracked glass jar containing a crudely removed bear claw.

A poorly embroidered handkerchief with the words “I love you dad” crudely stitched into it.

A red, child sized, fuzzy blanket that smells of mold and mildew.

A desiccated hoof that once belonged to a large, male elk.

A simple dusty scroll has no marking, seal nor text on it. By all appearances, it is a standard sheet of writing material that is bound by a single hemp thread.

A stone jar of filled with acid. The jar's lid is badly fitting, and the acid bubbles and froths as it moves. The object's sole markings are a skull symbol resting overtop of a warning written in Dwarvish.

A bedroll that is covered in a large, dark stain, but is in otherwise fair condition.

A set of crude fishing supplies, including a box of maggots, several bent hooks and a ten foot length of wire.

A set of clothes, appearing halfling in size and design. They appear partially burnt and have a large, black stain on the chest.

A primitive woolen bag filled with bones.

A rough bag full of leaves and stems of an unknown plant.

A crude animal cage. Inside there are two dead rats a dead bat and a large number of healthy maggots feeding on the aforementioned corpses.  

A badly water damaged book whose pages cannot be read.

A set of badly maintained scientific instruments, including a compass, measuring rods, quills and ink. With some repair, they could form a cartographer's toolkit.

A humanoid skull that has been cleaned and bleached white. It has a large, drilled hole in the center of the crown and several abyssal symbols are crudely carved into the temples.

A long clock hand of dark metal, the end raggedly pointed and stained with old blood.

A dusty glass bottle that still holds a few drops of viscous red liquid.

A page torn from a hymnal book dedicated to a god of war.

A clay tablet with indecipherable symbols.

A padlock that any key can open.

A bundle of crumpled papers, each having a partially completed love poem on them. Most of the words are scribbled out and are illegible, but the intended recipient appears to be a woman by the name of Neurelia.

The skull of a bird with an iron nail driven through it.

A crude wooden mask featuring a head crest of branches. The entirety of the mask is scorched wood and it smells like charcoal.

A beaten crate filled with rotted children’s clothing and old toys.

An alligator skull that reeks of sulfur and bog water. The druidic rune for “Preserve” is carved into the forehead.

A stone statue of a goblin, paper-thin and hollow. If the statue is broken, goblin bones tumble out.

A rusty dagger with a blade that is wildly unsuited for any sort of cutting whatsoever. Dangling from the pommel-nut is a leather thong strung with teeth and walnut shells.

A latticed or deformed stone that's possibly a meteorite

A malformed doll with a strange leer that wears a sackcloth dress.

A stitched up bear composed of multiple parts from different teddy bears.

A lady’s brush, elegantly carved of ivory with boar bristle. The ivory is stained and cracked, and many of the bristles are missing.

A hefty book full of notes written by many authors and inserted pages from other books. There are bite marks and slashes on the covers and some dirt might slip from between the pages when shaken.

A wizard's spellbook that was enchanted to repel liquids. Unfortunately, the enchantment is so strong that the pages cannot be written on rendering it completely unusable.

A reasonably shiny pebble.

A plank of wood whose knots and grain, crudely (At best) depict a lesser known deity of Random Domain.

A corroded metal cylinder bearing forbidden writing. The runic script bears little coherence, appearing like mad ramblings about the things beyond.

A set of brass lockpicks that couldn't possibly fit into any known style of lock.

A sheaf of poorly rendered sketches made by children.

A torn flag of an ancient city long since fallen into ruin.

A dissected and flayed corpse of a tiny fey creature.

A syringe with a squared-off crystal barrel. The plunger, flange, and needle hardware are nickel alloy ornately etched in twining, serpentine coils. Though it has no needle, and the plunger no longer seals, it is finely made, given its age.

A rotting quarterstaff made of oak wood. The staff has grips wrapped in slimy brown ape skin.

An old pair of trousers that are almost entirely made of patches and stitches, having been kept in service long past their time.

A crooked rod of dark wood with a possum skull lashed to the top.

An antique sword, rusted to its mildewy scabbard.

A length of heavy rusty chain, entangled in an impossible knot.

A thick waxy candle the colour of sickly pallid skin. When burned, the smoky odor of roasting ghoulflesh fills the room, ideal for setting the mood for foul necromantic rituals, preparing volunteers for human sacrifice, and all manner of depraved acts involving corpses.

A large bird's nest that has human finger bones woven into it.

A thick shirt of coarse brown horsehair.

A small leather pouch containing a double handful of seemingly fresh tree nuts, still in their shells.

An ugly gray wine skin, heavier than it looks, sloshes and gurgles in response to any movement.

A large, cast pewter vial containing a quantity of strangely textured sand. It clumps and sticks in a single doughy mass.

A piece of parchment bearing an unusual symbol drawn in iridescent green ink.

A long and tangled piece of twine with tiny brass bells knotted into it every few feet.

A dingy, brown leather collar with a sea serpent branded along its length is stuck on a jagged piece of splintered wood.

An intricate and spiky ball of cat and rat whiskers.

A heavy shot glass with a cat's face carved into the bottom.

A copper coin with a small hole drilled at the top and attached to a long length of fishing line.

A small, stained sack with a crudely painted figure of a halfling on the side. Opening the sack releases an odour that invokes tears and gagging to those nearby. The sack itself contains a number of crude items designed to disguise a goblin as a halfling. Laying the kit’s inventory out on the ground, you assess its value as a tool for subterfuge and determine a figure of zero. The wig leaves an odor of wet dog on your hands. The goblin disguise kit contains the following items: a chopped and damp wig made from worg fur, flesh-toned paste that burns when applied, a set of incomprehensibly disgusting false teeth, a canvas tunic with a poorly painted “shirt front,” and a pair of greasy gloves.

[solzubasu]

{Shigaraki Tomura\\ Alphabet}

I got inspired to make this because of my friend, @knifeewifee​. Link to her Twice Alphabet here. I am going to do the man I Simp for, Tomura! I love him so much!

P.S. I finished this around 1 O’clock in the morning, so I was a bit tired. >M<

I hope you guys like it!

NSFW part included :]

SFW -------------------------------------------

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He shows very little Affection. Shigaraki is not a very good affectionate person, since he never did receive affection. So he wouldn’t show his the affection in front of others, besides his S/o.

The way he shows affection, would subtle gestures. Standing beside you, brushes your hair from your face, letting you play games with him. Away from everyone, of course. 

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

He wouldn’t be your friend, he’s your leader, you're his subordinate.

But over time, once he’s used to you being in the League, he’ll start seeing you as a comrade.

Or possibly, more than that...

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He will secretly want cuddles, but he can’t admit that. He a supervillain he can’t have people see him getting cuddled.

But I think secretly when it’s just you and him. He’ll want cuddles, even if he’s the Most Wanted villain in Japan- He loves being cradled in your arms.

(And don’t worry, he has special gloves to keep from disintegrating you)

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Settle down? I could imagine it. No, he ain't the type to, he rather be playing video games than maintain a house. 

No, cause and point, he ain't cleaning. We’d have to be the ones cleaning up his mess. Dirty laundry, a trash can full of god knows what, dust piles everywhere.

 Oh god, who did he kill again...?

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I feel he would break up first, due to his temper and need to accomplish his goal of destroying hero society. 

But he would probably be the first to try and get back with you, but knowing himself, he’d probably ruin it. But he’ll try harder to make the relationship work, it’ll take time.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Him? Getting hitched!? Doubt it! But, I feel he would make an exception for you.

It’s all because of this fic.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Physically, He wouldn’t lay his hands on you, he doesn’t want to lose you due to his Quirk.  

Emotionally, He can’t understand how feelings work, but he’ll “try” to be there...

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

No, No hugs. He wouldn’t want to hug you, he cares too much about you to lose you. 

But once he’s used to you, then he’ll let you hug him, HUGS FOR DAYS! In private of course.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He would not be the first to say it, we would have to be the first to say it.

The only time I feel he would is the moment you two argue to the point where he feels your going to lose him. That’s when he’ll say it, to prove that he car

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He would get really jealous when he sees that anyone is near you, or flirting with you, especially Dabi, He’ll for sure want to kill them. Once he’s gotten you next to him, he’ll make sure to mark, what’s rightfully his.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

 His kisses are rough, and not just because of his chapped lips.

Which I don’t mind~

 He’ll definitely shove his tongue into your throat.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He wouldn’t be the type to have kids, but if he did, I can only see him having one. That we’d have to raise most of the time

He’d raise them, just like One for All did, but raise them to be his kid/future leader of the PLF. YOU KNOW we’d have to be the driving force of the kids common sense of right and wrong, if not he’ll turn out to be a copy of him.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings, I bet He’s either sleeping soundly in your arms, his face snuggled up against your chest. His hands close to him, making sure he doesn’t hurt you accidentally. GOD I’m a sucker for Soft Tomura

                                                      Or

He’s been playing video games all night, and he fell asleep on his gaming chair with the headset still on, controller slightly falling from his hand.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He spends most nights, playing video games while you watch him beat the shit outta other gamers.

But if it’s you and him, I imagine a movie marathon of whatever you two enjoy watching together. I can also see both you and him getting into the right cuddle position.

Shh, it’s fine, let him be the big spoon. Just for tonight.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

I think the most he’ll open up is, what his favorite video games are what his main goal is, etc.

His darker secrets, he’d probably open up about his past to you, once he is comfortable around you. I wouldn’t see this happening, not until after the Re-Destro fight. I’d say a week or so after the incident.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He has no damn patience, He gets angry pretty quickly. You better make sure that you can handle his temper, if not, you better get tough soon.

If you try to get his attention when hes going something, you bet, after 5 pokes to his arm, he’s already agitated.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget everything?)

Okay- Personally- I see him as the Yandere type and the not-so-good boyfriend card here.

He’ll remember small details like- Your birthday, favorite food, drink, Ice cream, and color, etc. 

But what he won’t remember other things like, what you needed him to do, ask him to help you with something. It is, what it is.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite memory is quality time playing video games with you. Even if he wins most of the time, he'll let you win and make up an excuse why he lost

 ‘My finger just slipped, so shut up..’

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?

Very Overprotective, he wants to make sure nothing EVER happens to you. Be it, you hurt yourself, got a cut during a mission, a hero took you as bait. THAT MAN WILL DISINTEGRATE A BOOK IF YOU GOT A PAPER CUT! 

Before the PLF, He’d make sure you stayed behind him or just protect yourself you’re strong! After he’s the leader of PLF, He’d have calmed down a bit, after all, he has Villains left and right to lay down their lives to protect you

But in the case of you protecting him, He’d be honored and salty about it, but you both would risk your lives for each other, no way are either of you dying! 

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Dates are a no go, as much as you’d like to, YOU’RE Villains it isn’t exactly a good thing to be wondering around having a casual night out.

He would celebrate small birthday parties (Including his own). Anniversary, he would want to spend his time alone with you inside his room. 

JK, he’d want the two of you to spend time away from the LOV/PLF he’d probably make a romantic dinner, hey, we all dream about it!

Gifts, really hard to get before the PFL, but he isn’t the most thoughtful person, in a sense of giving things. He takes things, not give things!

Cleaning his room is like the worst! But he tries since he wants you to be happy and comfortable when you’re there with him.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Playing Video games all night, Dirty laundry Is that a sock...? NOPE!

He yells a lot, so you’ll have to get used to that...

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

I feel he wouldn’t care what he looks like.

But after meeting you- The one person he loves -He would start looking at his complexion. 

Seeing all the imperfections throughout his face and neck. He would start to hate himself, more than he does now. 

But after reassuring him, that you love him, no matter what he looks like, he’ll start wanting reassurance every now and then.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

At first, he wouldn’t think that he was incomplete because of you. It would be more of, his goal, to destroy hero society. 

‘I want to ride the world of these heroes... I hate this world..’

Over time, once he’s with you, he knows that if you ever left his side, he wouldn’t want to live in a world, with you in it.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Cuddles, You cannot convince me otherwise, that he does not! Like- once he’s in your arms, as you slowly caress his soft greasy locks. He’s hooked!

He is the smol spoon, but he can be the big spoon from time to time.

The reason why, your heartbeat, it calms him down takes his mind off his troubles for the days ahead or the stress of the day.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Honestly, I think he wouldn’t dislike a lot of things, but I do know he’d hate girly things, anything cute. 

In a partner, someone that pesters him too much, probably one that cries a lot of Tears are his weak point.., other than that he’s fine with other aspects. 

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Definitely cuddling up to you, sure he’s a big bad villain, but he wants to cuddle. At the same time, knowing he could hurt you while sleeping makes him anxious.

But don’t worry he has gloves, and he makes sure that you’re holding him. As he has his hands between his chest, while he snuggles up to your chest. Hearing the steady beat of your heart makes everything worth it.

One thing I have known, that Horikoshi has shown us is, Tomura sleeps standing up. If I saw someone standing up, in the middle of the night, right next to my bed. I’d scream. 

Click to continue for the NSFW part

NSFW -----------------------------------------

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

 I bet this man makes you clean after yourself, cause he ain’t cleaning you.

Only when he’s done something wrong, and he’s fucked you to make it up to you, will he be gentle, but make a confused face and he’ll become a tsundere. Blushes pretty hard when he’s being gentle with you, good thing he puts Father on his face. 

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s into butts when you walk in- He’s always staring through his father’s fingers just to get a peek of those curves.                                      Like-

When you walk in front of him, he’s stares too long, that he starts getting a boner, and then to turn around- He’s gone to take care of his erection.

C = Cum(Anything to do with cum, basically)

This man will use you like a fucking cum dumpster he gives no shit if you’re body is covered in his seed.

He loves it when he’s cummed in your mouth, once he’s blown his load. 

When he tells you to show him, his cum drips down your chin, you bet he’s ready to make more right then and there.

D = Dirty secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Secretly, wants to get Dominated by you.

Of course, he’s never going to say that, he wishes it, as much as he wants you to use him until he’s a whining mess.

Teasing, and overstimulation, he wants it. Never admits it until after you’ve done this to him. (Like, three-four times)

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

The first time he was going to have sex with you (or the first time EVER), he’ll act like he knows how to have sex. 

Trust me he has no fucking clue how to fucking have sex, which is cute.

If you know how to have sex, you're going to fucking Dom him the first time.

If you don’t, he’ll Dom you (unless you’re a top).

Once he’s had more experience, you bet he’s a monster in the bedroom! He wants to try EVERYTHING, he’s going to make sure that he’s satisfied.

F = Favorite position (This goes without saying)

Mating press, he wants to make sure to reach the deepest part of you, seeing your Ahegao face when he hits your pleasure point.

Hot seat, (OH is this one is nice!) If he’s in a meeting, and he’s fucking horny, he doesn’t give two shits if you bare ass naked in front of others. He’s just showing others what’s his, he’s horny, and you better act accordingly to his needs.

Downward dog, He wants to make sure to plow deep into you, making you moan, and whine for more.

Orgasmic penetration, He loves to fuck you if you become a brat. Laying your stomach on top of a surface. His figure looming over you as he fucks you slutty hole makes him more aroused.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? Etc.)

I feel there are more serious moments, then goofy ones during sex.

The times that are goofy, is when he’s ready to get his dick wet.

For Females, when he’s thrusting his dick fast and deep, he’s so in ecstasy that when your pussy ‘Toots’ he stops slowly. 

For Males, when he’s grinding on your ass, he’ll think his dick will go in with ease. The boy is he wrong, his dick is trying to g in, but damn is your ass tight.

By the end of both, he’ll feel flustered? Angry? Embarrassed? Defiantly.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? Etc.)

The carpet matches the drapes for sure, hasn’t shaved in his life. barely maintains his actual hair, so not well-groomed.

I can see his pale blue hair, thin from his belly button, going to a thick little bush above his dick.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

He wouldn’t think about it so much during sex, unless you reach up to touch his cheek, sweep his hair so he can see you, kiss him sweetly. He’ll start to be more “romantic”.

He’ll call you names like: “Baby, Babe, My Future Queen (In my opinion), and Player Two”.

J = Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

Takes your underwear, he is a nasty freak I love him either way, He’ll lick, sniff, and rub that cloth all over his dick, once he’s done, he’ll put it in your drawer

He’ll masturbate in your room, everything in there will be used; Pillows for humping material, your clothes as aroma arousal, and your bed full of stains of “Unknown” origin.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Breeding, he’d never want you to get pregnant, but he want to hear you beg him to fill you to the brim with his thick, hot load inside of your womb.

Chocking, he loves chocking (not with all five fingers), but the feeling of you begging him to chock you, makes him excited.

Cum, he wants to cum on, in, and make you a slut for his salty cum, you could say, sip sip, “I love your juicy cum Tomura~” and he’d gladly give you more, you filthy slut~

Orgasm denial, loves it when he/you get really into sex, and either of you are denied, once he/you are able to finally cut that tension, oh how good is the pleasure of that sweet release. Makes both of you taste that sweet moment of ecstasy.

Exhibitionism, he loves having sex where people can see him claim you, and gets an ego boost when it usually Dabi, or a love rival of his. He doesn’t care if your uncomfortable with you being exposed like that, your tight little ass/pussy tells him something entirely different.

Sadist, you could be his M for his S, cause this man want you to beg 72 hours, not 24, for him to fuck you senseless. He makes you bend knee for him.

Somnophilia, your not even safe when your sleeping. If you’re asleep, while wear either one of his black hoodies, boxers, bra and panties, or nothing, pray to All Might that he won’t be too rough. (Sorry, your not..)

Virgin kink, if you are a woman, JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL. This man loves to have sex with you while your menstrual cycle is happening. Loves to say things like. ‘You like that? You filthy little virgin?! How do you like my cock taking your virginity?! Does it feel good?! Huh?!’

L = Location (Favorite places to do they do)

Meeting rooms, he likes showing your body off, everyone needs to remember who you REALLY belong to.

Bedroom, you have more private sessions and access to more toys in there.

Out in the open, let it be while in a mission, or in front of you family, this man has no limits to how dirty he can be.

And I’m here for it!~

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Booty shorts, without a doubt. when you sway or walk past him, you bet he gets a boner, along with Dabi, who gets a death glare from Tomura. XD

Making innuendos, if you give him any explicit sign of wanting some Alone time, you have him around your little finger, or your around his cock.~

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Honestly, I can’t see him disliking to many things. 

He is into every filthy thing, no matter what it is, as long as he’s done it once.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, Etc.)

Loves getting Oral sex, he loves getting head from you. No matter where it is, what time of day it is, he wants to see you have his cock shoved down your throat.

I feel if he gives Oral it’ll be messy.

Male, he won’t be able to shove it down his mouth, but he’ll do his best if you encourage him, or insult him that he can’t do it. He’ll tease the sac very well~

Female, he’s going to shove his damn tongue into that tight little cunt, he’ll miss the clit entirely, unless you tell him to tease it with his tongue r his fingers.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)

Oh boy, is he a rough/fast pace kind of man.

He can be slow if he Tries to be romantic, he’s still rough but he can be slow. 

Making you beg for faster him to go faster, which of course

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) 

These are during missions when you two haven’t had sex in a while.

Quickies are the best ones, especially when it comes to showing other people that want you. and show them who you belong to. Cough couch Dabi cough cough.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Etc.)

Well since he doesn’t wear condoms, you are at risk for some things.

Males, AIDS, and HIV.

Females, Pregnancy, STD, and HIV.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

First time, at least two-to-three times.

After you two have had sex more, OH BOY, he can go for at least four-to-ten rounds, depending if he’s had a enough or just wanting

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

For sure, most of this was obtained by stealing or using Re-Destro’s money.

A vibrators, ball gag, some S&M goodies, and plugs.

Defiantly has a fucking machine.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He loves teasing the crap out of you, let it be using his fingers, dick, tongue, toys, and teeth. He’ll make sure to make you beg and whine under his touch, His deadly, touch.~

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s a medium, He’s loud when he wants to be, but he’s also soft.

Loud, He grunts and yells, ‘Fuck, God damn, So fucking tight, Shit, Etc.’ in my opinion, he just wants to get more fucking pleasure

Soft, muffed whimpers, he can’t help but want to feel release, but he wants to make sure that your the only one to hear those whimpers of wanting release.

W = Wild card (A random headcanon for the character)

Like I said before, in his mind, he would loved to be Dominated.

Once you know, he’ll try to deny it as much as he can, but it’s too late.

He is DEFIANTLY a brat, that needs to be tamed by you, teach him to use the proper name he should call you, (For me, a female) Master~

He gets turn on by it so much, that when you tease him, by calling him a “naughty little brat”, he’s wanting you to fuck him.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Depending on what your wearing he’ll think of many things.

Baggy shirts, hoodies, T-shirt and shorts; he wants to imagine that you have nothing under those, he just wants to rip them off of you to see if his hypothesis is correct.

Tight clothes, skimpy outfits, leggings; He’s thinking of what of undergarments you have, some really sexy ones, or nothing at all.~

Casual clothes, he wants to imagine a plug inside of you, some nipple clips, some thick anal beads, and small vibrator (He’s waiting for you give him the remote for it). 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very, VERY, high this guy hasn’t had sex, so once he’s had a taste. 

GOD. DAMN. HE. DOESN’T. WANT. TO. MISS. OUT. EVER.

If your horny, and he’s not, it’s easy to get him going.

If HE’S horny, he’s having sex there and now.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

I know we’d probably pass out after that rough sex session.

I think he’ll ask to be in your arms, but depending on his stamina.

Low stamina, he’ll fall asleep within 10 minutes, shoves his face into your chest, cuddles the shit outta you. He doesn’t even bother to pull out.. (Hope you guys did do his breeding kink..)

High stamina, he stays up for another 30 minutes, this is where he shows his softer side, he’ll make sure that your asleep. Caresses your head and kisses you, before he get in the bed with you.

This is canon, no matter what, he is soft when it’s just you and no else.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Four of Swords

Destiel, 7.1k, M, Ao3 link

Super happy I can finally share what me and my amazing partner, @maleyah-givemetomorrow, cooked up for the @supernaturaltropecelebration

Hope you all enjoy! (story below, but if you go to ao3 there’ll be pretty pictures - I definintely recommend viewing them and showing love to the artist!)

The Four of Swords, in the present position, means you don't want to interact with the rest of the world. Because of stress, you need to spend some time with yourself - unhealthy always being 'on'. That the healthiest thing to do is to escape.

Dean might crave escape, but it's not something he thinks he can have. Something he deserves, even. After his and Sam's most recent hunt, this cancerous feeling has grown heavy and weighs him down. He cannot escape on his own, as best he tries.

Luckily a guardian 'former angel' angel swoops in at his lowest. Helps pick up the pieces as best he can and lovingly put them back together. But he can only do so much. The rest is up to Dean.

Can Dean take those final steps, say those final words, and finally free himself?

        His leg bounces, foot playing with the pedal while forcing the speedometer past its limits. Fingers squeeze the wheel tight enough he knows will leave permanent indents in the leather. Dean feels, more acutely than ever, how small his car’s interior is. Her cabin walls closing in around like the Death Star’s trash compacter. Aided by Sam’s ever-present stare, weighted by all the questions Dean will not let him ask. Forbade with a shake of his head and a rough flick of the ignition.

        The sun creeps past the horizon, morning rudely greeting them. Beams of light pierce the glass, its glare interfering with his driving. Dean swings a heavy paw up towards the visor and pulls down, hard. It blocks most of the sun but gives Dean a worse distraction.

        His gaze strays from the road to the tiny mirror embedded within the visor. Bounces around the borders of his face, studying the features and additions. Green eyes burdened with purplish bags. Dirt smudged around his hairline, disappearing into his short, mussed locks. Scratches peppered his cheeks like freckles, and the dried blood around his lips looks almost comical. Like he overlined them with an ugly shade of lipstick, clownlike and surreal.

        “You’re drifting.”

        Sam tugs the wheel closer, straightening their car. Dean wills back the discomfort of having Sam’s hand covering his. Of the memory, hours ago, where their layered hands held different context. Pushing. Praying. Reaching for a spark of Dean that nearly drowned and was lost forever. He shakes his head, focusing on the road again. “Thanks,” he says once his brother’s hand drifted away.

        They reach the Bunker minutes later, Dean parking between the green Hudson and silver Chrysler. Both collecting dust. Dean checks his phone – 8:34 a.m. 3 missed calls, 8 unanswered texts. He swipes for the message thread, not reading any of the grey bubbles and typing a simple message. Back. Then Dean drops it in an empty cupholder and lays his head on the wheel.

        Exhaustion drips along his bones like slime, filling the spaces between joints. His muscles broadcast their pain in full stereo, working in tandem with his brain. Each twinge a reminder of what happened. What he did and what he almost became.

        Someone howls. It is far, but familiar. It sounds like – home? Belonging? Right? More noise, this time closer. Snarling. Snarling and growling. His jaw shudders and bends, reforming. A fire crackles under his skin, urging him forward. Follow the call. Follow the scent. Smell that, hear that, it is all so… pure. Free. You are free. Trust your instincts.

        “Fuck,” he hisses. Dean presses his dirty nails into his palms, a reminder of their usual bluntness. Definitely not sharp enough to pierce the skin. He can’t hurt anyone else with them. “Fuck…”

        Sam shifts at his side, hovering. Worrying. “Dean –“

        “Not now, Sammy,” he says. Dean sucks in a large breath, fixing his armor. Raises his head off the steering wheel, staring out the window. “I’m not ready, not yet.” He wasn’t ready when they watched the barn disappear behind them, burning, smoke drifting into the starless night. When they stopped at the motel so Sam could collect their stuff while Dean idled in the parking lot. When Sam exploded halfway between Denver and Cheyenne, drool wet on his chin, and still unprepared when he apologized minutes later.

        He didn’t deserve his damned forgiveness.

        “Just…” Dean breathes, shivering, “go.”

        The car door opens and shuts with soft clicks. Dean watches his brother stumble over half-asleep legs to the exit, Sam’s gait heavy and awkward. He pauses under the archway. His head tilts slowly right, and Dean tears his eyes from the rearview mirror. Dean counts the beats of his heart, waiting. After thirty he checks the rearview and Sam is gone.

        Flinging himself out the car, Dean falls on hands and knees while his stomach revolts. He coughs, splutters, and heaves with all the force he can muster. There’s not a lot in his stomach but it surges up, splattering against the floor. Mixes with the blood and dirty already staining his fingers. His nausea passes the crest and recedes, body nearly purged. He spits into the bile, running his tongue over the waxy film coating his teeth. Gross, but not enough. The taste lingers.

        Right there. Follow the fear, the rapid breathing – babumbabumbabumbabum. There is sweetness in victory, in the thrill of chasing. No escape, only death. Screams cut short when you tear through the throat. Chestnut fur matted with blood, goes down smooth. Delicious. Filling.

        Dean winces at the mess. “Not cleaning that up,” he says, “at least not now.” With his remaining strength, Dean drags his body up. Leans on his car for a moment, then walks away with the door still open and with bags in the trunk. He cannot remember if he left the key in the ignition, nor does he care if he did.

        There are more pressing matters that need attending.

        He wanders with intention, drifting past rows of doors until he reaches the shower room. Dean turns, slowing to a shuffle and then a full stop once halfway inside. Head bowed, he focuses on the contrast between his mud-caked boots and the pristine tiles ruined by his intrusion. Squints and sees a twig lodged in the loop of his lace. Looks closer and sees a small pawprint left immortalized on the material.

        In one bite the head tears completely off, blood spurting up from the severed neck. Sprays his face while he chews. Dean smiles, teeth catching the droplets and licking them clean off. He greedily stuffs the rest of its small body into his mouth, then licks his hands. Uncurling from the forest floor, he continues on. There is a call he needs to answer.

        Dean hears the twig snap while clawing at the laces. He throws his left boot to the side, followed by his right. Peels his socks off and does the same. The second round of dizziness descends as the cool floor coaxes a more measured response from him. Sighing, Dean closes his eyes and continues stripping.

        Even blind, Dean knows what he throws away. A yellow plaid button-down ripped across the back. Brown t-shirt crusty with dried blood all over the front. Jeans camouflaged in various stains, held up by a belt that worked in saving him from succumbing. And underwear that, while clean, were rather unwanted in the moment.

        Goosepimples rise along the blades of his shoulders, rushing up his neck and over his back. Dean shakes, crosses his arms and tucks his chin against his chest. “Come on,” he says, bouncing on his feet, “In and out… you’ll feel much better.” He steps forward and then returns to where he was. “You’ll feel better and clean and – and like yourself again.”

        “This is who you were truly meant to be…” His voice purrs, sparks firing off pleasurably in his brain. A rough tongue licks up his neck, and Dean nuzzles the hand petting his cheek. “Who we were always meant to be… give into your instincts, my pet. Give into yourself…”

        “Dean what are – oh! I’m sorry!” He whips around and finds Cas standing in the doorway. Hands squeezing the towel, eyes trained upwards and not ahead like they must have been moments ago. The blush on his cheeks clueing him in. “I thought, when you said you were home, you’d be in bed…”

        Dean rakes his gaze over the other man’s body. At the scruff in serious need of shaving, unkempt along his jaw and overrunning his neck. The oversized t-shirt, tie-dyed in various shades of oranges, reds, and yellows. A graphic from a Led Zeppelin album ironed on from a collection Dean found at a garage sale, given over because the angel reminded him of Cas. His shirt’s hem overhangs and covers half of the shorts he wears, hairy calves fully on display.

        A year into humanity and Dean marvels at how he stays so heavenly.

        “No,” he says, “don’t feel much like sleeping…” Then Dean drifts his focus away from the other man and back to the shower stalls. Empty and waiting. In a few seconds he could wash the entirety of yesterday into the drains, dirtied water swirling at his feet. Scrape any trace of the wildness with soap and scalding, hot water. Keep at it, until the knot in his chest unraveled finally.

        Dean stiffens. Someone brushed his arm. Cas squeezes, whispering, “Are you going to shower?”

        He nods. Steps forward, and again. And collapses at the mouth of the shower, scrabbling for the curtain and ripping it from the rod. Dean gasps, the harsh sound echoing in the room, and curls in on himself. The cheap plastic crinkles and sticks to his skin, blanketing his thighs. One of the metal rings completely tore and now digs into his stomach. Cas calls for him, but his voice is distant.

        “We can start anew once your transformation is complete. I can hear it inside you, Dean. There’s a killer in there waiting to be unchained. Let me free you from the prison society forced you in, allow your true self to roam, empowered in its glory and righteousness. You’ll be my right hand in my new pack. All that’s left, is for you to break the final lock…”

        “Dean, Dean I need you to say something,” Cas presses a warm hand into his back, kneading the clammy skin. “Please… I know not to hope for anything good but at least tell me you’re here, with me.”

        “I’m here,” he murmurs, “I’m… I’m here.” More of a reminder than an answer. Dean blinks, leaving the acrid stench of death for faint, lemon cleanser. Shadows and dim lighting for humming fluorescents. False promises for strong foundations. “I’m here,” Dean says again, sliding his hand from the curtains to Cas’s, the other hanging at his side. Squeezes at his wrist. “Thanks.”

        “It’s no problem,” Cas huffs, sizing Dean up. He shrinks under his gaze, conscious of how he must look. “Do you want to –“

        “No.”

        Cas nods, as if expecting it. “You want to clean yourself up?” Dean shrugs. He clucks, fingers skimming his hairline on a wide rub. “Look as if you’ve glued yourself to the underside of your car and had Sam drive across any backroads he found.” The joke inspires Dean’s dimples to appear, and Cas’s overly proud smile forces a small chuckle. “Are you able to stand?”

        “I think I can manage…” Dean winces, the plastic shower curtain peeling off him. Cas keeps his face steady, not even a flicker of interest in peeking as it falls, when Dean exposes himself. A superficial wound. Fortunately Cas’s hand on his back and the other, now holding his, stay and help him up. He wobbles on shaky legs but won’t fail. “Thanks.”

        “No problem,” Cas tells him, thumb tickling his pulse point, “do you want me to give you privacy?”

        He swallows his tongue. Or rather, something living inside his throat snatches it and prevents him from speaking. Dean glances at the shower, dread crawling forth once more. The scant space between him and the handle stretches, vision tunneling. He wants nothing more, if only the thought of it didn’t paralyze him. Cas murmurs at his side. “What?” he chokes out.

        “I might have an idea,” Cas says, “that is… if you’re okay with me seeing you like… like this?”

        Dean raises a wry brow. “Does it matter?” he asks, “You already have.”

        “Just being polite…” Cas moves away from him, Dean following for a beat until he stops himself. The other man looks to the door, than at him. He scoops his forgotten towel, dumped on the floor at some point in the past few minutes, and offers it to him. “Here.”

        “Like I said, Cas –“

        “I know,” he interrupts, “but I doubt you want to walk the halls like that, where at any point Sam could stumble on you and… assume.” A hell of an assumption. Favorable too, he thinks. Dean blushes and bites his lip. He accepts the towel, lazily wrapping it around his waist. Not bothering to tuck it, holding it with his hands so they wouldn’t hang without purpose. Cas finally dips his gaze towards his crotch and relaxes. “Okay,” he says, “follow me.”

        They leave the shower room, Dean practically hitting Cas’s heels with how closely he trails the other man. Enough that he could swing his arm and accidentally brush his hip. He won’t, though the possibility is tempting.

        It’s not a far enough walk for that.

        Cas turns the corner and leads Dean to the second door on the right. “I found this awhile back, early on in our stay here and carried it to this room one day when you were out.” He opens it for him, gesturing inside with a lackluster flourish. “Glad I did, don’t know how I would have managed without my angel strength.”

        Dean steps inside, searching. There is not much waiting for him. Smaller than most rooms, he can imagine it being a closet with ease. Spots the tiny holes where screws must have been. Hidden in the outlines of where shelves once were. “Didn’t know you were handy.”

        “I learn fast.”

        “I’ll say,” Dean says, “plumbing’s a bitch to do.” He smirks at the large, stainless steel faucet. There’s another outline underneath against the wall that marks where a sink used to be. Removed so the porcelain, clawfoot tub can rest. “You take baths?”

        “When I can,” Cas tells him, “I find it very healing. Even when I could mend broken bones and turn jagged cuts into flawless, smooth skin with my grace, I found myself drifting here every now and then, sitting for a soak.”

        Dean taps at the rim of the bathtub, pouting. “And you brought me here, thinking I want to…” He doesn’t finish, instead studying the other man. Watches how the innocent question rocks the boat of his good intentions. Cas pouts, folds his arms and scuffs his toe on the floor. Dean softens, “Thank you.”

        “…You’re welcome,” he shifts, turning his back, “Now, do you want to get in? I find that when you twist the handle on the right, the water is warmer.”

        He waits. Panic rises, thinking Cas might leave. Worse that he can’t find it in him to ask that he stay. But then Cas settles, staring at the closed door. Dean smiles and starts the faucet.

        When the bathtub is halfway full Dean climbs in. His knees poke from up out of the water, too tall to stretch his legs. He slides in further, so the water laps at his chin and more leg is on display. Already it fogs over, a filmy layer swirling on the surface. Dean cups some of the water and splashes it on his face, all too aware of much red drips. “I’m as decent as I can be,” he calls, splashing.

        Cas sighs. “How does it feel?”

        “S’nice,” he shrugs, “Not that I get to do this often but…” Dean sees Cas walk over, grabbing at a nearby bucket. “What are you doing?”

        “Helping,” Cas says, dropping the bucket. He kneels, presenting a washcloth and a soap bar he must have pulled from below.

        “Aw, no Cas,” Dean starts, sliding into a low crouch. Braced on the edges of the bathtub. “You don’t have to –“

        “Please, Dean,” Cas whispers. Two fingers rest over his knuckles, feather light and barely there. “Let me do this for you… after what you must have gone through…”

        Dean will not break his staring contest with his navel, sure that if he glanced in Cas’s direction another episode like the one in the shower room will happen. “Fine,” he mutters, plopping back into the tub and spraying Cas with a few errant drops. “If you want, go right ahead.” His arms encircle his knees, stricken expression hidden. Sitting in the center of the bathtub, Dean never felt so small.

        Cas carries on wordlessly. Runs the soap under the faucet before turning it off. It’s filled to about a few inches from the rim, any sudden movement able to cause a good spill. Which is why Cas talks him through the steps. Like a skittish animal, provoked at the tiniest snap of a twig or rustling leaves.

        Defenseless. Unaware. Fattening itself for the lucky prey that happens across it. His lips peel back for his teeth to appear, spit dripping from them. His fingers lead him forward, nails glinting when the moonlight breaks through the foliage and hits them. One clumsy step and what sounds like a gunshot echoes in his ears. It stops. Then it sprints off. So does he, a fraction of a second later. The chase begun. He huffs, he smiles, he growls. Hungry.

        Dean hisses when the cloth rubs over a badly healed wound, reopening it. “Sorry,” Cas says, dabbing the spot again and pouring some water from a cupped hand over the skin. “I didn’t see – I’m so sorry.”

        “It’s okay, Cas.” He offers a wobbly smile, shrugging. “It’s okay.”

        Cas grimaces, Dean staring on the thin, chapped line. Better than blue spotlights running across his face. Soon his lips smooth into something more neutral, and Cas resets.

        He focuses on how the washcloth feels, Cas lathering soap across him. Doesn’t fight when he grabs Dean’s arm and holds it up, running the fabric over and leaving soap bubbles in its track. There’s a jagged cut slashed across his knuckles from a misplaced lunge. Cas, prepared, gently dabs at it. His hold is firm and touch careful.

        Too careful. Too caring. The special treatment makes his skin crawl. Dean winces again as Cas drags the washcloth along his shoulder blades and onto his other arm. “Sensitive?” Cas asks, because he notices. Add too observant, too. “Days like these make me miss my powers.”

        Dean snorts, “So you could fly on out of here without any problems?” That escapes easier than he would like. He curses under breath, sneaking a peek at Cas. Like Dean expected, Cas’s expression makes his heart sink into his stomach. “Shit, sorry…”

        “I don’t need wings to ‘fly on out of here’,” he says, “if I wanted, I could get on a plane tomorrow.” Cas finishes lathering his arm and soaps his chest. Rubs the washcloth over and over his tattoo. Its ink vibrating erratically because of his words, the possibility, and Cas’s closeness “The operative term being wanted. What I want right now is… well, I want you to not feel any pain.”

        But he should. It’s all he should feel. Dean deserves the pain. For yesterday, what he almost did. For now, what he callously said to Cas. For years and years of causing so much hurt and enjoying it and taking pride in it. He should drown in all this pain. Instead he has an angel bathing him in kindness.

        He tries every day to be better than his darkest moment. When he and Cas stared across at each other, fully ruptured. Dean throwing more dynamite into the divide until the ground crumbled beneath their feet and the landscape of their relationship was unrecognizable. After Purgatory he made a promise. His pain should remain with him, not forced into the hands of others.

        Some days they wriggle, others they slip. Dean tries every day. If only every day, he succeeded.

        Cas washes his face, leaning half over the tub so there’s barely a breath of space between them. A simple turn and their noses brush together. He cannot do more than breath, sharp puffs out his mouth. Sometimes muffled when Cas wipes at the dried blood marking the skin around it.

        It’s too much.

        “I almost killed Sam.” Cas pauses, frozen at the corner of Dean’s lips. Some of the soap drips into his mouth, and he can taste it. “Yesterday, on the hunt I… I almost killed him.”

        His brain steams ahead, thinking how Cas might wish for the plane ticket now that he knows. Imagines him dropping the washcloth into his hands and leaving without a word. Again, wiping his hands of Dean’s garbage and climbing out the hole before any more shovels in to bury him.

        Instead Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, smiling. “Tell me what happened.”

        His walls crumble immediately. Dean savors the touch while he begins his story. Cas already knew the beginning – driving into a town beset by murders, where killers left heartless bodies for the police. Rolled in with the script memorized, asking all the right questions. Found the pack’s den and attacked. “We said we got all of them,” Dean sighs, ducking his head, “but that wasn’t the whole truth.”

        The leader escaped. They only realized it when counting the bodies, battle too confusing that losing track of one werewolf in a dozen was unavoidable. Risky in their line of work, but a quick perimeter search kicked up no trace of him. Dean and Sam closed the case, driving off to the motel and licking their wounds.

        “I was careless, or… or I don’t know, didn’t think much of it but…” Dean holds his arm up and looks at it. There’s no mark on the skin, but he traces the bite from memory. “Got me when I wasn’t looking. By the time I knew what was happening it was like I… like something had come over me. I heard howling and I tore off after it. Sam coming back to an empty motel room with a broken lock.”

        If he stays too long in his memories, he will lose himself in them again. Racing through the woods with newfound agility and grace. Jumping, launching himself over fallen trees and boulders. What it felt like ripping apart the first woodland creature he crossed paths with. The soapy taste in his mouth turns sour.

        “The leader was crazy… had this whole philosophy that I believed because he said it and all I could think was how much I trusted him. Thinking was too difficult while all fanged out and slobbering and – and so when he said to trust my ‘instincts’ I… I bared my neck. His instincts were my instincts. By that point Sammy snuck in, and – well protect is a pretty strong instinct.”

        Sam plead, rallying all his strength so Dean’s claws wouldn’t eviscerate him. Dean straddled his brother, raging. Spat on him while gnawing for his neck. The last werewolf cheering Dean on. “Free yourself of your human burdens and join me in total freedom!” he sang, “Eat of his heart and you will be mine forever!”

        “You don’t want this Dean,” Sam said, struggling. The syringe nearby looking damaged but not completely broken. “I know you. Fight him!”

        Dean growled, “Want… want free… want blood!”

        Sam sneered, tightening his grip on Dean’s wrists. He shifted and kicked Dean off. Dean flipped, landing on his back. They both scrambled upright, not wasting any time. With misguided fury Dean pounced for Sam, his brother twisting at the right second. Their fight continued in that fashion. Sam dodging Dean’s attacks, the latter growing more frustrated and sloppier.

        Exactly what Sam planned.

        Dean dove and smacked into a wall, knocking the breath from him. Stunned, Sam dove for his belt and slipped it over some exposed pipe. Not knowing any better, lost within the wolf, Dean struggled helplessly until brute strength won.

        By the time Dean ripped the pipe from the wall Sam killed his sire. Injected Dean with the cure when he scurried towards the corpse and mourned. When all traces of his bite left Dean’s system, he mourned again. Sam standing overhead, watching, unable to lay a hand on his shoulder lest Dean bite at it in his familiar defensiveness.

        “So Sam is fine?”

        He bristles at the placid tone. Unbothered. Like Dean mentioned some off-hand piece of gossip that he happened across while scrolling through his phone. “Yeah,” Dean says harshly, “but I… I almost did him in. Nearly ate his heart before skipping off with some werewolf Charles Manson to start another werewolf cult and...”

        Cas raises a brow. “And?”

        Processing the events aloud help him realize how wildly he overreacted. How Sam clearly held no anger towards him for being on the menu. How there’s no reason for the inky sadness clinging to his heart and soul that makes him feel bad.

        Except it’s there, and having no reason makes it even worse.

        “And…” he fumbles, “And I think I’m getting too old for this.” Dean huffs, sinking against the bathtub while Cas continues petting him. “I’ve been doing this for what? Nearly forty years? That was how it’s going to end… Because I let that werewolf creep bite me and nearly turn me into his slave? Kind of makes everything I said about free will look like I pulled it from my ass.”

        Cas chuckles, laying the washcloth on the porcelain rim. He pulls back, laying both arms along the edge and resting on it. Smirking, “No one will call you a hypocrite because you were under the influence of a werewolf bite.”

        “Yeah, but…” Dean sighs, “I’m supposed to be better than this.”

        “If I’ve learned anything from my time on Earth – from you – is that sometimes we have our off days,” Cas says, “We have to forgive ourselves for them.”

        “Maybe if I tripped and scratched Baby’s paint or-or took a risk on some leftovers I don’t remember, sure,” he scoffs, “but when it comes to hunts… an off day can easily become my last day. Hunters don’t get off days. Heroes don’t… don’t…” He digs his nails into his knee, willing away the waterfall hovering around the edges of his eyes.

        “Well, as true as that is, the fact you were able to see the sun rise means yesterday definitely wasn’t your last day.” The faint traces of humor in his tone barely lifts the corners of Dean’s mouth. Cas sighs. A few droplets splashing at Dean’s exposed leg, his hand now gently splashing the water. “I stand by what I said. Yes, you could’ve been more observant during your battle. And more conscious of your injuries. Then neither you nor Sam would still carry what should have been a simple hunt on your shoulders.” Mentioning it makes his shoulders sag further. “But then again, I could be beating myself for staying here watching Netflix while you and Sam got your hands dirty –“

        “You kidding, Cas?” Dean bursts in, brows furrowed, “The Hell should you feel bad for?”

        “A third set of eyes could’ve seen the werewolf escape – or stop him before he did… make sure you were checked over for serious injuries…” His fingers circle lazily, Cas’s mouth tugged down in a way that unsettles Dean’s stomach.

        Dean sits straighter, glaring at the other man. “You needed the rest, Cas. After that ghoul tore your back up something fierce in Missoula? Even if you knew you could do something, I’d still have kept you –“ The tirade cuts short, Cas’s prideful smirk stealing the words from him. He sinks into the water, so low that water hides his burning cheeks. Adjusts by fully removing his legs from the bathtub, bracing his feet on the wall. Faucet between them.

        Cas chuckles, rustling Dean’s hair. “See. Hindsight is only good for the future, to learn from our mistakes. Time is better spent in the present. Accepting that you did the best you could and… glad there are people who care about you, who will do anything to see you feel better.”

        Dean looks up at Cas, the overhead bulb shining. Mimicking the effect of a halo. He lifts his chin enough to free his mouth. “I don’t know how you can put up with my stubborn ass.” I don’t know why I deserve you.

        “I recall you calling my ass stubborn many times.” I don’t deserve you.

        They always end up circling the drain. Never quite going in, a piece of hair clogging the passage. Right now, with Cas petting Dean’s hair and gazing into his eyes, Dean exposed under him in more ways than one, it cannot get any more tender. It’s still not enough.

        At the top of the peak, you can only go off. They never jump.

        Dean knew his reasons. When it felt like they could, there was never enough time. Something more pressing to deal with, a battle to fight. Always promising that when the moment was right, Dean would do something. But then when those moments came Dean and Cas were never there for them. Kept apart by circumstance, by death, by each other. Compelling. Dramatic. Completely frustrating.

        But then Chuck vanished, he and Amara – light and darkness, creation and destruction – becoming one. Becoming entirely new. Blinked off into somewhere that Dean doesn’t care knowing about. As long as, on their way out, they cut the strings hanging over their heads.

        It seemed like it. Life went on, as normal. Monsters needed hunting and beer needed drinking. Except there wasn’t anything more.

        Hell stayed relatively calm with Rowena reorganizing it. Jack, seated on the throne of Heaven, brought a righteous humanity in his leadership. Even Billie took a holiday.

        When the dust settled, Dean was ready for Cas to be on his way, too. One was offered.

        “Are you sure?” Jack asked, eyes still aglow. Hand raised inches from Cas’s bloodied head. “I can give it all back to you. Give you more… you’d be the most powerful angel in my new Heaven. You can help me make it even better than it was.”

        “Thank you, but… I think it’s time you left the nest, Jack,” Cas smiled, stepping back from him. “Heaven is in capable hands because they’re yours… I… we trust that you can do this without us.”

        Jack nodded, light snuffed. He dove into Cas’s arms, then, hugging him. Then Sam, and finally Dean. “I’ll visit when I can,” he promised, trying not to cry.

        Dean coughed, swiping a finger under his eye. “Soon!” he barked, “I don’t want to see you when I’m eighty!” Their laughter was bittersweet. Fully bitter when Jack disappeared with a flap.

        Sam scuffed the ground, turning. “So,” he said, “what do we do now?” He scanned the area, Dean tracking the same space alongside him. At the scorched earth, barely recognizable from when they arrived. Green drained away and left lifeless, with a few serious scorch marks in certain areas. Like the one near a cracked mausoleum, where Chuck threw Cas. Where he held him by the neck and spit serious venom. Where he drained the little angel grace he had left and made him human again.

        Cas clears his throat, drawing their attention. “After a shower and a change of clothes,” he said, “I think some sort of celebration. At home.”

        Dean’s heart skipped over itself. “Home,” he repeated, “Yeah, I like that.”

        Cas chose and chose again, and his choice never wavered. It was Earth. It was humanity. It was him, and it was home.

        “Why are you staring at me like that?” Cas asks, frowning, “what are you thinking?”

        Dean rises somewhat. “I love you.” He would rather he weren’t naked, nor shaken from a hunt. And a forgotten supply closet with a dirty bathtub in it is hardly the number one place for a confession. But waiting for perfection screwed him over so many times.

        “Oh,” Cas relaxes against the bathtub, sinking his hand back into the water, “is that all?”

        Or maybe he should have kept waiting. Dean pouts, “I love you.”

        “I know. You’re repeating yourself.”

        “No, like…” he drags a wet hand over his face, “I love you. Like, I love you love you.”

        Cas chuckles, light and carefree. Lines around his eyes crinkling in delight. “I know, Dean. I know.”

        Dean gapes, chin slapping the surface of his bath. “You have?” Spurred into action by Cas’s growing laughter, Dean sinks his legs into the tub and sits up again. “For real?” The other man nods. “How long?”

        Cas shrugs, “Awhile.”

        “Why didn’t you say anything?”

        Joy retreats from Cas’s expression, leaving him somewhat guarded. He breaks with Dean’s stare. His hand glides through water and finds Dean’s leg. Strokes it. “I thought nothing needed to be said.”

        Dean raises a brow, clicking his tongue. “So you were happy with…”

        “I was content.”

        He frowns, courage leaping up inside his chest and banishing the lingering traces of sadness and self-pity clinging inside his chest. “Well, I wasn’t,” Dean says. Waits for Cas to look at him again. “Do you know how many times we sat together and I wanted to hold your hand, but didn’t? Roll over on my bed and wake up next to you only to remember that you were down the hall? Sit in a diner and-and when the waitress came by I could say, ‘I’ll have this and my boyfriend will have that’ but was only able to order for myself? I won’t even mention the amount of times I wanted to kiss you because at this point I’ve lost count…”

        Cas squeezes Dean’s thigh, lips stretched wide in a tight grin. “You want all of that?”

        “And more. A hell of a lot more.”

        “Then… late is better than never, I suppose.”

        Dean blinks, “What?”

        He resumes stroking his leg, smiling so openly all his teeth are on display. “I’m saying,” he continues, “that if you want to do all that, I find myself being… amenable. We can even start now.”

        “Are you sure?” Dean asks, too experienced with his luck that he knows he needs more. “Is this what you want? You said you were –“

        “Content,” he says, “But not happy. Doing all of what you described – and more – will make me very happy.”

        Dean smiles, “Really?”

        “Ecstatic.” It’s so deadpan, so blasé, and completely incongruent with the mood of the room that Dean cannot stop the snort escaping from his lips. Followed by hiccupped giggles and, finally, laughter that echoes in the tiny space. Joined by Cas, their voices swell to fill the room. Until Dean snatches Cas’s collar with his wet fist and drags him in for a kiss. Closes his eyes and savors the taste of the other man, taking note of every sensation he guessed right and scribbling over what he got wrong with the parts he never could have imagined.

        In the midst of their makeout session, when Cas presses their foreheads together and laughs about not needing a shower after all. Because Dean hauled him into the bathtub with him despite protests, water leaking onto the floor. When he can, without guilt, lose himself in Cas’s eyes, Dean remembers the werewolf from yesterday. Remembers what he thought freedom meant, and how the monster hadn’t the first clue what it actually was.

        Freedom is not power. Freedom is being yourself. Freedom is the ability to show others the deepest parts of yourself and have them stay and love you for it. Freedom is acceptance.

        Freedom is the way Cas’s fingers scratch at the nape of his neck. Freedom is Cas pressing lazy kisses against his cheek. Freedom is the way their feet knock into each other on the edge of the porcelain bathtub.

        Dean, for the first time in his life, feels free.

Epilogue:

        Midnight is a terrible hour to crave bacon. Time cannot stop Dean’s watering mouth or his growling stomach. He disentangled himself from Cas and blindly pieced together an outfit that, in the hallway’s clinical lighting, included his cowboy pajama bottoms, Cas’s dried shirt, and his robe. Dean shrugs and carries on his way towards the kitchen, hoping for a quick trip.

        Seeing Sam hunched over at the table crushes that idea. He perks up at Dean’s entrance, faltering. Rises for a second before thinking better, instead fiddling with his coffee mug. “Dean.”

        “…Sam.” Unsure, Dean’s own hands run rampant. Closes the robe and hides Cas’s shirt, tying a neat, little bow and securing it tighter. Then he unravels it and lets the robe swing open like curtains. “What’re you doing up?”

        He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep anymore. You?”

        “Hungry.” Dean winces, the image of Sam struggling underneath him flashing into view. It fades almost as instantly as it arrived, replaced with a more annoyed looking brother. Mouth pulled taut like a bowstring, aimed and ready. Dean glances at the mug for safety. “You make enough for the class?”

        “Check the pot.”

        Shuffling over he sees more than enough coffee inside for him. So, he pulls out two mugs and prepares them. Three teaspoons of sugar in one, four tablespoons in the other. A dash of milk on the left, because Cas thinks it muddies the taste of the coffee. “Thanks.”

        “Dean…”

        His tone draws a quiet sigh from Dean. Settles the hunger that dominated his stomach and replaces it with a slight nausea. “Sam,” he says, “can you not…”

        “We need to talk about it,” Sam continues, “Please, Dean, I –“

        “We will.”

        Sam pauses, stunned. Dean turns around and tamps down the laugh bubbling up. Hard given how rare Sam’s jaw drops so far. In the blink of an eye Sam shakes his surprise off. “What?”

        “We will,” Dean repeats, leaning on the counter, “I promise. I just… I’m not ready, yet.”

        It’s not the best answer. Sam doubts him, evident by the gleam in his eye. And the follow up, “Are you ever gonna be ready?”

        His eyes never strayed from Dean’s face. If he dropped his gaze a few inches Sam would see Cas’s shirt. But he didn’t. Dean can rewrap the robe and pretend it’s not on him.

        Except Dean hadn’t the urge. Instead he draws attention to it, rubbing the hem between his fingers. “Hopefully soon… Cas and I had a good talk and – and well, maybe in the morning I might be okay enough that we can sit and talk about it, or whatever…”

        Sam finally looks at his shirt. Then at Dean with a subtle awe. He braces for an onslaught of feelings, exactly what Dean tried avoiding. Why he thought using Cas as a distraction from talking about those was a moment of delirium. Dean sips at his mug, hiding ruddy cheeks behind the rim.

        Thankfully Sam says nothing. Instead mirroring his sip. “Okay.”

        “Okay?”

        “Okay.”

        Dean nods, drumming his fingers on the counter. There’s kindness in how Sam offers the escape tunnel, even though so much is brewing under the surface. A rarity that Dean never expected. He should take it.

        But there’s more. Dean figures ripping the band-aid off all at once is better than peeling it and feeling every single hair torn from his arm.

        “I think I’m gonna stop hunting,” he says. Sam spits a mouthful of coffee into his mug, choking. “For a while,” Dean quickly explains, “Like, maybe a few months?”

        Coughing, Sam wipes at his lips. “Is this because of the werewolf hunt?”

        “Yes?” Dean says, “No – I mean… Look, it’s not because I’m too scared to get back into the game because of what happened but I am kind of… skittish?” He frowns, staring at the light brown pool in his hands. “Like I’m running on empty and… and I don’t think I have enough in the tank. That’s what happened yesterday, but thank God there was a little more in yours to get me to the next rest stop! Who knows what might happen on the next one so I… I’m making the adult decision and taking myself out of the game before the big loss.” Dean gulps at his coffee, throat suddenly dry. “But not forever,” he adds, “Long enough to sort things out… do the stuff we said we were gonna do when the Chuck mess ended. Maybe go on a road trip or, ah… give Cas a proper first date –“

        “First date?” Sam croaks, a tiny snort escaping, “Think you two’ve past that by a few years. Third honeymoon, maybe.”

        Dean rolls his eyes. “Yuck it up… but I’m not the only one who can use this opportunity to focus on important things… things that you’ve been neglecting… when’s the last time you and Eileen had any quality time together?” Sam answers with a blush. “Thought so… at least I’ve had two honeymoons, or so you think.”

        “Shut up,” Sam huffs, drinking his coffee again. His gaze drifts from Dean over to the door, and the fluster drains off his face. Replaced with a more gleeful expression, lips curling. “Hey Cas,” he sings, “how’s it going?”

        Dean accepts all the awkward energy Sam shed. His grip on the coffee mug falters when he sees Cas. Dressed in a stolen pair of sweatpants and nothing else. “Sam, Dean,” he yawns, shuffling closer. Cas squints at the untouched mug on the counter, “Is this for me?”

        “Yeah,” Dean says, handing it over, “just the way you like.” Cas purrs, kissing Dean’s cheek before sipping. Sam's chuckles accompany his approval. “It wasn’t too much of a problem…”

        “So, Cas,” Sam starts, “what got you out of bed?”

        Cas scratches his head and presses against Dean. Slides an arm around Dean’s waist. “Pee,” he says, “and then I noticed Dean wasn’t there so…” If Cas didn’t drive the point home clear enough Dean would worry after his brother’s intelligence. He feels Cas’s chin rest on his shoulder. “Why did you get up?”

        Dean gestures at the stove. “Hungry.”

        “Hmm… I can eat.” Cas taps on Dean’s stomach, pushing off. He moves and joins Sam at the table. “Whatever you were going to make yourself, make double?”

        “Triple?” Sam adds, “All this talk of food is making me hungry.”

        “Yeah, yeah…” Dean flicks the stove on, dropping the pan on the active burner. His hunger returned, aided by the easy conversation flowing between the three. Cas settles across from Sam asking a question about something he read. The conversation quickly devolves into nerd speak, Dean throwing quips in every few seconds.

        He lays a strip of bacon down, and then another one. And another one. Greases a second pan and cracks an egg on the surface, tossing one half of the shell at Sam and the next half at Cas. They retaliate by pelting him when he retreats to the refrigerator for more bacon. Dean doesn’t care that they hit, nor that he steps on one and has to spend time between the eggs frying and the bacon cooking to pick pieces of eggshell off his heel. What he cares about sits giggling at the table, watching while he cleans.

        Dean is happy.

[dizzidoom]

So, I’ve been a little obsessed with animal crossing lately. Who hasn’t, lol. But it got me thinking on how the bey characters would play the game. So here’s a stupid list I made. Enjoy~

Takao/Tyson is time skipping so he can get Drago. He’s also arguing with other bladers who do have him and refusing to give him up. Inviting everyone to his island constantly. He abuses the emote wheel. Max hordes the ugly villagers because he loves them and feels bad that people throw them away. His island is very brightly coloured and full of flowers. Rei/Ray’s island is a perfect zen garden. He traded a cat with Kai for Bianca and spoils her. He just needs to find Rolf and he’ll be perfectly happy. Kai’s island is just cats. He may or may not have actually paid real money to get Raymond. He won’t confirm or deny this rumour. Kenny has it all optimised. He has spreadsheets, island maps, the whole lot. He researched well before the game came out and has barely put it down. He’s even made a website to track turnip prices and such. Daichi is slow with the game. Taking his time, enjoying the relaxing nature of it... for like 15 minutes. Then he gets bored and does something else. He also has a Drago, much to Takao’s utter annoyance (and no. He won’t give the villager up) Hiromi/Hilary’s island is almost perfect. Just a little more landscaping by here, little more flowers there. Wait, no. Flowers would be best over here, that house should be down there. No. No, perhaps over here... Hitoshi/Hiro has no idea what the hype is all about but gets excited when he finds fossils. The owl is his favourite character and when he’s invited to people’s islands he goes to their museum first to see what they have. Yuriy/Tala with his village of wolves. Pristine island where everything has its place. Do not question his choices. Boris/Bryan has a messy island and weird blood splatters all over the place. His animals are barely talked too. He only opens his game up when Yuriy tells him to check his turnip prices for him lol Ivan/Ian likes to ruin other people’s island. He’s been banned from Yuriy’s after the axe incident. Sergei/Spencer doesn’t understand what’s going on but the music is nice and relaxing. He still has only one room in his house but he’s getting there slowly.

Rai/Lee gets a little frustrated with the whole ‘take it slow’ aspect of the game. It’s a little too slow at times for him (no-ones told him about time skipping yet). He also doesn’t like any of the lion villagers and wishes they looked as cool as the tiger ones lol Kiki/Kevin. Monkey island basically. He managed to horde as many monkeys and apes as he could because he has a brand he needs to keep up with. Sometimes joins Ivan in trashing people’s island. Stopped when he received a death threat from Yuriy. Mao/Mariah has the other cat island but there are a tiger or lion in the mix. She’s trying to make it look like her home village too. Getting close. Gao/Gary barely plays it. Mostly only when Mao prompts him to visit her island, or if Kiki makes him play. Micheal is a tarantula/scorpion hunting pro. He gears no hissing bug scuttling after him and has yet to be bitten. He also won’t admit it but the duck villagers are his favourite. (And yes, he has apollo. How could he not?) Emily helps Kenny out with his turnip database website. She also loves the alligator villagers and takes any people don’t want. And yes, she refuses to give up Drago to Takao and refuses to listen to the argument that Drago is a dragon, not an alligator. He’s classed as one online and that's good enough for her. Eddy has several scorpion statues around his island. He’s also tried to make the tallest island but found he can only build so high... So it’s a little difficult to get around his island for newcomers. Steve as you can guess, he’s got quite a few bull villagers. He also loves any jock villagers because they remind him of friends from his football team. And also, maybe a little like the All-Stars at times. Rick doesn’t care but it’s the easiest way to get in touch with Max right now. He refuses to let people visit his island coz it’s a mess, yet is too lazy to actually play the game and make it presentable. Ralf/Robert’s village is incredibly tidy. Like, a little too tidy. Trees are all in order. Flowers cornered off behind fences. The villager houses are all in neat rows. Untrustworthy friends are not allowed to visit lest they ruin his work. Johnny doesn’t give a shit but he really, really loves the bug lizard. So he only plays at night to hunt the tarantulas and scorpions so when Flick visits he can make the lizard super happy. He admits this to no-one. Oliver’s Island is a rose paradise. His little villager is dressed up like a chef most of the time. He also really enjoys the design feature. He finds the limitations a little exciting so can spend hours crafting masterpieces in-game. Giancarlo/Enrique likes to show off for his girlfriends and gift them too many bells and nookmile tickets. He does this to Oliver too, of course. He runs around with the mini crown on his head and loves to emote too much in Johnny’s face. Mariam wants shark villagers but understands it can’t happen. A girl can hope though. Instead, she just has them in tanks around her island and refuses to sell any she fishes up. Ozuma doesn’t care too much for the game. He likes the relaxing nature of it but the way the villager's talk can get on his nerves after an hour. Joseph’s villager has big creepy eyes and he likes to try and sneak on other peoples islands when they least expect it and stalk them. Dunga has an island full of ugly apes and he loves it. He traded for them fairly easily, obviously. Reluctantly gave Kai a cat villager for one too. Salima is really into making her house perfect. Each room has a theme and she’s been on twitter for hours chatting to others and visiting them to share DIY recipes or buy from their shop. Kane is oddly lucky at travelling to the rare mystery islands. Most of his bells are from the bell island if he’s honest. Jim charges a lot of bells or nookmile tickets to visit his island and sell turnips. He’s made more money doing that than actually selling his own turnips. Goki is a little too generous at times and always likes to help out other people. As a result, he’s not really managed to upgrade much on his island yet, but he’s getting there. Zeo doesn’t want to talk about Ribbot and Sprocket, and no you can’t have them, they like his island very much thank you. Queen and King cheat together. They go to people’s islands and scam them. Offering items for bells but quickly taking both when the items are dropped. Many of the other bladers now refuse to let them visit. Raul likes the horse villagers best but has only got one. He’s forever on the lookout for them. He is also afraid of the tarantula’s and is constantly being bitten by them. Julia is far more interested in making interesting clothes. She’s made nearly everything she’s owns so her in-game villager can match her all the time.  Mathilda is constantly catching the butterflies. She can’t get the hang of fishing but her insectopedia thingie is full for all the bugs she can get. She adores the Able sisters. Claude spends all his money buying stupid clothes for his villagers to wear. After seeing Giancarlo’s crown though he plans to buy one for each villager. If only he had the savings... Miguel’s island is like a beach resort. He also takes a lot of in-game selfies or stupid screencaps and posts them on twitter. Aaron loves fishing a lot. Like, a lot a lot. He has a room full of each fish he can get so Mathilda can take them one day to fill up her museum since she’s so crap at fishing.  Garland doesn’t care too much about the game. He plays a little each day, does the daily chores he needs to do and then stops. He does love to visit people and interact though. Will spend hours island hopping. Went to Yuriy’s island once and spent ten minutes getting smacked in the face with a net. He never went back. He hopes it was therapeutic for the Russian though. Ming-Ming owns nearly all the clothes. She has her team send screenshots every day of what is in their clothes shops so she can buy anything she doesn’t own yet. She may, or may not be a little obsessed with the animals singing too. Brooklyn refuses to weed and refuses to cut trees. He’ll hit them for wood, but if a tree grows it stays there forever. As you can imagine, it’s like a forest and hard to navigate. Except for Brooklyn. He knows his way. Mystel’s island is full of fruit. Like, it’s just fruit trees because he wants to always have some to give to visitors. There are also many rivers because who doesn’t like using the pole all the time? Moses/Crusher plays with his sister. He’s also currently being guilt-tripped by Takao to give up a Drago. But Drago really likes his island so how can he send the alligator away?

[becasbelt]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell, Beca Mitchell/Jesse Swanson Characters: Chloe Beale, Beca Mitchell, Jesse Swanson Additional Tags: Angst, Pining, Canon Compliant Summary:

Five times Beca Mitchell was in love with Jesse Swanson, and then the one when she suddenly wasn’t.

Or

Beca and Jesse, as told through the perspective of Chloe Beale.

Title from The Paper Kites’ “Holes”

* * *

1.

Chloe really didn’t mean to get herself into this mess.

“This mess” meaning having a crush on one of her best friends.

Admittedly, she should have seen this coming. She should have known that her strange fascination with one Beca Mitchell went beyond an admiration for her incredible musical capabilities. She should have known that what she felt for Beca the moment she saw her at the activities fair wasn’t just intrigue, but attraction; attraction that would soon bloom into full-on feelings.

The thing is, Chloe didn’t know for sure if she was actually into girls until this point. She had suspected, yes, but she had felt nothing strong enough to confirm that suspicion.

Enter Beca Mitchell.

If Chloe hadn’t been attracted to girls before Beca waltzed her way into her life, she certainly was now. Though, maybe ‘waltzed’ isn’t exactly accurate for how the situation played out. Shuffled, maybe? Trudged?

Yes, trudged.

As soon as Beca Mitchell trudged into Chloe’s life, she knew for sure that she liked girls. Which was fine, she was totally okay with that. It’s just-

Beca was straight.

Supposedly straight, at least. Chloe had no reason or facts to believe otherwise. What she did know for sure, though, was that Beca liked one Jesse Swanson, and the evidence for that knowledge was sitting right in front of her.

“It’s just, I don’t know if he actually likes me. Like, we kissed at Nationals and he seemed pretty into that, but we haven’t really talked about it since then. I don’t really want to bring it up, though, just in case he regrets it and wants to forget it ever happened. Which, like, is whatever and it’s fine.”

Beca and Chloe are in Beca’s dorm room, thankfully evil roommate-free, sitting on Beca’s bed. They had originally been studying for their finals coming up- well, Chloe had been studying. Beca was playing around with a mix on her computer- when the topic of Jesse came up. It had been a few weeks since they absolutely crushed it at Nationals and emerged champions, and in those few weeks Beca and Chloe had gotten closer; a fact that thrilled Chloe for obvious reasons.

In all their time together, however, Beca never brought up Jesse, which Chloe was grateful for. When Chloe had turned around on stage and saw Jesse and Beca lip-locked, her heart had throbbed painfully in her chest and she’d had to fight to keep bile from rising in her throat. Jealousy was an ugly emotion, and one that Chloe didn’t want to feel.

She figured it would be alright. It was just a silly crush, after all. Chloe got crushes all the time. They mostly all come and go quickly, leaving behind very little heartache. Beca would be just another passing emotional fling.

Only, the feelings Chloe had for Beca were sticking around a lot longer than she anticipated, and the closer she got to Beca, the stronger the feelings for her got. Chloe was ready to wait them out, though. She couldn’t act on them, not now anyways. Beca had a Jesse (maybe), and Chloe was still figuring out her sexuality. Telling Beca how she felt would only end in disaster.

So they hadn’t really talked about Jesse much. But when Chloe saw Beca’s phone light up with a text notification from him, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. She just had to know if they were seeing each other or not. As soon as Chloe asked Beca how things were between her and Jesse, it was like a dam broke. Beca had never been much of a talker, but apparently she had things to say about her feelings for Jesse.

“I just don’t want to ruin anything before it even starts, you know?” Beca absentmindedly plays with a loose thread on her comforter as she talks, laptop pushed to the side for now. “I dunno. Should I say something to him? Ask him what us kissing meant to him?”

At this, Beca looks up at Chloe, wide-eyed and confused. It’s then that Chloe realizes that no matter how much Beca may downplay her emotions for, well, just about everything, she does feel them. And her feelings for Jesse were much stronger than she was letting on. Chloe makes a decision right then: she had to help Beca, even if it meant sacrificing her own feelings.

“You two have got to work on your communication skills if you’re going to make this thing work,” Chloe teases. Beca flushes a little, but doesn’t say anything. Chloe gives her an easy smile. “Jesse obviously has feelings for you. I’m sure he just has the exact same doubts as you do, so he’s nervous to talk about it, just like you.”

Hope creeps its way into Beca’s eyes. “So you think I should just go for it?” She asks earnestly.

Chloe hesitates for only a second before answering, “Yeah, I think you should.”

It only kills her a little on the inside.

But it’s fine because it’s only a little crush. It will pass. At least, that’s what Chloe tells herself.

The next day, Chloe gets an excited text from Beca informing her that she and Jesse talked about everything and that they had a date that evening. She also thanks Chloe for her advice, and says that she couldn’t have done it without her encouragement.

Chloe takes a deep breath and sends back a “No problem! Happy to help!” in response.

And pretends that it doesn’t break something inside of her, something that feels suspiciously like her heart.

* * *

2.

“Hey, has anyone seen Beca this morning?” Chloe asks as she enters the kitchen. It’s Saturday morning, which means it’s the unofficial-and-not-mandatory-but-kinda-totally-mandatory Bella’s breakfast morning. Chloe loves Saturday breakfast. She looks around the room, her gaze landing on Fat Amy. “Amy, is she still asleep?”

The Australian snickers a little, then says, “Oh yeah. I’m sure she’s definitely asleep, just not in her own bed.”

The room fills with snickering and various lewd comments from the rest of the girls. Chloe’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “If she’s not asleep in her bed, then where… ”She trails off as the realization hits her like a truck.

Jesse. Beca’s not asleep in her own bed because she’s asleep in Jesse’s bed. For the first time ever, Beca’s missing not-mandatory breakfast because she’s with her boyfriend. Probably asleep. Probably naked.

It’s not that Chloe didn’t think this day would come; it’s just that she didn’t think it would happen this soon. They had only all been living in the Bella house together for about two months, since the beginning of school. In that time, Beca had never spent the night anywhere other than her own bed.

Of course Beca and Jesse would have sex. They’re young, they’re in love. There was no reason they shouldn’t be having sex. Chloe just didn’t want to think of that possibility at all. Whenever the topic of Beca and Jesse’s sex life came up with the other girls, Chloe usually found some way to extract herself from the conversation. She had no idea if this was their first time together or their tenth, and she was perfectly fine with not knowing.

Chloe’s feelings for Beca had stubbornly stuck around through the summer and into the new school year, even though they hadn’t even been around each other all summer. Beca had gone home to Seattle to live with her mom while Chloe had stayed in the Bella house. Jesse had gone off to wherever he was from, also separated from Beca all summer.

(Chloe told herself that she didn’t hope they wouldn’t last during their time apart, but she definitely had hoped. The first time she saw Beca after their time apart, her excitement was immediately replaced with green sickness when Beca appeared before her, on Chloe’s doorstep, her hand loosely intertwined with Jesse’s. Chloe pretended like it didn’t make her want to throw up.)

Chloe’s feelings stuck around, but it was fine. She was fine.

At least, she was fine until Beca walked through the door that morning.

Beca wears the clothes she had on yesterday, a small smile, and a mismatched assortment of bruises along her neck. The rest of the Bellas start whooping and whistling as soon as she walks into the kitchen. Beca humors them with an awkward little bow and wave before making a beeline to the coffee pot. She glances at Chloe on the way and they make eye contact for all of half a second before Beca looks away again.

The Bellas continue to heckle Beca throughout breakfast, and Chloe does her best to ignore them. One thing she can’t help but notice, though, is that Beca is positively glowing. Chloe doesn’t know if the other girls notice, since Beca is answering their questions in her usual sarcastic, deadpan style, but Chloe can tell. Beca’s shoulders are relaxed, her eyes sparkle, and she spreads butter on her toast with a little more gusto than is typical for this time of morning. It’s subtle, but it’s definitely there.

Beca Mitchell is happy, and Jesse was the one to make her that way.

Chloe gets up and scrapes the rest of her breakfast into the trash before heading upstairs to her room. Saturday morning breakfast suddenly didn’t seem as appealing as it used to.

* * *

3.

Sometimes Chloe lets herself get lost in a fantasy where Beca and Jesse are only friends, and she and Beca are the ones in love. A world where Beca kissed her at the end of their performance at Nationals two years ago.

The thing is, it’s a really easy fantasy to get lost in, because it doesn’t all have to happen in her head. She’s basically living it.

It’s easy to get lost in that false reality when Jesse and Beca don’t show much physical affection for each other when they’re around other people. It’s easy to pretend that they’re only friends when Beca punches his arm when he makes a dumb joke, or ruffles his hair when she’s teasing him about something. Easy to believe that her feelings are recuperated when Beca chooses to sit next to her instead of Jesse at social events.

But that’s not even the easiest part.

The times she gets the most lost in the fantasy is when they’re not even around Jesse. When they’re home at the Bellas house, cuddling on the couch during movie night because Beca is so adorably grouchy and Chloe just can’t help herself and Beca doesn’t even try to stop her from pulling her in close; just grumbles for a minute before leaning into her. Or at the grocery store buying pizza rolls because Beca’s been craving them so damn much lately and Chloe has a car and she’s really never been able to say no to Beca, even though she has a test to study for, but that doesn’t matter when Beca’s looking up at her with her big blue eyes and saying, “Please Chloe? For me?”

Sometimes Chloe wonders if Beca knows how she feels. Beca will give her this look sometimes- Chloe’s not even sure how to describe it, can’t decide what emotions are going on in her eyes when she gives her the look. It’s there when Chloe grabs Beca’s hand under the pretense of not getting separated in a crowd. It’s there when Chloe skips all of her classes to take care of Beca when she’s sick in bed.

And it’s there now as they dance together at some nondescript frat party, pressed together so close that Chloe doesn’t even know how she’s getting oxygen into her lungs because all of her senses are overwhelmed with Beca Beca Beca.

She might just be imagining it, or trying to will something into reality, but Chloe doesn’t think she is. She knows she can’t be imagining it whenever Beca looks at her with that look in her eyes that’s full of contentment, confusion, and something else she can’t quite put her finger on. Fear? Clarity?

Love?

No, she can’t think that way. That line of thinking has led Chloe to more sleepless nights than she can count. There is no way that Beca Mitchell loves Chloe Beale in the same way that Chloe Beale loves Beca Mitchell.

So for now Chloe will just shove down her feelings, which she is something she has gained a real talent for, and distract herself with alcohol and the feeling of Beca’s body moving against her own. And maybe let herself indulge in the illusion that Beca is hers, and only hers.

Chloe drapes her arms over Beca’s shoulders as Beca’s hands move to grip her hips, their bodies moving in sync with each other. The crowd around them pushes them impossibly closer by the second, forcing Chloe to move her head so that she’s cheek to cheek with Beca. Chloe can feel Beca’s breathe on her ear, on her neck, and it shoots heat all throughout her body. Her entire body is buzzing, and she’s not sure how much of that is due to the alcohol in her system.

Beca’s hands move to rest on her lower back as she leans back a bit so that they’re face to face once again. Chloe’s hands unconsciously move to play with the hairs at the nape of Beca’s neck. She watches as Beca’s eyes flutter shut for half second before locking onto her own, and there’s that look again, more intense than ever before. So intense that it takes Chloe’s breathe away.

Beca’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, and Chloe has to force herself not to stare. She tries not to dwell on the fact that Beca’s eyes seem to keep glancing down at her own lips, because she knows that it doesn’t mean anything.

Beca opens her mouth to say something, and Chloe swears that she’s leaning in closer to her, and her thoughts are consumed with Beca Beca Bec-

“BECAW!”

The moment is broken in an instant. Chloe all but jerks away from Beca as her eyes clear and she turns in the direction of her boyfriend making his way through the crowd towards them.

Her boyfriend. Beca’s very real boyfriend who is breaking their very fake moment. Chloe feels foolish suddenly; she let herself get so caught up in fantasy for a moment it almost felt real. She watches as Beca beams up at Jesse as he finally reaches her, yelling something at him that Chloe can’t hear over the sound of the music and over the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. Beca laughs and throws her arms around Jesse’s neck, and just like that, Jesse has replaced Chloe as Beca’s dance partner.

All of the sudden, Chloe needs to leave this party. There’s too many people, too much heat and she feels like she’s suffocating. Chloe fights her way through the moving bodies and tries to locate the exit. On her way, she passes the fold-out table serving as a bar and is offered a shot of something. Chloe doesn’t check what it is, doesn’t care what it is; just throws it back and continues on her way.

The cool night air is a relief against her burning skin when Chloe finally bursts through the door of the frat house and onto the front lawn. She takes in large gulps of fresh air and tries to hold back the tears. Chloe glances behind her at the door, half hoping to see Beca appear in it, making sure that she was okay.

Only, there is no Beca. Beca is dancing with her boyfriend inside, utterly smitten and content. Chloe walks home alone, vision blurry and heart heavy.

* * *

4.

They never talk about Jesse.

Well, they do sometimes, in passing. Like when Chloe asks Beca what she’s doing later and Beca says she’s hanging out with Jesse, and Chloe will just say “oh” followed by a tense moment of silence that ends when one of them clears their throat and changes the topic, both avoiding the others’ eyes.

So they don’t really talk about Jesse.

It’s weird. Beca and Jesse have been dating for three years now, yet the topic only seems to get more and more like a taboo over time. It’s gotten to the point where it’s almost a forbidden subject now.

The weirdest part about it, though, is that it is only forbidden between Beca and Chloe. Chloe’s heard Beca talking about Jesse with the other Bellas, seen her be excited with Stacie over something that Jesse did for their anniversary, and watched her show a picture of him on her phone to Amy. Beca talks about Jesse all the time.

Just never with Chloe.

When Beca gets home from a date with Jesse, she’ll tell the Bellas she had a good night and maybe indulge in sharing a few details from her evening before heading up to bed. She’ll stop at Chloe’s room first, though, and check in with her. She never shares any details with her, never says how her night went, and Chloe never asks.

It’s almost like Beca knows how Chloe feels, and is just being considerate by not talking about her boyfriend with her best friend that is stupidly in love with her. It wouldn’t be a surprise if she knew; Chloe’s never been very good at hiding her emotions.

Maybe Chloe wants her to know. Maybe if Beca knew how she felt, it would lessen the near-constant ache in her heart.

So they don’t talk about Jesse and that’s weird, and Beca may or may not know how Chloe feels about her and that’s fine. They have Worlds to focus on anyways.

Focusing on the world competition has let Chloe turn all of her attention and thoughts away from Beca and towards becoming champions. It actually proved effective all year long, until they’re all standing on stage together being announced winners.

The moment they win, happiness fills every corner of Chloe’s body. She can tell the rest of the Bellas feel the same way, because they’re all jumping for joy and screaming and hugging each other. Chloe makes her way through hugging each and every one of her girls, her family, as Fat Amy snatches the trophy away from Beca and hoists it into the air with a war cry.

Then Beca’s in front of her, looking as excited as Chloe feels, and suddenly Chloe has to fight the onslaught of emotions that well up inside of her: joy, relief, love- maybe most prominently love. Chloe doesn’t realize there are tears streaming down her cheeks until Beca reaches out and wipes them away with an understanding smile, tears threatening to fall from her own eyes. Then Beca pulls her in for a hug and Chloe is home.

When they all finally make it off the stage, still bouncy and excited, Chloe considers finally telling Beca how she feels. They’ve graduated, they’ll be going their separate ways soon, and Chloe has just enough adrenaline to give her the courage to do what she’s been afraid of doing for so long.

Screw it.

She puts a hand on Beca’s arm, stopping them as the rest of the Bellas continue on. Beca raises an eyebrow at her, curiosity evident in her eyes. “Dude, what’s up? Gonna start crying again?” she teases, crossing her arms. “I told you that you should wear waterproof mascara.” Beca smirks to let her know she’s only joking.

Chloe chuckles a little and shakes her head. “No, that’s not it. It’s just- there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now.” Beca’s eyebrows scrunch together and she nods her head to get Chloe to keep going. Chloe takes a deep breath, eyes locking onto Beca’s, and goes for it. “Bec, I’m kind of in lo-“

“Jesse?” Beca’s eyes are looking behind Chloe over her shoulder. Chloe whips around to see none other than Jesse Swanson approaching them, an American flag draped over his shoulders and a goofy grin on his face. Chloe’s heart plummets.

“Sorry, Chlo, I just gotta,” Beca doesn’t finish her thought before she’s running towards Jesse, yelling things like, “You’re here!” and “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming, you asshole!”

Jesse laughs and scoops Beca up as she all but launches herself at him, her arms around his neck and her feet dangling off the floor as Jesse holds her against him. They’re laughing, and Beca buries her face in his neck while Jesse’s eyes close in content. Chloe stands in shock because this was not how that was supposed to go, watching them hold each other close.

It’s then that Chloe realizes that although home for her is in Beca’s arms, Beca’s home and heart have always been with Jesse.

* * *

5.

There are a few methods of coping with her feelings that Chloe has tried, most of them proving to be astoundingly ineffective. She’s tried telling herself they weren’t real, let herself believe that they would be returned one day, and ignoring them completely. She’s tried distracting herself with studying, excessive work-outs, and TV shows. None of them worked.

Her current method may finally be working, at least more than the others.

Dating.

Funnily enough, Chloe hasn’t really had any desire to date since her feelings for Beca grew from simple attraction to full-on love. It’s not that she doesn’t find anyone else attractive, because Chloe always appreciates a good-looking human being. Not having options isn’t an issue either, because she has been asked out plenty of time over the past few years. She’s turned them all down, even though there was nothing wrong with them. It’s just-

They’re not Beca.

Lately, though, Chloe has been basically forcing herself to go out with people. Deep down she knows that none of them will last, and she’s not actually interested in pursuing anything long-term with them, but at least she’s trying. She’s forcing herself because she’s tired of loving someone and not getting love in return. She’s trying because she’s desperate to feel something again other than pain, and if she starts something with someone and she gets her heart broken by them, at least it will be someone else that causes her pain.

Since moving to New York with Beca and Amy half a year ago, Chloe has gone out with a good handful of people, both men and women, much to Beca’s surprise. The first time Beca heard that she was going out with a woman, her eyebrows shot nearly into her hairline. Chloe had just winked at her and walked out the door.

The one good thing about all the dating is that she’s been sufficiently distracted because it’s new and exciting and something different from what she’s been doing for the last four years. The sex helps, too. She doesn’t feel quite as… frustrated as she did for a long time. It’s fun and good and it’s working.

But none of them last. Chloe always finds something wrong with them. One guy is too tall; another one’s hair is just a shade too dark. Something about one woman’s blue eyes just feels off, and another’s nose is too pointy. There’s always something wrong.

Too tan.

Doesn’t like music.

No piercings.

Not Beca not Beca not Beca.

Chloe’s walking home from a pretty good date. He was nice and attractive and funny. Did all the things someone should do on a first date. Chloe had fun, she really did. She even told him that she would love to do it again sometime.

So she has bit of a bounce in her step as she climbs the rickety stairs up to her, Beca, and Amy’s tiny studio apartment because she had a good night which doesn’t happen very often for her lately. Chloe’s humming some song she heard on the radio earlier that she can’t get out of her head while she fishes around in her purse for her keys to unlock. Once she hears the familiar click of the lock, she pushes open the sticky door with some effort, and reveals a sight that makes her gasp.

Beca is sitting on their shared pullout bed, bulky headphones around her neck and tears streaming down her cheeks. She’s wearing one of Chloe’s Barden hoodies, and based on the dark spots on the sleeves she’s been using it to wipe her tears to no avail. Chloe quickly shuts the door and drops her bag on table before rushing to Beca’s side, pulling her into her arms. Beca immediately sinks into Chloe’s side and starts crying into her shoulder. Chloe runs her fingers through Beca’s hair and rubs hands up and down her back, murmuring comforting words to help Beca calm down.

“Beca,” Chloe tries after a few minutes when Beca’s sobs have quieted down to sniffles. Beca doesn’t lift her head from Chloe’s shoulder, only burrows deeper into her side. Chloe tries again, “Bec, did something happen? What’s wrong?”

It’s then that Chloe notices that Beca’s laptop is set off to the side of the bed, opened to Skype. Chloe’s stomach drops. The last couple months have been rough on Beca and Jesse’s long-term relationship. Chloe has spent many nights lately comforting a crying Beca as she misses Jesse, telling her over and over again that it would get better, and it was only temporary and that they could get through it.

(Chloe pretended that every word she said didn’t feel like her stabbing a knife into her own gut. She also tried not to take pleasure in the way that Beca would cuddle up to her at night when she missed Jesse, because finding joy in her best friend’s pain was selfish and so wrong in so many ways.)

But Chloe had never seen Beca cry this hard before. Chloe doesn’t want to fear (hope?) the worst, but her she has a feeling deep in her gut that she knows what’s happened.

Chloe gently pushes Beca away from her, lifting her head and wiping tears from her cheeks. Beca’s honestly a mess- eyes puffy, mascara ruined, cheeks flushed, nose runny. Chloe’s heart breaks at how vulnerable she looks.

“What happened?” Chloe asks again softy, needing to confirm her suspicions so she knows how to help Beca.

Beca’s eyes are on her face, but Chloe can tell they’re not focusing on anything in particular. She’s just staring aimlessly. “Jesse ended it.” She whispers, voice cracking on the last word. “He ended us.”

More tears roll down Beca’s cheeks and Chloe reaches up to wipe them away again, keeping her hand on Beca’s cheek. She chooses not saying anything in case Beca wants to continue, which she does after another minute of sniffling. “He said the distance wasn’t-wasn’t working. That it was too hard.” Beca’s eyes suddenly flicker up and focus on Chloe’s own. “He said that I wasn’t trying hard enough to make things work.” A whimper falls from Beca’s mouth and Chloe rubs a thumb over her cheek soothingly. “He said that-that he didn’t know if he loved me anymore because he didn’t think that I loved him.”

At this, Beca crumples again, pain filling her expression as she collapses back into Chloe. Chloe doesn’t even know what to say, so she just kisses the top of Beca’s head and holds her close. Chloe knows that nothing she says right now can make Beca feel better, because she knows a thing or two about heartbreak.

She knows how impossible it is to put a broken heart back together.

* * *

1.

Getting back into a routine after a vacation is always a struggle, especially when that vacation involves touring around Europe with her favorite people in the world; doing the thing she loves most in the world.

Work had been long and tiring today, and Chloe honestly just wanted to go home and flop in bed and watch some Netflix cuddled up with Beca. Only, that wasn’t possible. Chloe had said goodbye to her that morning.

Chloe had said goodbye as in, Beca left for LA today and Chloe had said goodbye to her until who knows when. Beca had gone to live in LA while Chloe was staying in New York.

To say that saying goodbye had been hard would be putting it mildly.

It was all so unexpected, Beca leaving. 24 hours after they arrived home from the USO tour, Beca had gotten a call from Theo telling her that he was working out details and logistics for Beca to move to LA so that she could start her career as a big-shot music industry person. Three days after that most of Beca’s stuff was loaded onto a moving truck and being shipped across the country.

Two days after that she’d said goodbye to Chloe and gotten on a plane bound for the other side of the country.

Chloe hadn’t even known how to process it all. It had happened so fast that she didn’t even realize how sad she was until she was on the subway on the way to work after saying goodbye. She cried- no, she sobbed the whole way to work, getting plenty of strange and pitied looks from strangers around her. One old lady even offered her some caramel candies and a tissue. The tissue she took, the candies she declined.

Chloe’s coworkers knew that something was wrong with her, though they all seemed to sense that she didn’t want to talk about it, which she was grateful for. She was able to pull herself together by the time she got to the clinic, but if anyone had asked her what was wrong she knew she would have broken down crying again.

Chloe sighs as she pulls her keys out and starts unlocking the door to her apartment, preparing herself mentally for the sight of an empty apartment. There would be no Beca laying bed listening to crappy demos from wannabe singers; there would be no Beca working on her laptop at their tiny kitchen table. No Beca burning grilled cheese at the stove and filling their apartment with the scent of scorched bread, causing Chloe to laugh at her as she cracks open a window.

With a sniff, Chloe pushes open the stupid sticky door, looks up, and-

There was Beca.

Beca Mitchell sat at their kitchen table, laptop bag by the floor next to her chair, and the same clothes she had on her back when Chloe left this morning. As soon as Beca sees Chloe, she shoots out of her chair.

Chloe’s jaw drops. “Beca? What are you doing here?” Chloe asks, incredulous. “I thought your plane left five hours ago.”

Beca nods her head as her eyes roam all over Chloe’s face. Her feet stay firmly rooted in place. “It did,” is all she says.

Chloe’s eyebrows scrunch together, confused as to what’s happening right now. “Then, why are you h-“

“I couldn’t get on the plane,” Beca suddenly rushes out, interrupting Chloe. Chloe’s mouth snaps shut as she watches Beca start to tap her fingers against her leg. “I couldn’t get on the plane because I couldn’t leave you.” Beca says, slower and more quietly this time. Beca’s eyes lock onto Chloe’s and she takes a step forward. “I went to board, and I was thinking about how my life was going to change, and how I was finally getting what I always wanted, and imagining how my life was going to be and that’s when I realized you wouldn’t be in it. You wouldn’t be in my life anymore and I realized that that wasn’t what I wanted.”

Tears are welling up in Chloe’s eyes, though not spilling over quite yet. Beca takes another couple steps forward until she’s standing about a foot away from Chloe, who’s still standing in the open doorway of the apartment. Beca takes a shaky breath before continuing. “I’ve always wanted to go to LA, Chlo, you know that. But it wasn’t until it was within my grasp that I realized it wasn’t what I wanted most in this world anymore. It’s you.”

The tears are streaming freely down Chloe’s face now, but she can’t find it within her to care. “Beca, are- are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Beca smile is nervous but genuine as she says, “I love you, Chlo.”

Chloe lets out a watery laugh, and Beca looks disappointed and alarmed for a second before Chloe takes her hands and says, “I love you, too. God I love you so much.” Then Beca’s laughing too as she pulls Chloe in for a hug. They stand there for a minute, just wrapped up in each other’s arms, laughing like the fools they are.

Chloe pulls back from their embrace too look into Beca’s eyes, and there’s the look. The look that Chloe could never interpret, except now Chloe can clearly see what’s going on in Beca’s dark eyes. She was right all those years ago; love was the thing she wasn’t letting herself see. Chloe brings her hands up to frame Beca’s face. “Is this real?” She asks, not letting herself believe quite yet.

Beca smiles the biggest smile Chloe’s ever seen from her and wraps her arms tighter around Chloe’s back. “It’s real. If you’ll take me, that is.”

Chloe chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Oh please. I’ve already chosen you a hundred times. Who’s to stop me from choosing you a hundred more?”

When their lips meet, Chloe thinks this is a lot what feeling complete is like. Beca’s put a lot of holes in her heart over the past few years, but Chloe thinks they’re off to a good start with filling them back up again.