#this is the kid with a perpetual frown and look of misery on his face i think that should be acknowledged

[j4mboree]

as much as i like cutesy sweetie lil guy petey who has been given god's hardest battle i wish we could like do something more than that as fandom. like petey can be more than just a sad little guy who gets bullied alot. how about we make him look decrepid, make him look like a little freak cat whos been dumped into a bat of freezing cold water, make petey scary. people dont stray away from making jimmy and gary look weird and unnerving but what about petey? why is he confined to this position of always just being the cute one. like make him a lil thing creature who looks like hes going through it i need more lil thing petey please pleaseeepleasee.

heres a visual representation of my idea ft. my hc petey design, poorly drawn ik

the first one is fine tbh, its representative of peteys appearance on the surface, a lil guy whos sad alot of the time aw mannnnnnn :'( hes so sad and pathetic!!

the second one is interesting imo. he looks like an animal that just crawled out of its hibernation burrow /affectionate. like it really showcases the internal disposition of petey that he could be feeling to put it simply. i think he should be tired, and miserable looking

i would love to see somebodys depiction of petey and its like petey but he looks like hes been stomped on 15 times ran over by a train, and double tapped. cuz to put it plainly bullworth is literally the worst school ever and petey is most likely one of the main targets of bullying for literally anyone. give him eyebags to indicate he cries alot, give him a slouch, make him look tired, let him fidget with his hands, bite his fingernails, pick at his skin. this kid is the worlds most specialist little guy that routinely gets nothing in return from it i love him.

another thing is that petey is just like this desperate little freak. like he has no friends and doesnt really hang out wit no one cuz he doesnt feel like he fits in with anyone else. hes pretty socially awkward and only hangs out wit jimmy and gary cuz he wants to feel included by others and have a semblance of friendship even if they mistreat him. i feel like the second one really illustrates that, not to say that being socially awkward and having no friends means youd look like that but you get the jist.

so in conclusion i think more people should draw petey like this

[isaacapatow]

Ike didn't protest when Orion told him to sit (it was becoming something of a habit, obeying when Orion told him to do something, though to Ike it was more something that made sense in the moment that he himself would've come to the conclusion of anyhow). He set his shoulderblades and hips against the wall of the pit and slid down, holding his popped arm steady so it didn't jar around in the socket any more painfully than it had to.

He listened to Orion radioing back for help, aware of his fellow raider's hoarse, terse voice out of the periphery. It was just chatter. Ike didn't need to make sure Orion was getting across the necessary information because Orion always did. He looked up when Orion came over, expecting an update on the situation, but instead the kid said, i'm tired.

"They won't take long," Ike started to say, but Orion kept going and Ike shushed up to let him. It was stuff that wasn't unexpected, per se, but still it gave Ike belly rumblings to hear it, to hear the profound sadness in Orion's voice and something else, too. An anxiety behind there like somebody who'd been walled up and was scratching the plaster, wanting to get out. "It's okay," Ike said awkwardly, at being thanked for killing what was left of their friend. "It's my job. I'm your--"

Orion's weight against him where they sat together in the mud, leaned up against each other doglike, was unexpectedly welcome when the kid laid down all that, at Ike's feet. Ike almost felt like he should grab at the words before they sank down and away, but instead he breathed in slow, feeling his ribs rise with it and the grinding pain in his shoulder.

"Orion," he said, carefully, trying not to let his own grief and misery colour his voice too obviously. "It's ... you know the world we live in. What the two of us do, especially. The whole point of us is that it won't affect too many people if we die." Ike shifted, so he could look at Orion. The defined angles of his face, the perpetual frown and tightly-held mouth, the constant eddies of thought rippling through his eyes.

This was the point where Ike should offer some kind of hard-earned, world-weary, realistic and fatalistic acceptance of their eventual mortality. That would make sense, so they'd go on sadder but wiser, appreciating every moment until one of them got his throat bitten out and died ugly and bloody.

...then again. That had never been Ike's style.

"But hey, listen to me, Starshine--" Ike reached for the back of Orion's shaggy head with his good hand, grinning at him. "You and me, we'll be okay. You won't have to see me die. I'm fuckin' indestructible." He clasped the nape of Orion's neck again, tighter. "Awright? You got that? And since you have the potential to somewhat approach being as bad ass as I am, that makes you, eh, repairable. Once the docs have all the right jumbo-sized parts to patch you up with." He bumped his forehead against Orion's, nudging one eyebrow with his nose before sitting back against the wall again. Ike was quiet for a minute before he said abruptly, "I shouldn't have hinted that you killed your dad. That was a shit thing for me to do."

Orion did what he was told - staring at the muddy wall of the pit, quiet, jaw muscles working. Just waiting until the groaning stopped. He'd killed so, so many walkers. Didn't even think about who they'd been, because that had stopped mattering when they had failed to die fully. But it was different now. Tristan was dead. And it mattered that it had been his body. And so, Orion didn't watch, only turning around when Tristan's feral snarls choked off.

Orion's gaze fixed on the body for just a moment - a familiar shape in the mud, still like he was supposed to be. Isaac's words gave him something to focus on, pulled his gaze away from the corpse of his friend back to the head raider. "Alright. Sit down." Orion's voice felt unfamiliar, as if it was somebody else talking. Raspy, but at least firm when he reached for his walkie-talkie, watching Isaac to make sure that he followed.

It didn't take long to inform the radio operator. They didn't ask any unneccessary questions, and Orion was glad for it. He didn't want to explain why they were in a pit, and why Tristan was there, and why Tristan was dead. Maybe the radio operator sensed it, because they only got the necessary information, before saying someone would be there soon enough. The radio clicked. Until then, they had to wait.

Orion turned his gaze towards Isaac, leaning against the wall. The raider looked different. Exhausted. Rugged. Older. Smaller, as if a part of him had collapsed in on itself. Similar to how he'd been back at his apartment, too exhausted to put up a fight. So, Orion didn't either. He didn't try to offer to pop Isaac's shoulder back into his joint (because he didn't know how to do that to someone else), he didn't untie Tristan's hands, didn't put the corpse on his back or try to cover it up. He just sat down next to Isaac, close enough that their arms pressed up against each other. Piling against him in a show of quiet company.

"I'm tired." Orion's voice was barely audible, sounded small, weak even in the silence of the pit. Orion didn't face to turn Isaac when he spoke - he stared straight ahead, at Tristan's still body in the mud. They would get to bury him. "I'm glad you killed him. I could have, but I'm glad I didn't. Even if it was just his body. I'm... I'm sorry. That you had to. I..." Orion stopped. His voice had been even, only stuttering in the last few moments. When he went on, his voice was steady, almost matter-of-fact, only a slight tremor betraying the emotions behind his words.

"Isaac. I don't want to lose you. Like Tristan. Like my father. I don't want to see you die."

[ihni]

Out of the ashes, part 3

For day 3 of Whumptober. Prompt: “Insults”

~~~

“Hargrove?” Steve could barely get the name out, mind whirling. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It had to be some kind of trick, or hallucination.

“You’re new,” Hargrove rasped and slumped against the wall, arms lax on either side of him on the floor. “Haven’t dreamt you up before.” He sounded wrecked. The terror had evaporated from his face, and morphed into exhaustion.

“What?”

Hargrove – because the more details Steve took in, the more convinced he became that this was, in fact, Hargrove – ignored him. Leaned his head back and watched him tiredly through half-lidded eyes. “A sight for sore eyes, though,” he said, as if to himself, before swallowing. It looked like it hurt.

“How –?” Steve started, but realized that he couldn’t start asking questions now. He didn’t have time. They had to get out of here. Now. He straightened up. “Never mind. We have to go.”

“Oh yeah,” Hargrove said flatly, and promptly didn’t move. “Because you’re here to save me, right?”

“Uh. Yeah?”

“Steve Harrington, perpetual knight in shining armor,” Hargrove continued, sneering now. “You’re just a good guy, huh? Down to the bone.”

Steve glanced at the door. “Listen, we –“ But Hargrove didn’t seem to hear him.

“Gets broken up with, and stays friends with his ex. Fucking befriends the new boyfriend.” He shook his head. “Pathetic.” He closed his eyes. “Hangs out with kids in his free time, takes a beating to save them from big, bad Billy Hargrove …” He cut himself off, coughing. It didn’t sound good – Steve was pretty sure he heard something rattle – and Steve found himself frowning again, despite his increasing urge to get a move on.

“Hargrove,” he said, trying to catch the guy’s attention and convey to him that time was kind of of the essence here.

Hargrove opened his eyes again, and they focused on Steve’s hand. Where he was still holding the knife. Something washed over him, something that looked like resignation. “Of course, good-guy Steve Harrington wouldn’t come for just anyone. Certainly not big, bad Billy.” He coughed again, and when he continued, his voice was even rougher than before. “Wouldn’t save someone who killed a bunch of people. Someone who caused so much pain. Who couldn’t even stop himself from … from getting … from becoming a monster. Who’s a failure, a fucking coward, a goddamn no-good faggot, who –“ His voice broke, “– who can’t even do the simplest things. Can’t even fucking kill himself right.”

Steve wanted to say something, anything, but Hargrove looked at the knife in his hands and licked his lips. “But he’s a good guy, that Steve Harrington. A white knight.” There were tears running down his face now. “So maybe he’ll help, at least.” He turned red-rimmed eyes to Steve’s, and there was something pleading in them. “Put Billy out of his misery.”

“No!” The word was out of Steve’s mouth before he could think, and he took a step back. “I won’t do that. Of course I won’t do that.” Hargrove’s face crumbled, and his bottom lip wobbled.

“Of course,” he said, and let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Because you’re not real.” He put his hands in his lap and looked down at them. Lowered his voice to the point where Steve could barely hear him. “You wouldn’t do it even if you were real.”

And Steve had had enough of this. He needed to get out of here, and he needed to take this broken-down version of Hargrove with him. He didn’t know how Hargrove ended up here – didn’t know how he was even alive – but that was too much to unpack right now. That would have to be saved for later – for when they were somewhere safe. Somewhere not here.

So he walked up to Hargrove’s corner and bent down to grab his wrist in a hard grip. “Does this seem real to you, Hargrove?” he said, and shook the guy’s arm a little. Dug his nails in to make a point. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, but we’re leaving. Now. Come on. On your feet.”

With that, he pulled Hargrove up. Distantly, he registered that Hargrove was too light, and didn’t put up too much of a fight, but he stuffed those thoughts into the back of his head for later, when they weren’t in so much danger.

Hargrove actually gasped as he was pulled to his feet, and Steve looked down at where he was gripping his wrist to see if he’d hurt him somehow. There was no blood or bruises there that he could see, but there was something …

Adjusting his grip, he saw that it was a tattoo. Black ink on pale skin, spelling out 065.

~~~

(First) (Previous) (On AO3) (Next)

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

It's Valentine's day, sam has gone out with eileen, dean and cas are stuck in the bunker without dates or anything to do ...... The air conditioning stops working, it gets real hot and sweaty and they both decide they are wearing too many layers .... and whatever ensues I'll leave it up to you.

here you go, anon: (I had to retype this, and reedit this, with the help of the amazing @3dg310rdsupreme so like. just remember to curse tumblr before you start reading, cause that’s why it took ridiculously long:)

***

“So?” Dean raises his eyebrows at Cas, starting to walk down the stairs with an angel by his side. They’ve just finished waving Sam and Eileen off to their date - which is exactly what it sounds like; he stood in the doorway, and Cas smiled from the doorway, until Sam’s car disappeared down the road. “Dinner?”

“Of course.” Cas nods. 

He’s not going to eat, but there’s a little something called company. Dean doesn’t want to eat alone. And what’s more, Dean’s even going to set up a plate for him. He started doing so a while back, cause otherwise it’s just like Cas is there to watch him.

And be it eating or sleeping - that’s always weird.

Walking all the way to the kitchen feels like trekking towards the centre of the Earth. Dean scrubs his face in annoyance, exhaling impatiently. He’s supposed to get used to it. 

It’s really hot. And they’re underground, in a windowless bunker. A bunker with a broken air-conditioner - it’s ancient; so that’s justifiable, was the general consensus, but Dean’s willing to bet it all boils down to their exceptional Chuck-induced bad luck, and Fortuna just wasn’t a good enough godly mechanic.

Or maybe she never anticipated that heroes could get hot, too. Sweating is for the weak and the transient - or some shit. Dean can practically picture her sneer.

Jesus, he hates her.

“Do you need help?” Cas says, once they’re in the kitchen. Dean turns around to blink at him, while he returns to the present. Cas manages to make it sound like were Dean to say yes, Cas would actually help him prepare food. 

Now, Cas is good for a lot of stuff. Strong, strategic, trustable instincts. Brave. But he isn’t worth shit in the kitchen. Dean isn’t really sure if Cas knows that but he hopes, for his sake, that he does. 

Yet, it’s an earnest question, ridiculous or not, so Dean earnestly shakes his head in response. “I made dinner while the rest of you were busy helping Sam choose a corset.”

It’s the kind of hot where Dean’s automatically surly. Sure, he generally is too - but right now, he doesn’t even have to try. 

“It was his shirt.” Cas corrects, simply, and Dean rolls his eyes at the walls as he turns around to get plates. “My advice was to go with the pecan.”

“Was he wearing a pie?” Dean throws back, dryly. He’s got the plates. Now he puts them on the table, and turns to fetch spoons. Cas is still standing, because of course he is. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Pecan’s a shade of brown.” Cas states for the record, and Dean’s getting tired of Cas not going along with his lines. 

And he’s really getting tired of the goddamn heat. 

“Too bad. Now I want dessert. Way to ruin burgers, Cas.” Dean snaps, and Cas looks a little startled - and would you look at that. Even Cas is sweating. There’s beads of sweat on his forehead, and his coat seems even more uncomfortable than usual. 

Suck it, Fortuna. Real heroes sweat. 

“You know what?” Dean mutters, mostly to himself. He really is trying to be less of a jerk - but he can’t seem to help it. It’s Valentine’s day, and it’s hot. So he decides to stop talking, and takes off his jacket, a deep blue leather utility, and shucks it away on a counter. 

Cas seems to find this interesting, his eyes following Dean around the room; so then Dean does the first thing that comes to mind. 

He walks over to Cas, and holds his hand out. 

Cas stares at it, like he’s trying to figure out the purpose of its existence. Dean helps him, because he’s awesome like that.

“Your coat.” 

Because why the fuck not?

“Oh.” Cas unstiffs - Dean isn’t kidding, that’s an actual thing he can do, okay - and almost rewards Dean with a smile. Just like that, he’s wriggling out of his trenchcoat, the sleeves not clinging to his jacket because apparently that only happens to him. Or probably because the coat classifies as oversized, even after all these years. 

Once he’s removed it, Cas folds it from the middle like he’s never folded a coat before, and hands it to Dean. 

“Great. Let’s sit down.” Dean tells him, putting his coat away on the same slab where he’s deposited his own. When he turns around, Cas is sitting, and has folded his arms on the table. The bunker lights, like his eyes, linger on Cas’s jacket. 

To be fair, he doesn’t usually get to do this - because Cas doesn’t usually take off his trench. Guy’s emotionally attached to it or something. 

But he looks - well, so much better without it. Obviously, Dean’s not referring to the way the black makes him look broader, or the buttons draw attention to the suit’s tapered waist. He just looks a lot more comfortable, compared to before. 

Speaking of. 

It’s still so fucking hot. 

“Dean,” Cas begins randomly, once they’re both sitting. Dean’s about to start eating but he stops at Cas’s voice, soft and unsure. “I need to ask you something.”

For some reason, Dean swallows. “Yeah?”

“It is Valentine’s day, after all.” Cas justifies preemptively, and Dean looks up at him. 

“So?”

“Is this a date?” Cas finally asks, blue eyes boring into Dean’s, something profound in his words.

Dean pretty much stops thinking, as if on cue. “What? No.” He gets up. He shouldn’t have gotten up. He’s already up. “Is this about dinner? Jesus, Cas,” He hopes he sounds exasperated, he’s trying to. “Hell, is this about me taking your coat before you sit? It’s burning up, man, what do you expect me to do?”

Cas stands up too, wordlessly. 

He looks like he’d still like an answer. He looks like he might even repeat the question. 

Before something else - something worse can happen, Dean’s picked up his plate. “I’m going to have dinner in my room. Feel free to…do whatever you want. Apparently, It’s Valentine’s day.” He adds, halfways to a scoff, as he marches out of the room. 

(Remember how Dean’s stopped thinking? Yeah.)

Cas picks up both of their coats before walking away, a few minutes later. There’s something heavy in the air, left behind.

*

Dean’s done eating. 

And because this is his life - his sad, pathetic life- his entire room has somehow grown even more annoyingly hot.

Burdened with misery all the way down to his sweaty socks, he wonders what Cas is up to.

Dude could be in the library, or his bedroom, or hell, even in the kitchen. He could be reading. Or training. (Or, Dean’s mind drifted, waiting.) What could Cas be doing, aside from stewing in this heat, which seems to be all Dean’s doing at the moment?

Except of course, thinking about Cas. But he doesn’t really count that as a separate activity, anymore. In more ways than one, it’s perpetual.

Well, he convinces himself, as he picks up his plate and walks out of his bedroom, arguably hoping to find Cas - he’s got to put the plates in the sink, at some point.

Dean finds Cas in the hallway, walking towards him - or like, in his general direction, and the first thing Dean notices is that he’s not wearing a fucking jacket anymore.

“Hey.” He stops, shuffling his weight on his feet. He takes up a second to imagine what it would be like if Cas didn’t stop, but then he does - so at least Dean’s got that going on for him.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” Cas remarks, matter-of-factly.

His expression’s perfectly serious, but Dean can swear there’s something else there. He can’t put his finger on it- but there’s something off. It’s the way Cas emphasizes the question tag. Or in the way he says the entire damn sentence.

Or maybe, Dean’s just overthinking words to avoid letting himself think about Cas in his white shirt.

His tie’s still in place, but the suit jacket’s gone, and its left the sleeves all crumpled. That’s a possible reason for Cas to have folded the sleeves up to his elbow, putting on display his forearms. And wrists. 

When Dean forces himself to look up from Cas’s hands, he decides that the shirt fits the best of anything else yet, stretched wide over his shoulders and essentially hugging his chest snugly, on the way down.

And it’s so white, that paired with Cas’s tan and the striped blue of his tie, it looks-

“So hot, yeah.” Dean answers, right before the pause that’d begun after Cas spoke, crossed the line to weird. Dean looks at the plate in his hands. “I’m going to put these away.”

“Good idea.” Is all Cas says, coolly - and on a different note, starts to tug at the knot of his tie this way and that, to loosen it. He’s successful almost immediately too, the collar beginning to widen, and -

Dean really doesn’t need to be here for that, so he hurries along his way, walking with his eyes glued to the floor as if that somehow detaches him from existence.

*

This, a hundred percent, has nothing to do with Cas.

It’s hot, is all it is.

Dean peels off his overshirt, leaving just a black t-shirt on - which is not even one of his best ones; it’s probably the one which got exchanged with Sam back in 2014, judging from the way it goes down past his waistline. Dean doesn’t bother folding it as he drops it on the bed. He’s got more important things on his mind.

Such as scoping out a valid reason to go out of his room again.

*

Almost an hour later, Dean feels like it’d be okay to venture out. Before leaving, for good measure, Dean removes his belt, too. Unbuckling it instantly eases some of the pressure on his stomach, which has kept on building, ever since this evening started.

Ever since Sam and Eileen left for their date, leaving him and Cas alone in the bunker with a broken AC.

On Valentine’s day.

Which, Dean frowns to himself, is a rather inconsequential piece of information to add to that pile.

He warns himself against thinking on those lines again, and strides out of his room. He can sense there’s someone in the War room, so in order to sound like he really needs the thing, he starts speaking from the hallway. “Heya, Cas, have you see the -”

There’s no good explanation for why he stops talking.

Except, maybe there is. 

Maybe there’s the best explanation ever, right in front of him, perched on the corner of a table. Maybe it’s got an unbuttoned shirt, and majorly fucked-up hair. Maybe it’s got abs, and chest hair, and hipbones; and maybe it’s all the reason that Dean Winchester’s ever required, for anything in his life. 

He’d lay down his life for it. Hell, he could probably live for that very reason.

“Have I seen the…?” Cas repeats, his left eyebrow hooked. Has that ever happened before? Just that one, arched perfectly, as if demanding all the finished sentences in the entire world.

Dean clears his throat.

He isn’t sure what he’s thinking about, but he can still tell it’s a mistake.

“Nevermind.” He lets out, in a voice which sounds wrong, even to him.

“Alright.” Cas nods in acknowledgement, and with that, turns back to his book. It’s a giant, musty book- but then, all their books are giant and musty, and Dean cannot decipher what’s written on it, because he’d really rather stare at Cas’s hands holding it.

“Don’t you think,” Dean licks his lips. Even his throat is dry. “Wouldn’t you say it’s getting a little too hot in here?”

“I’m doing what I can.” Cas replies, managing to stuff in a little bit of distressed in there, with the general flatness. “Clearly, so are you.”

In a couple of beats, Dean realizes he’s run out of words to say, and Cas doesn’t look too eager to supply his own to keep this conversation alive, so then Dean chuckles - to say the least, awkwardly, and retires to his room again.

*

He’s going to show Cas how much better he can do.

*

“It’s, so, hot.” Dean grits his teeth, pulling the shirt over his head. Now he’s naked from up the waist, and it feels a lot better.

This isn’t a typically humid area, so it’s not like being shirtless is gonna get him sticky. Or any more sweaty, than he already is. In fact, it feels so much better, that Dean almost manages to convince himself that that’s why he’s doing it.

Almost.

There’s no ignoring anymore, that it’s Valentine’s day. And he and Cas are alone in the bunker, and it’s really hot, but that’s not just it.

It kind of never was.

Dean falls back on the bed, sinking slightly into the mattress. An image of Cas floats through his head, and though he really shouldn’t be thinking about Cas right now - half-naked, and on a bed - he doesn’t want to stop.

It’s evident Cas knows what’s going on here.

(It’s evident Cas knows what he’s doing to Dean.)

And Dean feels a pang of something, when he realizes he’s losing this - whatever this is. He may have started it off by being a dick, but he’s lagging behind now.

It’s really more about how much Cas gets to Dean, than about the number of layers he took off. And who’s Dean kidding? He isn’t getting to Cas at all.

(At least, it hasn’t ever felt like it.)

Dean sighs.

He’s too far gone.

And Cas is leaning on a table and holding a book, with an unbuttoned shirt and his fucking smolder, waiting to tell Dean it’s really hot.

He unbuttons his jeans.

Screw this, it’s over a hundred degrees.

Still thinking about Cas, he undoes his zipper, and pushes them down his legs. It’s only when they’re pooled around his ankles, that it strikes him how fucking gone he is, on Cas. 

The realization doesn’t help at all.

He steps out of his jeans, and clenches his jaw.

*

This isn’t the time to think about feelings, and it’s not the time to ponder his relationship with Cas. It’s time to get out there.

So he does.

He walks fast enough, that it’s ironically not hot anymore. Exposure to air makes his legs feel a lot cooler, and though his boxer briefs cling to his thighs, it all feels somewhat freeing.

When he reaches the War Room, Cas isn’t there.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean swears under his breath, starting to walk down the hallway, but there’s no sign of Cas there either, and not even in the kitchen, and then -

“Dean?”

Dean jerks his neck around to face Cas. For the first time, Cas’s eyes seem to have deviated from their lifelong mission to stare Dean down - instead they’re focussed, oddly, on the only part of Dean which is still covered; and his lips are parted a little bit, but -

But he’s also completely fucking naked.

“Cas.” Dean growls, not wasting more than a second to take in all of Cas - eyes glancing over the parts he’d already gotten acquainted to, and hurrying to ogle his thighs, his ass, his fucking dick - and then, letting out a breath he had no idea he was holding, he’s pushing Cas against a wall, and crashing his lips on his.

He’s kissing Cas.

Cas gives back as he gets, grabbing hold of Dean, and pulling him closer with hands around his neck, as his tongue shoves into Dean’s mouth. Dean groans, but it gets lost in Cas’s mouth - eyes rolling back in his head, as his hip thrusts wilder, shoving Cas against the wall harder and pinning him there.

“Fuck, Cas, I - hnghhh -” He pants, in a raised voice, wanting to explain, apologize, proposition - everything at fucking once, but he breaks off with a whimper when he feels Cas’s dick against the fabric of his boxers, exciting his own dick even more.

Cas seems to be more interested in kissing him than his dick lets off - moving in perfect tandem with Dean, eyes completely shut and eyebrows furrowed like he’s concentrating on this; and he really is. He’s kissing Dean like nothing else matters - he’s kissing Dean like this is it, and he’s right, he’s so fucking right.

This is it.

Sparks fly when they kiss, and there’s current in his veins when Cas holds him. It thunders in his ears when Cas pulls Dean close, and all his walls collapse when he cries out Dean’s name.

This, right here, pushing and tugging, and desperate and breathless - this is them. This is everything their lives have been leading up to. This is truly and utterly it.

When Cas’s arms go around his waist, bringing him in tighter, Dean just has to pull away for breath.

Pupils blown, he grunts, accusing because he doesn’t know what he’d be, if not mad. “You ruined the game - or fucking whatever that was, Cas, you fucking ruined it -”

“I think I won the game, Dean.” Cas declares, jaw squared, and lips returning to that thin frown - but Dean does not want to be subjected to it anymore, so he dives in to tug it straight, but Cas cups his face, and kisses him instead, all the way there but just so soft - and Dean’s never been kissed like this before. He’s never known anything like it.

“Yeah, okay, fuck.” Dean gasps, when Cas’s hand slides under the elastic of his boxers, and takes his dick in hand. “Yeah, you win.” He adds, and they’re the last coherent words he gets out in a long while, as his head falls on Cas’s shoulder, hand on the wall propping him up, and he loses what little had remained of his senses.

*

Their chests still heave and Dean’s still lying half on Cas’s arm, absolutely boneless in the way sex makes people.

Cas turns his head to look at Dean, and there’s something twinkling - so beautiful, in his eyes. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” 

“I’m just asking to confirm, but was this because of the heat too?” This time, he sounds playful. He’s just egging Dean on. 

So of course, Dean refuses to accept anything out loud. 

He just turns to his side, and burrows himself around Cas. He knows it’s probably too hot to cuddle, but when he gently puts his head on Cas’s shoulder, Cas just hooks his chin on it like they’re in a frigging chick-flick. And that’s okay, just because. 

“Fine. Happy Valentine’s day to you, okay?”

Cas doesn’t say anything to that, but when his arm comes around Dean, there’s something smug about it. 

And Dean loves it.

[redrobin-detective]

Oh heck yea AUs!! Ok ok how about Izuku and Shouto personality swap? After years of bullying izuku learns to mask his emotions and acts coldly to others so that he won’t get hurt. Meanwhile Shouto sees his fathers cold anger and the way he brushes ppl aside, thinks “I don’t want to be like him” and resolves to be as kind as possible, crafting a personality as warm as the sun, all as a means to spite his father

Midoriya Izuku wanted to be a hero, wanted to help others but years of abuse and misery had hardened his heart. Katsuki would never apologize to the nerd but it felt weird not seeing hims scribbling in his notebooks, not hearing his mutterings. He can’t even remember the last time he saw Deku smile. Izuku lived his days in passive anger and a resolve that he will be a hero to spite thos who’d hurt him. When his legs move without thinking, rushing in to save his tormentor and All Might offers him a quirk, he accepts without tears or smiles or anything. His heart was broken, tender, he couldn’t risk opening it again or he’d shatter completely.

x

Shouto watches his father on tv and at home, cruel and cowardly and a bully. He hurts his mom, his siblings, Shouto and, though his quirk is fire, his eyes are so so cold. Shouto hates that cold fire more than anything, he says to himself that it will never be him. He watches All Might in secret, watches his smiles, and copies it even when he’s afraid. He steps in between his parents when his father is in a bad mood. He helps out his classmates even though they fear him as the son of the Number Two. He dreams of a day he can bring peace to his home and to everyone around him, that’s the kind of hero he will be.

x

“My boy,” All Might said carefully, “are the other children er cruel to you?”

“You were quirkless, you should know,” Izuku said curtly. A few years ago he couldn’t have imagined talking to All Might in such a way. But as much as he wanted to open up, to talk and feel again, he just couldn’t. “It’s fine, everything will be fine once I have a quirk. Then I’ll make sure no one is hurt like that again.”

“That’s very noble of you, Young Midoriya,” All Might frowned. He set a large hand on Izuku’s head, letting it rest there. “But first I want you to be happy. It took me too long to learn that to save the world, first you must save yourself.”

“Right,” Izuku muttered, ducking under the hand and getting back to his training. He did his best to ignore the phantom feeling of All Might’s hand in his curls and told himself the warmth blooming in his chest would only hurt him in the end.

x

“Y-you saved me,” the girl with the ponytail said. “Thank you.”

“You looked like you needed help,” Shouto huffed, wiping the sweat from his brow. Yuuei really was incredible putting on such a risky test, even for recommended students. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I overexerted my quirk in the start of the exam, if you hadn’t come that robot would have crushed me for sure.” She smiled, “my name is Yaoyorozu Momo. I sincerely hope to be classmate someday but I’d love to be your friend now.”

“Todoroki Shouto,” he said shakily. “I’ve never really had a friend before but I’d like to start now.”

x

“You’re not going to expel me on the first day,” Izuku said aloofly to his teacher who was trying to be intimidating by using his quirk. “I scored too high in the entrance exam, have All Might’s support. Instead of handing out tepid threats why don’t you teach for moment and show me how to do it right.”

“Wow,” Kirishima grinned after class. “That was manly standing up to Sensei like that but way to call his bluff. I’m Eijirou, wanna spar after school.”

“No,” Izuku said, storming past. “I’m not here to make friends.”

x

“That Midoriya kid sure has a powerful quirk, it hurts him so badly whenever he uses it,” Uraraka whispered over lunch. “He’s kinda rude though, sits by himself, won’t talk to anyone. I bet all the power’s gone to his head.”

“Uraraka, that is not how we talk about classmates!” Iida lectured.

“He seems sad,” Momo said quietly.

“Yeah,” Shouto said, playing with his soba, thinking of the green haired boy with his dull eyes and face pulled perpetually into a frown. He recognized the look, he saw it in the mirror sometimes when he wasn’t paying attention. It was the look of someone who hurt so much they’d given up. “I’ll get through to him, somehow.” Maybe sharing his own traumatic story would make him open up. 

x

“How can you forgive that man who hurt you?” Izuku screeched across the battlefield. Todoroki was throwing fire and ice at him, but not enough to end the fight. He was toying with Izuku and it burned like Kacchan’s palms on his skin. “Endeavor is a monster and you smile like nothing is wrong!”

“I won’t forgive him,” Todoroki shouted back, his normally cheery face half-crazed with determination. “But I refuse to let him win, I won’t become angry and bitter like him! I’m going to be happy and have friends and be the number one hero with a smile!”

“That’s not-” Izuku choked, fighting down the tears he hasn’t shed in years. “That’s not how it works, you can’t just live with that pain and not expect it to come back.”

“We care for you!” Todoroki raged, “Aizawa-sensei almost died for you, our class wants so badly to get to know you, All Might looks like his smile is going to break his face whenever he sees you. It’s your heart but we’ll take care of it for you!”

Izuku broke, the rage and pain and feel and love he’d been hoarding for years exploding out of him. It fueled One For All unleashing an attack that had both him and Todoroki skidding to the sides. Todoroki stopped himself with an ice wall but Izuku landed far out of bounds. His bones were broken and his shot at the gold medal was gone but his heart felt open for the first time in forever. He laid in the dirt and cried until the medical bots took him away.

x

Shouto went to visit Midoriya at the end of the medal ceremony. He felt stupid, losing to Bakugou but he supposed he still had his own demons to conquer. Shouto needed to apologize to his classmate for his words, as much as he believed him, it wasn’t his place to say so. He opened the door to the infirmary and Midoriya turned to him.

“I watched your match, you almost had him. Next time, we’ll bring him down a peg,” he smiled then and it was like the sun was shining in an impossible place. Shouto grinned right back and he knew he would defend that smile until the end of time. 

[shadowthrone-ammanas]

Ghost Kid Chapter 2: Crash Landing

In this fic, all the Death Wish Contracts involving Mu are not a thing because obviously things with her didn't go down the way they did in the game, this is happening instead (technically making it an AU I think). But I still wanted Hat Kid to be one Death Wish away from getting the shadow puppet costume because this fic is inspired by it.

Snatcher was quite proud of himself as he put down his knitting needles to look at his finished creation. It was probably the best thing he’d ever knitted. It would be the perfect reward for when Hat Kid finished his final Death Wish Contract. … If she finished it. He was not at all hoping that she would, in fact he hoped for the opposite, he wanted her to fail and die so he could jump in and snatch her soul as it left her body. He’d made this cool new outfit for her on the off chance she did win; she’d defied his expectations enough times now that he’d learned to always be ready for it.

He folded the costume up and put it away in his pocket dimension for now. But now that that was finally finished, he could get back to his reading. He summoned one of his books to himself and…

There was a loud crash as the whole world shook as if struck by an intense earthquake. It was over within a matter of seconds but it left everything in his hollow that wasn’t secure scattered on the floor

“Boss!” one of his minions distressed calls came from outside. “Boss!”

“Calm down, we’re fine now,” Snatcher said as he exited. He looked around to find his minion struggling to stand back up, using a glowing mushroom for support.

“What was that?” the minion asked, looking up at him for reassurance. “Do think it was… her.”

“No.” Normally when she decided to bring the forest’s attention back to herself it involved her wretched ice magic and this certainly wasn’t that. Besides, whatever it had been had tripped one his traps in the burning part of the forest, while his distant sense of her had not moved. He needed to investigate but first…

He teleported to Subcon Village, bringing his minion with him. As expected, it was in disarray. The water in the pond was already draining, whatever had happened had clogged up the well again – it was a real pain in the neck sometimes – and a couple of the bridges connecting treehouses had fallen over. And of course, everyone was panicking. They were predictable, anytime something large and unexpected happened in the forest he could count of them to freak out about it.

“Calm down everyone,” he shouted loud enough for them all to hear. They immediately stilled and turned to face him. “It’s fine and has nothing to do with you know who. I’m going to go find out what happened, you guys start repairs and make sure everyone knows its fine.” He’d have to get a contractor to fix the well again and possibly help out with repairs but that could wait until later.

Before any questions could be asked of him, he teleported again. This time to the trap that had been tripped. The woods, already perpetually burning, were suddenly even more on fire. There was big crater near where his trap used to be. Something large had crashed onto the forest floor and slid a short distance, destroying the ground, every tree in its path, and the trap. That ‘something large’ was Hat Kid’s ship.

Snatcher rushed over to get a better look. It was a wreck: the metal making up its outside crumpled especially at the front and bottom, parts of it were bent or broken, and the entire front facing glass window was shattered, its bits scattered across the initial site of impact, reflecting the fires surrounding them. Snatcher had no way of knowing if it was mostly just surface damage or if the important parts of the ship had been damaged too. Nor did he really care right now.

He entered through the broken window. The interior lights were all out and it rested at an odd angle. Bits of broken glass from the window littered the floor as well as broken pieces of furniture. But the command desk at the front, though cracked was clearly built to last as it was mostly still intact. Underneath it lay two small bodies, one partially on top of the other. But… Snatcher only sensed one living soul, it was weak but there. Meaning…

He moved closer to pull the body on top out. … It was Mustache Girl, he’d heard enough about her to know what she looked like and that Hat Kid didn’t like her and that was it. … She was alive. Injured and unconscious, in need of medical attention, but still alive. Which meant…

Hat Kid was the other body. Snatcher didn’t need his ability to sense living beings to know she was no longer among them.

How was that possible? It was Hat Kid, there were times when she seemed almost immortal. She’d done and been through so many dangerous and difficult situations, how could she just die? It didn’t make sense! After everything she’d been through and done it was… such a waste. This was…

“Snatcher?”

He snapped around to see… a ghost. Glowing yellow eyes and mouth, small purple body tapering off into a tail instead of legs. The shape of her cape, complete with the zipper on front, and top hat remained. Well, Subcon Forest was the place one was most likely to become a ghost if they died here so… this made sense. Sort of, it was still unbelievable that Hat Kid had died.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice now slightly echoey. “And why are the lights all off? What happened?” … She hadn’t realized what happened to her yet… not good.

“Hey Kid.” Snatcher put on a grin. “How’s it going?”

“Uh… I don’t know. I feel weird. Is… something wrong? What’s that behind you?”

Snatcher moved to block the view of her body as she tiled her head to try to look past him. “Maybe don’t look kiddo, it’s uh… not a pretty sight.”

She frowned and only tried harder to look past him. There wasn’t much he could do, he’d had to shrink is form to fit in here. Her gaze locked first on Mu but then quickly moved to her body. Shock and dismay filled her now ghostly features. She lifted her hands to look down at them and then back up at him. “I-I’m dead.”

“Yep uh… looks like it.” Snatcher still had on his forced grin. “But being dead ain’t so bad. It’s actually kind of nice sometimes. I’m a disappointed though that I wasn’t here to…” he trailed off as Hat Kid let out a loud sob. It was immediately followed by another as she curled up into a ball of misery. He��d never seen her cry before and he didn’t know how to handle tears.

He turned away and summoned a small group of his minions, hopefully they hadn’t been doing anything important. “Deal with this,” he whispered to them, gesturing to Hat Kid’s corpse and the injured Mu. They gasped in horror at the sight, at this point Hat Kid had befriended seemingly everyone in the forest – excluding Snatcher of course, he wasn’t her friend no matter what she said.

“Boss…” one of them began.

“And do it fast,” Snatcher interrupted.

They nodded firmly. “What do you want us to do with…” one of them pointed to Mu.

“I don’t care, just handle it.”

Before they could say anything else, Snatcher snapped back around to face Hat Kid again because he had to handle this now. She was still crying, very upset and rightfully so, seeing one’s own broken corpse was not a pleasant experience. It being sudden and unexpected had to have only made it worse. She’d never cried before though, no matter what he or anyone else put her through, she’d always taken it like a champ. That only made her tears more stressful, he needed them to stop.

“Hey kiddo,” he said in the closest he could get to a soothing tone as he moved closer to hover in front of her. “Look, I know it’s hard but could you please not…”

She grasped onto his mane. From there, she shifted to crying on him. “I don’t wanna to be dead. I was going to go home.”

Awkwardly, Snatcher lifted an arm to lightly pat her back because what else could he do? How was he supposed to get her stop crying? There had to be a way, right? … Getting her away from the reason she was crying would probably be a good start, right?

Bringing her with him, he teleported to one of his reading spots, the one that had no physical access to the outside world and was thus private. He quickly righted the lamp and sat on the chair. He patted Hat Kid’s back again in hopes that that would maybe help. He really had no idea though and she was gripping his mane too hard to for him to easily free himself of her so… seems like he could only wait and hope the tears stopped soon.

Previous / Next

[windupnamazu]

prompt 21: crunch

[ ffxivwrite2019 : cold snap ]  [ previous prompts ]

Lunya Lanya was not built for cold weather, much less snow. 

She grumbled as Majj dislodged her from yet another snowbank, the dragoon chuckling as he lifted her as easily as he would a sack of popotoes. 

“You didn’t haf’ta take on leves ‘ere.” He grinned toothily at her, the points of his fangs glinting under Coerthas’ frosty sunlight. “Thought you didn’t like apples anyhow.”

“I like them!” Lunya exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I just don’t like snow!”

Majj shrugged as he hooked her basket onto Ube’s saddle and pulled up a new one for her from Bentu’s bag, slipping his chocobo one of their apples as a reward for his patience. 

The vintners of Ul’dah had recently got into a mirror apple kick and demand was high enough for the Brugaire Consortium to reach out for help gathering them. It was easy coin - which was the only reason Lunya was out here in Coerthas’ perpetual winter, trudging behind her friend and thinking about shoving her hatchet into his head every time he laughed at her misery.

On good days, Majj was a great friend, his liveliness and charisma lightening up the party’s mood. On bad days, he was a menace, and Lunya was really feeling that today.

Just as she started thinking that Majj couldn’t possibly do anything worse than mock her by wearing only a thin coat out in the cold, he walked over a ledge and plummeted into Witchdrop.

Lunya yelped and set down her basket - because Majj had done stupider things in the months since they started adventuring together and lived and she would be damned before letting a paycheck slip away from her for anything - before she darted over to the edge of the cliff. At first glance, she thought the Miqo’te had splattered across the ravine floor, but thankfully it was just the apples unceremoniously scattered around for the banemites to eat. Instead, the Keeper dangled halfway down the cliff face, the back of his coat caught on a jagged spike sticking out of the wall while he looked like a scolded kitten.  

The Lalafell sighed, more out of exasperation than relief. “Majj, are you okay?” 

“S’alrigh’,” came the muffled response, and Lunya looked around for a way down, her hand to her linkpearl to page the other two members of their party. He probably smacked his head on the way down, and if not then Nyneve could have a good laugh at his expense. “D...dunworry... ‘bout me. I’ll jus', ah, eh. Juuuuuuuump—“

“You will do no such thing!” Lunya shouted, Nyneve mumbling an ‘ow!’ in her ear as their paladin answered the call. “Nyneve, Majj fell in Witchdrop!” She gathered Ube and Bentu’s reins in hand - the last thing she needed was for one of them to jump in after her idiot companion.

“Is he dead?” Nyneve asked curiously. Lunya heard Theodaux splutter in worry somewhere near her and the screeching of chairs pushing back on brick floors.

Lunya glanced back into the ravine. Majj seemed to have regained his senses - though just how much was questionable, as he started testing how strong the spike he was attached to was, looking an awful lot like a worm on a fishhook. “Unfortunately, not yet.”

“No, no, no, watch,” Majj called up to her. “Cats always land on their feet. I can do it.”

He couldn’t see her face, but Lunya frowned anyway. “H’lios said that Miqo’te aren’t cats and Y’shtola called Thancred a bad word for suggesting it.”

“I’ve been on this crystal three years longer than Lios!” Majj scoffed, crossing his arms as the wind gently swayed him side to side. It was a ridiculous sight. “That’s three thousand two hundred 'nd eighty-five more fish I’ve eaten than 'e has! I know what I’m talkin’ about!”

He didn’t say anything about Y’shtola though, which was wise. Privately, Lunya thought that the ones that grew up around other Miqo’te would probably know best, but what did she know?

“Listen, kid—” Majj started.

“I’m nineteen.”

“—I said it ‘ffectionately. I’m the Azure Dragoon—”

“You got your soul stone just last week.”

“—and I’m going to— hang on, Lu, step back.”

With a shake of her head, Lunya did as he asked, crossing her arms with a huff.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

A torrent of wind exploded from Witchdrop, sending snow and apples flying skyward. Majj burst out of the ravine with it, twirling through the air with all the grace of a wind elemental. Lunya was almost impressed until she realized he had conjured a gust so sharp it managed to cut all the apples in the air in half.

“Majj!” she wailed. “The levemete asked for whole apples!” Their chocobos, in contrast, quarked in delight as they snatched up apple slices in their beaks. As Majj landed next to Lunya, coat in tatters and covered entirely in snow but still laughing gleefully, footsteps crunched behind them in the snow.

“Oh, he’s fine,” Nyneve said disappointedly. “Not even bleedin’ or anything. Let’s go back, Theo, it’s freezing out here.”

“Is it?” their white mage wondered as they wandered back down the path to Camp Dragonhead. “It’s rather balmy for Coerthas.” 

Majj at least had the decency to scratch the back of his neck in shame as Lunya levelled a glare at him, the sound of the apples hitting the snow as discordant as the sound of coins not meeting her hands. “Uh, I didn’t mean to do that part. You’ll... split the pay for yours with me, ‘ight?”

“Shut up before I push you back into the ravine.”

[sleepyfan-blog]

Discord requests

tagslist: @anxiety-is-married-to-depression @angelofthehalfmoon @trainwreck-of-skeletons @hisame-amadashi​ @therandomskelekey @capisnotonfire

Brotherly cross and chara

“Crooosss! Gimme the body!” Chara whined, flopping insubstantially across his younger brother’s shoulders, the ghost kind of cuddling into him.

“Why should I? We agreed that since this is my body, I get to keep in control almost all of the time.” Cross denied, frowning a little at the other as he continued to make lunch for himself.

“I… I really want to try some of those chocolate cupcakes. At least… At least one of them. Please? They look so good…” Chara pleaded, staring at the exquisitely made desserts.

“They’re for that fancy party thing that Boss is forcing us to go to. If we touch them beforehand, Doom and Despair, remember?” Cross responded, sighing a little bit as he shook his head. He pulled out a bar of chocolate from his inventory, taking a bite, humming at the taste - teasing his big brother a little.

“... So why are they here now, if the party-thing is in a week?” Chara mused, staring at the cupcakes and trying not to drool a little.

“I’m pretty sure that it’s a test of our self-control. See who cracks first. Or it’s an open source of temptation to see which of us he gets to punish for disobeying an order like this. Which is why I’ve got chocolate on me, to avoid that bit of temptation.” Cross pointed out, smirking a little bit.

“... Yeah, no, That sounds like him. Do you think that if we don’t eat the cupcake, we won’t have to go to the party thing?” Chara mused curiously. Chocolate… Gimme some of that chocolate bar, you butt!”

“Hmm… Fine. But if you so much as look at those cupcakes, I’m taking back over.” Cross warned, a small smile appearing on his face as he turns off his eye lights, feeling himself float away.

“Thank you,  Cross.” Chara murmured as he eagerly devoured the chocolate bar.

Genonight

“Mmm… You’re brooding again.” The lord of darkness hummed softly as he wrapped his arms around his b-eloved’s waist, pulling the other closer to him, pressing a light kiss to one of Geno’s cheeks.

A soft sigh left the perpetually-dying Sans as he felt some of the negativity and miserable feelings leave him, his eye light fuzzing out a little as he leans gratefully into the other’s touch, well aware that the other was drawing his feelings away in order to restore his own strength. Still… He was feeling better, and for that, he was grateful “Yeah. It’s kind of my thing. I’m trapped in this save screen, unable to leave without dying. The Kid who’s killed everyone I love over and over again - well… One of them… Is trapped in here with me and won’t cooperate. What else am I going to do? Join Gaster in the void? No thanks.”

“I’d rather you not do that… For one thing, I’m not sure that Gaster has your best intentions at heart, but would rather have someone to amuse himself in the eternal lonely emptiness of the void.” Nightmare rumbled, pressing another light kiss to the other’s cheek. He’d a rather bad fight with The Star Sanses less than an hour ago - and while his minions were healing and tending to their wounds, he’d slipped off here to one of his favored negativity siphons… And for some uncomplicated, gentle touch.

“Yeah, I’d rather not do that, either. Is there anything you can do to help my timeline?” Geno asked, huffing a little. He was well aware of just how dangerous the being who was holding him was. He’d been tormented by the fucker for… Longer than he’d like to think of, before Nightmare had begun this new game of light touches and soothing speech. He didn’t know what more the other thought he could get from him but… Geno lacked the strength to try to say no. He was… Surprisingly touch-starved, and even this dark being was a welcome sight for him… A relief from the misery and rage running through him… A balm to the sliver of a soul he still possessed.

“I would, if I knew which Undertale you are from… And there are a great many to search from. Your magical signature has helped to limit it to a certain percentage of the Undertales… However, there are still quite a few for me to search through, before I find your timeline.” Nightmare answered earnestly “But I will do my best to aid your people, once I find them. I have all eternity to find them - barring the battles with the starlit idiots I engage in, so that they do not mess with that which is mine.”

“... Duly noted.” Geno had no idea if Nightmare truly was searching for his home timeline… Or if it would be any safer in his hands than in the human’s… But he’d already made a deal with this particular devil, and his bed made. He was willing to pay the price, if it meant his people were free to live in a permanent post-pacifist timeline. Forever. The two of them cuddled for a while, until Geno drifted off to sleep in Nightmare’s arms.

GenoLust

“I… How are you… How are you doing that?” Geno spluttered as he watched his boyfriend turn himself into a pretzel. The other was in a full split, his hips flat against the ground, the other laying on his back leg and stretching with an elegance that he knew that he would never be able to match.

“Hmm? Do what, mon coeur?” Hearts asked, a small grin appearing on his face as he sat up, grabbing his back leg and stretching a little bit further.

“That! I’ve never been able to do much more than touch my thighs without getting really sore and… And you just…” He gestures to the other, blushing a little bit as he tries not to spontaneously combust at the thoughts running through his head… Or show too much of his jealousy. “Do that like it’s nothing.”

“Ah, love. I’ve always done what I can to stay as limber and flexible as possible. Getting all locked up doesn’t help me in my line of work… I can help you learn how to be more flexible, Geno.” Hearts purred, pressing a little bit closer to his beloved, chuckling softly at the other’s not-so-subtle pout. “It takes time and practice, but I’m sure that you’ll become more limber, if that’s what you want.”

“I.. Yeah. It’d be nice to move a bit easier.” Geno answered after a moment. Also spending time with his boyfriend and being close also sounded wonderful. “I don’t expect to ever be as flexible as you, though…”

Hearts hummed again, a thoughtful expression appearing on his face “You might not be… But it’s going to be fun teaching you.” With that, he got up and walked over to his boyfriend, pressing a light kiss to the other’s lips.

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: If You Can’t Take the Heat

There's a heat wave in Central City (and it's not necessarily Mick). Leonard is not amused. But he and Sara have promises to keep...and how they keep them might just surprise everyone. 

This story is for @tavyn, who gave me the prompts: "My parents are coming over in 10 minutes, so please put some clothes on." and "Our AC is out and it's the middle of the summer." It's set in my "If I Never" continuity, between "Wait For It"/"What the Future Holds" and "Midnight Run." There will be two chapters. (The second is done and will be posted very soon.)

Many thanks to @larielromeniel for the beta. And, yes, this was written by a born-and-bred WNYer, so I'm aware that the weather described within isn't particularly hot for some. ;)

Can also be read here at AO3 and here at FF.net.

Central City is Leonard’s city. It’s his home, for better or worse. Through annoying speedster metas and time-traveling hijinks and near-death experiences and falling for (and hitching his life to) a Star City native, it’s still home.

But this…this is a bit much.

It usually doesn’t get out of the 80s here, but it’s been in the 90s for five days now, with a heat index near 100. One day, the actual temp had hit 100. Most of the city is miserable, minor conflicts are turning into assaults and keeping the CCPD hopping, and there are brownouts due to much higher than usual AC use.

Once, Leonard would have probably picked up and left town, heading to somewhere cooler…like, oh, Antarctica, if he could get away with it. But Sara is here, and so is Mick at the moment, and there are commitments keeping them all in place. And so he merely suffers in relative silence, staying in the AC as much as possible and resisting the urge to fire up the cold gun just to use it as a portable chilling device when he has to go out in the heat. (Although, while he’ll admit it to no one but Sara, he’s just come from one of the city’s poorer neighborhoods, where he’d used up the last of the current charge to ice down the spray of a fire hydrant and turn it into snow in July.)

But this…this is not good.

He stands at the doorway to the apartment, frowning and staring into the open door, which still has his key in it. There’s not the usual chill emitting from the space within. Sara’s been home; she’d have had the AC on or let him know if she had to leave. No. Not good at all.

“Len?” She’d undoubtedly heard him the moment he’d set foot in the hallway. “Ah.” Sara moves into his field of view, wearing nothing but a tank top and very short shorts—which is appealing, but the heat is counteracting it—and looking unhappy. “Honey…”

They don’t do pet names “What?”

“The AC’s out.” Sara shrugs. “All over the building. I’m sorry. The power itself was actually out for a while—and still is, a lot of places in the city—and when it came back, the AC was toast. The building manager’s been trying to get to the bottom of it, but no luck.”

The apartment, like the rest of the floor, is baking. Len leans within, winces, and gives Sara a look. She smiles at him a little, leaning against the door frame, although there’s understanding in her expression.

“North?” he asks plaintively. “Alaska? Nova Scotia? I hear Iceland is lovely this time of year…”

For a moment, longing joins the understanding in Sara’s eyes. But then she shakes her head. “You know why…”

“They’d understand…” He hates the whine in his voice, but Sara gets it. And she knows, despite his words, why his sense of honor will keep him there with her. That doesn’t stop a teasing and mock-stern expression from crossing her face as she pulls him into the apartment and shuts the door behind him.

“You want to explain to the woman nearly nine months pregnant with speedster twins why you—we--didn’t keep the promise to be here when she has those twins, so that there’s someone else to help watch the city and Barry can be there with her without being too distracted?” she asks, eyebrows rising. “You want to explain that now, so close to her due date, during the hottest week of the year?”

Leonard winces. Giving Barry grief is still one of his favorite things to do, but Iris—especially now—takes none of his shit. And he’s possessed of enough compassion to feel for her right now.

“I made that promise in January,” he protests, letting the bag in his hands drop to the floor, but Sara knows he’s not going anywhere. She gives him a tiny smile and reaches up to lay a hand on his arm—his bare forearm, because while he hates to show his scars, he hates this heat even more. Hell, he’s not even wearing his habitual black because of it, opting for gray instead.

Sara’s fingers tighten a little, a show of support. But when Len decides to disregard just how…sticky…the heat and humidity make everything and starts to pull her toward him, she lifts another hand and places it on his chest.

“Mick likes it,” she says, with amusement. “This ridiculous heat.”

There’s a warning in the words. “Mick?”

That’s when the bathroom door opens.

“Hey, boss!”

Leonard’s oldest friend, brother in all but blood, ambles out, and Sara sighs as Leonard rolls his eyes. It’s not like he’s not used to Mick’s tendency to be far more free in showing skin, but for fuck’s sake…he could at least get Gideon to make him some boxers that are a little less…threadbare.

Well. At least he’s wearing the boxers.

Sara is less resigned about it, or at least resigned in a different way.

“My parents are coming over in 10 minutes,” she says with a sigh, pointing a finger at the Waverider’s current captain, who’s been couch-surfing among the more settled Legends while he’s staying here, “so please put some clothes on. It’s tense enough when they’re both here without…"

“Even I think it’s too damned hot.” But Mick stops and throws his hands up at Sara’s glare. “But I will. OK? Or better yet…I’ll get outta Dodge for a bit. Go visit the professor.”

“You still need more clothes, or Clarissa will…”

“Or the kid.”

“Just because Jax lives in off-campus housing doesn’t mean his roommates won’t call the cops, Mick.”

“Allen, then. It’s his fault I’m hanging around here instead of off in the ship with Haircut and the newbies.” He takes a drink of his beer. “I told you we could be back in time. It’s a friggin’ time ship!”

“Yeah, well, you and I both know shit happens when it comes to time.” Leonard winces again at the idea of Mick descending upon Barry and Iris at this point, but Sara’s shaking her head.

“Their loft was in the middle of the worst of the outages,” she says, “and the power probably won’t even be back on there ‘til tomorrow at the earliest. I doubt they’ll be home. Not that that’s ever stopped you two.”

Even Mick looks sympathetic at that point, but the words make Leonard pause, brain seizing on a logical conclusion.

“STAR Labs,” he says abruptly, getting a grunt from Mick.

Sara eyes him. “What about it?”

Leonard nods to himself, then looks at her. “They have a generator, a powerful one. They’ll have air-conditioning. Especially with all that fancy equipment.” He lifts a finger. “And I’ll bet Barry’s got Iris here. He sure as hell won’t let her sit around an AC-free loft in these conditions.”

Sara returns his gaze steadily, considering. Mick looks back and forth between the two of them, then makes an amused noise and drops onto their couch.

“They do owe us,” she says finally, “for agreeing to do this.”

“They do.”

“And there’s plenty of room there.”

“There is.”

“It even makes sense for us to stay there, right on site in case we’re needed.”

“It does.”

They grin at each other. “Head on over,” Sara tells Leonard, nodding. “I’ll be there as soon as my parents leave. I’ll even bring our go bags.”

He doesn’t argue. “Why are they stopping by again? And why is your dad in town?” Quentin Lance may not precisely approve of him, but they get along pretty well now. Dinah Lance is a bit of a cypher, though she’s polite enough. And so far as he knows, both of Sara’s parents have never been in this apartment together.

“Mom found some things of my grandmother’s, wants us to all look at them together. Dad’s been doing some consulting work and just got in today.” She makes a shooing motion. “Go, Len. Mick, put on some clothes or get out. We said you could stay a few nights and I’m not reneging, but this is going to be weird enough.”

“OK, Blondie, OK.”

As it turns out, Sara’s parents cancel anyway, texting separately only a few minutes later as Quentin confesses that he’s stuck just outside of the city because of train issues and Dinah reports that she’s helping get some elderly neighbors to an emergency heat shelter. Sara hangs up with relief and she and Len head for STAR Labs, leaving Mick to bask in the heat with a beer and watch golf, of all things, on their TV.

Len’s in such a hurry to get into the presumed cool that he doesn’t even pause to mess with the labs’ security system, actually using the key he’d been given, maybe for the first time. No matter how tempted she is, Sara doesn’t even tease him, sympathetic to the misery on his face. He hadn’t been kidding, all those months ago in the Russian sauna. He really does despise the heat.

It’s a measure, really, of how much he’s changed, she thinks, trailing him into the cortex as they both sigh in relief, that he’s not leaving despite his promise to Barry and to her. Well, the honor of sorts had always been there—but the man in question has expanded the circle it applies to.

Because Len had used his key, the systems have alerted the usual denizens of STAR Labs to his presence, and Barry and Cisco are already staring at the entryway when they walk in. Barry’s wearing the same vaguely happy, perplexed and weary expression he’s been wearing nearly perpetually since Iris reached the third trimester. He’s leaning against the bank of desks, next to Cisco, who looks slightly amused and slightly harassed.

“Snart?” the speedster blurts out, staring at him a bit blankly. “What are you doing…oh, hi, Sara.”

Sara nods to him, concealing a smile at his glassy-eyed expression. No one’s been sleeping well in the Allen household lately, she knows. Practice for when the twins get here? Well, she’s not going to be the one to say it.

“Our AC is out,” Len drawls as he saunters toward them, “and it’s the middle of the summer."

Both men nod. Enough said. Cisco grins, though. “What, you can’t just ice your apartment down?” he taunts good-naturedly. “You haven’t created a setting for that yet?”

Leonard’s propensity for tinkering with the cold gun in new and increasingly creative ways is notorious at this point. He gives the weapon’s original creator a withering look, but parks his hip against a desk, declining to snark back for once. He really must be grateful for the AC, Sara thinks.

“Where’s Iris?” she chimes in, looking from Barry to Cisco. “She must be…”

But Barry’s eyes go wide and Cisco starts shaking his head violently back and forth, and Sara lets her voice trail off as she takes in their antics. Leonard rolls his eyes and turns away, wandering off as Barry starts to speak, keeping his voice low.

“Iris is,” he says quickly, quietly, “…ah…”

“Miserable,” Cisco interjects. “But at the same time, she’s getting sick of people asking her if she’s miserable. Or commenting that she must be miserable. Or telling her she looks like she’s going to pop…” He lowers his voice a little more. “…even though she does…”

Barry lowers his head to his hands. “Doctor appointment tomorrow. She really didn’t want to be induced, but if the doc offers, well, I bet she’ll take him up on it.”

Sara gives him a sympathetic look. “You ready for this?”

Barry gives her a woebegone look. “Parenthood? At this point? Hell, yeah. Once they’re, um, out, at least I can do something…change diapers, help with some feeding. Right now, I’m just…running in place.”

“Pun definitely intended,” Cisco says seriously, then snickers. “Hey, Snart, Bar beat to you to a pun today. You’re slipping!” He glances around. “Snart?”

Leonard’s nowhere in sight. Sara shrugs, because her husband’s propensity for wandering places he’s not supposed to go in STAR Labs nearly matches his propensity for breaking and entering the building in the first place. But just then, there’s a chime from the computer panel in front of the guys, and Cisco glances downward, mouth dropping open.

“Ooooh, crap, he’s in the infirmary,” he stammers as Barry makes a pained noise, looking even more horrified. “How does he do that?”

“Sara, you might want to go get him out of there…if you don’t want to be widowed just yet…” the speedster says, turning to her urgently. “Uh, Iris is down there, reading in the strongest AC, and…”

“And she isn’t really overly polite to men right now,” Cisco says, nodding solemnly. “She, well, says it’s good they’re having twins, because they wanted two, but she never wants to be alone with a guy again.”

“Yeah? I could work with that.” Sara snickers as they both gape at her. “Joking. I’ll go retrieve Len before she does too much damage.” She heads for the elevator, pausing to toss a question back over her shoulder. “Any advice?”

“What I said before,” Cisco mutters, even as Barry says, “Don’t mention her due date or ask if she’s sure it’s not triplets. And whatever you do…”

They finish in unison: “…don’t tell her she’s glowing!”

In all honesty, Sara’s not overly worried as she strolls down the hallway toward the infirmary. She knows more than most that Leonard can be unexpectedly charming, and he’s always had a fondness for Iris. He also has a crook’s sense of self-preservation too, of course, and that can’t hurt.

She can hear voices as she nears the door, and no one sounds alarmed, or even irritated. Smiling, Sara picks up the pace a little, then slows as she can make out the words.

Iris actually sounds amused. “…if you two ever decide to do this…”

“This? What, kids?” Len sounds amused, too…although Sara’s simply stunned to hear that word coming out of that mouth in that tone. She’s frozen now, listening, although her sneaky crook of a husband has certainly heard her approach. “Think Sara’d have something to say about that.”

The small clatter sounds as if Iris has tossed something at him. A bottlecap, maybe. “No kidding,” she retorts. “I’m just saying. Avoid…trying…in the fall.”

“TMI, West.” His tone is so easy. Seriously?

“West-Allen to you, Snart.” Sara hears Iris sigh. “Sorry. I have baby brain.”

“Understandable.” The drawl is absurdly nonchalant, and Sara strains to hear as Iris says something else, and their voices drop. After a moment, though, she decides she’s being silly, takes a deep breath, and strolls in, knowing that Len, at least, will have realized she’s there.

Iris is seated on a sort of recliner, sitting up with her legs out in front of her. Sara, who’s seen her only a few days ago, feels her eyes widen as she takes in her friend, who’s wearing a maternity shirt that, well, might as well be a tent.

She wipes the expression from her face immediately, but from Len’s snicker, not quickly enough. Iris rolls her eyes at him, then gives Sara a long-suffering expression.

“Yes,” she says with a sigh. “I know. Still growing. Since that means double trouble here…” She affectionately pats her abdomen. “…are staying put, and my blood pressure is still good, the doctors are happy. The closer they can get to the due date, the better.”

“Barry said tomorrow…”

“As of tomorrow, I’m at 37 weeks, and that’s considered full term for twins. So…we’ll see.”

Those last two words are delivered in the tone of a woman who’s hoping mightily to see some sort of action on the part of labor. Sara shakes her head, smiling, then crosses to give her friend a gentle hug. Iris returns it.

“He brought me cold water so I didn’t have to waddle my way across the floor to get it,” she tells Sara cheerfully. “I think you should keep him.”

“I intend to.” Sara throws a look at Leonard, who’s slouched against a table looking amused. “How are you?”

“Pregnant. Tired. Warm.” Iris shakes her head. “Your power is out too? I told Barry there was no way in hell I was staying in the loft without it.”

“Power’s back. AC is still gone.” Leonard drawls. “Mick adores it. Us…not so much.”

Sara rolls her eyes at him. “I was managing, but no, you insisted you wouldn’t survive if it wasn’t subarctic…”

“Didn’t hear you arguing.”

Iris snorts. “OK, enough with the flirty banter, or whatever it is you call it.” She glances at Sara. “You’re welcome to stay here. But I’ve called dibs on this recliner, because it’s the only thing I can easily get out of. And Barry stays in here, too, because the least he can do is be the one to get me ice cream in the middle of the night if I want it.” Both women ignore Leonard when he snickers again. “There’s a futon in the spare office, the one right outside the server room. The AC is nearly as good there as it is here. Just…” She smirks. “Well, let’s just say Cisco still refuses to use the bathroom off the Cortex, the one with the shower. We can’t have him refusing to go into the server room. OK?”

They make no promises.

[writingfromkitchenator]

Angel

Prompt 3 of @sdavid09 Daily Writing Challenge

Never cross the King of Hell... (Angst fic)

Crowley stared at bleeding and unconscious form of Rosa, swallowing hard, seeing the blood pooling out and unable to tell whether or not she was alive or dead.  This had not gone how it was supposed to and now there was a good chance that she was going to die because of his foolishness.

He fought back to his feet, licking his lips and trying carefully to not let it show that he was worried, but failing.

“Pathetic,” The demon growled.  “Is this truly what the King of Hell has taken on his arm?  A little human that can’t even take a hit?”

Rosa groaned and Crowley wanted to tell her to be still, to not let on that she was still somewhat okay, but it was already too late, the demon marching over and stepping hard on her hand, making her scream.

Crowley fought with himself, wanting nothing more than to put an end to the demon hurting her, but whatever magic this demon had dug up, it was preventing it.

“Doesn’t feel good to be powerless does it?”  The demon growled.  “Much like most of us experience and then shit’s like you make it so much worse.”

“You don’t think I went through the same thing?”  Crowley asked.  “I just fought my way to the top, something that most of you lot seem to be too afraid to do.”

“Well, I’m doing it now.” The demon trod down hard again, making another scream leave Rosa, even as she tried to hold the bleeding wound on her chest.  “Bow down to me Crowley and I will make it stop.”

Crowley scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding right? I bow to no one, and especially someone who offers such a poor excuse for a deal, it’s rather pathetic really.”

The demon drew a gun. “So be it then.”

There wasn’t one gunshot, but two, the demon staggering before his gun went off, your scream loud as the bullet hit your chest.  Crowley, shocked, didn’t have a chance to move as Sam, Dean and Castiel hurried in.

Castiel hurried over to you, ignoring the blood and lifting you up enough that your head could rest on his arm.

“Cassie…”  You gasped, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Easy Rosie, we’ll get you through this.”  He said quietly.

Crowley held himself steady, despite wanting to shove Castiel out of the way.  “You can heal her, right?”

Castiel glances up at Crowley.  “She can heal herself in a moment.”

Crowley didn’t understand and about to say so when he saw what Castiel pulled out of his coat.  He stared at the glowing vial and stood in solid denial even as Castiel pulled the top off and held it to Rosa’s mouth, the grace reacting immediately.

He couldn’t believe this, of all the things that could’ve happened, this was last on his mind.

Rosa’s body arched as the grace took hold and Castiel hurried away from her, Sam and Dean now watching, Crowley standing there stunned.  She struggled up, the wounds on her body slowly healing as the lights around them began to flicker, Sam and Dean covering their eyes a little as she began to glow, the shadow of wings appearing on the wall.

Castiel was there before she could collapse, helping her up and supporting her.  “Are you alright sister?”

Rosa was breathing hard, sweat dripping from her brow.  “That…hurts.”

Castiel frowned.  “It has been a long time for you, I can’t imagine what it’s like.”

“I should be…”  She shudders.  “Okay in a moment.”

He keeps a grip on her. “You’ll be okay Rosangel, we can get you through this.”

Rosa smiles.  “I haven’t heard that name in a long time.” As she looks up, she meets Crowley’s eye and her smile falters.

It was all Crowley needed, his eyes narrowing.  “Did you ever plan on telling me this love?”

She flinches.  “In all fairness Crowley, I never even dreamed of getting my grace back.”

“You’re a bloody angel!” Crowley yelled.  “What part of that made you think it was alright to do this to me?”

“Crowley please,” Rosa spoke quietly, aware of the looks of the others.  “Now is not the time and I promise that this does not change anything.”

“Oh, you know bloody well is does Rosa.”  He snarled and then he was gone, making Rosa sigh.

“I need to go after him.” She said, straightening up, but still holding onto Castiel.

“Rosie, you can’t.” Castiel said quickly.  “You need to let yourself recover.”

She blanches.  “If I don’t, then Crowley is going to be intent on hating me and nothing I say will change it.  I need to deal with this now.”

Drawing in a deep breath, she vanishes, going after Crowley.

Dean and Sam frown at each other.  “Did we miss something?”

Rosa staggers slightly as she gets into Hell, even just this trip taking a lot out of her and making her lean on the wall for support.  “Crowley?”

Crowley tensed from his position at a table, pouring himself a drink.  “What are you doing here Rosa?”

“What do you think?” She grunts.  “Coming to talk to you.”

He faces her, the worry passing over his expression quickly until he hides it.  “We have nothing to talk about, that’s why I left.”

“Don’t be daft.”  She manages to sit in a nearby chair, sinking into it, still looking weaker than what she should.  “I know you’ve been with angel’s before, you’ve told me that yourself.”

Crowley’s jaw twitches. “As a one of thing, not a whole, long term-whatever this is.”

Rosa raises an eyebrow. “What?  You’d prefer I’d be human and watch me slowly dwindle away in years until I die then go who knows where?”

“Yes.”  He said flatly.  “It would be a lot less complicated.”

“Don’t give me that Crowley.”  She said. “You know as well as I do it would so much more complicated.  If a human ended up in Hell, they’d be tortured until they were turned into a demon themselves, then things still wouldn’t be the same.  If a human went to Heaven, then they would be inaccessible to you and, chances are, you’d both continue to exist in perpetual misery. You’re seriously going to tell me that this isn’t easier?”

Crowley glared at her. “No.”  He takes a drink.  “How the Hell would I explain this to other demon’s Rosa? Oh, sorry, Rosangel.”

“Rosangel is a name from long ago and one I’d much rather forget.”  Rosa said quietly.  “As for the question, you tell them that you have an angel on your side that won’t hesitate to smite any bastard that so much comes near their king.”

For a moment, it looked like this would work, that Crowley would see reason, but he shakes his head. “Rosa, as much as that is tempting, I cannot see it working.”

She tips her chin up. “You said you love me Crowley, no matter what, just as I am the same with you.  Being an angel doesn’t, and hasn’t, changed that.”

“It has for me,” He said quietly, his expression blank.  “So get out before I make you.”

Rosa stands, not breaking eye contact, fury and hurt bubbling just under the surface.  “Fine.  Be like that. Go back to your misery, maybe wallow in it for a while.  If you come back then I may forgive you, but only if you ask nicely.”

With the sound of wings, she vanished, leaving Crowley staring at where she’d been, his hand shaking. He knew it was the right thing, if anyone had found out that an angel and demon were together, breaking whatever silent agreement was between the two, they’d be hunted until they were killed.

No, this was definitely better for the both of them.  He swallowed. So why didn’t he feel any better about it?

 Rosa was now a regular traveller with Castiel, much to Crowley’s annoyance, and it was hard to send any comment her way with Castiel glaring at him, not that it stopped Crowley, but it would’ve been nicer if he wasn’t so suspicious.

Rosa, for her part, actually remained civil, much to Crowley’s surprise, and although it wasn’t the same as what they once had, Crowley at least thought that maybe they could keep working together.

Then, Lucifer re-entered the picture.

Crowley was less than pleased, even more so when he found out that Rosa had had to go on the run, every demon at Lucifer’s command ordered to hunt her down, to the ends of the earth if necessary.  The only thing that gave Crowley hope, was that he knew that she was resourceful, not to mention, she knew about a few of his own little hideaway’s, having trusted her enough to tell her.

But he still couldn’t have expected what happened.

Lucifer had him at the end of the line, had been torturing him non-stop and Crowley knew that the end was coming and that, no matter what he’d thought of, had no way out of it.

This was going to be it.

And Lucifer was laughing at him.

Any moment now, Lucifer would deliver that final blow and there’d be nothing that Crowley could do about it.

So he accepted it. Watched Lucifer and expected every blow to be his last.

Then the room filled with light and Lucifer was blasted away from him.  A pair of hands make quick work of the chains and soon healed him as he blinked, Rosa looking terrified, but she still smiled.

“Hope I’m not too late.” She said, getting him to his feet.

“Better late than never love, trust me.”  Crowley grunts, holding her as he steadied himself.

“You would rather,” They both looked up as Lucifer got back to his feet.  “Pick a demon over your own brother?”

“Putting it kindly, yes.” Rosa stood in front of Crowley.  “At least my demon knows where he stands and isn’t constantly vying for daddy’s attention.”

Lucifer’s eyes shifted red as he growled.  “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this Rosangel, you’ve been a very naughty angel that’s been a thorn in my side for too long.”

Rosa held an angel blade tightly in her hand.  “I enjoy being a thorn, means I can ward off all the arsehole’s that come my way.”

Run.

Crowley stared at the back of Rosa, frozen to the spot.

Crowley, go.

He was torn more than he had ever been, pain almost gripping his chest as he fought to both survive and to make sure that she was going to survive too.

Please.

Lucifer moved fast, but Rosa had been training, she’d been ready, getting out of her brother’s reach and swiping in with the blade, which hurt him, but would never be enough to kill him.

She meets Crowley’s eye for just a moment.

Love, go.

Crowley blinked, having just enough time to see Lucifer move again before he vanished, appearing in the bunker, Sam, Dean and Castiel jumping at his arrival, even though he had little idea how he got here himself.

He felt it, felt the blade, felt the life go, and if wasn’t for the fact that he was numb, he would’ve crumbled.  Instead, despite questions being thrown his way, Crowley moved to their whiskey cabinet, grabbing a glass and pouring a generous amount.

For a long time, he was silent, everything seeming to take it’s time as it sunk in, even though he didn’t want to believe it.  The connection, that momentary connection they shared, had lasted just long enough for him to know, and now he was left with nothing.

Castiel was the first one to break through his thoughts.  “Rosa is gone isn’t she?”

Crowley looked up, his expression pained, but he lets nothing else show as he nods.

He doesn’t care for Sam and Dean suddenly talking again, nor Castiel offering words of condolence, instead he sits and drinks.

Things eventually seemed to come back into focus and he managed to help the Winchester’s and Castiel with whatever they were doing, his mind set on his own task when they mentioned getting Lucifer back to the cage.

He couldn’t get off that easily.  He wouldn’t let him get off that easily.

One day, after they were close to Lucifer and things were calm, Castiel asked Crowley about Rosa, but Crowley said he was fine, there was nothing else to it and the angel had more important things to worry about than the feelings of a demon, which he assured were non existent.

Castiel’s look said he knew better, but Crowley didn’t care.

Hell eventually reclaimed, Lucifer right where he wanted him to be, Crowley found himself alone in the throne room, staring at his throne, drink in hand.

It was a long moment before he felt the wetness on his cheeks, causing him to wipe the tears away and look at it on the back of his hand, his expression turning to one of disgust. The problem was, was that the tears then wouldn’t stop, no matter how many times he wiped them away, his hands shaking with anger, the glass shattering against the wall as he very openly started to weep, the doors to the throne room slamming shut so that no one could walk in on him like this.

For the briefest of moments, Crowley thought that a gentle hand had rested on his shoulder, only to find it empty when he reached for it, making him screw his face up, still trying to get a handle on all the emotion, the thing that he was meant to have kicked but knew that he never had.

He kept going back to that moment, to those few seconds that they had shared something beyond a physical bond, something that had left him so shaken he was no longer sure what he was doing in the world, that connection saying more than what their words together ever would.

“My demon,” and “Love, go.” Would play over and over again in his head, torturing him, making it all feel like a broken record.

Crowley had no idea how long he wept for, how long he stood or simply just broke things to try and get rid of it, the emotion, but as soon as he heard the whistling from the room next door, his eyes burned red.

There was only one reason why Rosa was gone, and that bastard was now in the next room, whistling, like nothing was wrong.  Crowley straightened, breathing hard, not letting his eyes shift back as he stormed towards the room.

Lucifer was not going to get out of this easily and Crowley was going to make sure that every demon in Hell heard what he was going to do to him.  He was going to ensure that that angel knew who the rightful King of Hell was, and that he, or his love, should never have been messed with.

[amoristt]

Source of the Ocean | Tony Stark

note: putting ‘tony x daughter!reader’ felt very... Wrong since the fic is ENTIRELY platonic so I didn’t put it in the title lmao

Anonymous Asked: hiii! i'd like to request a tony/kid!reader where she's been having a hard time dealing with depression, and she turns to drinking despite being young and tony catches her :) if there's a way you can have a happy ending that would be awesome, but angst is just fine too. no problemo! i’ve been wanting to write about tony for a while not, even if it is angst :3 

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warnings: underage drinking

Source of the Ocean

Down in his lab like a mad scientist, Tony rushed from either side of his table while reading a fairly complicated strip of blueprints. The small robot he was building vibrated in front of him as it was brought to life by makeshift wires, and instead of wrapping the cords with electrical tape he stepped back and sighed. It had been hours since he started working on the item, and though the design seemed simple enough it was hard to put together. Much harder than he’d originally thought it would be.

It was just a little bot that you’d come up with one day and gave Tony the prints, asking him if they looked alright, and he gave you the ‘okay’ but you never did anything with him. Building isn’t nearly as fun as planning, you’d told him. He didn’t understand your logic whatsoever but kept your prints, and now here he was years later trying to assemble the contraption you’d thought up. However, something was lacking, and it was driving him absolutely insane that he couldn't figure out what. Being the talented mechanic he was, he figured he could fill in any and all blanks and maybe even upgrade your ideas a bit, but nope. Something was not working right and now it was a personal matter- he needed to know what.

With one idea after the next, each and every one literally blew up in his face in short plumes of smoke and burnt metal. He was hoping with the wires he’d put together it would work, and it seemed almost too good to be true when the bot started humming to life. However, it actually was too good to be true, since the moment he reached out to try and nudge it, the wires sparked and that familiar burning smell returned all over again.

That was it.

“Friday?” He called without looking up from his fizzing contraption. The item popped for a second and he flinched away, lifting his arm up to protect his eyes from the sparks. More annoyed than worried, he frowned and huffed.

Friday’s voice came from seemingly nowhere. “Yes, sir?”

Tony bit at this thumbnail for a moment before putting on one rubber glove, scooting the failed robot a little farther down the table away from his bare arms. “Can you call down ___?” He tossed the glove on the desk and sighed. Resting on the table a few feet away was a half empty bottle of whiskey that looked pretty tempting right about now.

“I’m afraid ___ is unavailable at this time, sir.”

He physically looked up at the ceiling in confusion, eyebrows furrowing. “Unavailable? It’s barely 7.” There’s no way she’d be sleeping at this time, especially as of late. If anything she had a problem of sleeping too little, and it was something Tony often (hypocritically) found himself scolding her for. He guessed he couldn’t blame her, however. She’d been going through a lot lately.

“She is asleep.”

Tony bit at his cheek. He wanted to let her sleep even if it destroyed with little sleeping schedule she had, but he needed to talk to her. For a moment or two he tossed ideas around in his head, but another pop of metal in front of him brought him from his concerns and reminded him of his bone to pick.

“Wake her up, then. She can go to bed after she helps me figure this monster out.”

“___ appears to be…” Friday paused, hauntingly human-like. “Intoxicated.”

It took him almost a full 10 seconds to register what he’d just heard. Surely ___, of all people, would not be passed out drunk right now. She was underage, first of all, and she was always giving him a rough time for his previous alcoholism. Sure, he wasn’t entirely off the drink now, but he was sure as hell doing better than he was before. When he came to terms with Friday’s words, he still couldn’t stop himself for asking for clarification. He prayed he’d misheard.

“Excuse me?” He asked, his slowly building aggression coming out in his words, “She’s what?”

“Intoxicated, sir.”

He leaned forward, staring down blankly at your blueprints but not actually reading them. His hands balled into fists. He didn’t mishear. An anger he hadn’t felt for a long time started to rise in his chest, right into his throat, and he cleared it before standing straight up and wiping some of the grease off his hands and onto his black sweats.

“Alrighty then,” He mumbled monotonously, rubbing at his mouth. “Lock up after me.”

“Yes, sir.”

He didn’t say a thing more as he opened the door of his lap and let it practically slam behind him. There was an arsenal of words racing in his head, all the things he would say to you when he came in and saw you drunk on your bed, giggling without a damn care in the world. Firstly, he was going to rip into you for stealing alcohol and getting messed up on it, secondly, he was going to out for being hypocritical, and thirdly, he was going to ground your ass for weeks to come. But, mostly, he was just upset over how you’d done this entirely under his nose. Hopefully this wasn’t the start of your rebellious teenage years.

The elevator was a snail’s pace and he was fast in bounding down the narrow hallways of his own tower, the tower he let you live in peacefully, the tower he put his blood and soul into. Luckily there was no one wandering around in his path, and if there were they wouldn’t say a word anyways. Tony’s tight lipped, hard featured and evident frown were enough to ward off any ‘hello’s or questions. He knew he should be presentable in his work environment but damn it, he was angry.

Quicker than he’d anticipated, he was face to face with your bedroom door in mere seconds. For some reason he almost expected it to open up the minute he’d arrived, you sheepish and expecting on the other side, but nothing happened. He stood there without a sound for what must have been a long minute or two. Then, he knocked. Once, twice. No answer.

“___?” He called, trying to make his voice sound as even as possible. From beyond the door there was some kind of response, but it was so slurred and garbled he didn’t make out even a syllable. His lips pulled down, jaw set, and that anger was back and better than ever. “___, open the door.” When the door didn’t open, and only silence remained, he sighed in frustration. “Friday, unlock.”

With a metallic click your bedroom door unlocked and Tony shoved it open, ready to tear into you with everything that he had.

“So is this what you do in your spare time now? Steal alcohol and get wasted like some sort of-”

The sight before him was not what he’d expected.

You were not on your bed, covered in a mesh of blankets and giggling with drunk stupidity. You were also not sitting at your desk, half passed out with an empty bottle sitting nearby. Instead, you were on the floor. Leaning against the wall right next to your bed, you sat with your head tucked dismally down and your arms loosely resting on your knees. In one hand was a damn bottle, mostly empty and tipped over, some of its remaining contents dripping out and marking the floor in front of you.

Tony stood there staring at you, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t predicted this at all. He’d imaged an argument, you being a rebellious teen and him being the mean father, but what he got instead was a sinking feeling in his gut and you, his fucking kid, drunk and depressed sitting on your bedroom floor. The room felt thick and smelled like a mix between whiskey and misery, and he absolutely fucking hated that he knew that atmosphere all too well.

All that anger that had been building up during his short trip here was gone in seconds flat, all those crude words and ‘gotcha’s drained along with the color in his face. It hurt him that you didn’t even respond to his words, not moving an inch. He vaguely wondered if you didn’t hear him somehow, and then realized that was probably for the best. Suddenly he felt like an asshole. Here he was, ready to ground you and scold you for being reckless and entirely stupid, and you were suffering alone in your room. His throat ran dry. His firsts clenched and unclenched.

With everything going on, he should have seen this happening. But, he didn’t.

Remembering all that time he spent working on a doomed project was like being punched in the gut. He was perpetually wasting his time instead of focusing you, and because of that you were obviously in a horrible place. A place that he, as a father, should give his all to keep you far, far away from.

“___?” Tony didn’t move from his spot, his voice much softer than it had been moments ago. Like before you remained silent, but this time there was no anger to be felt from it. That dreadful weight only doubled when he shuffled closer and knelt down in front of you. Carefully, his fingers tugged the bottle from your slack grip, and then you finally looked up at him. Your expression was a horrid one.

You were stuck in some sort of limbo, it seemed. Your eyes were detached and glossy, your expression tired yet numb. Tony could see so much pain but knowing there was nothing in that moment he could do to take it away was awful. This wasn’t some sort of robotic problem. He couldn’t fix you, or rebuild you. You weren’t coding.

Tony swallowed, a lump hard like a rock in his throat. He didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t something he could do. It become suddenly aware to him that this was likely how everyone perceived him during his darkest hours, except with him it was so much worse because he became manic and destructive whereas you seemed to just become… Nothing.

Tentatively he set the bottle down beside him before he reached out to touch at your arm, then he recoiled before he could and let his arm fall in front of him. He didn’t know what to do. Should he leave you be? Part of it him wanted to. He always came back from things like this… you’d be better in the morning, and you wouldn’t remember a thing and he could pretend to not know a thing and everything would be fine. But, he couldn’t. He couldn’t run from this, from you. Even silent and not entirely there, you needed his help. When he started to make another attempt at reaching out you didn’t react at all.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice unsteady. He cleared his throat again. “Come on, let’s get you up.”

This time he took hold of your wrists, standing so that he could pull you up with him. You’d drank a lot evidently, and because of that you pretty much relied on Tony entirely to keep up on your feet. Your knees wobbled weakly and you groaned in discomfort as he moved you, mumbling ‘I know’s at every sound.

“What’re you doin’?” You slurred, though you didn’t try to fight him at all.

“I’m helping you into bed since you drank an entire bottle of my favorite whiskey without telling me.”

“Why’should I tell you?”

He frowned but continued trying to drag you onto your bed. “I don’t know, maybe because it’s dangerous?.”

“You do’it all th’ time.”

Tony actually froze for a second after hearing you. His jaw tightened again, and that little rock nestled at his throat turned into a boulder that he couldn’t swallow down. He’d made an impression on you, and the not the good kind.

“You’re not me.” He whispered, moving again. You didn’t answer but you did groan pitifully when he let you fall roughly onto your mattress, then lifted your legs up on top of it as well. Still fully clothed, he lifted your blanket from the floor (you always were on the messier side) and covered your form to the best of his ability. You didn’t look comfy at all.

You watched him from narrowed, unfocused eyes. “What’s goin’ on?” You managed, though it was difficult for him to make out at first.

“Nothing,” Tony wiped at his mouth and sighed. “Just-... Get some rest. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Even though it was likely you hadn’t heard a single word he said, you still nodded and hummed a ‘mhm’ before allowing yourself to pretty much pass out in your spot. Tony backed away from the side of your bed, his eyes stinging with tears, but he just rubbed them away and coughed out that tremble in his lower lip. Fathers were supposed to raise their kids right, were supposed to make them feel confident and enough to take on the world. They weren’t supposed to teach them to drink away their sorrows.

“Damn it.” Tony breathed to himself. He told himself years ago he would be better than this. He would be a better father than his own father ever was. This didn’t feel like much of an improvement.

He stood in your room for a few minutes longer just thinking, as well as trying to compose himself. The mostly empty bottle sitting on your floor looked like it was laughing at him, and he wanted to break it. He made a quick movement to pick it up the just the feeling of holding the bottle in his hands made him feel sick. Before leaving your room he took one last look at you, fast asleep on your bed, and then he was gone. Of all the scenarios that could have played out, this was by far the worst. He would have rather argued with you than seen you with such a broken and empty expression.

Tony moved much, much slower on his way back down to his laboratory. He took the stairs instead of the elevator. He tossed your bottle into a garbage in a random office looking room that he passed, thankful that there wasn’t anyone around to see him. Most of the workers were in their own rooms since the day was winding to a close and paperwork was a bitch.

When he made it back into his lab, the glass doors opening and locking behind him, he stood in the center of the room with a racing yet muddy mind. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to go to bed early. He wanted to wake up tomorrow morning and smile at you, ask you how you slept, and he wouldn’t say a damn thing when you’d shrug and say ‘fine’. At that moment, he never wanted you to see him drink again. He wanted to get rid of every last bottle of alcohol he owned. Just up and destroy them all if it meant you never even had a sip of it when you were feeling low and looking for some sort of escape.

The bottle that still sat on his desk made his stomach churn and he physically turned away from it, instead staring at the lifeless and finally quiet robot he’d been working on earlier. He’d spent so much time on it, time that he should have been spending on you, and it was all for nothing.

Tomorrow morning would be better.

Tomorrow morning he would make you breakfast, a special breakfast that he knew helped hangovers. He’d give you painkillers and tell you drink as much water as you can, and when you’d ask him what for he’d just say ‘because’. There’d be this unspoken understanding where you’d know he knows, but neither of you would say anything. Or maybe it would be one-sided. Maybe you wouldn’t remember anything and you’d just think you’re coming down with something. That sounded... Better.

Normally after breakfast he’d go back into his lab and you’d go off and do whatever it is you were feeling, but not tomorrow. He’d take you to get ice cream or something, like a father does. He’d ask you about your life and what’s been going on lately because he knows you’ve been upset but since he’s an idiot he never asks what. He wasn’t good at dealing with emotions rather it be his or his own, and especially not someone so close to him. He asks you, ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ and you’d tell him no and that would be that.

Letting himself fall back against his chair, it scooted back a few inches before he leaned and stared at his ceiling. Everything was unimaginably calm but he didn’t feel content whatsoever. He felt sick and ashamed. He never imagined you would catch on to his to his ugly habit which was stupid considering how ‘open’ he was about it, and how often you told him it was bad for him.

The thought of you sitting alone in your room, drinking because your father drinks when he’s sad so why can’t you, was hard and cold and left him reaching up to cover his mouth briefly.

Despite not having done much of anything, Tony found himself exhausted. He didn’t want to get up from his spot, not having the motivation or the energy to bring himself back to his feet. It was only 7 pm, but he shut his eyes and let his hands fall to his lap.

“Friday.” He said, and she answered accordingly. “Are there any appointments that need my attention today?”

“As of right now, no, sir.”

“Awesome.” His voice was monotone and tired, and so sad. He nestled against the chair, a mellowness replacing that once fire hot anger. Originally he’d planned to do so much before the end of the night, and he was considering even staying up all night again, but going back to working on that stupid robot after everything would've felt like pulling teeth. So, instead, he mumbled ‘lights off’ and welcomed the quiet that made his ears ring.

Tomorrow would be better, he told himself. Tomorrow would be a better day no matter what.

[sannael]

Best boyfriend of the year -Gruvia one-shot

AN: Well, it’s that week of the month and I wanted to write a fluffy one-shot where Gray would comfort Juvia while having her period. Hope this turned out alright! :)

PMS is that week of the month that every woman goes through her personal hell. That situation made no exception for a specific, bluenette, water mage, Juvia Lockser. She wanted nothing more than to be part of the celebration being held in the guild for Master’s birthday that night. One cannot simply dance and have fun, though, when waves of sharp pain hit her every few minutes, completely immobilizing her.

But what pained her more was the fact that she couldn’t be with her beloved Gray-sama. She still couldn’t believe the fact that they have been together for more than a year now. It took him a lot of courage, and alcohol, to grow some balls and finally ask her out. But when he did, it was the happiest moment in Juvia’s life. And the most awkward in Gray’s nonetheless.

He had been away for a three-day mission with team Natsu but they came back just in time for the celebration. When he called to ask her what time to pick her up, she did her best to control her feelings and not have a breakdown on the phone. He didn’t have to miss the event due to a petty reason and if he knew she was in pain he would most certainly skip it and come over. She told him to have a great time and try not to fight with Natsu-san or Gajeel-kun in this joyous occasion. Promising to see him tomorrow she hang up the phone and wallowed in misery.

She was curled up in a ball on her bed, swinging ever so slightly back and forth to ease the pain and she failed to notice that a raven haired, ice mage had entered her apartment with the spare key she had given him. Only when she felt two strong arms pulling her in a tight, warm hug, she understood that she wasn’t alone.

For a brief moment, her whole body stayed rigid and she panicked a little, but she immediately dismissed the uneasiness. She would recognize that smell everywhere. It belonged to her Gray-sama after all. Meanwhile, he hid his head in the crook of her neck and planted a few kisses there before finally releasing her.

She felt the bed moving and the next thing she knew, he put some bangs behind her ear and dried her tears with his thumb while cupping her cheek with so much care, that she could melt into a puddle right then and there. Just his presence was enough to activate the colorful butterflies in her stomach and soothe her pain. 

He was now lying beside her, resting his head on one hand while the other drew circles on her back. “Groaning in pain and crying while shrinking on the bed is not the definition of being alright, ya know?” He gave her a pointed look and moved on. “I don’t like to see you like that and I certainly disfavor you lying to me.”

She felt her heart swelling with love towards his concern and gave him a small, apologetic smile. “Juvia didn’t want to ruin your night Gray-sama, you needed to have a ball after the mission and what would be better than that? Besides, Juvia could handle herself in here; it’s nothing new to her.” No way in hell could anyone get used to this but what he didn’t know wouldn’t harm him. “Now, go back before you miss all the fu-AARGHH.” She stopped mid-sentence as a sharp pain interrupted her, ruining her act. When she looked up at him, he seemed like he was holding back his laughter as he fixed his gaze upon her with one eyebrow raised.

“I can see how well you can handle yourself in here, alright. Perhaps I should go back and have fun all night with the others and turn a blind eye to my girlfriend who looks over the top worn out. ‘Best boyfriend of the year’ award bestowed to Gray Fullbastard.” He rolled his eyes and stood up from the bed after he gave her a quick peck on the lips.

The bluenette was about to protest but she knew that she would be preaching to deaf ears if she tried to convince him to leave. So, she just gave up and waited to see what he was up to. She didn’t know whether the noises coming out from the kitchen was a good or a bad sign. Her question didn’t have to wait for long to be answered, though.

Gray entered the room carrying a tray with two plates, napkins, a pitcher with water and what seemed to be a box of painkillers and… tampons? Lots of them? He left it on the bedside table and disappeared once again into the kitchen only to come back shortly after, holding a box of pizza and another big, square box from a bakery. The bluenette looked at him in disbelief, forgetting her pain for a while.

“Since it’s a party night I thought we could party hard here on our own, don’t you think?” He proceeded to take his clothes off, leaving only his boxers and the room felt much hotter all of a sudden. She didn’t know for how long she’d been staring at him until she heard him chuckle, “Well, that would be quite entertaining, trust me, but I guess we have to wait a couple of days.”

Her cheeks grew hotter and she looked away, embarrassed of her own thoughts. “Gray-sama, stop it!” He smirked at her and she almost rolled her eyes at his cockiness. “And what are all these things?” She gestured her hand towards the tray’s direction.

“You can’t have a party without the right supplies. So, these,” he picked up the small box “are painkillers, I assumed you would need them and apparently I was right. Take one after we eat. These uhmm,” he scratched the back of his head and blushed lightly as he passed her the tampons “well, to be honest, I have no idea about these things or which brand you use, so I just picked one box of each. I would have never hovered around that isle if it wasn’t for you. Had to explain to those women that they were for my girlfriend. Heh, kept spouting how lucky you are to have me, ya hear? Treasure me.” He picked up the pizza box next and the big one and put them on the bed in front of her. “If I know a thing or two about PMS-ing women is that you crave for sweets, so I bought this chocolate cake,” he said while opening the top, “Erza said that bakery had the most delicious strawberry cakes she had ever tasted. And one does not simply underestimate Erza about those things. And then I figured out I was hungry and so would be you, so I got this extra-cheesy pepperoni pizza. God, that smells good.”

As he turned around to take the plates and the napkins, he abruptly stopped when he was hugged from behind. The sudden moisture on his back and the perpetual sobbing meant only one thing; his ridiculously cute girlfriend was overwhelmed with emotions and she would most probably flood the entire place if he didn’t calm her down at once. Carefully turning so he can face her without breaking the hug, he put his index finger under her chin and made her look at him. Even in her comfy purple butterfly pajamas, her woolen warm socks, her messy blue locks, her puffy eyes and her red crying face, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes upon. And his. He dove to give her a soft, sweet kiss on the lips and she tightened her arms around him.

Blame it on PMS but if that awfully sweet, understanding, caring man wasn’t the cutest boyfriend ever existed on earth, Juvia wouldn’t know who was. Honestly, who would have thought that the cool, inexpressive, macho ice mage, Gray Fullbuster would volunteer to buy tampons and painkillers for his girlfriend without being asked to? “H-has Juvia ever told you how much in love she is with you Gray-sama? Has she? Because you are the bestest boyfriend she could ever ask for.”

She was openly crying then and Gray looked down at the girl in his arms with such adoration, kissing the top of her head. “I think you have said so a couple of times. And just for today, your awesome boyfriend will give you the green card to watch one of those mawkish, romantic movies you girls like to watch. I will back up just for tonight, kay? And make it fast because I’ve been drooling over that pizza the moment I stepped inside the restaurant.”

It would be pointless to say how she fell in love with him even more, she was afraid her heart would explode any minute now from all the feelings. She quickly put her favorite movie, ‘The Notebook’, in the DVD player and went back to bed where Gray was already waiting.

She hardly ate two slices of pizza, the chocolate cake seemed to be more fitting with her mood at the time. She had been crying since the first minutes, eliciting some sarcastic comments from him but she paid him no mind.

When the movie ended, Gray took the empty boxes and the dirty plates back to the kitchen. Juvia volunteered to help but he had none of it. She was already lying on her side, the waterfall coming out from her eyes had stopped, thank god, and the painkillers he brought seemed to also be working; no more war cries escaped her mouth.

He made himself comfortable in the empty space next to her and scooped her closer to him. “Better?” He looked down at her and was met with a pair of glistening blue orbs and a wide smile that couldn’t help but return. “I guess you are.”

She just held his cheeks and gave him a long, sweet kiss that made his heart skip a beat. “Juvia thinks she is hallucinating. Still, can’t believe you did all these things for her.”

He snorted at her and caressed her side. He couldn’t blame her. If anyone told him that there will be a time that he would be buying tampons for his girlfriend, he would laugh at their face. But here he was. “Well, considering how many times you had to drag my sorry ass back home after a drunken night or look after me when I got sick, including the displeasing events that followed, that was nothing.”

She giggled and remembered all the times he had mentioned. “You looked like a little kid Gray-sama. It was adorable.”

He felt a wave of heat emerging on his face and he frowned. “Shut up. I’m not adorable.” He held her close to him and kissed her to stop her laughter. “Party’s over, go to sleep.”

The girl rested her head on his chest and sighed. Right before she dropped off, she mumbled in a frail voice “Juvia loves you Gray-sama”.

Every time she would say those three words, something inside him would snap. He dealt with his feelings a long time ago, thanks to her, and was now learning to voice them. So saying those three words back in a whisper only for her to hear, may be baby steps, but it was a good start at least. “I love you too, Juvia.”

[philipronans]

something tangerines (1/7)

tfw you have a cute oneshot idea and then it runs away from you and becomes Too Big to post at once (and to finish at all apparently) this is a lot of words put together in an order i hope makes sense?? 

part two

2003 . He hears music playing through static-y speakers long before he actually gets anywhere near the school gates. The guitar riff is light and airy, and familiar in a way that James hates. It’s enough to make him start dragging his feet against the rough tarmac of the pavement, pointedly ignoring the tutting noise his mother makes at him. He hadn’t wanted to go to the stupid disco in the first place. He’d been to enough of them in his nine years of life to know that they are always rubbish. But his mother had given him one of her looks; the kind that says “you’re going, even if I have to drag you by the ear”, and that had been that. So now here he is. Sweating in the polyester shirt he’d been forced into, having been sentenced to the worst fate imaginable: watching a bunch of white kids “dance” whilst on a sugar high. The sun is beginning to set, sinking down towards the horizon, and leaving the sky stained pink and orange in its wake. The colours blend and wrap around each other, curling off in a way that reminds him of the water after he cleans his paint brushes.

The houses around them are a recent development, built the same time as the shiny new school building they’re heading towards, and the bricks are so red they’re almost blinding. They stretch up to meet the clouds, they’re so tall, and they thankfully block enough sunlight to keep his face relatively cool. It’s a small kindness, in an afternoon of miseries. His mother stands at his side, as if to stop him from trying to do a runner. Where he’d go, seeing as she locked the back door behind them, still has the key, and all his friends are here, he doesn’t know. He can hear the jingle of the keys in her hand, the noise taunting him with every step. He pauses when they reach the school gate. It’s not even a conscious choice, his feet just refuse to move past the last threshold between freedom and a few hours of bad music, the unholy smell of hairspray, and the unavoidable contamination of too much body glitter. There are kids already whizzing around the small courtyard, chasing each other across the concrete, their excited cries reaching out to greet him. A hand lands on his shoulder, and urges him forward with a gentle nudge. He takes a reluctant step, and before he knows it he’s past the gate and on the playground. He turns to give his mum a betrayed look, but she only smiles in response. “At least try and have a good time, please.” She says, stroking her hand through his hair and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “As if.” He grumbles, rubbing at his hair with a frown. Her smile turns wistful, and then she’s gone, leaving James to his own devices. There’s not really much choice now that he’s here, and he heads further into the courtyard. A few of the other kids call out to him as he passes, and he waves back at them halfheartedly.   “Good evening, James.” A voice calls out, and he lifts his head to see Mrs Fenwick leaning against the gym door. Her hands are tucked behind her back, but one lifts to fuss with the silver chain of her necklace as he approaches. She smiles at him, bright and wide, and James feels his face heat up.   “Yeah, hi.” James mutters. He ducks around her, head lowered so he doesn’t have to meet her eye as he enters the gym. There’s nothing special about the inside of the gym. In fact, it looks virtually the same as it does every other day of the year, Hallowe’en and Christmas being the only real exceptions. The only difference he can see is that there’s a dodgy looking smoke machine on one corner of the stage, thankfully turned off for the moment, and a disco ball that is unfortunately not. It’s too early in his evening to deal with the small congregation of kids getting excited over the whirring of the disco ball as it slowly spins in place. Instead he heads for the open hatch of the kitchen. The dinner ladies are absent, Filch in their place. He looks as happy to be there as James feels, his permanent scowl even more prominent as he thrusts small plastic cups into the hands of expectant children. James joins the queue, if only to see Filch’s scowl deepen when he spots him. “Lemonade, please.” He says pleasantly when he reaches the front. Filch narrows his eyes to the point that they’re in danger of disappearing behind his eyebrows. “Anything else?” Filch demands, rubbing a hand under his nose as if James’ mere presence is enough to make him itch. James considers causing trouble. It would be so easy to push Filch over the perpetual knife edge he lives on. But something about the tension in his face makes James pause, and a few seconds later he shakes his head. “No, thanks.” He mutters, stepping back so he’s out of the way, plastic cup gripped tightly in his hand. Benches line two of the walls, the ones usually reserved for Year Six during assemblies, and James heads over to them. He takes a sip of his lemonade, eyes scanning the crowd of children just inside the door he’d come through. He’s so focused in fact, watching with barely concealed interest Zeke Johnson and Anton Mulciber start jostling with each other, that he doesn’t notice someone’s sat next to him until she coughs. “Sorry.” She says when she’s stopped laughing at the fact he visibly jumped. He turns to look at her, wiping the last few dregs of lemonade off his chin, with a scowl. Lily Evans has always shone. It’s nothing new, and James had accepted it as a fact of life at the age of five when he’d first strolled onto the playground and seen her. It’s no different now; she shines so big and brightly, James isn’t sure how people can focus on anything else. His mum had asked him what he meant once, when he’d mentioned it (like an idiot), and when he’d tried to explain, it had been… difficult. It’s not something tangible – there is no one solid reason for this belief. It’s not physical either; her teeth are slightly crooked, she thinks crooked partings are cool, and she is too tall. No, it’s something about her as a person. It’s mostly, he thinks as she snorts behind a clenched fist, the fact she can be friends with anyone and everyone. “You make a habit of sneaking up on people?” He asks, before the filter between brain and mouth can stop him. “I wasn’t sneaking.” She says easily, stretching her pale legs out in front of her. Her dress is pink, so pale in places it’s almost white, and it falls around her knees in an inelegant bunch of fabric. “You looked unhappy.” James frowns, and fiddles with his glasses so he doesn’t have to look at her. “‘m fine.” “Sure.” There’s no derision in her voice, and that more than anything is what annoys him. She sounds so completely sincere that he feels his hackles rise. Lily Evans might be the world’s best friend, but James isn’t. Friends aren’t his strong suit, they never have been, regardless of effort or desire. “What do you want, anyway?” It comes out waspish, biting and angry and frustrated, but if Lily notices she doesn’t show it. If anything, her smile gets bigger. It’s confusing. Lily’s confusing. The question of why she’s still here is on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite make himself say it. “Nothing. You just looked… lonely.” Lily says, swinging her legs and playing with the silver bracelet around her wrist. James doesn’t know what to say to that. Doesn’t know how to explain that he’s always been more comfortable on the outside, that being alone doesn’t mean being lonely, that talking to her is making his palms sweat and his heart race. “We’re friends, right?” Lily asks suddenly. Her legs stop, feet thudding onto the floor as she shifts to look at him. He wouldn’t call them that exactly. They’ve been in the same class since Reception, sure, and they always invite each other to birthday parties, and they go trick-or-treating together every year. But they’re not… okay, maybe they are. “Yeah, I guess.” “You guess?” Lily pouts for a second, before shrugging. Her smile returns and she reaches over to grab James by the hand. “Friends don’t let friends feel sad.” She pulls, tipping them both off the bench so they’re standing on the edge of the dancefloor, hands clasped tightly between them. “What?” James says, a little dumbly. “Friends also,” Lily says, tugging at his hand until he follows her, and to his mounting horror she’s leading him to the dancefloor, “dance together.” “No they don’t.” James says, trying to untangle himself before the next song starts. The universe is apparently conspiring against him, however, as all that happens is Lily pulling him closer until she can wrap skinny arms around his waist and dig her chin into his shoulder. James sighs, knocks his forehead against Lily’s, and wraps an arm around her neck. It’s a little awkward; they’re essentially hugging because there’s not much actual dancing going on. Still, James realises, as they stand there, he isn’t desperate to go home anymore.

[chaosmagetwin]

Henry Caernech

Part 1: http://chaosmagetwin.tumblr.com/post/160992849275/henry-caernech

Henry walked up the stairs out of the post the basement of the ‘post office’. As he reached the top of the stairs, he shoved his hand into his satchel and shuffled his hand around for a few seconds. A moment later, he pulled out a spirit’s core, one significantly larger than the tiny geist’s he had pulled out. This one was the size of a pebble, and glowed dimly. A fight with a ghost had produced this.

He held it up to the door, then pressed it into slot that appeared. “District four,” He spoke carefully. Saying something wrong wouldn’t take him anywhere, but it would use up his core. He watched as the core disappeared into the door and began to glow more brightly before dissipating. The door swung open, and he stepped through.

Maggie stood on a dilapidated wooden bench a few feet away, glaring at a flickering lightbulb. They were under an overpass, the sound of cars overhead, while the sun shone bright light nearly ten feet away. He looked back at the door behind him as it shut; it looked like the sort of door a homeless person would put up for shelter. He turned to look back at Maggie, and sighed. Still standing on the bench.

“What are you doing, Maggie?” She jumped and glared at Henry, then hopped down from the bench. She was nearly as tall as he was, maybe a few inches shorter. Even with her now lessened vantage point, she still looked intimidating. It seemed the older a spirit hunter got, the more intimidating they were. It didn’t help she was muscularly built, had a thick brow, serious blue eyes, and a perpetual frown. A set of claw scars ran across her face horizontally didn’t help either.

“I thought the bulb might be infested with gremlins. It’s just faulty. I’ll be letting you do most of the fighting. I’m just here as a precaution. One of the guardians got me in the leg this morning, and it’s still healing. Go.” She waved a hand at him to get moving.

“You know, I can handle this myself. If something weird happens, I can just get out of there. You know how fast I am.” She shrugged, obviously not caring. “Okay, then.”

The warehouse district, also called District Four by the spirit hunters, wasn’t exactly the sort of place one would wander alone, usually... at least, for normal people. Crime, gangs, and drunks were common here. Even more common were the more deadly geists who fed on unsavory emotions. He knew of at least two spirits who also wandered the area, but they were... capricious, at best. At worst, they were deadly, even for experienced hunters, and the only reason they hadn’t hunted them down yet was because the spirits were also unusually crafty. Still, they had their good moments, and they also had favorites. Henry was one of them, as was Maddie, which was likely why the two of them were sent.

If a nest of Geists was growing, that meant that crime had gone up. Perhaps a local cop died, or a gang leader made a few more enemies, or maybe a bribe got the precinct to look away for a moment. It was hard to say without actually being apart of the grape vine, and hunters didn’t have time to socialize. If they let the nests grow, the problem would feed itself, as the geists would begin to force humans to have more negative emotions, so they could have a more stable food source. This, in turn, would create more geists. A never ending loop that ended only in suffering. Entire cities had been lost that way, and civil wars had been started for it. Still, geists wouldn’t show up unless there was a cause. Humans were still the root of their own problems.

Henry contemplated all this as he walked through the various alleys and underpasses; a nest would grow in the darker places. A simple abatement spell kept humans at the edge of his vision, always turning around corners as he did, avoiding him without even knowing why. Their minds would create some false bit of curiosity, or some excuse for why they did what they did. Sometimes it even lead to conflict, as rival gangs wandered into each other, or a drunk stumbled into gambling den. An imperfect spell, but neccessary to do what he did; after all, people would question why a college student was swinging around a polearm in the warehouse district if he didn’t use it.

Maddie walked behind him, limping and staring at various little things. The necklace holding the spirit stones swung wildly as she came to sudden stops, or swung to look at something. She was always an odd one. Once she told him that she took pictures for scrap booking. Once she told him that she see’s spirits that not even spirit hunters see. Once she told him that she dances to no music. He had the feeling that she was just messing with him. Or that she was day drunk and a fast liar. Hard to tell, really. 

As he turned around a corner, he finally spotted it; a writhing mass of rotting flesh and bandages the size of a semi truck hung from an overpass, connected only by thin strings of sinew. A swarm of tiny geists littered the ground, milling about aimlessly. Six were the size of dogs. One, though, one was as large as a car. The seven largest turned to look at him, their lamprey mouths drooling, sharp teeth glistening in the sunlight. “Hunh. A stage four. Havn’t seen one of those in a few years.” Maddie’s voice was strangely calm, and he looked at her with a grimace. “All yours, kid. Good luck. I’ll handle anything trying to get away.”

“...Thanks.” He pulled his lucerne hammer off of his back and spun it a little, getting a feel for the weight, watching as the geists charged forward. Intelligent enough to speak, but not to form tactics. At least, the six stage two’s were that way. The stage four was hanging back, watching. Though he hadn’t heard her move, he knew Maggie was already gone.

He swung his hammer as the first leapt at him and caught it in the neck, its momentum carrying it to his side, its chest facing up; there, a spirit stone sat, brightly glowing red. The stone, he mused, was about the size of a pencil’s eraser. It was as bright as a lightbulb, though.

He backstepped as the second swung a claw at his leg, trying to knock him to the ground. A backswing from his hammer caught the spike in the creatures side. The third didn’t wait and suddenly his left arm was engulfed by the maw. He let go of the hammer and raised his hand to its face and concentrated for a half second. For a moment, it was as though th world was black and white as light emanated from his hand and the geist grunted in pain, quickly letting go of his arm, its own bandaged hands going to its face. The other three hesitated as he picked up his hammer once more, unburdened and unhurt.

Most geists weren’t smart. They knew what a human was, and what a hunter was. They knew that hunters were harder, but they didn’t understand the why; that armor was protecting the hunter from their bites. They probably couldn’t have hurt him unless they all piled onto him at the same time, but they didn’t know that either. As they struggled to figure out how to hurt an enemy they couldn’t hurt, Henry charged forward, yanking his hammer free from the second, and now dead, geist. They scrambled backwards, but the hammer didn’t miss the fourth geist, connecting solidly with what functioned as its head, knocking it to the side. He kicked the fifth as it tried to leap on him, putting it on the ground. The sixth scrambled away, and he watched as a beam of light burned through its head. Maggie.

He looked over at the Seventh as he shoved the shaft of the polearm into the trapped fifth geist’s head. It gave off the feeling of amusement as it watched him, as if it knew it would simply create more. Geists moved from one stage to another in simple ways. The first was created by human misery and negative emotions. After feeding on a single human for a month, they would grow to become a stage two. Then, they latched onto a human’s chest, creating depression, or making someone who had it worse. It would feel like an anchor had been tied to them, weighing them down. Once that person commit suicide or homicide, the geist would become a stage three, which Henry was thankful he didn’t see any here. A stage four was only possible after surviving ten years, constantly feeding on negative emotions and creating a miasma of misery. A single stage three could make a neighborhood extremely dangerous for the average human. A stage four only served a single purpose; creating stage ones without the need of human interaction, and forcefully evolving them to stage two. Stage fours could bring down a city.

“How did we miss a stage three for this long?” He called to Maggie. The creature responded, in a whispery, thin, and aged voice.

“I hid, hunter, feeding when I could, killing when I could. I was smarter. Now I am stronger, too.” It charged forward, and he sighed, setting the lucerne hammer against it, the razor sharp tip ready. Suddenly, he was pushed forward as something rammed into his back. The third, he remembered. He hadn’t actually killed it. Just blinded.

He yelled as the seventh’s mouth suckered over his entire upper half. Unlike the previous ones, it’s teeth were actually crunching his armor. He squirmed and got his arm free before feeling around the things mouth quickly. There! He grabbed the tooth and pushed until something cracked. The thing roared with him still in it’s mouth, but that was fine. He shoved the sharp tooth into the roof of the geists mouth, and a moment later, he was free. He coughed, expelling liquid he hadn’t known he had been breathing. The smaller one charged at him, but this tie, he was ready, quickly shoving the tooth through it’s single visible eye, then leapt backwards, dodging the swipe from the larger geist.

He looked around, and grimaced. The hammer was beneath his enemy. He wasn’t getting that back, and he had expended he tooth on the smaller geist. A mistake. “Next time, I’ll bring a dagger too.” He muttered, spitting onto the ground, a foul taste in his mouth. He glared at the geist. It was smart enough to know he wasn’t leaving until one of them were dead. It was also smart enough to know to stand between him and his weapon. If he went in again, it would eat him like it had before, only this time, he wouldn’t be getting out. Technically speaking, Maggie could save him, but he didn’t want or need saving.

Besides. He wanted the thing’s core. It was the size of his fist. The largest he’d ever seen. That’d power more than a few enchantments for the hunters, and possibly allow them to expand.

“Without your weapon, Hunter, you are useless! You can’t hurt me!” It’s withering voice gave out a soft laugh. Henry shook his head and smiled for a moment. The geist noticed immediately, and went quiet.

“I don’t need my weapon to kill you,” He said simply. It’s single eye went wide as it dawned on the geist that his gauntleted fists would do the job just fine.