#this was all actually an elaborate lead in for a joke but um I thought about it and was like ‘wait I actually do have opinions about this’

[right-there-ride-on]

Sbr is only mildly morally ambiguous and that’s okay

okay so the title is misleading 🫣 this is just a short examination of Johnny v Valentine (and Johnny & Valentine) with a little analysis of the confrontation.

for me valentine’s defining character trait isn’t his patriotism but that’s he’s a massive fucking liar. excellent writing for a politician. the only promise he ever kept was the one he made to lucy not to harm steven. and even then valentine is also super vindictive, so even though he didn’t kill him he made sure to torture him a little. Valentine is not at all the magnanimous man he presents himself to be and the constant discrepancy between his words and his actions proves that. when he’s trying to trick johnny into ending the rotation he hits all correct appeals but johnny knows in his gut that this man is a liar.

sometimes ppl act like sbr proposes a huge moral quandary about valentine’s intentions and whether he was the one “walking the righteous path” all along. but there’s really not. that’s Johnny’s internal battle. Since nick’s death johnny believed himself to be a curse / burden / bad person, but through the race he undergoes several trials that end in self-improvement and learning to have grace with himself. by the end of the narrative Johnny has evolved into someone who does have the strength of character and integrity necessary to judge the actions of someone else, whether he believes it or not, and regardless of whether he feels the right to. So yes, johnny was right to kill valentine. there’s no ifs or buts about it. the true brutality and cruelty of Valentine’s ideal world was very clearly portrayed in the way D4C Love Train functions. the corpse appeared to ‘choose’ Valentine by granting him Love Train, but at the same time it was also healing Johnny. if we look at the corpse through the lens of it primarily being a tool used to achieve the collector’s desires, we see that it empowered both Valentine and Johnny and indirectly or not set them on a collision course with each other. Perhaps there was a question of who was ‘righteous’ for the corpse itself, but the narrative itself tells us over and over again that it’s Johnny.

look at it this way. Johnny, who for most of his life believed he was spiritually and later physically damaged beyond hope, was empowered through the corpse and ended the narrative with a new chance at life. Valentine, who desired a world where not just America would prosper, but where he would be the head of said prospering state, and embody the power behind it, was granted the ability to achieve that world. Yet during their confrontation, the callous cruelty and negative consequences of Valentine’s vision is made apparent over and over again. First with Lucy, then with the innocents killed ‘somewhere else’, and lastly with Gyro and Johnny. Valentine’s actions always betray the truth of his intentions; once he proposed the deal, should Johnny have accepted, he intended to backstab Johnny and kill him the moment he got what he wanted. If he had truly been the ‘righteous one’, he would have kept his word and left Johnny alone once the rotation was reversed. But leaving Johnny alive would have meant he was no longer the most powerful man in the room, and that idea is something Valentine can’t stand.

Valentine is not a good person with good intentions. He claims to care about America, yet throughout the story discards his men and citizens like bugs (consider the train engineer). His actions continually demonstrate the reality: Valentine is power-hungry, petty, vindictive, ruthless, and above all else, a manipulative liar.

Valentine’s patriotism is the motivation behind his actions, but his brutality and deceptiveness defines those actions and is evident in everything he does. The implicit reason Alt!Diego failed was because he believed Valentine. By the end of the story there shouldn’t be a question on whether Valentine or Johnny was in the right. Valentine was the villain and he needed to be defeated. His ‘righteous’ world was, unequivocally, wrong.

[m0llygunn]

Eddie's Notes (eddie munson x fem!reader one-shot)

summary: Eddie's a friend you trust... you trust him enough to have your first time with him... and your second.

tropes: virgin!eddie, virgin!reader, friends to lovers, bad at sex eddie but eager to learn (eventually) warnings: 18+! mature language, pet names (baby, pretty/sweet girl), smut, p in v sex, mentions of reader's period, oral (f receiving), virginity loss a/n: a lot of people write eddie as being good in bed (myself included) but I thought it'd be fun to dive into a realm of him being not good (but he is a cutey little dedicated sweetheart once he gets his act together). reblogs and comments are appreciated profusely <3 wc: 10.4k+

“Do you want to do something else?” You ask over the top of Eddie's copy of The Hobbit. 

“Not really anything else to do.” Eddie replies, from the other end of his bed, only sparing you a short glance before going back to his guitar. 

You’ve been thinking about it for a while and you trust Eddie, you really do. 

Saving yourself for marriage is not in the question. Saving yourself for the love of your life doesn’t seem probable. So someone you trust is the best case scenario. And you really trust Eddie. 

The best part is you’re pretty sure it’ll be an even playing field with Eddie. In his crude nature, with sex jokes and innuendos, it was hard to decide whether or not he has but you’re almost certain he hasn’t. 

Almost certain. 

“Are you a virgin?” You ask, words spilling from your lips before you can stop them. 

“What?” He laughs. You shrug before realizing that maybe that question is outside of your realm of friendship. Maybe what you actually want to ask him is eons outside of your friendship. 

Sure, you’ve been friends with him for a few years now but you’re not the best of friends. Good enough friends to hang out a couple times a month doing nothing beyond enjoying each other's company, but it’s not like you’re best best friends. 

“If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine. I guess that was super weird for me to ask, sorry.” You say, going back to hiding your face in his book. 

“No— no, not weird at all.” He says with a nervous chuckle. 

You give him a moment to answer the question but he doesn’t. When you peek out from behind the book again, his gaze is fixed forward, stuck in a trance of thought.

“Sorry.” You say again.

“No— don’t be.” He shakes his head, blinking away whatever he was thinking. “I’m um, uh— not really?” He says, adding an inflection to his statement like he’s asking you.

“Not really?” You ask, looking for clarification but he just shrugs. You assume the conversation is done but as soon as you go back to the book, he speaks again. 

“I… have done stuff. You know, a little rub and tug from the hideout’s finest,” He says, making a crude pumping motion with his fist over his guitar covered crotch. “but… to elaborate, uh— no actual penetration, I guess.”

“Penetration?” You say, laughing softly at his choice of words. 

“Yeah… never put it in?” He says again like he’s asking you if it’s an okay answer. 

“Fair enough.” You smile, nodding your head. 

The both of you sit in silence, Eddie shifting uncomfortably in his spot. You expected him to counter ask your question, but he just sits there, fingers drumming on the body of his guitar.

“Why did you ask me that?” He asks with a genuine curiosity, finally breaking the silence. 

“You don’t want to know if I’m a virgin?” You ask, purposefully ignoring his question. 

“Are you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows rise, hiding beneath his bangs before he comically relaxes himself, putting on an image of indifference. “Oh… me too.” He says coolly.

“So I’ve heard.” You reply, rolling your lips inwards to try and hold back your laugh. You twist in the bed, putting the book down on the floor.

“Why are we talking about this?” He asks quietly, following your lead and setting his guitar down on the bed beside him. 

“Do you… want to…” You ask, trailing off, shrugging your shoulders.

“Want to…?” He asks, sitting up straighter. 

“You know?” You say, raising your eyebrows hoping he says it so you don’t have to. Faux indifference thrown to the wind, his own eyebrows rise once again, eyes going wide in disbelief. 

The silence goes unperturbed until his mouth pulls into a flatline before dropping agape, his eyes narrowing in on you. 

“I think you’re gonna have to spell this one out for me, cause I think I know what you mean, but I am not gonna look like an idiot if I’m thinking something entirely different than what you’re thinking.” He rambles, hands working overtime twisting his rings mindlessly. 

“Do you not want to?” You ask, your eyes flitting to his nervous habits on full display. 

“No I do!” He says a little too loudly, cheeks going red in embarrassment. “But… clarify please cause I really don’t want to be reading this wrong.” He says, flattening his palms on his legs, as he clocks that you’ve noticed his fidgeting. 

“Do you want to have sex with me?” You ask as plain as can be. All of Eddie's fidgeting stops immediately. He freezes, his eyes going wide, and you feel your own nerves pick up.

It takes a moment but when he comes back alive, his eyes finding yours. “You’re not joking right?” He asks, his gaze penetrating so deeply it almost becomes too much.

“I’m not joking.”

“Uh— then… yes.” He says calmly.

“Try not to sound so enthusiastic.” You laugh nervously, feeling uncomfortable in the thick tension of the room.

“Shit— I’m sorry. I’m just— it took me by surprise. But I do! Really do, seriously!”

“Okay then.” You smile, feeling your nerves relax. “Do you want to… now?”

He nods his head vigorously before pausing with a look of defeat. “Shit, yeah I do but Wayne was supposed to be helping a friend fix up their car. He might be home in a few hours.”

“A few hours? Is it… is it gonna take that long?” You laugh.

“Probably not.” He says, cheeks flushing dark red. He starts wringing his hands again, his nervous habits becoming more and more prominent by the second.

“Eddie, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, you can tell me if you don’t want to. I won’t be upset, I swear.” You say, sitting up straighter to look at him. 

“No— no god no. I mean yes— I do. I want to. I just— fuck, I didn’t think we’d be doing this today.” He says, eyes flickering over the room before meeting you with a sheepish smile. 

“Should I take my clothes off?” You ask, toying at the hem of your shirt. 

“Oh shit— yeah. Yeah, and I’ll take mine off?” He asks, grabbing at the hem of his own shirt. 

“Yeah. I think so.” You smile, pulling your shirt off. 

“I’m just gonna— yeah, just gonna move this first.” He says, picking up his guitar and pushing himself up off the bed. When he turns from hanging it up, he stops, eyes flickering over your shirtless body. Trying not to lose your nerve, you quickly unclasp your bra, pulling it down your arms, and dropping it off the side of the bed. Eddie’s unwavering eye contact with your chest makes your skin heat, playing on your nerves, especially since he's stood in the middle of his room not saying anything.

“Eddie.” You say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Right.” He mumbles, jumping into action, pulling his own shirt over his head. He moves quickly to unbutton and unzip his pants and with a deep breath, you shimmy out of your own, pushing them off the edge of the bed. 

“Underwear too?” He asks, still standing in the middle of his room.

“I guess.” You laugh.

“Right. Stupid question.” He says, shaking his head. You watch as his hands go to his boxers and within a blink he’s pushing them down until they pool around his feet, his hard length becoming your main focus as it bobs against his lower belly. You take in the sight of him, still standing in the middle of his room, naked. Your eyes linger on his erection until his hands cover it. 

“Sorry.” You mumble shyly, shifting on the bed to tug down your own underwear. 

“Don’t be sorry.” He says, clearing his throat. 

“Are you going to come over here or…” You ask, dropping your underwear to land in the pile of your other discarded clothes. 

“Yeah.” He says, swallowing harshly. He steps to the edge of the bed, about to climb on until he stops. “Condom, uh— gimme a minute.” He says, eyes darting around the room. “I have one somewhere, just…” He mumbles as he bounds for his desk.

With his back turned, you let your eyes rake over him. He’s cute, very cute. His nerves are endearing; however, Eddie’s always been brash, you didn’t expect him to be so jittery. In a weird way, you like it, because it’s distracting you from a lot of your own nerves. You trust him, entirely. You’ve never not trusted him.

He opens drawer after drawer scrambling through his belongings until proudly holding up the little silver square.

“Right, good.” You say, trying to sound casual. 

“Are you okay, like, do you need anything?” He asks, stumbling his way back to the bed over his messy floor. 

“No, I’m good. Just need you, I guess.” You say, motioning down to his crotch, cringing at yourself for saying it like that. 

“Right. I’ll… put this on then.” He replies. He settles on the bed beside you, pausing before tearing open the condom package. He pauses again.

“Do you need me to… help?” You offer, hoping you don’t sound as dumb as you think you do.

“Uh, I’m good. I think, just— slide it on there.” Eddie says, rambling as he fumbles with the condom. “Just like… that. There. Okay.” He coaches himself, turning his upper body towards you when it’s finally on.

“Do you wanna…?” You ask, motioning for him to get on top of you. 

“Yeah, sure, yeah.” He rambles, pushing himself up. You spread your thighs for him, his hips fitting between your bent knees. His movements are awkward, which you also didn’t expect from Eddie. Normally, he’s clumsy but he’s very forthcoming, very sure of himself. You're used to the way he thrashes through life, kind of like a bull in a china shop, but right now he’s tiptoeing, treading very lightly.

“Should I put my arms here?” He asks leaning forward so a hand rests on the bed next to your head.

“However you’re comfortable.” You say softly, trying to coax some of his nervousness away.

“Let me… just… figure this out.” He rambles again, adjusting his body first with both hands caging you in, then switching back to just one, before leaning back and resting on his knees.

It takes you a minute, but you clue in that every adjustment is centered around the least physical contact between the two of you. “You can touch me, Eddie.” You say, hoping he’ll ease into the moment.

“Right. Yeah of course.” He says, shaking his head. He tentatively lets his hands find your bent knees. His touch is feather light, obviously unsure.

“Should I just…” He asks, looking down between where your bodies almost meet. His eyes linger between your thighs, hands gripping harder on your knees, and it makes your belly flip. A good flip, more like a flutter. You like how his eyes become darker, and his mouth slightly drops. It’s cute. He’s cute. 

“I’m ready when you are.” You exhale, trying not to laugh as his eyes glaze over in a dazed look, still focused between your legs.

“I’m ready, so if you’re ready.” He replies mindlessly, still not looking up. 

“Eddie, you can put it in.” You laugh softly. His eyes finally flicker to you, catching your smile, and he mirrors it as best as he can, albeit with a blush of pink across his cheeks for being caught staring so long. 

“Right… I’ll do that.” He replies. He takes his length in his hand, running his fist up and down once. It’s a casual action, practiced, and you get a glimpse of what Eddie’s really like without the jumbled nerves. 

He leans in the slightest bit and you feel the tip of his head prod at your slit, sliding down slowly. He works himself down, parting your slit until he’s resting just at your opening. You think he might start pushing in, but he pauses, keeping himself entirely still. 

“Uh— sorry but, this is the hole right?” He asks, cheeks flaring red.

You don’t blame him, there is a lot going on down there and you know he just wants to be sure. He's being careful, asking questions when he’s unsure, he doesn’t want to hurt you, but it still makes your face turn the tiniest bit hotter because of the intimacy you’re not used to. 

“That’s the one.” You say awkwardly, moving your own hand down to your center to help guide him. 

Before you can even wrap your hand around him, he interrupts you, making you draw your hand back. 

“Wait do we— I don’t have lube or anything.” He says, eyes flitting to yours. 

“Maybe… spit? That’s what other people use, right?” You offer with a shrug.

“Yeah… I’ll just…” He says before dribbling over you. Missing completely, his glob of spit lands on your lower stomach making you laugh. He looks embarrassed at first, but as he watches you laugh, his lips slowly break into a smile before he eases into his own laughter. 

“Why are we being so awkward? We’re friends, this is fine, right?” You say, exhaling, trying to compose yourself from your laughter.

“Yeah, we’re friends… having sex.” He says with a heavy exhale.

“I’m still me and you’re still you, we don’t need to be nervous.” You say, looking into Eddie’s eyes. He nods, taking another deep breath and letting it out and you can feel some of his nerves leave him. He nods again and you smile at him. 

“I’m still me, you’re still you.” Eddie echoes. He takes a final deep breath before looking at you, returning a flash of a smile. 

You spit in your hand, bringing it to your core, getting yourself wet. You motion for Eddie to come closer and when he does, you wrap your fingers around him enough to line him up with your entrance. 

“Okay, so just push in. But slow please.” You guide. 

“Slow, got it.” He replies, hips beginning to move towards you.

He takes your words to heart, pushing in extremely slow. So slowly, you aren’t even sure if he’s moving, apart from the noises he’s trying to hold back— and there’s a lot of them, which must mean he’s getting something from this. 

You move your hand to his hip, pulling him towards you and he moves a little faster at your guidance. You start to feel a pinch, then it turns into a stretch. He continues pushing in slowly, the stretch turning to a very mild burn.

“Are you almost in?” You ask, squeezing your eyes closed.

“Almost, like another inch, maybe?” He says, hand squeezing your knee.

“Okay— good.” You breathe.

“Are you okay?” He asks, movements stilling.

“Just stings, but keep going.” You say, trying to unclench the muscles you keep tensing by accident. He complies, pushing into you slowly again.

His hips finally press flush against yours and Eddie stills. Looking up at him, you see his mouth working back and forth, eyes glancing over your body like he’s trying not to look too hard or too long at any particular spot. You’re about to tell him that he can touch you again but his mouth opens, sucking in a breath like he’s about to say something. 

“You’re really warm. Like… inside.” He says. His voice sounds strangled but you can tell he’s trying to come across as casual. You can’t help but laugh.

This is what you wanted. It’s easy. You feel comfortable enough to laugh. You trust Eddie and despite his nerves, he’s doing a good job. 

With your hand on his hip, you keep him still, giving yourself time to adjust, and he complies, taking deep breaths that you subconsciously align your own breathing to. 

When the sting relaxes into a dull ache, you take a final deep breath before relaxing your grip on Eddie.

“Okay, you can move, Eddie.” You say, pushing against his hip. He looks up at you long enough to nod, before moving his eyes back down to your center.

He pulls out slowly, just a touch faster than he pushed in and it’s such a foreign feeling to you. It’s on the cusp of being something you might enjoy… but not quite there. 

When he pushes back in, it’s a little quicker and you get the same almost pleasure feeling. 

“Fuck.” Eddie groans, hands squeezing harshly on your knees.

“It’s okay?” You ask. The tone of his voice catches you off guard. You’ve never heard Eddie sound like that before.

“Y-yeah. You’re really tight.” He says in that same tone. It’s deep, it’s raspy, and he sounds out of breath. It’s hot. Your stomach twirls, and you watch his face as it contorts in pleasure, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth and his brows pinched harshly together. 

He looks like he’s really enjoying it, but… apart from seeing him like this, you aren’t.

You shift your hips, trying to find any ounce of pleasure but if anything, it just feels like he’s prodding at you. Not uncomfortable but definitely not pleasurable.

“Eddie, does this… feel good for you?” You ask tentatively. You know the answer, you can tell by the way his breathing has turned into little pants but you figure there must be something you’re missing. You can’t help but feel a pinch of jealousy that it feels that good for him. 

“Fuck. Yeah, feels really good.” He groans, his thrusts slowly picking up in pace. 

You lay still, watching Eddie thrust in and out of you. The image of him, face contorted in pleasure, and all the breathy little gasps spilling from him makes a hint of heat pool in your lower stomach, but this isn’t at all like you thought how sex would feel. 

Maybe your next question comes out a little mean, but his radiating pleasure taunts you. It’s juvenile, but you can’t help but think how it’s not fair.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me if it feels good?” You watch as Eddie’s mouth drops open even further, his chest rising and falling harshly. His eyes squeeze shut and you aren’t even sure if he heard you. 

“I’m gonna cum— shit. I’m sorry. I can’t- f-fuck.” He groans, his thrust becoming uneven, stuttering against you. 

“Oh.” You say quietly. His thrusts are short and shallow until his movement still, cock pulsing inside you. 

And just like that, it’s over. 

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie groans, his hold on your knees becoming almost bruising. You feel a little more heat pool in your core seeing Eddie come undone but at this point, you know it’s over.

You continue laying still, watching Eddie’s face slowly unwind, eyes fluttering open. He pulls out, moving his way to lay back beside you on the bed, his breathing still harsh and ragged.

You watch as his head hits the pillow, eyes closing as he sucks in a deep breath, exhaling it harshly. His eyes open again, meeting your gaze. 

“That was— holy shit.” He says breathily.

“Yeah?” You ask, trying not to sound disappointed because that most definitely was not ‘holy shit’ to you. Quite frankly… that was just shit. You’re not upset, not in the slightest, just jealous. Envious that it was so easy for him and not you. It’s irrational, and you know you shouldn’t be mad at him, but it doesn’t stop the bud of spite inside of you. 

“Did that— sorry. Was that good for you?” He asks, head tilting towards you. 

“No.” You say flatly. Your eyes go wide at your answer because you most definitely didn’t mean to say that, it just slipped without thinking. 

And as you watch his face fall, every ounce of jealousy, envy, spite, anything you were feeling just seconds ago leaves you entirely, being replaced with regret for that one little word. You shouldn’t have said that. 

Eddie was nervous. He was shy. He was tentative. Gentle. Careful. Respectful. 

It was endearing. You found him cute. 

You wanted it to be with Eddie because you trust him. He did everything you wanted. 

It was his first time too.

“Oh” He says, eyes going round with disappointment. 

“No! I mean it was fine. You did good Eddie, we’re no longer virgins!” You say excitedly, trying to fix your slip of the tongue. You smile but his face falls flat. You feel your heart pang as he deflates in front of you. 

“Yeah… I’m sorry. Maybe— uh… I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He says quietly, hand raising to his face, rubbing aggressively over his mouth and chin. You can tell he’s not buying your cover up and you genuinely feel bad.

“Don’t worry about it, Eddie. It was just the first time. I'm sure it’ll get better?” You say, trying to fix the sad look in his eyes but it only gets worse.

“That bad, huh?” He asks, and his demeanor breaks your heart. You should have kept your mouth shut.

“Don’t feel bad!” You say, sitting up to get a better look at him.

“Fuck— I’m so sorry.” He huffs, hand going back to rubbing over his jaw.

“No, don’t be sorry! It can only go up from here, right!” You try your best to fix your mistake but it’s not working. 

“It was that bad.” He groans, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Eddie, please don’t feel bad.” You say, moving to be able to fully look at him. “I wanted to lose my virginity to you because I trust you, Eddie. And it was perfect in that sense. You didn’t hurt me at all, and I really, really don’t want you to feel bad.” You say genuinely. You let your hand rest on his arm, trying to pull his hands away from his face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He says again, palms pressing harder into his eyes despite you trying to pull them away.

“Eddie. I’m so serious. I wanted it to be with you for a reason. Please, please, don’t feel bad.” You try a final time.

He stays, hands covering his face for a while and you don’t know what else you could say to make it better so instead, you opt for getting dressed. Even when you shift on the bed, he doesn’t move.

It only takes a few minutes for you to be fully dressed. He laid still the whole time, hands pressed to his eyes, and you’re convinced he fell asleep.

“Maybe I should go?” You whisper quietly. His hands fly away from his face, eyes widening. His gaze takes you in, realizing that you’re fully dressed and he sits up quickly.

“You don’t have to.” He rushes out, his wide eyed gaze meeting yours.

“I probably should, right? It’s getting late.”

“Right…” He agrees sitting up. “I can drive you, if you want?”

“It’s nice out, I can walk.” You offer.

“I'll drive you, just give me a minute.” He replies, brushing off your comment.

“Sure.” You say politely, grabbing your bag from the floor.

You wait for him in the living room and it’s only a few minutes before he’s fully dressed. Wordlessly, you both go outside, and get in the van.

After a silent ride, he parks in front of your house.

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I feel like I ruined your first time.” You say.

“Shit. You have nothing to feel sorry about. I’m the only one who should be sorry.” He says, huffing an almost laugh.

“Don’t be sorry. Eddie, I told you already. I trust you and because of that it was a great first time.” 

Eddie shrugs, not accepting your sentiment. 

“I’ll see you?” You ask quietly.

“Yeah, see you.” He nods.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

It's been just over a week since you and Eddie slept together. A week of radio silence. Sure, it’s not like you two hung out everyday before, but you thought that, maybe, that might be different after you slept together. But nope. 

You waited a while to call, trying to give him space since that night didn't exactly end as you hoped. While you waited, you hoped he would call, but he didn’t. 

Eventually, you ended up calling, but you got his uncle, who said Eddie’s been busy the last few days and he hasn’t seen him much. Later that night, Eddie called, but your mom answered since you were staying at a friend's house. You called again yesterday, Eddie wasn’t home. You had expected him to call that night but he didn’t. And you’ve been thinking about it all day since it’s summer vacation, your parents aren’t home, and you just have a lot of time.

When there's a knock at the door you fully expected it to be a salesman or jehovah witness, but you were surprised to see Eddie. You didn't even have a chance to speak before his hand was on the door, pushing it open as wide as it could go.

“I want to try again.” He says, a slight breathiness to his voice as if he just rushed his way over here.

“What?” You ask confusedly.

“I want to try again.” He says a little louder before shrinking a little. “If you’ll let me, I mean. Only if it’s okay with you.”

“You… want to try again?” You ask, finally clueing in to what he’s talking about.

“Yeah. I feel fucking bad that I came—” He stops himself, turning around, looking to the street. “Can I explain inside?” He says, wincing slightly. 

You usher him inside, spotting your neighbor on their porch and you pray to god they didn’t hear Eddie and if they did, they remain oblivious to what he was getting at. 

As soon as the door is shut, Eddie’s speaking again.

“I meant to start with an apology.” He says, voice softer and less breathless.

“Eddie, I really don’t want to hear you apologize again. It was fine.”

“It wasn’t.” He states, raising his brows. He relaxes into sincerity, meeting your gaze. “I want to apologize for what happened after.” He says, pausing for any objections from you. You let him continue. “You were being really nice about it and I… I was being selfish. You already didn’t enjoy yourself, and then I made it your job to make me feel better about it. That was really shitty of me.” 

“I felt bad, you know. It was your first time too.” You shrug.

“But you shouldn’t have had to coddle me like that. It wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.” He says softly. You can tell he’s genuinely sorry for it and you really do appreciate it. You nod, and he rolls his lips inwards, nodding back. 

“Thank you.” You say. He nods again.

The room stills, the both of you in silence. You can tell Eddie wants to keep talking. 

“So… outside you were saying?” You lead, prompting him. He catches your eye, smiling appreciatively for you being the one to break the silence.

“I was saying outside that I feel terrible that I came so quickly and it wasn’t good for you and I want to try again.. if you’ll let me.” He blunders out. 

You raise your brows. This is more like the Eddie you know. Straight forward, to the point. 

“I um— I don’t know what to say.” You laugh softly. You do feel a hint of apprehension. You’ve already accepted that the sex was bad but the part that really got you was what happened after. Not his sulking, but after you left. The not talking part. That was the last thing you wanted to come from this.

Despite your feelings, you can’t help but light up a bit at Eddie’s enthusiasm. His eyes are wild with it. 

“You don’t have to say yes. But I did a fuck ton of research and look—” he says pulling out a folded piece of lined paper from his back pocket, starting to uncrumple it. “I took notes and everything. I want to do it right, so if you’ll let me…”

“You took… notes?” You ask amusedly. He holds the paper out to you and you cautiously take it.

“Yeah. I’m dedicated to this. I told you, I feel fucking terrible. I should have listened more, asked you questions, done so many things differently. So I just— I don’t know.” He says shrugging, hands wringing themselves.

You glance down at the paper to see his scribbled writing covering every inch of the paper. Your eyes gravitate to a very technical diagram of a vagina that he drew out. 

“I don’t want to look at this.” You laugh, shoving the paper back to Eddie. 

“Shit, sorry.” He laughs nervously. He goes pink in the face. Not exactly out of nerves like before, but more so flustered. It’s cute.

You can’t help but bite. 

“So… what exactly did research entail?” You ask, holding back your smile.

“I went to the library first. Looked at some books there. Read some magazines… asked a few people.”

“People?” You question worriedly.

“No— no don’t worry! I didn’t tell them it was you or anything. It was mostly just books and magazines that I read, I swear. I just wanted to make sure some things were actually true.”

“And… you really want to do this?” You ask. You're intrigued and his effort is very endearing. You did say that it could only get better…

“Yes! But only if you’re comfortable with it. Doing it once was generous— so if you say no, I understand.”

“Generous?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Like, that was a cool thing to do, you know?” He shrugs, cheeks flaring. 

“Cool?” You laugh again.

“Yeah.” He replies, cracking a smile.

Your eyes gravitate to the sheet of paper in his hand. You don’t really have anything to lose, right? You’ve done it before and if he really is dedicated to this like he says he is… might as well give it a shot?

“Yes.” You say firmly, your mind made up.

“Yes?”

“Let's try again.” You exhale.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t do any research but… if you’re okay with that, my answer’s yes.” 

Eddie perks up, eyes becoming filled with excitement. He looks at his sheet of notes for a moment before his gaze finds yours again. 

“Do you have a calendar?” He asks plainly. 

“A calendar, Eddie? What?” You ask, feeling confused all over again.

“I just… yeah. Just like a regular calendar.” He shrugs.

“In my room.” You lead him upstairs, pulling the calendar down from your wall and handing it over.

“Okay, thank you. And when was your last period?” He asks, laying the calendar down flat on your desk, fingers drumming over the dates.

“My last period, Eddie, what the fuck?” You laugh.

“No, seriously. If you’re ovulating it’s supposed to be better, so last period was…?” He says, fingers gliding over the calendar.

“Like two— three-ish weeks ago?” You say, pointing at the general days on the calendar. 

“Okay, okay. Just gimme a minute.” He says, flattening his notes down on the surface next to the calendar. “Alright, so if this was the first day of your period, then you should be ovulating? Or almost ovulating?” He says, fingers sliding along the weeks, counting quietly under his breath. 

“Eddie, it sounds like you’re trying to get me pregnant.” You laugh nervously.

“No! No, I swear to god, no! I just- I read that it’s supposed to feel better for you during that week, so, like, now would be a really good time for me to… you know, try to make you feel good.” He says, eyes going wide as he turns towards you, looking the slightest bit mortified.

“Oh…” you respond, brows raised as you try not to laugh in his face. It’s endearing it really is, but… this boy is so odd. “Alright then.” You nod, your lips tugging into a smile. 

“Yeah. So I can check that off.” He says, grabbing a pencil from your desk and physically checking off one of his notes. “So next, is foreplay.”

“Foreplay?” You parrot, laughing in disbelief.

“Yeah. I think that’s where I really fucked up last time. I mean, I didn’t even kiss you, for christ sake. And I didn’t touch you at all before, so yeah. Foreplay.” He says, exhaling harshly.

“You want to kiss me?” You ask nervously. Your heart picks up as your gaze flickers to his lips.

“I mean, yeah.” He says, going shy. “But I didn’t know if you would have wanted me to cause we’re not… you know, together.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“You could have kissed me.” You smile at him, your stomach going fluttery at the thought. 

“Really?” He asks in disbelief. 

“Yeah.” You affirm, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Cool.” He nods slowly, smiling.

“So.. are you going to?” You ask, sheepishly. He meets your gaze, eyes slowly lowering to your lips. He nods his head, stepping closer to you.

When your eyes flutter closed, you feel his lips press against yours, soft as a feather.

He pulls away and you almost think it’s over until he pulls you back in, hands on your waist, bringing you closer to him. His lips meet yours again and it’s entirely different from the first. His lips work against yours and it leaves you dazed, struggling to keep up with the unexpected, but it’s perfect.

His hands still on your waist, he guides you to lean against your desk, his body pulled flush to yours. His hands rub up and down your sides slowly, adding to your fluttery dizziness. 

The kiss deepens, his tongue licking along your lower lip and you part your mouth. He’s gentle with you, tongue imploringly licking into your mouth, almost as if he’s testingly seeing what you like best. It gives you butterflies, something you’ve tried to not dwell on getting from Eddie in the past.

His hand trails up your waist, taking purchase on your jaw, guiding your mouth against his until his kisses slow, his lips meeting the edge of your mouth before trailing down the side of your face.

You swallow harshly before speaking. “That was really good.” You say, clearing your voice. You practically feel Eddie’s lips turn up in a smile against your jaw.

“Yeah?” He asks breathily against your skin. 

“Yeah. I think your research is working so far.” You say, squeezing your eyes shut as his kisses trail down your neck. 

You open your eyes when the kisses stop and you feel him pull away. 

“Yeah?” He asks excitedly, making eye contact with you. His gaze is a combination of shock, disbelief, and amusement and it’s adorable. It pulls on all of your heart strings at once.

The attentiveness, effort, the everything from right now mixes with everything from before. Gentle, careful, respectful, you trust him. You trust him and you think he’s cute, endearing, adorable, and you want him.

“Keep going.” You say, your own voice going breathy.

“Right.” He mumbles, face pressing against your neck again. 

You bring your hand to the back of his head, fingers entwining in his hair. As soon as you do, you feel a nip of teeth that makes you gasp. He cleverly soothes the area with his tongue after, making a whimper rise in your throat that surprises you when it falls from your lips.

“Eddie, who’d you get that from?” You whisper curiously, voice sounding pathetically whimpery. 

“Dunno, s’just something I picked up.” He replies, pulling away enough for his breath to fan over your damp skin, giving you shivers. 

He nips again, chasing it with a harsh suck that makes your head spin. You can’t help but feel like he’s showing off now but you don’t care, you let him. He has you at a place where you’re his for the bending, malleable in his hands. 

“W-what’s next on your list?” You stutter through his kisses.

“Not done with this yet.” He says, voice gravelly and low. You nod your head, not bothering to try to speak again.

His kisses work lower and lower until they meet the neckline of your shirt. You feel his fingers on your hip playing with the hem of your shirt, tugging and lifting it just enough to get your attention. You nod again, wanting it off.

“Eddie.” You whine, pushing your chest against his when he doesn’t do it right away.

He pulls away from you again, and when he looks at you, he looks surprised. 

“What?” You question, feeling embarrassed.

“N-no! Nothing, that was just.. really hot. Wasn’t expecting that s’all.” He stutters, both hands now on your waist, rubbing up and down.

You feel your face burn, feeling shy all of a sudden. You know he picks it up because his eyes focus on you, pausing everything.

“D’you want me to keep going?” He asks, and you nod your head.

“Want you to take my shirt off.” You whisper.

“Yeah?” He laughs.

“Eddie.” You whine, feeling embarrassed at how much he’s affecting you.

“C’mon let’s get your shirt off, pretty girl.” He coos and you feel your stomach flutter. His hands lower to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and you raise your arms cooperatively. 

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask just as the shirt pulls over your head.

“Hell yeah. I think you’re beautiful.” He says, stopping to look into your eyes as he says it. You lower your gaze, fixing it on your shirt in Eddie’s hands.

“Which is another thing I fucked up last time, by the way.” He adds, dipping his face to meet your gaze.

“Hm?” You hum, head spinning too fast to keep up.

“Last time. I didn’t tell you how fucking beautiful you are.” He says. His eyes flutter over your face, hand moving to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to, so I didn’t. But believe me, I thought about it.” He says, dipping his face down to press a chaste kiss to your shoulder. 

“Eddie.” You reply not knowing what else to say. Your heart beats faster and it’s all consuming, adding sweet to your ever growing list of things you like about Eddie. He’s always been sweet, but this feels bigger, and it makes your heart squeeze.

“Want me to take this off?” He asks, fingertips sliding under the strap of your bra. 

“Please.” You whisper, using all the air left in your lungs to muster the single plea.

His fingers trail behind your back, tickling you along the way until they reach the clasp, unfastening it hook by hook, letting it fall to the floor.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. So perfect. Wish I had said it the first time.” He says lowly, between kisses on your shoulders.

You hum, both because you don’t know what else to say and also because you are so fully absorbed by Eddie. You watch him as his kisses get lower on your collarbones

“S’this okay?” He asks, kisses stopping before reaching your chest.

“Uh-huh.” You breathe. Your hands move the back of his head again, tugging him lower until his kisses meet your chest. His hands rise tentatively until they press against the roundness of your breasts. Another moan falls from your lips and that spurs him on enough to more confidently massaging you, adding kisses to the mix.

“C-can we lay down.” You stutter, trying to catch your breath. 

“Anything you want, pretty girl.” He replies, continuing his kisses. He guides you, taking steps backwards to the bed, turning you so the backs of your knees hit the mattress.

You lay down and he follows, hovering over you more comfortably than last time. 

You close your eyes, absorbing the weight of Eddie on top of you, and you feel hot everywhere. It’s completely contradictory to last time and he still has every piece of clothing on. Before you can even think of asking him to take off his clothes, you're startled by the wet, hot feeling of his mouth on your nipple. 

“Eddie.” You moan. Embarrassment isn’t a feeling you can harbor anymore, Eddie has you so entranced. Your chest rises and falls harshly, panting as his tongue swirls around your sensitive nipple. You feel like your skin’s prickling and your heads empty, the only thing that exists right now is you and Eddie. 

He switches, paying the same attention to your other breast and you spread your legs further, letting Eddie fall closer to you, hips pressing against yours. 

“Want clothes off.” You whimper, his teeth grazing before sucking harshly on the delicate skin.

“Mine or yours.” He mumbles, words vibrating against your chest and you’re sure you’re covered in goosebumps.

“Both, Eddie.” You moan. 

He makes quick work of pulling his shirt over his head. His hands go to the button of your shorts, stopping to look at you first. 

“I want to try something first, if that’s okay?” He says, dipping down to meet your gaze. 

“Eddie.” You whine, not caring the slightest, you can only think of wanting your clothes off. 

“I can take these off?” 

“Take them off.” You reply, getting impatient. He watches you, and he still looks surprised. You bring your own hands down, and it sets him in motion, popping the button open and pulling them down your legs. 

“Baby, you’re doing okay?” He asks, as he tosses your shorts to the side.

“M’doin’ good Eddie, keep going please.” You breathe, squirming on the mattress. 

“Fuck, okay.” He replies, voice gravely again. He tugs your underwear down, tossing them to the floor and begins shifting backwards on the bed. It surprises you, pulling you out of your spinning daze as he disappears between your legs.

“Eddie, what are you doing?” You ask, sitting up slightly.

“M’gonna eat you out. That okay?” He asks, lifting his head to look back at you. You’re obviously familiar with the term, but you’ve never had anyone do it to you before, making his actions unexpected. You don’t know what you thought he was gonna do, but it wasn’t that.

You lay back down on the mattress, exhaling deeply.

“Hey? Is it okay? I don’t have to.” He says softly, getting your attention. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers.

“You can.” You reply nervously. He squeezes your hand.

“We can stop anytime, okay?” He says, eyes searching yours and making it clear that he means it. 

Trust is starting to seem more like an understatement. All of the good things you like about Eddie, you’ve always liked about him. Maybe it’s the way your head is spinning or maybe it’s just how Eddie’s always been, but you get a burning feeling for him. Not a desire or a neediness born from the heat of the moment, but like an adoration, like a particular thump of your heart exists just for him. 

“Okay” you reply, nodding your head.

Still holding your hand, he lowers himself again. His breath reaches your cunt and you feel shivers erupt up and down your spine, excitement blooming in your belly. 

“Just gonna ask you one thing, okay? Need your help a little, just tell me what you like, gotta tell me what feels good, okay?” He says softly, popping up once again to look at you. 

You nod, squeezing his hand, and he lowers his head again.

Your whole body jerks as you feel his tongue lick up your core. It’s wet and hot and something you’ve never felt before.

“Holy shit.” You gasp, squeezing his hand again. 

“Good or bad?” He asks from between your legs.

“Do it again.” 

He does it again and it’s good. Definitely good. 

“Good, Eddie. Really good.” You reply breathily. He squeezes your hand in acknowledgement before his tongue is on you again. The warm heat of his breath and his tongue meet your slit, licking up, parting your folds and catching on your clit, making you jolt again. 

When his thumb on the back of your hand starts running back and forth on your skin soothingly, you melt entirely. Relaxing into everything. 

His tongue explores your cunt, lapping up and down before he focuses on your clit, making you gasp. It feels like the almost pleasure you got last time but a million times better. It’s actual pleasure this time, not almost. It tingles all the way up into your belly and you can’t help the way your breathing turns into soft moans.

His tongue swirls around your clit and your mouth drops as your mind reels at the feeling.

“F-fuck.” You gasp when he switches to sucking, making your hips buck against him. “S’really good, Eddie.” You moan.

“You’re so wet this time, baby.” He groans, the vibrations of his words against you making you whimper. The tingles traveling to your belly start to tense, making your breathing turn into quick pants. You want to tell Eddie he’s doing a good job but you can’t get the words out through your gasps, so instead you find purchase on the back of his head with your free hand, tangling your fingers in his hair, hoping he’ll understand.

He switches between lapping at you, flicking his tongue, and sucking your clit. The wet sounds of his mouth against your cunt filling the room, adding to the way your body’s growing impossibly hot, stomach tightening into a tight knot. 

When you feel his fingers at your entrance, you gasp. He squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. 

He pushes in one finger first, it’s similar to the prodding from before but much better with his mouth working against you. 

He works his finger in and out of you before slipping a second in and the slight stretch that comes with it leaves you reeling. You think that feeling alone is fantastic until he curves his fingers upwards into an almost hook shape. 

Prodding turns into straight pleasure as he wiggles his fingers in and out, hitting a place inside of you that leaves you gasping for air.

“Eddie. G-good.” You moan, your stomach tensing harshly. You feel your thighs start to shake as moans, gasps, and whines leave your mouth unwillingly. 

“You're getting really tight.” He hums, lips barely leaving your clit. All you can do is whimper as the vibrations of his voice push you further and further into pleasure. “Baby, you gonna cum?” He hums again. 

You nod your head ferociously not being able to produce words.

“That’s it, cum for me, baby.” He groans between flicks of his tongue. His words travel straight to your stomach adding to the pulsing knot.

Your hips buck insenstantly and you feel like you’ve lost total control of your body. All that you can feel is pleasure rippling through you like waves, hitting an all time high, and you break. You cum, harder than ever before. You’ve tried on your own before and it’s barely been worth noting, but this.. this is earth shattering. 

You feel weightless, floating, all of the tension leaving your body. It’s magnificent, perfect, it feels like you’re in a dream. The only thing that tethers you to reality, is Eddie’s hand in yours and the way his thumb gently pushes into the back of your hand. 

You feel yourself settling down from your high, but as Eddie’s mouth keeps working against you, you feel the edges of your vision go dark. Your body fights with prolonging and pushing away the pleasure as it takes you whole. 

“E-Eddie.” You choke out, squeezing his hand. Your hips buck, and he understands, slowing down.

Sucking in a deep breath, you squeeze his hand again and his motions come to a slow halt. 

You are astounded.

Absolutely astounded. 

You have no words.

You tug him by the hand, you need him closer.

“You okay?” He whispers, as he moves up by your side. You pull him by the hand, willing him to hold you as you turn on your side. He complies, giving you everything you need.

You take steady breaths that help you settle back into your body. It could be seconds, could be minutes, could be hours that pass, but eventually you catch your breath, finally grasping the moment. 

“Holy shit.” You exhale. Holding onto Eddie’s arm wrapped around your stomach.

“Was it good?” He asks nervously. You lean back, turning to lay flat on your back so you can see him.

“Was it good? Eddie, holy shit.” You say, widening your eyes as you take in his nervous features and flushing cheeks. Your eyes trail down to his slick coated face. His lips slowly curl into a smile and fuck, you finally understand how he felt after the first time. 

“It worked?” He laughs. 

You take his face in your hands and you kiss him hard. Yeah, it fucking worked, holy shit.

His tongue licks into your mouth immediately, his slick coated lips giving you a taste of yourself. Keeping your hands on his cheeks, you continue kissing him, tongues working in sync until you can’t keep up.

He kisses you breathless. When your head goes dizzy, all you can focus on is the reemerging pulse between your legs. 

Lowering your hands to his hips, you guide him on top of you. He tries to lift himself, hovering not to put all his weight on you but you need it, so you pull him until he rests flush against your body. 

Your hands explore up his chest, wrapping around his sides until you take purchase on his back, pulling him as close to you as you can.

Through his clothes, you feel his hardened length resting against you, and you roll your hips up looking for relief, making Eddie gasp into your mouth.

You do it again and his mouth stops moving against yours, feeding a whimper right into your lungs. 

“Clothes.” You pull away just enough to whisper, grinding your hips upwards against him. 

Eddie’s lips still against yours, he’s resolved into quickened breaths in and out, breathing into your mouth.

“Want you Eddie.” You whine, not getting enough relief from your grinding. 

“Clothes.” He echoes mindlessly, swallowing harshly. He doesn’t move, so you take to moving your hands down, folding your fingers under his belt, blindly searching for an edge to pull at.

“Take them off.” You say a little louder. 

“Right. Clothes.” He says, finally snapping out of whatever transfixion he was stuck in. 

He pulls away, and you miss the feeling of his chest against yours immediately. You watch as he undoes his belt and pants, pushing both his jeans and boxers down his thighs, struggling to get them off. Eventually, he takes to standing, nearly falling off the edge of your bed, making you giggle. When he finally has them off, he’s quick to resume his position overtop of you. 

“I’m getting ahead of myself. Need to make sure you’re doing good.” He says, blinking back the glazed over look in his eyes. 

“I’m doing so good, Eddie.” You purr, hands trailing up the expanse of his back. 

“Everything feels good? Do you need me to do anything else?” He brings a hand to the edge of your face, pushing your hair back, making your heart flutter and core ache at the same time. 

“Want you inside.” You whisper.

“I can do that.” He laughs breathily. He reaches down to the floor, his body weight laying on top of you as he reaches for his discarded pants. After a bit of fumbling, he sits up again, condom in hand. His hands slip on the packaging until he grows frustrated, ripping the corner of the foil open with his teeth. You feel heat pool in your core at the sight, wanting him more than you’ve ever wanted anything. 

“Eddie, you’re so pretty.” You say breathily, his eyes flicker up to you from his focus as he rolls the condom down his length. You see pink raise on his cheeks as his lips turn up at the corners.

“You think so?”

“Know so. So beautiful and cute and adorable and hot and I want you.” You ramble, feeling absolutely drunk off of how insanely fast he has your head spinning with lust. You want him in a lot of different ways, every way. You raise your hands to his shoulders tugging him closer.

“My pretty girl.” He whispers, dipping his face down to kiss you.

“Yours.” You mumble against his lips right before they meet yours. It rolls off your tongue naturally and it feels right. You’re his. Entirely enraptured by him, entirely swept up by him. 

You can pinpoint the exact moment he processes what you said. He had started kissing you hungrily, then it was like it hit him. His mouth stopped moving against yours, and when you slid a hand up to hold his jawline, his mouth started to move again, but differently. 

The kiss turned sweet, gentle, tender. It turned meaningful and slow, like every touch of his lips against yours and every caress of his tongue had purpose. You indulge yourself in the change of pace until you can't anymore.

“Eddie, please.” 

“I got you, sweet girl.” He whispers.

The sunsetting leaves the two of you in the low golden glow. Eddie’s face illuminates with the light bleeding in through your sheer curtains and your heart beats a little faster as you watch him lean back, his cock in his hand, rubbing his fist up and down his length once before lining it up with your entrance. 

The confidence he holds now, compared to last time, makes you swallow thickly. Last time it was cute and endearing, this time, he works you into pleasure and it leaves you reeling for more. This time he says you’re his, and you agree. You always have been in a way. Trust was a disguise, trust was a front. You like Eddie. You always have. 

“Ready, pretty girl?” He asks, voice low as he stares into your eyes. You feel his head at your entrance and you clench in anticipation.

“Ready.” You chorus, relaxing yourself. It’s literal in the way you relax your muscles, but it’s also metaphorical in the way you open yourself up entirely for him. This isn’t your first time, but it’s the time that matters. It’s the time where he is completely himself and you are completely yourself. It’s everything you wanted and more— more that you didn’t realize you needed until now.

He pushes in and you both sigh in tandem. Your sighs mature into moans as he slowly pushes in, fully bottoming out inside of you.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, voice quiet and carefilled.

“Not like last time.” You answer.

“Sorry, baby.” He whispers, dipping his face to yours, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Sorry it hurt last time and I didn’t even kiss it better.” He continues, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips.

“S’okay, Eddie. You’re doing so good now, feels so good.” You reply, voice just as quiet as his. You pull his face down, pressing your own tender kiss to his lips before trailing your hands down the front of his chest, rounding them to hold his sides. 

He shifts his hips, withdrawing from you slowly. You guide him with your hands, willing him to keep going, and he does. 

“S’feel okay?” Eddie says through a strangled breath. 

“Feels good.” You breathe.

“You sure? We can put a pillow under—” he starts to explain, slowing his already slow motions.

“Want you to go faster.” You interrupt.

“Faster.” He echoes, almost like he’s coaching himself. You hum as he complies, drawing his hips and pushing them back into you at a quicker pace. 

Him filling you up and stretching you out felt entirely different this time, way better, and it has you absolutely dizzy. It’s not prodding this time, it’s more like a roll that leaves you breathless, panting just to fill your lungs. His cock grazes your sweet spot with every pump into you and with every other thrust, his hips meet yours completely, teasing your clit with their contact. 

“Harder.” You whisper, and he complies silently apart from the way he harshly sucks in a breath.

His hips begin snapping against yours, the slap of skin on skin echoing in your room mixing with the obscene, wet noises of his cock pushing in and out of you, complimenting the breathy moans and whimpers coming from both of your mouths. Each thrust hits your clit, making you shudder, hips jolting and stuttering with your pleasure.

You feel your insides start to tense and you know you’re close. His thrusts start to falter as his breathing turns ragged.

“So close Eddie, please.” You whine. He breaths a whimper, hips picking up again, returning to his quick, hard pace. 

“Cum for me, baby. Need you to cum for me.” He says breathily, voice pitching up. His hand reaches down past your belly, fingers finding your clit, rubbing it and it sends your hips into a spasm of stutters.

“Eddie.” You cry. You feel your body go rigid before your pleasure explodes, freeing you from the reigns of tension and pushing you into pure ecstasy.

Eddie only musters a few more thrusts with the way your cunt clamps down onto his cock, fluttering and pulsing all around him as your orgasm takes you over. Strangled whimpers pull from his lungs as he prolongs your pleasure until he breaks alongside you. 

“F-fuck. Shit. I’m c-cumming.” He grunts, cock twitching inside you as his balls press firmly against your ass. His hips stutter, shallow thrusts pushing in and out, the warmth of his cum filling the condom. With your half lidded eyes, you watch Eddie— his face contorting in pleasure, and you enjoy the moment, committing it to memory. 

Eddie stills completely apart from his heavy breathing that matches yours. He surprises you when he rolls onto his back, taking you with him, pulling you over his chest, his cock still firmly pressed inside of you. 

“Eddie.” You laugh breathily. 

“J-just need to feel you for another minute.” He replies hazily, eyes squeezed shut. His hands wrap around your back, hugging you closely and you relax into him tentatively. His hands pull you down again, and you have no choice but to put all of your weight on him.

When your combined panting resolves to steady breathing, he breaks the silence. “Was that better?” He asks, pushing his head back into the pillow to look at you.

“That was… better than better. Way, way, way better.” You say whimsily. It was perfect, it was everything, you don’t have any words. 

“Yeah?” 

“That was like… I don’t even know. I can’t even describe it, just so so good. Really.” You say in awe, reflecting on what just happened.

“You can tell me the truth.”

“Eddie.” You say warningly, lifting your head to really look at him. “If you studied like that for all your classes you’d be valedictorian. A++, honestly Eddie.” You say.

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” He asks, still sounding unsure.

“You should frame those notes you wrote, hang them up like a diploma in your room.”

“Okay, now you’re just teasing me.” He laughs, turning his head away from you to hide his smile. 

“No! And you wanna know how serious I’m being right now?” You say, reaching up and taking one of his curls, swirling it around your finger, grabbing his attention.

“How?” He asks, turning back to you. 

“Because I’m already thinking about doing it again.” You whisper. You watch Eddie as his smile grows. 

“Really?” He asks, eyes beaming.

“Yes.” You nod, pressing your lips together as your smile grows. 

You watch Eddie as a whirlwind of emotions take over his face, it’s disbelief, happiness, excitement, a few you can’t parse, before it settles into nervousness. It makes your belly knot in nerves immediately. 

“Last time… I was— after, I was so upset because…” He starts, eyes fluttering over your face, avoiding your gaze. He takes a breath before continuing. “I was so upset because I wanted to ask you out, and then after the sex was bad, I kind of figured you’d never go out with me.”

“You wanted to ask me out?” You say, pushing yourself up with your arms to see his full face. 

His eyes flood with worry, and you reach down, pushing his damp bangs from his forehead. He finally looks at you and all you can do is smile. His nerves settle the slightest bit as he relaxes into his own sheepish smile. 

“I would still like to, if that’s okay with you?” He asks, shyly.

“It’s really okay with me.” You reply.

“Maybe I can ask when I’m not still inside you?” He laughs softly, eyes flickering to your lips. “Not that I don’t think this is romantic, but…” he trails off when you start laughing, watching you closely as you do, dimples set deeply in his cheeks.

You nod your head before lowering your face to his. He meets you halfways, pressing his mouth to yours, kissing you sweetly. 

“My pretty girl.” He whispers as he pulls away. 

“Yours.” You whisper back, smiling. 

��˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

After a few more moments of you resting on top of Eddie, the two of you begin to shift, slowly separating from one another. Lazily cleaning yourselves up, trading discarded clothes as you pick them up from the floor, it’s a good memory, one you want to keep forever. 

The sun now tucked beneath the skyline, your room glows in the low light form your lamp, Eddie’s heartbeat serving as the background music to this moment. You settle deeper into his chest, and he hugs you tighter.

It wasn’t the first time, but it was the time that mattered the most. 

As far as silent moments go, there’s not many with Eddie. He breaks the quiet of the room, shifting to look at you. 

“I think I might want to be a vagina doctor, I know so much shit about vaginas now.” He says, completely serious. You choke on a laugh, surprised by his comment.

“Really?” 

“No.” He says, tilting his face so you can see his smile. “Just know a lot now.” He laughs.

[bluegumballmf]

OK SO RANT WARNING I LOVE ADAMAI

ngl i think about adamai so much like literally almost half of the time im thinking abt him so um i just wanna talk about my personal headcanons for him bc i rlly rlly like him he’s genuinely such an easy character to relate to for me because i relate to his trauma. Anyways, forgive me if you catch any spelling or grammar errors, i’m writing this with like 4 hours of sleep and dyslexia.

um so my main mental health hcs are that he has BPD, ADD (lololol fits with the name) and minor psychosis. For ADD, it’s moreseo that from what i’ve seen, adamai struggles in social cues and has a more quiet approach to his struggles, and that he acts similarly to me, and I am autistic. For psychosis, it’s sort of a baseless headcanon, I just feel like Adamai would get auditory/ tactile hallucinations.

It’s a little hard to explain why i think he has BPD cause it’s moreso things I can relate to, such as how he latches onto people rlly quick ; ie a BPD person’s “favorite person,” who is a support system and a sort of pillar/ anchor and typically end up being someone the person w/ BPD sometimes ends up changing themself for. I personally think that adamai’s had multiple favorite people, such as; grougal, qilby, phaeris, echo and oropo, and obviously, yugo. Its kinda hard for me to like. Phrase WHY i think these people are his fps, but i think it’s mostly how he values them and prioritizes them when it comes to his actions and thoughts and feelings, i mean, just take oropo for example. Adamai changed his entire body for oropo, taking the dofus in when he was still rlly young for eliatrope/dragon standards, even assuming a body he didn’t want to survive, which even then, he only did for approval and support from his FP. This actually leads me into my next headcanon,

I headcanon adamai as transfem. Specifically a trans woman. For a few reasons, which I’ve gone over in a twitter thread (same username as on here, you should go check it out, I’m WAY more active there haha) but i’ll put it here.

1. adamai doesnt feel comfortable in his body and it’s elaborated on in the show. When he’s talking to eliatrope about his body, eliatrope states that he’s “always been unique” and iirc you can see adamai’s face drop because its not exactly something he’s proud of.

2: going off the last point, he’s shown to say that the body he now has in wakfu s3-4 is one he had to adapt to survive and not the one he chose, which is parallel to some trans people never transitioning because they dont feel safe enough to do so. this is kind of a stretch but bear with me, it’s more subconcious connections than anything else.

3. (More of a joke point) BUT HE LITERALLY HAS THE SAME WAIST SIZE AS JESSICA RABBIT. WHAT. YES I’VE ACTUALLY COMPARED I AM NOT JOKING. Like here are the images (see below) for comparison. In all seriousness, while i feel like adamai’s design IS iconic and it does serve the purpose it meant to acheive, it doesn’t feel like him. Which again, is what it meant to acheive!! I’ll touch on this more in a second, but not.

4: adamai has multiple issues regarding self perception, which in a way are all similar to dysphoria. He seems to have rejection dysphoria, body dysphoria, and maybe gender dysphoria. In my view, he seems to have all three subtypes of gender dysphoria (body, mind, and social) this actually ties in to the first point, because i feel like he’d develop a sort of body dysmorphia from shifting into a body he didn’t want, rather then a body that would be more comfortable for him; the human or the dragon. Which i’m choosing to see as a representation of the two genders; with him shifting in between being a sort of safe spot, like how many trans people identify as nonbinary or bigender before transition. (Not to say that these people are any less trans then any others, i’m just going off my own perception as a trans genderfluid person!!!)

5: he’s always being forced into roles; from being raised for yugo, to being yugo’s mentor, to being grougal’s nanny, to being possessed, etc. Ad never has chances to choose any roles by himself, and it’s similar to transphobic parents stopping their trans kid from expressing themselves imo. Again, could be a stretch, but this is how i interpreted it. It’s actually kind of similar to my parents, so maybe that’s why. Though, this COULD also just be gifted kid burnout or autistic burnout OR strict parent parallels, which i also can see correspond with adamai.

6: His mental image and self worth.

Adamai’s character is heavily influenced by a lack of self worth. He measures it with other people’s perceptions of him such as oropo’s or grougal’s, and when his body is perceived negatively by himself/others, he also starts hating it and himself, which ties into the headcanon i had about him having body dysmorphia AND into the BPD favorite people!!!

7: ( sounds like a joke point but bear w me) estrogen could have saved him

And honestly, no, Im not joking. Imo, if Adamai was allowed access to an actual process to be able to feel comfortable in his own skin, it might help his mental illnesses a lot in the long run. I equate that to him getting estrogen + finally looking like himself. It could help him with the body dysmorphia and self esteem by helping him get to a place where he’s comfortable to be himself and maybe even shapeshift again. (I actually wrote a fic about this on Ao3, https://archiveofourown.org/works/55070686, if you want to read it!!)

But um yeah, thats my reasoning for the trans headcanons, onto the less mental health involved ones, more miscellaneous. (But if you’re wondering why i’m using ‘male’ pronouns on Adamai, it’s because i feel like he would still like the he/him pronouns, but would simply use she/her more post transition.)

So, i have a few, mainly for adamai during winter vs summer.

In winter,

Silverish hair to blend with the snow

hair puffs up slightly to provide more insulation

lighter pigmentation everywhere,

much sleepier, tends to nap in the snow often

And then in the summer,

Blonde hair

more pigmentation

hair is less puffy, just curly (similar to chibi’s hair!!!)

less sleepier and more energetic.

Those are the basic ones for the seasons, but i also headcanon adamai to be an ice dragon, which means his tempurature is MUCH lower then the rest of the council’s save for maybe efrim. He needs to be in the sun much more, which could be part of the reason why grougal chose oma island to raise adamai. Another headcanon is that adamai and yugo both have heterochromia!! Yugo has central heterochromia, and Adamai has sectoral heterochromia; his eyes being blue and brown. I also headcanon that he has face markings similar to his mother, but they disappear in his dragon form because he’s closer to his father then.

Um yeah, that’s kind of it for right now, i might add onto these if more come up, but i hope you enjoyed reading!! I rwally love adamai, especially in s3 and up, he’s one of the most well written traumatized character’s i’ve seen, and i ADORE the nuance behind him.

[she-wolf09231982]

Chapter 3-Witch B*tch

Summary: The Winchester boys and Bobby having come to Chicago seeking your help, try to convince you to rejoin them to help overthrow the leader of the Leviathans, Dick Roman.

Author Note: Dean WinchesterXfemale!Witch, Sam WinchesterXfemale!Witch, Y/N, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Supernatural Season 7 references (2011), Leviathans, Apocalypse, Witches, Witchcraft, Swearing/Cussing, Banter

* idjits-Bobby’s way of saying ‘idiots’

@enelos-28 @originalsoulcollector @upuntil6am

~~~~~~~~

As much resentment as you held for Dean at the moment, you weren’t cold-hearted enough to turn the boys away when they needed a place to rest. You pull the hideaway bed out of the couch and arrange linens and pillows. You then open a couple of cots you had stored away from your old hunting days and tossed a few sleeping bags on top with extra pillows.

Sam entered the living room where you were organizing everything for them.

“Wow, this is actually real nice of you. I half expected you to tell us to go kick rocks and sleep in the Impala.” Sam said.

You smirked.

“Yeah, well I’m a witch, not a bitch.” You respond.

Sam chuckled at your little joke.

An awkward silence lingered as he watched you put the final touches on the beds until Sam finally spoke again.

“Listen, Y/N, we didn’t get to talk about the other reason why we’re here.”

You straighten up slowly and sigh.

“Oh?” you say simply as your eyes meet his.

Sam’s lips pursed as he swallowed hard. He struggled to just spit out whatever it was he wanted to say.

You folded your arms and waited. Sam cleared his throat while scratching the back of his head. His antsy, anxious behavior was comical to you. You stood there, your gaze steady, waiting for him to come out with it, trying to hold back a snicker.

“We need your help.” He blurted out.

You allowed your laugh escape you. You didn’t mean to laugh in his face, but seriously?

“You need my help?” You repeat back to him.

Sam knew it was rhetorical, so he remained quiet just looking at you with pleading eyes. You walk towards the fireplace giggling almost cynically as you lit two scented candles on your mantle.

“Y/N, we’re in over our heads here. Dad’s journal doesn’t have much on taking out Leviathans, and nothing we’ve researched has been helpful either. Bobby said your grandmother had books and transcripts dating back as far back as the 1400’s?” Sam asked with anticipation.

With your back towards him, you stare at the dancing flame of the candle in front of you, mulling over the situation.

“Perhaps.” You reply.

Sam waited, hoping for you to elaborate, but nothing followed.

“Um, ok, so?” He urged hoping you’d continue.

You face him.

“Do you think I brought all that with me when I left Kansas five years ago?” You pause, then shake your head, and continued:

“Unfortunately, any information you may need is at my grandmother’s cabin in Wichita. Have at it. I’m sorry you had to come all the way here to find I don’t have what you need.” You added.

Sam took a deep frustrated breath. Dean entered the living room.

“I don’t think you understand. We need you. To hunt. With us.”

Dean’s deep, ‘smooth as honey’ yet authoritative voice carried over to you as a growl, boiling your blood with enough disdain leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. This time you laugh intentionally. Dean rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“Never thought I’d see the day Dean Winchester begging for anyone’s help. Especially a witch.” You say sarcastically.

Dean flashed you a defiant smile.

“I don’t beg for anything, babe.” He shot back.

You scoff.

“You just said you need me to hunt with you. Which leads me to believe I’m somewhat of a necessity, which means I have the leverage here…babe.” You point out, as you imitate Dean’s little condescending tone on ‘babe.’  

Sam and Dean shake their heads and glance at eachother.

“I’m not letting you drag me back into your apocalyptic three ringed circus that you two most likely caused. Besides, I haven’t been able to actively hunt since you dragged my name through the mud to all the hunters out there. I’m rusty. I’m sure the hunting game has changed a lot since I’ve been on hiatus, so I’m not willingly going out there to be blindsided and die for the likes of you.” You tell them.

Dean hung his head releasing an irritated sigh.

“This isn’t about the issues we had all those years ago, Y/N. This is about saving everyone else out there that has no idea that their world is ending.” Sam tried to reason.

“Yeah? And when or if we do save the world, you guys kick me to the curb again? Not surprising considering that the Winchesters usually use you then lose you when they’re done with their tools.” You sneered.

“Are we done?” Bobby’s fatherly tone projected over the room.

The three of you looked at him as he stood in the doorway of your kitchen, arms crossed, looking rather irate like a parent that heard enough of his kids bickering.

Bobby continued.

“First of all, I’m disappointed and ashamed of you for saying that collectively about the Winchesters. After what John and Mary have done for you? Absolutely unacceptable, Y/N.” Bobby shamed you.

You hung your head feeling quite guilty. He was right, though. John and Mary did everything they could after your grandma’s passing, taking you in to make sure you grew up respectable with everything you needed so you wouldn’t end up in the foster care system.

“And as for you,” Bobby averted his attention to Sam and Dean before he continued. “I told you I’d talk to her about coming back with us because I knew you two idjits would botch it up and piss her off.”

Sam and Dean looked at eachother then rolled their eyes.

“Bobby, I can’t help. My hunting skills aren’t sharp anymore. I’ve been spending the last five years bartending and only helping people out of my apartment who found out about my abilities through the hunter rumor mill. If I don’t die out there, I’ll certainly get one of you killed.” You disputed.

Bobby gave you a weak smile, walked over to the love seat and patted the cushion next to him, inviting you to sit. You oblige him even though you knew he was just going to spend the next few minutes filling your ear with one of his notorious ‘Bobby Singer’ pep talks.

It always began the same way.

“Now you listen good,” he began, “mistakes are made all the time. Was it wrong for Dean to turn you out for being what you are after everything your gran’maw and you did for hunters? Yes, it was.”

Bobby flashed a hard side eye at Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes again annoyed as he clicked his tongue. Bobby continued.

“It’s biting us in the ass now. We can’t change what’s in the past, but we can certainly control the now, and help determine a better tomorrow.” Bobby asserted.

You avoided eye contact with him as you were in deep thought battling your conflicted feelings about rejoining the team. Bobby’s voice broke into your thoughts.

“Y/N, we really need you on this one. I still know you well enough to say that if you say no, deep down it’ll eat you up from the inside out knowing that the world outside your apartment is going up in flames, and you could be doing something about it to stop it.” He added.

You shut your eyes and released a deep sigh of defeat.

He was right, though. You’d beat yourself up if there was the slightest chance that you could alleviate the condition the world is currently in but did nothing to help. You unconsciously began shaking your head. The pros and cons combating eachother as you tried to put aside your pride and choose what’s best for innocent people out there not involved in your personal scorn with Dean.

Sam and Dean leaned against the wall, arms folded and holding their breath as they waited with heavy eagerness for your answer.

“Fine.” You say curtly. Bobby’s mouth curled into a triumphant proud smile as he smacked your back a couple of times.

You stood up and walked towards the hallway where your room was.

You slammed your door shut and fell backwards onto your mattress. You released a long sigh and stared at the ceiling.

"Damn it..." You whispered to yourself.

~~~~~~~~

[forsakenwitchery]

I don't know how or why but WIndy vids just almost edit themselves? I’ve started this less than a day ago and I'm 2/3 done with a 3,5 mins Calabby vid. I also usually hate adding text and hate how it looks once the video is finished, but WIndy is just so pretty it makes even my text overlays look good. 😂

And since I have nowhere to vent about WIndy, I figured I might as well go ahead and use my almost abandoned tumblr for it. Not sure if it counts as a review or whatever, it’s a long read.

I actually thought I'd be doing another Tom/Abby video, but then Tom's torture barn happened and ummm... At this point I'm in too deep with both Tom and Tom/Abby, but I honestly have no idea how the writers are going to explain that one IF they plan on doing any kind of redemption arc with Tom. What happened to the guy he tortured last week? Did he kill him? Did he string Shane up before or after Abby came to him with her suspicions? 'Cause if it was after I can maaaaybe do a bit of mental gymnastics and explain it with “he thought Shane might be a danger to Abby”, but it looks like Tom put him in the barn before that? I get that there's no love lost between Tom and his family, and Tom’s def starting to see Abby, Kai & Independence as his chosen family that actually cares about him, but no matter how big of a moron Shane is, Tom potentially torturing his brother doesn’t sit well with me. And yeah, Kai literally hammered two people this episode, but that was self-defense... but Tom and the torture barn, twice? Um, no? I’ve seen too much true crime and people with torture anything are, well, never good people? I seriously need the show to elaborate on this and his asylum days to make sense of it all. Also not really related, but I’ve written some fanfiction for myself to keep my sanity during the hiatus and I came up with “Tom hates opium because of his asylum past” to explain some bits, so it was fun to see Tom hating the idea of an opium den, when your fanon becomes kinda canon. 

The gang sidelining Abby didn't sit well with me either. I've been thinking for weeks that it's strange they're all going solely on her seeing the killer. At night. In fear and shock. Having no real evidence it was Tom. Like even the evidence they thought would be evidence turned out... to be something completely different, like Tom’s sketchbook. I thought Gus would question it once he joins them but no, he was 100% on board as well. They followed Abby's lead blindly, but now pretty much not only banned her from helping with Kai, but also straight up left her to deal with the actual person who might have shot her on her own. I mostly love WIndy's writing, but this... This whole thing was just “make it make sense”, because it makes zero sense. 

I hope they find a way to write Calian back into the main story soon, I was actually surprised to see him only mid-episode. His own journey is heartbreaking and important, but as much as I love him I actually kinda forgot about him this episode?.. Until he appeared, that is. And his scene with Abby was probably my favorite scene this episode. It was very short, but the way those two support each other? Abby speaking Apache? They managed to fit SO MUCH in such a short scene. & hopefully news about his sister is not a dead end.

I just love Hoyt and Gus’ interactions. We need more of them. I need more of them. They balance each other so well, I love Hoyt the most when he’s aroung Gus, with Kate and Abby he’s usually the butt of their jokes, and he can be so much more. Like, their jokes are funny, but you can tell they kinda... upset him for the lack of better word, and around Gus he’s just at his full potential. 

Kate’s interactions with everyone are always amazing. Even if she’s in the wrong, like she was with Abby and Kai this week. But at this point I love Kate so much she has my full permission to idk get a torture ban of her own, I just love her THAT much, even when she’s wrong she’s THE queen of Independence.

I honeslty didn’t care much for Lily, but I definitely liked her more once she dropped the innocent act. Kai was amazing. And idk but to me it doesn’t seem like their friendship (or are there feelings on both sides?) with Kate is beyond fixing.

[cherrytree-irl]

offscreen post: london has some really interesting taxis by the way. i wish wyndon was interesting At All

The three siblings sit in a taxi. Oliver and Laelia talk with each other, but other than an occasional joke building off of someone else's statement, Sylvan stays quiet. It's in his nature, of course. He barely knows any of the people in this car. But also...

Laelia scares him a little. She's mean. It feels like she constantly has something rude to say about anyone she talks to. So, to avoid her snide remarks, Sylvan keeps his mouth shut. He stares out the window and watches the unfamiliar city pass by.

The more residential the area gets, the more nervous Sylvan becomes. This is really happening. He's really sitting in a car with his siblings— they're all together for the first time in fifteen years... and they're going to see Mom. Hey, actually...

"Um... Laelia...?" Sylvan mutters.

"What?"

"Does... does Mom know we're coming?"

"No."

"Oh."

Laelia doesn't elaborate, and Sylvan is too nervous to prod, so he just goes back to staring out the window.

What's Mom going to think...? Does she even want to see them again? Are Sylvan and Oliver welcome into their mother's new family? Sylvan tries to stow those thoughts away... That never works.

A few minutes later, the taxi stops. They've arrived.

After paying the taxi driver, Laelia lets everyone inside the house. A moment later, a voice can be heard from another room.

"Laelia, is that you?"

It's a voice that makes Sylvan and Oliver freeze in their tracks. They haven't heard it in so long... but it's never left their minds. She has a strange accent now, though. She doesn't sound like a Unovan anymore, but doesn't quite sound Galarian either. At least not compared to Laelia, who has an entirely Galarian accent.

"Yes, Mum. I'm home." Laelia replies.

"Oh, good! I was about to make something for lunch. You hungry?"

"Um... sure, I guess." Laelia begins leading the group to, presumably, the kitchen.

Sylvan's heart is pounding so hard he can feel it across his whole body. He actually starts to worry he may have a panic attack before he even sees Mom. Wouldn't that be embarrassing? Anyway, they're in the kitchen now.

Azalea is standing with her back turned to everyone, her arms reaching up into a cabinet above her. Her raspberry-colored hair is shorter than Sylvan remembers it. He feels like he may collapse. She's right there in front of him... what does he do?! Well, predictably, he stays quiet and lets the others lead the conversation.

"Hi Mum." Laelia says.

"Hi sweetpea. Just a second, I can't find the stupid..." She trails off.

"I brought some..." Laelia hesitates a little. "...Acquaintances."

"Oh!" Azalea quits fiddling with the cabinet.

"Isn't that—" She turns around.

She freezes when she sees who stands in front of her. "...Nice..."

[ashintheairlikesnow]

For Vampire Chris! What if he and Jake went to a museum and came across some of Tooley's paintings? And Chris has a panic attack! We would finally get some Jake comfort. And maybe Chris would reveal more horrible things that Tooley had done to him.

CW: Discussion of death, blood, vampire whumpee, caretaker and whumpee

The sun sets early in the winter, and it's the only reason they can make this work.

Chris is barely awake even so, sipping from a coffee cup Jake filled with the contents of one of his blood packs, hoping he doesn't trip and spill and lead to Jake having some very awkward, panicked explanations to make to anyone nearby.

He'd slept in the truck Jake borrowed from Nat most of the way over here, curled in the passenger seat. He looks for all the world like any high schooler who stayed up too late the night before, dragged out by his family, forced to go learn when all he wants is rest.

Chris is draped in a hooded sweatshirt pulled on over his head, hair mussed from sleeping in the closet in the little nest-bed he made for himself in there. It sticks out like stray from beneath the hood he's pulled up, coppery strands occasionally covering his eyes and making him shove them out of the way with a snort that has no right to be as adorable as it is, considering the monster who makes the sound.

Not a monster, no. Not really.

Or his monster, anyway, the same way his mother is his mother. Jake is starting to understand the little vampire - more than three times his own age - has chosen him for family now.

The sweater he wears is kind of a joke, actually. Jake bought it weeks ago from a website that puts the covers of books on clothes, and it's an old cover image from Dracula.

Jake thought it was funny, anyway. Nat was less amused. Chris only smiled and said something about being happy the hairy palms thing isn't true.

The air is chilly, and Jake shivers a little as they head in from the parking lot across a small sidewalk next to a park and toward the museum itself, but of course Chris doesn't even notice. He seems to be enjoying it, the way it blows around his hair as they make their way slowly up the steps and past the row of Grecian-style columns that mark the entrance.

Jake has to visit for one of his classes, an extra-credit something-or-other, and Chris had asked to go along with him.

Jake had been hesitant, but seeing the way the vampire's green eyes sparkle as he moves around in public like any other person, well... he feels like he made the right choice to bring him along now.

"Finish up your drink, you can't take anything in once we pay and get past the lobby," Jake says, and Chris nods, gulping the last of the blood as fast as he can as they push through wide double-doors. Jake tries not to imagine how it must feel, swallowing thick congealing cooled blood. Someone's life, someone's heartbeat, down your throat...

Really, is he that much different? Jake has eaten a dozen cows' worth of beef in his life.

Does Chris see them all as just livestock? He doesn't act like it, but then, there are people who treat pigs or cows like pets and not like food...

His stomach flips a little and he forces himself to look around, up at the chandelier at the high ceiling, the heavy wooden desk they have to walk to off to the side to get their tickets. To stop trying to understand if Chris is a sort of stray they've adopted, or if he's a higher-level predator living with prey.

Once Chris drops the cup into a trash can, Jake throwing a couple wadded-up tissues on top so no one can accidentally see the smear of red around the edge of the lid, they buy their tickets, and wind their way through and past the little velvet ropes that mark off the entrance.

The museum opens before them into a grand hall, with paintings the size of two-story buildings on either side, permanent installations in the museum. Commissioned for its opening, sometime back in the 70's.

Jake picks up a brochure so they know which way to go - LGBTQ+ Art in Pre-War America is the temporary exhibit he's here to see, traveling work that is usually housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

"Oh, nice, it's on the first floor. Looks like you go through a couple of 'specialty' rooms, just showing off stuff from the in-house collection. Sounds cool, right?"

Chris, looking from side to side at the gigantic paintings that hang on the walls in the opening hall, hums softly, a tuneless constant sound. He doesn't answer Jake's question. He hums often, and Jake barely notices any longer, but there's something edged to it, now. As if just being around the paintings is making him nervous.

"Okay, little man, let's go over here." He touches Chris's arm, lightly, through the thick fabric of his sweater. The vampire looks over at him, smiling with his lips pressed together to hide his teeth from any potential prying eyes.

He follows easily, but he sticks closer to Jake than he normally does, and his eyes are constantly roving. They move through an exhibit of Pre-Colombian pottery first, on their way to the room in the back where the temporary showcase is.

Jake watches Chris's fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to learn by feeling the bumps and ridges in the ancient clay, and how he holds back as best he can. His urge to lift the clear protective plastic boxes right off the pottery so he can get at it is nearly physically painful.

Jake pretends not to see it when Chris's fingers trail along a column, settling for the white-painted rectangle the pottery is balanced on, taking in the rough texture smoothed by the matte paint.

"Did you ever meet anyone like you that was old enough to have made stuff like this?" Jake asks, stopping in front of a water jug in the shape of a man playing a flute with a dog at his feet. The dog wears a carved smile marked with disturbingly human-looking teeth. The paint it must have been covered in is worn by time, leaving the reddish-brown of the clay behind, with the faintest streaks of white still in the crevices.

"No," Chris replies, tilting his head, making direct eye contact with the statue in a way he never quite can do with any real person. Not comfortably, anyway. Jake has seen him force it and shudder afterwards, overwhelmed. When he'd asked about it, Chris had said he never liked looking at anyone's eyes, even before, when he was alive. It's too much, was all he would say. It's always too much. "None, um, none of us live that long."

"Why not?" They're alone in the room. It's the only reason Jake feels safe asking.

Chris's tongue runs over the sharpening bumps of his growing-in fangs, pressing against them, easing the itch and the ache of their return. After a second, he pulls a plastic bat on a cord from inside his sweater and puts the bat into his mouth, chewing on it idly, jaw working. "I, I, I don't know. That's just what what what my, my, my pack told me."

"I thought vampires lived in covens."

"No." Chris doesn't elaborate on this one. He can be weirdly secretive about how he lived before he came to Nat's, before he was pulled out of a basement, a living drug for a wealthy asshole.

Secretive, or just forgetting whatever wasn't essential.

He moves away to another pedestal, a shard broken off of a larger vessel, marked with a deep white and intense black angular design. He hums again, and Jake takes the hint and leaves him alone.

They spend several more minutes looking over the pottery before they head through a second room full of what must just be the favorite pieces of museum employees, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, and each little card with the name of the piece and its maker has a paper next to it with a note on why each employee loves this piece in particular. Chris lingers around older things, a woven tapestry from medieval England, landscapes from the 19th century. He stares for a while at a painting called The Country Path by Joseph Poole Addy, a pale watercolor of winter trees with bare branches breaking the line of sky and a woman bundled in a coat carrying a basket down an equally colorless road.

Chris's humming getting louder, and he rocks a little, forward and back, his eyes moving again and again through the lines of the painting.

Jake wonders what it is about this one specifically that catches Chris like that, and when the vampire finally moves on he checks the employee's statement. Joseph Poole Addy, Irish painter in the 19th and 20th centuries, blah blah, something something countryside... Jake frowns, and glances over at Chris, who isn't looking back. He's moved on to something else.

Jake decides to ask him later.

They make it to the exhibit they're here to see, and Jake whistles under his breath as he enters. There are vibrant, saturated paintings lining the walls, a couple of large sculptures on the floor that still are taller than he is, a few smaller ones on pedestals. The work is mostly figurative, although there's some early abstraction there, a hint of the contemporary push to take even figurative work out of simply being an echo of a real life thing.

Chris looks at a sculpture, his head cocked so far to the side it looks almost birdlike, not quite human. Jake thinks his own neck would ache for days if he tried to do that. "Must've been, um, later," He mumbles to himself.

Jake files that away in his mental list of things to talk to Chris about later.

He walks slowly along the line of paintings. The whole point of being here is that he's supposed to pick a specific piece and write a short essay about it and the artist who made it, prove he saw it in person.

The class itself is about how to encourage better outcomes for healthcare in marginalized populations - but if she's giving out extra-credit for looking at queer art, well, Jake is happy to spend an hour in a museum.

After his dismal performance on the last test, he could use whatever credit he can get. Besides, the exhibit is actually kind of cool with that in mind. Every one of these artists was in some way outside of the sort of het ideal, and Jake smiles a little as he catches the heaviness of a look between two men seated across a table from one another, looks over the clasped hands of women, sitting with everything from shoulder to hip touching, who are listed as 'friends visiting the riverbank'.

Art that celebrates, hidden in plain sight. Art that rebels by sliding details in under the surface where only those looking for them will find them.

Each piece has another little paper, although this just has details about the artist and their work, what they were known for. He can use it as a jumping-off point for his paper, anyway.

"You, you, you finished her," Chris whispers, standing in front of a sculpture of a woman with her head thrown back as if in uproarious laughter, a woman with curls expertly carved so that her hair seems to have been there before the stone it's made of somehow. "I wonder if she, um, if if if she saw it."

"What'd you say, Chris?" Jake blinks, pulled out of his own internal reverie.

"Nothing," Chris responds, and walks slowly around the statue. The woman's smile is a shining light in the room. No one could carve like that without being at least a little in love with the subject.

Jake wanders away and then comes to an abrupt stop before a large painting, probably taller than Chris is. The background is near-total darkness with only a suggestion of stone, a single beam of light shining down to illuminate the central figure.

A naked boy clothed only in scraps of torn cloth that only emphasize his nakedness everywhere else is crouched in terror. His knees are bent and his feet are on the floor, one hand holding his weight with fingers slightly curled, his spine bent and arched as if he is caught in the midst of turning to look up to find the direction of the light. His other hand is thrown out, as if trying to ward off an attack.

He bleeds from a dozen or more places, the blood curving perfectly around his form, giving it extra weight and heft that makes it seem like he'll step out of the canvas, grab Jake, and shake him.

Jake's heart starts to race as he stares.

There are bones littering the ground around the thin, wasted boy, not bleached but sort of yellowed, marked with little notches as if cut with a knife. There might still be bits of skin attached to some of them, a hint of muscle. The detail makes Jake sick, but his panic, that comes from something else entirely. Just behind the panicked boy there is a body, as if just fallen, the eyes still open in the final terrified throes of death. The body's fingers are still dug into the dirt floor as if the dead man had been trying to pull himself somewhere, to escape.

A skull watches with eerie cheer from one corner of the painting, a few teeth missing and knocked out from its garish grin.

Barely visible, a thin wash of grayish-white, there is a pale, gnarled hand near the bottom reaching out from the background as if to grab the boy's ankle and drag him into the darkness.

Count Ugolino's Last Son, oils, 1932, reads the little plaque beside the painting. Its faint brassy shine glints in the carefully calibrated light. Edward Tooley, 1907 - 1936.

Jake swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't budge, and he swallows again. And again. He can't take his eyes off the boy's painted hair, a dirtied copper, strawberry-blond badly in need of a wash. The wide green eyes with their terror writ large and clear, painted with lovingly perfect detail.

The boy in the painting is the perfect identical twin of the vampire who is still staring at the sculpture on the other side of the room. The fear in his face is so expertly done as to seem more photographic than painted in oil. The blood that drips to the ground follows his anatomy with absolute perfection. The bones are not bleached by they so often are in paintings, no, these...

These...

Jake holds his phone up and takes a photo, and then another of the little plaque.

"Chris." His voice cracks and Jake clears his throat. His heart is still pounding. "Chris, come look at this."

"Yes, Jake," Chris answers, sounding a little faint, and then he seems to simply appear at Jake's elbow, the teenage boy who has seen two world wars and a half-dozen smaller, stupider ones.

He goes still at Jake's side when he looks up. Jake looks over, just slightly, glancing sidelong to see a look of something like... wistfulness on the vampire boy's face.

"Tooley," He breathes. His hand goes up, and out, and he would have touched the canvas if Jake hadn't reached out and grabbed on to stop him. Chris jumps a little and turns to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes are pink-tinged in the whites, as if he's holding back tears. "Is, is, is he famous?"

"I guess. He's... he's here, isn't he?"

"He always wanted to, um, to to to to be famous." Chris's eyes move over the details, but it's not with surprise, it's with easy familiarity. He's seen this painting before.

He's been this painting before.

"That's you, isn't it?" Jake asks in a hushed voice. "Like, that was really you."

Chris looks away again, a faint flush in his cheeks. He's full enough of blood for it to happen, and you'd never know he isn't alive if you didn't already. "Yes," He whispers, and wipes at the corner of his eye with one hand. "That, that, that's me."

"Were you his model?" Jake blinks, looking back over the painted twin of the vampire beside him. The fear in the boy's face, woven in with a kind of awful resignation. It's all so perfectly rendered.

"Yes. Sort, um. Sort of. He, he, he kept me in a room." Chris exhales, slowly, and his eyes shift over to the paper with the little bit of biographical information on it. Edward Tooley's early works focused on landscapes or retreads of common historical subjects, only to find greater excellence and focus when he began to paint, again and again, the same figure - a representation of the darkness of the human soul - he stated appeared to him and demanded to be portrayed... art historians believe Tooley was driven by the demons of the Great War that had taken his family from him one by one to seek out uncomfortable subjects that force viewers to see the damage humans do to one another...

Chris's nose wrinkles as he reads, his lips moving slightly with the words as he takes them in. "I never did that. Never, um, wanted to be painted. Also, um this, um. He was... wasn't... he wasn't... wasn't like the paper says."

Jake looks over, reads it himself. Gregarious, sociable, popular with the libertine art crowd... he frowns. "What part is wrong?"

"This." Chris points, this at least he can safely make contact with, and presses the pad of his finger under a sentence that reads took inspiration from the ugly side of the city hidden under its shining lights. "He, he, he he didn't care about anyone in the city. He thought everyone who, who who who who-who wasn't him was, um, was stupid."

"What did he care about?" Jake imagines telling his professor that instead of an essay, he's going to bring in a vampire who literally knew one of the artists in person. How she might react.

Probably call the cops and report an unsecured vampire loose on the streets. But maybe she'd listen to what Chris had to say first.

"Blood," Chris says, softly. His voice is getting lower and lower, until it's barely more than a whisper. "Pain. Fear. Being... being the the the the last person who, who saw someone. He, he, he, he liked to lay them out and paint them, liked me to, to, to... arrange them for him."

Jake's eyes go unwillingly back to the dead body behind the scared boy in the painting. The grasping fingers, the open eyes that look sightless, lifeless, at nothing at all. When he looks, he can see - more suggestion than made clear - that the body's throat is torn open, as if by an animal's teeth.

Now, only now that he's looking for it, does he realize there is the slightest hint of red tears on the cheeks of the painted boy, a sheen of pink on his teeth where he begs for mercy from the grasping singular hand coming out of the dark.

His stomach flips again. "Chris, are you saying-"

"His, his, his name was Ben." Chris nods at the dead body in the painting. "I asked. Before..." He gestures, a little vaguely. "That."

Jake feels a sudden, wild urge to look up missing persons cases from New York City in 1932. See if there's anyone named Ben on there. He knows without having to do so that there definitely will be.

"What happened to him... after?"

"I don't know. I, I, I was never let out when Tooley was gone. I... wonder how, how, how many of me there are." Chris looks up at the echo of his own face, his head tilting again. His lips tremble, just a little, and then part to show the hint of white teeth wet with pinkish saliva. "On walls, in houses, in... in places like, um. Like this. How many there are... is, is, is, is that what I still look like?"

Jake clears his throat again, looks down at his feet. This feels, suddenly, like he's walked in on someone looking down at his own dead body in a funeral home. Interrupting a moment so immensely private it shouldn't even exist.

"Yeah," he says, a little gruffly. "Yeah, that's it. More or less. Except I hope I scare you less than that. Also you wear a lot more clothes with us."

Chris laughs - it's a huff of sound, barely-there. Then he turns away from himself. "We, we, we can't see ourselves, in mirrors," He says, and he's got the little plastic bat back in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved silicone. "But I have mirrors everywhere. On these walls."

He goes suddenly terribly still. He isn't breathing.

He doesn't have to, but the realization that he isn't even pretending is a jolt of awareness of exactly how dead Chris is. He leaves the exhibit, and Jake is left to scramble after him, struggling to catch up to someone he should be able to easily outrun.

He breaks into a flat run when they get outside the double-doors, jumps the steps three at a time with grace, and runs across the grass and towards the stand of trees halfway across the park. Even Jake, who works out four days a week, is breathing hard and has a hitch in his rib by the time he catches up.

He finds Chris curled up under a tree in the evening dark, the stars starting to twinkle overhead as the sun finally allows them a clear night sky to shine in.

Jake drops to his knees, ignoring the damp that seeps into his jeans from soil that still hasn't dried since yesterday's rains, and he leans over, putting a warm hand to either side of the vampire's face.

Chris looks up, his eyes glinting like a cat's briefly in the dark, and there are trails down his cheeks, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that is anything but angry.

No, this is grief.

This is loss.

Jake knows the feeling.

"Talk to me," Jake says softly. "Tell me what it was like, what it's been like for you. Tell me about the life you've lived before I knew you."

"It, it, it hurt," Chris whispers, and his own hands cover Jake's. They're the same temperature as the air around them, and Jake shivers a little. It's almost a chill. "Every time. I, I, I try not to kill, Jake, I try so hard, but but but he would keep me so hungry and I couldn't-... stop..."

Jake thinks about the robbers Chris killed - for him, to save him from them - and how he'd locked himself in the closet afterward. Had he cried like this, over taking lives even when in defense?

"The museum thing said this guy Tooley died in 1936. He was only, what, twenty-nine? Did... did you-"

"Yes." Chris's voice is thick but it's not quite with regret. "I was hungry. He, he he he he didn't bring food. I was so hungry... then I was, um, was alone for a while... then, then, then, then then then I was taken for, for, for the, um, the trade, for my v-venom, and..."

"Got it. I got it, Chris. It's okay," Jake says, softly. "It's going to be okay. You're with us, now. And we'll never, ever make you hurt someone that way. We'll never make you go hungry. We'll never hurt you or use you."

Chris ducks his head, rocking forward until it knocks into Jake's shoulder, and Jake slides his arms around the vampire's shoulders, listening to his soft, muffled sobs, wondering how red his shirt will be stained by the time the vampire's tears have been cried out.

The same mouth that tore out the throat of a dead body that lays in a painting on the wall is so close to his neck it would take less than an inch for him to bite down. Even without fangs, he could lock his jaw and break the skin.

The same dangerous monster that has killed likely dozens to stay alive, the same stalking predator that has been the last sight of far too many, cries in his arms. Just a teenage boy who has been lonely, and terrified, and hurt for too long.

A teenager... and a monster that hunts prey after dark. Jake tightens his arms around Chris, holds him tighter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how long he's been alive, not really.

He's just Chris.

That matters more.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[schlaggot]

OKAY you seem to want to hear more so i will provide :] i am so sorry the formatting is so fucct i wrote this in apple notes and pasted it here LMAO

PLEASE BEAR WITH ME ON THIS

philza is a god. this is a popular fan theory and i know a lot of people subscribe to this!! its very good. we also know wilbur and likely tommy are his biological children, and techno is adopted. heres where my headcanons come in! im putting it under a cut cuz its a lot

wilbur and tommy weren't born like normal humans were. they were created from something existing, as philza had the power to do so. but, said power was draining, and difficult to do. the way that zeus created athena from his head and dionysus from his thigh? thats how wilbur and tommy were born.

wilbur was born from a fish. PLEASE STICK WITH ME,,. phil had caught this fish in a bucket, intent on starting an aquarium in his hardcore world. he decided to name the first fish wilbur. it was just supposed to be a joke- a small aquarium in his base with a single fish. when he'd pass by to get materials he'd greet said fish. interact with it, feed it, talk to it when he was feeling particularly lonesome. then, something happened. he mightve broken the glass, something might've gone wrong with a creeper explosion- but the fish got out of the water, and there was no realistic way for philza to save it.

so, using his powers, he incorporated the fish into his body. id imagine it was either his chest (because he was so attached to this fish that he wanted it close to his heart) or his throat (so that it could finally have a voice to speak to him). using his power, he was able to (please dont kill me for using this term) 'birth' the child using his god powers. no i wont elaborate <3. this would explain wilbur's whole. um. fish theme. (i know milo and new milo arent canon but also please give me this. also sally.) wilbur was born with a voice meant to lead and comfort, a voice he didnt have before.

techno was a piglin from the nether. a baby piglin, training to become a piglin brute. when phil got to the nether, he found a baby piglin all alone. deciding to care for it wasn't really his first thought, but it was curious of him, and he'd see it every time he entered the nether. eventually, they started interacting. philza would bring it some food or gold from the overworld, and the piglin would give him small gofts in return. a broken sword, an ender pearl, a glass bottle- little things the baby piglin had found while scavenging. phil would realize after a bit that this piglin had been abandoned by the rest of its clan, and he figured he'd take care of the little guy when he'd see him. getting bolder, philza would eventually venture further into the nether. he'd come upon a bastion, and the piglins inside obviously weren't too happy about seeing someone from the overworld there. they attacked him, and funnily enough, this little piglin, brandishing a dull golden sword, tried to defend him. philza likely wouldve died without the little guy's help, so he decided to make a plan to bring the piglin to the overworld.

unfortunately, piglins do turn into zombies when they enter the overworld. its an unfortunate fact. and philza knew this. so, in order to stop this from happening, he gave the piglin a vial of his own blood. the blood of a god. it would keep him rejuvinated for awhile- but it came with an unfortunate side effect. if the piglin didn't consume the blood of a living being for long enough, he'd begin to rot, starting the process of becoming a zombie all over again. he could always recover from this if given blood fast enough, but once he was fully transformed, it would no longer be possible for him to recover. so, philza was thankful that this piglin had an innate instinct for killing. named him technoblade since he thought it sounded cool and fit the little piglin. taught him english, sparred with him, and provided him with enough blood to keep him healthy until techno could reliably hunt for himself. blood for the blood god

now, for the youngest. tommy was born from something not physical, but a song that philza and wilbur had come up with off the top of his head. wilbur was only 7 or 8 at the time, but had a talent for coming up with tunes that philza would hum throughout the day. one particularly nice one was actually a bit of an earworm. philza found himself humming it regularly, patting out the rhythm to it when he wasn't paying attention, and singing nonsense words in place of actual vocals when he was preoccupied with building. "what's the name of the song you sung the other day?" philza'd asked the young wilbur. wilbur hadn't named the songs he'd made before, and didn't quite understand what 'naming a song' meant.

"tommy!" he'd replied.

it was endearing, a human name for a tune he couldn't get out of his head.

it had him thinking for awhile. it took a lot of effort. a redstone contraption, noteblocks, a blank music disc he'd happened to procure from a creeper. wilbur's musical knowledge was especially handy when philza was trying to get the notes just right.

in the end, he'd created what he'd set out to- a recording of his son's song onto a music disc, named Tommy.

creating another life with it like the one he'd created before was even more difficult the second time around- but in the end he had a healthy baby son. tommy. tommy's discs aren't just some useless pieces of music- they're part of who he is.

[writethelifeyouwant]

Alpha and Omega - Ch 2 / 2

Pairing: Sam x Dean Rating: 18+ Tags: A/B/O, Darkness magic,  Alpha!Dean, Omega!Sam, Dub-Con (biological necessity), little bit of meta (cuz why not), Sam’s a needy mess, Dean is possessive af  Word Count: 4k Created for: @first-time-wincest-fest​ - 12x02 Mamma Mia | @spnabobingo​ - Male Omega | Summary: Amara wants to thank Dean by giving him the thing he needs most – Sam ��� but she knows the boys are stubborn, so she’s going to have to be creative. Problem is, she doesn’t tell Dean or Sam what she’s put in motion, and magic can be unpredictable.

Despite the many apparent flaws of these British Men of Letters dicks, at least Mick has the good sense to let Dean and Sam go. He offers to try helping Sam, but he doesn’t have any more ideas about his condition than that blonde bitch does, so Dean declines and gets Sam the hell out of dodge.

The moment they make it over the property line and past the efficacy of the anti-angel warding Cas is by their sides, sliding under Sam’s other arm to help Dean carry him to the Impala.

“Don’t touch him,” Dean growls, startling Cas and himself. Cas raises his hands in a show of good faith.

“I am just trying to help, Dean,” he reassures the hunter, lowly.

“Yeah, um, sorry man,” Dean shakes his head to clear it. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t like the idea of anyone else touching Sam right now but he doesn’t want anyone’s hands on his baby brother. Begrudgingly, he lets Castiel grab Sam’s arm and help them to the car, where they gingerly lay a shivering, and for all intents and purposes unconscious, Sam on the back seat. “Cas, what’s wrong with him?” Dean tries to keep a grip on the panic in his voice but he doesn’t have much luck.

“It’s hard to be sure,” Castiel mutters, laying a hand against Sam’s forehead, which is burning hot. “We need to get him home immediately, this fever is dangerously high.”

Dean rounds the car to root through the first aid pack in the trunk, pulling out a few instant cold packs. “Here,” he cracks one up in his hands and passes it to Cas. “Get in back, try to keep him cool.” Cas slides into the back seat of the Impala, pulling Sam over his lap and pressing the cold pack against the young man’s forehead. Dean drops the spare cold packs beside him as he jumps in behind the wheel and peels out of the dirt road driveway in reverse, gunning them back home towards Kansas.

The use of cold packs and bags of ice they picked up at gas stations along their way get the trio home without Sam’s condition worsening. Dean would send up a thank you to Chuck for that except that he’s nearly positive Chuck’s sister is the reason Sam is in this mess in the first place. I thought she wanted to do something to thank me, not destroy my life. They get Sam into bed without too much trouble, and Castiel suggests stripping Sam out of his clothes to help keep him cool.

“Get away from him,” Dean growls, baring his teeth at his friend. Castiel once again looks at him in confusion, his brow crinkling as he stares hard at Dean.

“I’m going to call Rowena, see if maybe she can help us determine what is wrong with Sam.” Cas backs up cautiously, and Dean is glad to see him go.

Once he’s alone with his brother, he does think that stripping Sam down is a decent idea – at the very least he should change him into some clean pyjamas instead of the bloodied tatters he’s dressed in now. Dean sits on the edge of the bed, gently brushing Sam’s hair away from his eyes. He has the sudden urge to lean down and kiss Sam, so he does – very carefully placing his lips against his little brother’s forehead. It seems to Dean like Sam presses back into the kiss, and when his lips retreat, Sam stretches his neck and turns his head into Dean’s side, almost like he’s burrowing there. The unconscious display of affection brings a surge of warmth to Dean’s chest, though he can’t find it in him to smile with Sam like this.

Gingerly, Dean unbuttons Sam’s shirt and eases it over his shoulders, his fingers tracing over Sam’s muscles on the way down each arm. He hadn’t spent too much time around Sam’s unclothed chest recently and he couldn’t help staring at the contours of his frame. Sometimes he spends so much time thinking about Sam as his little brother, he forgets how much he’d built himself up over the years, forgets about the strength that all those layers of shirts they wear everyday are hiding. Dean has to shake himself in chastisement for staring at Sam’s body and lusting after it like a creep when he’s supposed to be taking care of him. How could he be thinking with his dick, even now, when Sam is deathly ill? But he was thinking with his dick, because even seeing Sam half naked for a matter of thirty seconds seems to be enough to give him a semi. For fuck’s sake, Dean curses himself, and sets about the task of easing Sam out of his torn up jeans.

As he gets Sam’s abnormally long jeans off his abnormally long body, three things strike Dean as odd. The first, that the smell he’d overwhelmingly associated with Sam back at the farmhouse in Missouri all of the sudden permeates the air around him. Sure, he’d been smelling it this whole time – it had been almost unbearably strong on the 6 hour drive back to Kansas – but he figured he must have gotten used to it because it had sort of faded into the background until just now. Secondly, the way Sam’s legs were splayed out across the bed right now gave Dean a view of a dark wet patch on the light grey of Sam’s underwear – gross, Dean thinks to himself, until he realises that the stain isn’t on the front of Sam’s briefs like it would be if he’d pissed himself. That examination leads him to his third odd discovery, which is that Sam has a boner.

“Well, what have we here?” Dean spins to see Rowena standing in the doorway, smirking.

“I’m sorry, Sam’s turned into a what?” Dean blinks incredulously at Rowena, who’s perching on the edge of the table in the kitchen. He turns his head to look at Castiel, who is sitting stoically behind Rowena. The angel shrugs unhelpfully.

“An Omega, dearie,” Rowena enunciates more clearly, like she imagines she’s talking to a four year old.

“Right,” Dean nods, although he doesn’t really understand. “And I’m a–”

“An Alpha, yes,” Rowena reiterates, clearly annoyed Dean isn’t getting this. “Well, Sam’s Alpha, more specifically,” she amends.

“And what exactly does all this mean?” Dean grunts, frustrated.

“It means that you and Samuel are mates,” Rowena elaborates.

“We know that, we saw our shared heaven, like a decade ago. What the hell does it have to do with him being sick?”

“Samuel is sick because he’s an Omega in heat, and he needs his mate.”

“Well if I’m his ‘mate’ and he ‘needs me’ – I’m right here! So why isn’t he better?” Dean growls.

“I believe,” Cas clears his throat, “from what I understand of the traditional elements of this condition, that what Rowena means is that Sam needs you, as his mate, physically.” Cas looks sheepishly at Rowena for confirmation.

“Precisely,” she smiles thankfully at Castiel.

“Physically?” Dean’s not any closer to understanding what’s happening. “So what, I need to go hold his hand until his fever breaks?”

“Well, I’m not surprised that you might want to hold his hand, but it’s going to take a wee bit more than that.”

“Will you just tell me how the hell to cure him?” Dean shouts, accidentally shattering the beer bottle he’s holding. He looks down, surprised at his own strength and at the end of his tether now.

“Sexual intercourse,” Cas answers shortly, his face carefully blank. “Though, again, from my understanding, that will only cure his heat. He will remain an Omega and you will remain an Alpha.”

“What the hell are you talking about ‘from what you understand’?” Dean makes indignant air quotes at Cas.

“When Metatron put all of popular culture into my head it included every story ever written. There are a large number of stories on the internet that incorporate the dynamics of the Alpha/Omega hierarchy. It’s a trope primarily found in something called ‘fanfiction’,” Cas explains. “In fact, there is some ‘fanfiction’ about yourself and Sam if it would help you to understand the mating requirements.” Dean feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Cas, listen to me very carefully: under no circumstances are you to ever tell anyone else that those exist,” Dean groans, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Why is this happening?”

“That’s the part I’ve not got the faintest idea about,” Rowena sighs. “It would take something more than a simple spell to alter your anatomies like this. Not even an angel,” she glances at Castiel quickly to check she’s right in her assumption. “I’ve never heard of something like this actually happening outside of fiction.”

“It was Amara,” Dean sighs. “When she left she told me she was going to give me what I ‘needed most’, but I don’t know why she thought this was it. It just seems like some sick joke.”

“Ah,” Rowena nods sagely like she understands now. “She was giving you Samuel.”

“How is this ‘giving me’ Sam?”

“A physically bonded Alpha and Omega are bonded for life, inseparable. Without the other, they won’t survive their heats – or ruts, in your case.”

“So every time Sam goes into a heat, we need to have sex, or he dies?” Dean can’t believe how fucked up this is.

“You’ll also need to knot him,” Cas adds gravely. Noticing Dean’s look of incredulity, he continues. “The base of your penis will inflate when you ejaculate and lock you and Sam together for a brief time. It’s the knot that Sam needs to relieve the symptoms of his heat.”

“What the fuck?” Dean blanches.

“Not to importune but I do believe Samuel was running out of time when I examined him. You really should get to it, Dean,” Rowena cuts in.

“And how am I supposed to do that, huh? The guy’s unconscious! I can’t just–” Dean’s stomach roiled. The thought of fucking Sam was tempting, amazingly so, but the thought of doing it to Sam, without his knowledge or participation, was sickening.

“I can make him a wee draft to revive him and stave off the fever,” Rowena moves towards one of the cupboards in the kitchen where Sam keeps the common spell ingredients. “Then Castiel and I can make ourselves scarce and leave you two to it,” she smiles.

“And you’re positive this is the only way?” Dean presses desperately.

“That Amara is a crafty woman, she knew what she was doing.” Rowena throws some herbs into a small dish. “She saw that you would never ‘put the moves on Sam’, as you say. This is her way of giving you both that little push.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a bitch,” Dean grumbles, dropping his head in his hands and waiting for Rowena to finish the potion to wake Sam up.

Sam blinks awake wearily, vaguely aware that he’s safe and not being held captive anymore, but he can’t remember much more than snippets of sound and scent. The rumble of an engine, the smell of motor oil; the low tenor of Dean’s voice, and the scent of whiskey, apple pie, and old leather. He can make out all of those scents now, too, swirling around him and pulling him back into consciousness – like smelling salts.

“Hey, there he is,” Dean’s voice says nearby, he’s sitting on the side of Sam’s bed.

Sam nuzzles towards his older brother, inexplicably craving the closeness. “De,” Sam mumbles, still sleepy.

“Yeah, it’s me Sammy,” Dean smiles down at him gently, eyes soft. Sam feels an unusual rush of need wash over him like a heat wave and he presses himself as close to Dean as two bodies can possibly get with a blanket still in between them.

“Wha s’happening?” he grumbles into Dean’s chest, looping his long arms around his brother’s waist.

“Short version?” Dean scoffs, but not unkindly. “Listen man, I’ll explain everything, I promise but – right now I just need to make sure you get outta this in one piece,” Dean sighs, drawing his hand down Sam’s face and holding his cheek. Sam looks up at Dean quizzically, unused to the level of physical affection but finding he was in desperate want of more. He nods at his big brother – whatever’s wrong, he knows Dean will take care of him. “You trust me Sammy?” Dean’s voice is hoarse, and Sam realises he’s scared.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam breathes quietly into the slowly decreasing space between them. “Course I do,” he confirms again.

“Alright then,” Dean gulps and nods, mostly to himself though, like he’s trying to psych himself up for something. Then without any further warning, Dean’s lips are covering Sam’s and pressing him down onto the bed.

The fire that had been smouldering inside Sam for days now leaps and dances, as if Dean’s kiss is gasoline being thrown across him. Sam clings to Dean as he’s laid back onto the bed, and lets Dean climb into his lap and bury his hands in Sam’s hair. Dean licks across the seam of his lips and Sam parts them willingly, drinking in every bit of Dean that is being offered to him. He can’t remember why he needs Dean like this so badly, or when he started needing him, but now that he has him he couldn’t care less. He knows with certainty that the only thing he needs to be happy for the rest of his life is Dean – Dean loving him, Dean kissing him, Dean inside him. Fuck, he needs Dean inside him right fucking now.

At this realisation, Sam starts tearing into Dean’s clothes, ripping through the thread keeping buttons in their places without a thought. He expects Dean to start doing the same to him, but then realises he’s not wearing anything but his underwear, which suits Sam just fine. Dean has to pull away from him to wriggle out of his jeans, and Sam groans involuntarily at the sight of the bulge Dean reveals when he strips down.

“Someone likes the view, huh?” Dean teases him, voice deep and throaty, but Sam’s too far gone to come up with a bratty retort. All he can focus on is that he wants Dean’s cock – now.

“Shit, you look so big De,” Sam groans, reaching out a hand to cup around Dean’s member, still hidden behind black cotton. The front of the material is wet with precum, Sam can feel it against his fingertips.

“Think you can handle me, little bro?” Dean grabs Sam’s wrist and drags his fingers along the outline of his cock, up to the elastic waist of his boxers, and then inside them. Sam’s fingers curl around Dean and stroke him gently beneath the fabric. “Think you can fit all that inside your tight little ass f’me?” he grunts, thrusting into Sam’s grip.

“Fuck yes,” Sam rasps, and his breath sounds like it’s raking over hot coals in his throat. He pulls back from Dean to shed his own underwear, staring at it puzzledly when it comes away from his body covered in slick. What is that, he wonders as he feels it on his fingers. It doesn't feel like lube… “Dean?” Sam looks to his brother for answers.

“S’okay,” Dean rushes to reassure him, joining his little brother on the bed, both of them now completely bared to the other. “I’ll explain later, yeah? Just let me take care of you right now, okay?” Dean’s eyes are wide and pleading as he looks to Sam, and Sam nods; he trusts Dean. “Just lemme take care a’you,” Dean whispers again as he brushes their lips together, and Sam pulls him in tight for another bruising kiss.

Their bodies twist and tangle easily, Sam just letting Dean put them together however he wanted. The heat of Dean against him is overwhelming, the sweat on their skin mingles and sticks them together, pulling at their nerves every time they part. Sam doesn’t want them to part. He reaches between them, grabbing Dean’s cock in his hand and thrusts his own into the same grip. Their moans ring through each others’ mouths as Sam jerks them against each other, and they take turns fucking into his fist. Before long Dean pulls away from Sam with a groan, probably to stop himself from finishing before he’s had a chance to see what the inside of his brother feels like. Sam is glad of his consideration in this case, because if he ends tonight without Dean locked firmly inside of him, he’s going to feel like he’s missing out. If he was more clear headed, he might question why the phrase ‘locked inside of him’ is the one that came to mind but he’s not thinking too deeply about what he wants right now — he just wants.

“Need you, Dean,” Sam pants, widely, grabbing at Dean, trying to bring their bodies back together. “Need… ne—” Sam’s vocabulary has become shockingly singular, and he doesn’t have the presence of mind to be irritated with his brother when Dean smiles down at him smugly, knowingly.

“I know what you need, Sammy” Dean grins down at his little brother. Having Sam this strung out and desperate for him is like a drug. I could get used to this being a monthly thing, he smirks to himself, reaching his hand down between Sam’s legs and rubbing at his slick entrance. “Need me right here, dontcha Sammy? I can feel how much you need me,” Dean groans as the tip of his finger slips inside of Sam too easily, “fuck, you’re wet. So fucking wet for me, huh Sammy?”

Sam just nods blissfully down at Dean; it seems his vocabulary of one word has now receded to zero.

Cas had warned him about this, that as an Omega, Sam would start leaking like a fire hydrant, but at least it saved him having to hunt around for some kind of lube — he’d never needed to have that on hand before, and if he found any lying around the bunker there’s a decent chance it would be cursed or something. Plus, he bet this made the whole experience way better for Sam, so he was all for it. Dean moves between Sam’s legs and runs the head of his cock over Sam’s twitching entrance. Sammy lets out a weak moan and arches against the pressure, trying to get Dean to slip inside. Dean’s about to oblige when he remembers what Cas said about them getting locked together by the Alpha’s knot once he comes, and he thinks better of their position. It will be easier to roll on to their sides and rest if he does this with Sam on his hands and knees.

He manhandles Sam into position, rolling him over, and when Sam gets the idea and pushes himself onto his hands and knees, arching his back and presenting himself to Dean like some kind of trophy, Dean can’t hold himself back any longer. He pushes his cock inside Sam slowly, agonisingly and torturously slowly. Not because he’s concerned about hurting Sam, who is opening up beneath him like he was born for this — born to take Dean’s cock — but because he knows he wants to savour this moment for the rest of his life. He wants to remember every second of the first time he felt what it was like to truly possess Sam, to be joined so completely to one another that not even their bodies can keep them separate. So Dean goes slow, even though Sam is begging beneath him, asking him to just fuck him already, Dean ignores him, and he drinks the feelings in.

When he’s got himself bottomed out inside of Sam he leans down over his brother and presses a kiss to his shoulder, tenderly, thanking him for what he’s giving Dean right now. “You feel so good Sammy,” Dean moans, and he doesn’t mean for it to sound as sappy as it does but it’s hard to regulate things like that when you feel like you’ve just connected to your soulmate for the first time, so he gives himself a pass.

The next time Sam begs, Dean gives in, snapping his hips back and fucking into him as hard as he can manage. And once he’s started he can’t stop. Every instinct inside of Dean is shouting at him to take, to fuck Sam into the mattress and never let up, which Sam doesn’t seem to mind, because no matter how roughly Dean thrusts into him he keeps shouting for more, faster, harder, please. So Dean, ever the good big brother, gives Sammy what he needs — what they both need.

Dean can feel himself getting closer and closer to his release, and that’s when he notices that he can’t quite pull out as far as before. His knot has begun swelling at the base of his cock, getting ready to pop and bind him and Sam together. The fattening edges catching on Sam’s rim give Dean a kind of friction no sex ever has before and, fucking hell, it feels unbelievably good. He grinds himself harder against Sam, dropping over his back so they can be as close as possible, and bringing his hand up beneath Sam to grasp at his little brother’s dick. It’s the first time he’s properly touched it, felt it in his hand, and shit, it feels even bigger than it looks.

“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam groans, sounding absolutely wrecked, and Dean takes that as a compliment. “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck, please,” Sam is pleading with him so prettily, and Dean wants to cum just as badly as him.

“Not stopping Sammy,” Dean strokes him faster, grinds into him harder, “not stopping until you cum all over my hand baby boy, so c’mon, want you to cum f’me.” Dean thanks God that Sam starts to cum loudly when Dean tells him too, because the second he feels Sam start to convulse around him his knot pops and he’s cumming harder than he ever has in his life. The thought of his seed whitewashing Sam’s insides is sickeningly thrilling and he swears a second, small orgasm rocks through him — and hey, if that’s a perk of being an Alpha, I could get used to this.

When Dean comes back to himself, his breathing finally evening out, he notices Sam slumped beneath him, no longer holding himself up. He quickly checks for a pulse, and relaxes when he finds one – Sam’s just passed out. Fuck, he came so hard he passed out. Dean shudders, feeling another small blurt of cum force itself out of his cock at the thought that he’d fucked Sam so thoroughly. To be honest he was a little proud of himself.

Dean arranges himself on his side on the bed, so he can curl around Sam while he waits for his knot to deflate. He thought he’d be annoyed by having to stay still like this for so long but it’s surprisingly peaceful, laying here with Sam asleep in his arms. He hugs his little brother tighter to him, clasping his hands over Sam’s chest – over his heart – feels the rhythm and reassures himself that Sam is here, and alive, and safe. And his. The realisation hits Dean unexpectedly. Sam is finally his in the most permanent way he can think of, and his heart leaps at the thought. The last thing he thinks before he drops off to sleep too, is that he hopes Sam still wants to be his when he wakes up.

Tags: @vulgar-library​ @tintentrinkerin​ @negans-lucille-tblr​ @fandomfic-galore​ @petitgateau911​ @whoreforackles-deactivated20210​ @schaefchenherde​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @little-diable​ @laxe-chester67​ @kassyscarlett​ @akshi8278 @deandreamernp @lyarr24 @lovealways-j @stoneyggirl 

[theyarebothgunshot]

if you want, could you elaborate on jensen potentially having a crush on jared in the early years? not gonna lie, it makes me shudder a bit because jared is SO straight and i'm not a huge fan of his, but still curious about your take.

as a matter of fact, anon, i do want to elaborate on this, because i think it’s pretty fascinating and adds even more fuel to the ‘jensen is not straight’ fire, and to the ‘cockles is real’ trashcan we’re all in. 

because this is obviously gonna be long, i’m putting it under the cut…

the first time i actually considered this rumor, was when i was watching the season one blooper reel. if you haven’t seen it in a while, do yourselves a favor and watch it. 

really try and take in jensen’s demeanor and the way his face lights up when he looks at j*red. then, notice how he is NOT laughing at all when j*red is flirting/joking around with that actress who played sarah blake. could that be an appearance of jealous jensen? i think it might be the case, especially seeing as he is usually all up for playing around and goofing off on set. 

after i watched the season one bloopers, i watched the season 2 bloopers, and those are also worth a rewatch tbh. i think you can already see a slight change in jensen’s behavior, and that will only change more and more with each passing year, especially once misha joined the cast. one thing that really stood out to me in this blooper reel though, is a joke jensen makes that is either a ‘i have gay sex’ joke or proofs i have a dirty mind who turned it into one (which is also possible lmao, but let’s be real, he is known for his gay sex jokes). so at 4:40, jensen trips and people are like ‘are you okay?’ and jensen responds with: ‘like a cat, i always end up on all fours’. unfortunately we can’t see his face when he says this, but… well… let’s just say my mind went there.  

then i obviously spend some time reading into j/2 theories, and my suspicions about jensen having a crush in the early days only grew. let’s look at some highlights: 

Jensen: [talking about auditioning] Then went home that evening and got a call and they said, "Well, uh, there's this guy, Jared Pada-pada-something and they're really liking him for one of the brothers" and I'm like, "Okay" so I look him up online and... Jared: He thought I was hot. Jensen: I thought, "This guy is smoking hot! I can't play his brother!" 

now clearly, jensen knows he is good looking. he was a model before he came to hollywood. he has heard he is pretty his whole life. so this wasn’t a case of “i am not hot enough to play his brother”, this was a case of “how can i play his brother when i find him so hot”. and this little exchange also shows that jared was clearly in the know.

and yeah, of course it could all just be one big joke without any truth to it, but this is also pretty loud imo. this is jensen ‘heart eyes’ ackles and we all know it: 

click on this interview and go to 2:50. when jensen mentions j*red, megan goes ‘he’s cute too’ and jensen immediately agrees.

now onto a few more instances of j*red teasing jensen, knowing that jensen thinks he’s attractive/cute: 

there was no video linked about this, but this was during an interview in 2007 and it was about their ride to work:

Jensen: It’s our little private time... we enjoy ourselves and relax… Jared: He’ll give massages a lot of the time when I get tense. Jensen: He gets tense a lot. 

In response to Jensen asking why he sweats so much:

Jared: Why I sweat so much? Um, knowing that he's always--his eyes are always on me. Desperately wanting, you ever heard that Better Than Ezra song, Desperately Wanting? He--that crush on me, it makes me kind of awkward. He's always crying, and so I always feel like I should help him out, and I get nervous, you know, 'cause I'm like, I wanna do something for him, but I don't wanna give him the wrong idea, and just that sort of crazy thought process in my head makes me sweat.

another one: 

Jared: It's something that comes naturally. Jensen's got a big old crush on me, and I just sort of try and play of it. I've told him many times nothings going to happen, I'm not like that, but I play off it.

so yeah, all of this has lead me to believe that there is probably some truth to the joke that jensen had a crush on him, just like there is some truth to the jokes j*red now keeps making about jensen and misha.

[telli1206]

The Only Time I Feel Alive Is When I Find Something I Would Die For (Part 3)

Mal’s plots turn personal when she cooks up a plan for her big brother, Jay, and Evie’s brother, Carlos.

Part 1

Part 2

“Fuck, do you think he bailed?!”

Mal glares at her brother from her spot on her bed. Jay’s hasty, frantic pacing to her door and back hasn’t stopped for over ten minutes now. His once perfectly combed hair is already in tangles from persistent tugging, and his lips are chewed red and swollen. Even his clothes are starting to crumple under his constant movements, and nerve-wracking sweat stains are pooling under his arms. 

Gross. Mal can only hope Carlos is into good-looking trainwrecks.

“Will you just relax??” She groans and props herself up on her elbows. One glance to her phone and she’s rolling her eyes. “Oh. My. God. It’s only 3:27. They...I bet he’ll be here in 3 minutes! He’s not even late yet. Evil, just...get yourself together!”

But Jay continues his movements like he didn’t hear her, and Mal can’t tell if he’s ignoring her because of his nerves, or if he’s just being his usual asshole self. Either way, her annoyance level is reaching it’s breaking point. 

She slides off the bed so she can stand right in front of Jay, blocking his path. He stops short with a huff right in front of Mal, eyeing her with growing disdain when she refuses to move. His attempt to step around her only earns him a harsh shove to his chest.

“Hey! Watch it!” Jay bursts, stumbling backwards with a flail of his arms. “You almost knocked me on my ass!” 

Jay’s face reddens, and he steadies himself so he can stare down menacingly at Mal. Normally, Jay is undeterred by Mal’s physical attempts to stop him, so she’s actually startled by his awkward stumbling. Maybe he’s more anxious about his study “date” than she thought.

She sighs at the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. There’s no way this smitten doofus of a boy will be able to keep up with their usual banter. As much as she wants to continue her clapbacks when he’s being this irritating, he just looks, too...pathetic. Maybe now would be a good time to practice being a...supportive sister? Like Evie is. With Carlos.

She can try it, at least. If Evie does it, then maybe it’s not so bad.

“Look, Evie already texted me that they’re on their way, ok?” Mal does her best to soften her tone and reaches out to grab Jay’s shoulder, trying to rub it reassuringly. “She wouldn’t lie to me. Carlos. IS. Coming.”

“Right. Ok.” Jay winces, pinching his eyes shut. “Right. I’m being a fucking idiot.”

Mal chuckles and grabs his other shoulder to guide him out of the room. “No more than usual,” she teases as she gives him a light push into the hall bathroom. “Now, clean up. There’s no way you want Carlos seeing you like that. You ruined all MY hard work with that little freak out of yours.”

Jay turns to glare, but catches his reflection in the mirror instead, his eyes widening as he takes in his flustered, messy state, touching the frizz of his hair gingerly and leaning in close to examine his lips.

Mal chokes back a snicker, fighting the urge to further comment on Jay’s obvious distress. If she wants things to go well, he needs to keep a handle on whatever self-confidence he can muster before Carlos arrives. And she does want this to go well. For both of them. 

A gentle knock at the door catches her attention, followed by her phone buzzing in her pocket. She smiles to herself, not even bothering to check the text.

“Alright Jay, make yourself presentable and get your ass downstairs. You’ve got 5 minutes,” Mal quips, sliding back into the hallway. 

He nods, and a stuttered squeak escapes his lips. He goes back to brushing his hair, picking up speed to try to sort himself out. Mal leans back in to cast a short glance over Jay’s shoulder and into the mirror, giving her purple locks a quick fluff before retreating downstairs. She can’t stop a smilefrom curling on her lips as she nears the door. 

“Well well, this is a surprise!” she teases as she’s pulling the door open. 

But the rest of her joking is silenced by Evie’s bright smile and shining brown eyes. Mal is frozen, just for a moment, on the pretty girl at her door, not even aware yet of the boy at her side. Not that this is new, really. Mal feels herself weirdly gawking at her best friend no less than a dozen times whenever they’re together. But that must just be something that comes along with being friends with someone as stunning as Evie. 

The pretty bluenette purses her lips into a tight smile, her hand grabbing for Carlos to pull him in beside her. “Ha ha. Nice one Mal,” she snarks, dragging Carlos past Mal and into the house.

“Please, come in, won’t you?” Mal mutters, closing the door behind them. She spins around to face them, flashing a toothy grin. “Carlos!” she chirps, finally focusing on the curly-haired boy at Evie’s side. “Welcome! It’s good to see you.”

Carlos breaks into a smile, wide and bright. It’s almost as pretty as Evie’s. 

“Thanks Mal.”

She tries not to stare, but it’s as hard to look away from Carlos’ smile as it is Evie’s. He’s...absurdly attractive, just like his sister.

Carlos watches Mal for a moment, chewing on his lip. His eyes dart around the room, clearly looking for something. Or someone.

Um, Jay will be right down,” she spurts out quickly. “He had to gather the...study?...materials, that you need. I think that’s what he s-”

“Here! I’m here!”

All eyes dart to Jay, who’s jogging hurriedly down the stairs. He stops in front of Carlos, smiling happily but also panting breathlessly, his chest heaving to suck in some much-needed air. 

Mal smirks at the two boys standing still and silent, with eyes locked and mirroring the same goofy grin. Evie slips back carefully, releasing her grip from Carlos to step up next to Mal, sneaking a subtle wink her way as she does so. Mal grabs at her arm and pulls her away to ease some space between them.

“Well, we’ll leave you two to study then!” Mal shrills, shocking Carlos and Jay out of their momentary trance. “Jay. Just don’t forget your...pencil. Ok?”

Jay rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah, thanks sis,” he murmurs. He lifts his arm, pausing mid-air, before finally slinging it casually across Carlos’ shoulders. 

“Um. This way, Carlos,” Jay offers softly, steering the freckled boy towards the backyard sliding doors. “I-I set us up outside. To study. I thought...the sunshine, would be nice.”

Carlos nods quietly, walking beside Jay with a pleased smile as he leads them outside.

Mal’s eyes follow them and she bites back a grin. “Come on,” she insists to Evie, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her along. “I guess, we should study too, right?”

When they get to Mal’s room, Mal immediately flops back down onto her bed while Evie stands and stares in the doorway, her brows furrowed.

“What?” Mal asks when she notices Evie’s befuddled look.

Evie giggles, taking a few steps closer to the bed. “Don’t forget your pencil?” She perks a brow at Mal, letting her fingers toy with a silky blue curl on her shoulder. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t code for something. I know you too well, Mal.”

Mal smirks proudly, patting the spot next to her. She watches happily as Evie follows her silent command, breathing deep when Evie drops down beside her so she can inhale the sweet waft of her perfume.

“Believe me, I had no doubt you’d catch that, Princess,” Mal coos, throwing Evie a wink. “Nothing gets past you.”

Mal delights in the soft pink blush that’s warming on Evie’s cheeks. For a second she’s tempted to reach for them, to feel the warmth under her fingers. But she resists, for now. She’s way too excited to share her plan that’s currently underway with her pseudo partner in crime.

She grabs for Evie’s arm, pulling her close. They’re almost chest to chest, and Mal and can feel the hitch in Evie’s breath as she leans in even closer. “I’m not gonna tell you though...” 

And Evie’s eyes suddenly flash a look of concern. She searches Mal’s face, her features only relaxing when Mal breaks into a wide grin. She scoots herself to the window near her bed, dragging Evie with her.

“...I’m gonna show you. Get over here and look.”

Evie smiles and inches closer, carefully resting her arm on the windowsill that Mal is already propped on. Mal puts a finger to her lips, quietly pointing down for Evie’s eyes to follow. 

Just below them, Jay and Carlos sit at a table in the backyard. Both boys are currently pouring over their own materials, barely looking up and not even acknowledging each other. 

Evie can’t help frowning at what she sees. She was definitely hoping for more of a connection for Carlos, especially with Jay’s obvious interest in her sweetly shy brother. She braves a glance back at Mal, hoping to read her expression, and finds herself suppressing a giggle. Mal is...pouting? At least, that’s what it looks like, with her brows knitted together and nose scrunched tightly. She bites hard on her lip, still staring at Mal and trying her best not to smile. But her normally snarky friend is just...adorable.

“Ugh, this is NOT what I was expecting,” Mal grumbles, fisting her hands. She glares down at Jay, eyes boring through the top of his head with angered determination. “He fucking better do what I told him. That down there is the most G-rated shit I’ve ever seen. He could have a study date like that with...with...our grandma!”

Evie tilts her head, eyes wide with renewed interest. “Oh, so you told Jay what to do with my brother? Is this some long, elaborate scheme to seduce Carlos or something?”

Mal lets the hint of a smile slip, her eyes still focused on the boys below. “Maybe,” she teases, letting her gaze shift to Evie. “Or maybe, I’m just teaching my clueless brother how to flirt.”

“Flirt??” Evie exclaims, brows raised in mock surprise. “He...needs your help? With that? Does Jay really think his pre-teen sister knows how to flirt better than he does?”

“No,” Mal snaps, her smile fading for a moment. “But I do.”

Mal lays a hand on Evie’s shoulder and turns her to face the window. But Evie’s too distracted by the touch to really realize what she’s doing. It feels almost...electric, prickling at her skin and sending a shiver down her arm. She can only hope Mal doesn’t notice, that she can’t feel the sudden racing of Evie’s heart, as if it just thudded to life under their skin-to-skin contact.

But Mal’s now sporting a smug grin and looking down at her brother, seemingly unaware of Evie’s inward struggle. “I guarantee you Jay’s going to do what I told him.” Mal muses, her eyes still trained on him. “My advice was way too good to ignore. Just watch.”

Evie exhales and leans into Mal’s touch, watching Carlos and Jay along with her in silence for what seems like, forever. But it soon becomes painfully obvious that...nothing is happening. Both boys are buried in their own books, occassionally letting their eyes drift to the other, but neither is saying a word. It’s...boring. Not that Mal and Evie have much experience with dating, but they might just keep it that way if all dates are like...this.

Mal drums her fingers nervously on Evie’s shoulder, speeding up their pace with each passing minute. Evie chuckles at how frantic they are now, the thrumming of them is practically ringing in her ears. She places her hand over Mal’s to calm her, giving a comforting look into bright green eyes.

“It’s ok, Mal. You did your best. Maybe Jay has his own moves he wants to try. Eventually.”

Mal scoffs and looks away. “Please. He wouldn’t have even gotten this far with Carlos without my help. He’s hopeless without me telling him what to do.”

Evie just shakes her head and starts to move away, ready to urge Mal to get to work on their own project. But Mal tightens her grip on Evie’s hand all of a sudden, yanking it down and squeezing tightly.

“Shit! Fuck yes, look!”

Evie’s eyes dart to Jay, who’s finally looking Carlos’ way. He’s leaning across the table, moving so slowly that Evie’s eyes can hardly register the motion. His hand is extended toward Carlos, and it looks like he’s going for...his notebook?

“W-what, is he doing?” Evie asks, stealing confused glances back to Mal. But the smirk on her face is evidence enough that this was part of her idea. 

Jay’s hand stops just short of Carlos, but is close enough to catch the boy’s eye. He looks up from his writing, eyes narrowed on Jay’s hand, then up to meet his gaze.

“Hey Carlos?” Jay smiles softly, and Carlos relaxes, letting himself smile back. “I can’t find my pencil. Can I, borrow yours, just for a second?”

As he speaks, Jay’s hand slides forward again. His fingers raise just enough to cover Carlos’ hand with his own, his fingers curling to grasp up to Carlos’ wrist.

Carlos’ eyes drop down immediately at the touch, his brows raised in surprise as he watches Jay’s hand encompass his. When Jay finally withdraws, he makes a show of lightly scraping his fingers down Carlos’ knuckles. The sensation is soft and almost teasing, and Carlos finds himself swallowing sharply to avoid making any pleased sounds from something as simple as touching hands. When Jay reachs the pencil resting in the crook of Carlos’ hand he closes his fingers around it, pulling it along with them and slipping it out of Carlos’ grasp.

“Thanks,” Jay whispers, his eyes still on Carlos. “I’ll give it right back, I swear.”

Evie’s attention is diverted just as Jay starts writing, feeling another tight squeeze to her hand. She had almost forgotten Mal was still holding onto it. Mal is looking at her, teeth clenched into a broad, catlike grin, and she squeezes Evie’s hand again.

“Yessss! This is going to be gold,” she squeals, looking intently at the paper Jay is writing on.

Jay looks up and grins toothily at Carlos as he finishes his note, and pushes the the pencil back across the table. He follows it with the paper, giliding it across the table to stop right in front of his freckled crush.

Carlos perks a brow, examining both Jay and the paper with a growing curiousity. Jay nods his reassurance and slides the note further towards Carlos, resting it just under his Carlos’ fingertips.

“Go ahead,” he urges. “It’s for you.”

Carlos inches the notes towards him with his fingertips, finally dropping it into his lap and snatching it up quickly. His lips twitch eagerly as he reads along.

“Carlos,

I hope this note makes you smile, because you have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I’ve liked you for a long time. Will you go out with me?

~ Jay”

Jay beams as he listens to his request read aloud, his eyes sparkling with hope when Carlos finally looks into them.

“Well, what do you say, Carlos? Will you let me take you out on a date? A real one, not for studying,” he clarifies with a chuckle.

Carlos bites his lip through his smile and starts to nod eagerly. His whole action is so vigorous even his slight body is shaking along with the movement.

“Eee-!”

Evie’s excited shriek is silenced by Mal’s hand clamping down on her, muffling the  sound.

“Shhhhh, there’s more,” Mal rasps, pressing her face close to Evie’s. “We haven’t even seen the best part.” She drops her hand from Evie’s mouth and directs the girl’s chin back down with one finger to keep her watching.

Jay walks around the table to stand behind Carlos, who twists his head back to watch, confusion setting deep in his eyes. Without a warning, Jay pulls out Carlos’ chair, causing him startle and yelp. Jay then slides himself between Carlos and the table in front of him, crouching down to eye level so he can flash his most disarming smile, the one that Mal assured him will make anyone absolutely melt like ice cream on a summer day.

“I had, just one more question, Carlos,” 

Jay slips a hand under Carlos’ palm, rubbing circles into it with is thumb. “I just...I’m wondering. If it’s not too much. If there’s one more thing you might let me do?”

“Uh, yes?” Carlos chews on his lip while trying to look Jay in the eye, but his thoughts keep drifting back to the hand now holding his. “Of course. What are you asking to do, exa-”

He’s cut off by lips on his own, Jay’s hands cupping Carlos’ cheeks and pushing their mouths together. Jay keeps the kiss soft and gentle, letting his lips slide over Carlos’ lightly, stopping only to suck a bottom lip between his teeth, and giving it one delicate tug before pulling away and sitting back upright.

Carlos sits stunned for a moment, his eyes still closed, before opening them to meet Jay’s unsure stare.

“Um. I hope that’s, ok?” Jay’s voice sounds surprisingly meek given his bold move, and he rubs a shaky hand at the back of his neck.

His uncertainty fades, though, as soon as Carlos breaks into a grin and lunges towards him, fisting his shirt and pressing their lips back together. Jay can’t stop from smiling into the kiss, and grabbing at Carlos’ waist to push their bodies in closer.

“Well,” Jay muses, still holding Carlos tightly when they part. “I hope this a good sign for how our date’s going to go.” 

Carlos smirks, and without a word dives back in and kisses Jay firmly. “Just shut up and kiss me,” he mumbles, their lips still connected. “You made me wait long enough, don’t you think?”

Jay chuckles and places a hand at Carlos’ neck, anchoring him in to deepen their kiss. “Whatever you want, babe.”

Evie giggles from her vantage point above, watching Jay and Carlos’ kiss unfold with glowing elation.

“Oh! That’s so sweet. I’m so happy for them,” she coos, clasping her hands together.

Mal chuckles and scoots away from the window. “You’re welcome,” she says matter-of-factly, leaning against the wall to face Evie.

“Someone seems pretty sure of herself,” Evie muses, with an edge of mocking in her tone. “Do you really think Jay would’ve struck out with my brother without your flirting tips?”

“Oh, I know it,” Mal answers smugly. “He’s lucky he’s got a sister that’s so good at it.”

“Mal,” Evie sighs, shaking her head. “You’re twelve. How could you already be a master flirt?”

“I’m so glad you asked that, Eves.”

Mal stays focused on Evie as she drops down on all fours and starts to crawl across the bed. Evie sits, frozen, her eyes following Mal’s every movement. She wants to speak, to ask Mal what she’s talking about. To ask, to dare, and see if it might be what she’s...hoping for. But her tongue is too thick, too dry at the sight of Mal hovering ever closer, and she has to force a labored swallow before Mal is upon her and she completely loses her ability to talk.

“So, you should know, that Jay is not the reason I’ve worked on my flirting.” Mal confesses. She’s close to Evie now, so close she can feel Mal’s breath ghosting her face.

Shit, Evie needs to say something. She swallows again, and this time it seems easier. She can feel her tongue, at least.

“O-Ooh. Really?” She squeaks out. Her voice is barely a whisper. “Why, then?”

Mal grins. “Because, there’s someone I’m interested in, too.”

Mal’s eyes drift briefly to Evie’s lips and back, so quickly it’s easy enough to miss. But she catches it, and in that same instant Evie’s heart jumps into her throat.

“Is it. Someone I know?”

“You might.” Mal replies cheekily, her grin growing toothier as she now, very clearly, looks Evie up and down. “She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever met.”

“Ah.” Evie’s confidence is growing, but she still ducks her head to hide her blush. “Are you...close, with this girl?”

“The closest,” Mal whispers, inching closer. Their noses are touching, and Evie can’t bring herself to even blink. “Especially right now.”

Evie tries to giggle, but it’s breathy and awkward and dies in her throat.

“Evie, I was wondering...if there’s something you would let me do?”

Mal’s boldness falters for just a moment, and Evie recognizes the hopefulness in her eyes. She’d seen it today already, only a few minutes ago.

But instead of answering, Evie surges forward, meeting Mal’s lips and kissing her intensely. She revels in the muffled moan of surprise, vibrating from Mal’s mouth through her own parted lips. When she pulls away, it’s Mal that’s flushed, her mouth puffy and red and eyes wide with surprise.

“Yes, Mal. Of course,” 

Evie leans back in for another light peck, smirking proudly. “Unless, I already answered your question?”

Ahhhh! I finally finished this one! This is meant as a big “welcome back” to @bunny-lou, and also as big hugs for @hersilentlanguage and @fuck-you-i-am-spiderman. Hope you like it! 😘💖😘💖😘💖

[rolotouto]

Banjou no Geass Gekijou

Before I post a list with all the games Rolo’s been featured in, here's more about my favorite one: the Nintendo DS board game, Banjou no Geass Gekijou. These are some of the lines you get when you land on Rolo’s squares.

へぇ、すごいですね、ライさんって。　何人もの人の声を、同時に聞き分けられるなんて…僕が必ず分かるのは兄さんの声くらいですよ… Wow, you are amazing, Rai-san. To be able to recognize the voices of multiple people simultaneously... The only one that I recognize without fail is Brother's...

すごいですね、ライさん。人を簡単に笑わせるなんて…僕にはできそうにありません。 You are amazing, Rai-san. Being able to make people laugh so easily... I don’t think I could do it.

ライさんはどうして、そんなに簡単に人を笑わせることができるんですか？ あ、いえ…　別にうらやましいとかそういうことではないですけど…　ただ、すごいなって… Rai-san, why are you able to make people laugh so easily? Ah, no... It's not that I am jealous or anything like that... It's just, that it’s so amazing...

I think lines like this show how strong Rolo’s true self is despite being trained as an “emotionless” assassin. The sight of someone making another person happy makes him feel admiration. He had the potential to be a really good kid...

やった！僕の勝ちですね！あ、ごめんなさい…　僕ばかりが楽しんでしまったみたいで…　あ、あの…　また遊んでください！ Yes! I won! Ah, I'm sorry... It seems I ended up being the only one who had fun... U-um... Let's play again next time, please!

And he isn’t just in touch with his own feelings, but also those of the individual he’s interacting with. I wish these pretty scenes with Rai could lead to a Good End where, having gained another person he can trust, Rolo actually started believing in his right to be loved simply by being Rolo, instead of assuming his value is tied to his usefulness as an assassin. But yeah, the Good Ends have him killing Rai, so I guess deep-rooted beliefs take long to change...

えっ！事故に遭ったんですか！…兄さんはッ！にィ~さ~んッ！！ Eh! You had an accident?! ...Brother is...! Bro~ther!!

There’s a driving minigame where you play as Rivalz and Lelouch, and this is Rolo’s reaction if you crash Rivalz’s motorbike. Before playing the minigame, Rolo had asked you to please accompany Rivalz-san and Niisan because he(Rolo) doesn’t trust Rivalz-san’s driving skills. I find it amusing that Rolo actually went through the process of learning how to drive a bike and that he probably understands about vehicles (and mechas), while Lelouch likely has no interest or knowledge whatsoever. His fakememory!self was probably initially totally confused by his little sibling’s ability to drive, and it’s things like these that make the time he spent with Rolo be memories with Rolo rather than “with a Nunnally replacement”. Anyway, if you play the driving minigame when Rolo has come to like Rai as well, he will be calmer and say something like “I’m glad Niisan and you are safe”. Rivalz doesn’t even exist for Rolo.

あれ、失敗ですか。もしかしてオモチャのハンマーじゃ本気になれないですか？僕のナイフ…　貸しましょうか？フフフ… Oh, you lost? Maybe it's that you couldn't take it seriously using a toy hammer? Should I lend you... my knife? Fufufu...

This is what you get when you lose on the whac-a-character minigame. Sadly for Rolo, one of the rules in that minigame is not to hit Nunnally.

あ、ライさん。ほら、見てください！兄さんからもらったんです、この回転パズル！ねえ、ライさん。一緒に組み立ててみませんか？ Ah, Rai-san. Look, look at this! I received it from Brother, this rotation puzzle! Hey, Rai-san, why don't we assemble it together?

思ったより簡単にできましたね、ライさん。でも、せっかく兄さんがくれたものなんですから今度はひとりでやってみます。じゃあ… You were able to do it more easily than I thought, Rai-san. But since it's something that Brother gave me, next time I'll try to do it on my own. Well then...

Rolo allowing others to play with something given to him by Niisan? And poor Victor from the OSI had to get killed after touching his locket...

The next part needs some context first. This is from when you overhear his conversation with Villetta and Lelouch at the basement. Once he notices you there, he'll normally just kill you instantly, but if you visit them after he's already grown to like you, he hesitates and, seeing how neither Villetta nor Lelouch noticed you, offers to spare your life with the condition that you don't tell anyone what you heard. You can answer "yes" or "no". As one can guess, saying that you won't keep the secret leads to a game over.

First, "yes": じゃあ、これは…　僕らだけの秘密です…　そう…　兄さんにも内緒の…

Then, this is... a secret that is only ours... That's right... a secret even to Brother...

And "no":

なるほど…　僕がバカでした…　やっぱり信じられるのは…　兄さんだけ…　他のヤツなんて… …ライさん。　あなたならわかってくれると思ったのに…　残念です… I see... I was stupid... Indeed, the one that can be trusted... is only Brother... Of course there would be no one else... ...Rai-san. I thought that you would understand, and yet... It's a shame...

It might be because it’s a game and he’s merely letting the player know what’s going to happen, but still, I like that Rolo doesn’t kill Rai right away and instead expresses his emotions to him/her first. Like Rolo barely talks to people he doesn’t feel a connection with, but once he does feel it, the love he has for that person is really important to him. Enough that he’d die mainly to honor those feelings that made him feel human. Lastly, there’s a conversation between Rolo and Lelouch that you get right before Rolo’s route is completed. (Lulu)やあ、ライ。 Hi there, Rai. (Rolo)あ、ライさん。 Ah, Rai-san. ほらな、ロロ。やっぱりライはここに来ただろ？ See, Rolo, Rai did come here after all, didn’t (s)he? う、うん… Y-yeah... 今、ロロと賭けをしてたんだ。ライが15分以内にここに来るかどうかをね。 結果は、俺の勝ち。　ロロ、今日の洗濯当番は代わってもらうぞ。 I just made a bet with Rolo on whether you'd arrive here within 15 minutes. The result is I won. Rolo, today you do the laundry instead. う、うん…　あ、で、でも！夕食当番は兄さんだからね！ Y-yes... Ah, b-but! Don’t forget that Brother is in charge of dinner! む、��うだったか…　じゃあ、こうしよう。俺が今からライと何かのミニゲームで対戦する。俺が勝ったら、ロロ。オマエが夕食当番だ。 Hm, was it so?... Well then, let's do this. I'm going to compete with Rai in some minigame now. If I win, Rolo, you take care of dinner. え、また賭け事？ Eh, betting again? そうさ、わかりやすいだろ？ライ、何て対戦する？オセロか？パズルか？何でもいいぞ。 That's right, isn't it simple? Rai, what will we compete in? Othello? Puzzle? Anything will do. 兄さん、水泳はどう？ Brother, what about swimming? なに！？なぜ体力勝負を…！ What!? Why a trial of strength...! 何でもいいって言ったじゃない？ Didn't you say that anything would do? クッ！いいだろう！速く泳ぐ理論はわかっている！負けるわけがない！ライ！水泳で勝負だ！ロロ！オマエは夕食の献立でも考えておくんだな！ Tch! Fine! I know the theory for swimming fast! There's no way I'll lose! Rai! It's a swimming match! Rolo! Start thinking about what to cook for dinner! It’s adorable how Rolo is so comfortable with Lelouch that he isn’t afraid to show him that he wants him to lose. Lelouch is hilariously slow at the swimming minigame despite “knowing the theory” (lol), so usually you’ll win without trying: やった！これで兄さんの手料理が食べられるよ! ありがとう、ライさん！ Yes! Now I can eat Brother's home cooking! Thank you, Rai-san!

チッ…　しかたないな…　晩御飯はビーフストロガノフだ！いいな！ Tch... There's no helping it... Dinner will be beef stroganoff, okay?!

うん！ Yes!

I’m laughing at how in-character it is for Lelouch to loose his cool when he doesn’t win. And notice how Rolo didn’t actually mind cooking dinner himself, he just wanted Lelouch to do it so he could eat his home cooking ♥ You can also just do nothing at all during the minigame so Lelouch can beat you, in which case the conversation goes like: 水泳で兄さんに負けるなんて…ライさん、遅い… To lose against Brother at swimming... Rai-san, you're slow... ロロ、夕食は何か凝ったものが食べたいな…そうだな…流しそうめんなんてどうだ？ Rolo, for dinner I want to eat something elaborate... Let me see... What about flowing noodles? 兄さん…たしかに凝ってるけど…それじゃ昼食みたいだよ…大丈夫、もっと栄養のあるものを作ってあげるから。 Brother... That's certainly elaborate but... then it would be like lunch... It's alright, I'll make you something more nutritious.

頼むぞ、ロロ。 I leave it in your hands, Rolo.

A Japanese person will probably find this funnier and be able to explain it better, but I think the joke is that flowing noodles are really plain in terms of what the food itself is, and that what is elaborate is the process to prepare them (you have to make noodles slide down a structure of bamboo pipes). So Lelouch seems to be deliberately choosing something Rolo can’t possibly prepare just to feel a bit evil? On the other hand, it’s really cute that he will eat Rolo’s cooking. He isn’t disgusted by it or anything, as much as he’d want to convince himself that he hates Rolo… And that’s it. Afterwards you get the endings, in which he kills you. Yeah, he spared your life at the basement, but now he stabs you out of respect, because he wants your ghost to protect Niisan. And he smiles and laughs when saying so too!? Well, to be precise, that’s the ending if you are playing as male!Rai. As female!Rai he seems more pained and doesn’t want you to leave, and it’s not so clear whether he kills you or not. Maybe he kidnaps you, since you simply disappear after Rolo took you to the airport. Creepy stuff... Someone uploaded a video of Rolo’s route, where you can see everything we’ve been talking about. ---- By the way, the official blog for this game was run by staff members who seemed to like Rolo a lot. The blog isn’t available anymore, but you can find the original texts in Japanese through Wayback Machine: part 1, part 2, part 3.

For example:

“I’m now playing through the previous game LOST COLORS and I was chased and killed by Rolo!”

“By the way, I wear Rolo on my employee badge.

It’s cute how Rolo’s charm is shaped like a heart!”

“So, since the anime’s last episode aired, there’s a new DS ‘Banjou no Geass Gekijou’ advertisement. We tried changing Lelouch and Rolo’s lines! Rolo 'Niisan... is cute' You are the one who’s cute-!”

“Good... mor   ning. It’s No... zawa... First, um, yeah, I haven’t posted updates. U.... Usui san is the only one who... was... writing... If you’re... wondering... why, on 17th August’s broadcast... Rolo  Rolo d... died”

“You can see Rolo in the advertisement... (tear)”

“Lelouch’s emperor outfit... I wanted Rolo to see it”  ----- It’s nice to know the staff was allowed to openly fangirl about their favorite characters. Although we already knew that from Sakou-san...

[blackberry-gingham]

Hiya! Could you write a little something about Paul dating a girl who is a big bookworm? She can’t go anywhere without a book in her hands. She’s just very timid and polite and Paul just instantly falls for her! Thank you so so much, my love <3

Oh it's SO cottage core time lol.

Thank you for sending this in!!! I love bookworm reader type stuff 🥺🥺 enjoy!

---

Today has been very bizarre indeed.

Paul sits on a worn leather bench in the hall of a recording building all by himself. He's brought his bass and some music sheets he's been working on, fully prepared for a little practice and recording with the lads.

He checks his watch once again. It's 12:38, over half an hour past when John told him they were going to meet up for practice. Paul huffs and thumps his head against the panel wall behind him. Damn that John...

"Well, this is a waste", Paul slaps his knees and stands. He does a quick stretch, and an old office door creaks open. You poke your head out to see what all the ruckus is about.

"Hello? Is everything alright out here?"

Paul nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, "Oh, pardon me! I uh-", he turns to face you. He's seen you around here before plenty of times when he's come to record, but never found the time to talk with you. Not that he ever thought he could, that is.

You always seem to be reading everywhere you go.

And yet, that fascinates him. Your clothes are stylish, but simple and comfortable. You don't appear to care too much for loads of makeup or elaborate hairdos. Just... the natural beauty of you alone has his interest peaked. So different from the other girls he usually runs into...

Not to mention you've never before come to ask for an autograph or just to talk with any of the four of them! You're like a puzzle he wants to solve. He's so use to being hounded by girls, the one woman he meets that doesn't seem to care much for him, has him on his head.

You wouldn't know what to say to that, except that you're quite use to him and the other Beatles being around. Thus, you're simply not too caught up as a ravenous fan girl type.

No, you rather prefer books and your soft classics to rock n roll and it's stars.

"Oh, Mr McCartney... I'm sorry sir, but we don't seem to have a studio scheduled for you today... Uhm, is there some mistake?"

Paul leans on the wall, trying to be casual, but failing miserably. He paints on what he hopes is a charming smile, "Something like that, but it's alright! Say, haven't I seen you here before...?"

You smile kindly, although you see through his act, "Yes sir, I'm an assistant here. See?" You come out of the doorway and gently click your door closed behind you. Sure enough, your name is written in bold block letters on the glass.

Paul reads you name aloud, letting it roll off his tounge. "What a lovely name! Say, I'm about to head out, but can I autograph something for you, for the trouble? I didn't mean to scare you, haha. Uh... That perhaps!"

He gestures to a ragged old tome cradled in your arms. The pages are yellowed, the spine well worn, and the color coating has begun to chip away. Just barely along the cover, one can faintly make out the title, Pride and Prejudice.

You hold the novel tighter to your chest and turn slightly away to shield it. "Oh! Um, thank you but I couldn't... This is an original copy from 1813, it's practically a treasure! Er uh, not that I wouldn't wa-"

"From 1813?", Paul interupts you, not with the intention of being rude, mind, in fact quite the opposite. His eyes are wide and it's clear you've captured his attention for sure now.

"That's right! I just love books, you know... I'm something of a collector haha", you run your delicate fingers over the top of the hardcover and for the briefest of moments, Paul wonders what those fingers would feel like through his hair.

You continue, "I'm actually only here to bring some books home from my office, I was just leaving when I heard you out here"

Paul snaps out of his daydream, realising now that he's sad to see you go, "Heh, right then! Well I suppose I shouldn't ke-"

An ear splitting crack of thunder shakes the building, followed immediately by a heavy torrent of rain that you can hear even through the brick exterior. Your face falls, "Oh no... I'm sorry Mr McCartney, but I really must be going, tsk now I need to figure out how to get my books safely to the car"

"Would you like some help? I've all day freed up you know!", Paul's heart beat quickens as he awaits your answer.

You think for a moment. Well, you could use some help moving the boxes... Besides-

Your eyes focus on Paul who, if he's even trying to hide his excitement, is doing a very poor job of it. If he had a tail, it'd surely be wagging.

-he seems harmless.

At last you accept and usher Paul into your office. "Do you think we could find something to cover the boxes from the rain?"

Paul thinks a moment then promises to return in a jiffy. True to his word, he's come back with what appear to be drum tarps. He drapes the sturdy leather over both stacks, then stands back to appreciate his work, "There now, surely Ringo won't mind since it's for such a worthy cause"

You laugh heartily, and in that very moment Paul swears he'll remember the beautiful melody of it all his life. You clear your throat, trying to compose yourself, "Ahem, well then, my car is just this way"

Paul hoists his boxes up with a touch more effort then he was anticipating, but he'll be damned if he lets that on in front of you. He grits his teeth and hopes it's not too far as he follows you through the hallways to the back lot.

"Oh! Are those encyclopedias too heavy? I'm so sorry, I should've split the load...", You turn to check on him. He looks a bit red.

"They're fine!", Paul wheezes.

You don't believe a word, but you figure he'd rather carry on then stop now. Besides, you're nearly there. Finally, as promised, you exit the building and stand beneath the small awning.

"Alright now, it's that green one over there, see? We'll run over quick, and put them in the backseat, ok?"

Paul nods and huffs, hyping himself up for one last push.

"Go!"

The two of you race to the car, just barely able to see where you're headed through the down pour. You balance your boxes on your knee with one hand and shove your keys into the lock with the other. Without a second wasted, you fling the door open and push the stack inside with Paul's right behind you.

You slam the door closed and jump into your car for cover while Paul joins you in the passengers seat. You're absolutely soaked and Paul doesn't look much better. He laughs at the state of himself, but you feel quite bad for putting him up to this in the first palce...

"Uh, Mr McCartney..."

"Oh, Paul please", he laughs

You smile and muster up some courage, "Paul... Um, would you like to come take these home with me? I'd just hate to leave you out in the rain... Besides, I can make you a nice cuppa for your help. And, there will be biuscuits", you bite your lip, and suddenly the dynamic has flipped as now you await anxiously for a yes.

Paul looks at you very seriously, "Well, only if there will be biuscuits", after a moment, he smiles, and let's you in on the joke. You laugh alongside him.

Carefully, you drive through the storm and the city until you reach the edge of town. The rain's not let up, even as you hit the countryside. Paul sings and talks to you a little to settle your nerves, particularly as streaks of lighting and cracks of thunder battle overhead.

Before long you pull into a little dirt lane that slowly turns to cobble. You turn everything off and when the car is situated, you and Paul formulate a similar plan as before to grab the boxes and make a break for your porch.

The plan goes smoothly and Paul follows you closely across the stone path up to the painted white steps of your porch. Now that his eyes have a break from the onslaught of rain water, Paul take a moment to appreciate your little home as you fish out your keys.

The porch is quite small, and surrounded by flowering shrubs. A few vines of English ivy twine around the banisters and railing, creating a lovely frame and backdrop for the two person swing bench hanging just a few feet away. Paul is admiring the little pillows when you interupt him to come inside.

Paul follows obediently through the cottage, absolutely swimming in the atmosphere. Just inside lays a cute little door mat welcoming him to the abode. To the left is a small living room with a fireplace and a bench at the window. Every piece of furniture is tastefully laden with pillows and fluffy throws.

You travel up a short flight of stairs which leads to a single room on the second floor. The walls are made entirely of bookshelves aside from a little niche carved out for a desk and a split stopping just before the large bay window and bed beneath it.

Paul is so stunned at the sight of it, he has to freeze and take in the simple, yet majestic room. He feels as though he's in another world.

"You can just put those over there, I'll go start the kett- Uh, Paul are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh, sure! Over here you said?"

"...If you'd please. Thank you", you smile and leave after just an extra moment to make sure he doesn't fall over or something.

Paul sets to work diligently and respectfully handling your collection, occasionally glancing reverently up at the towering shelves around him. He reads every title, feeling the old binding across the length of his hands. The whole room smells of aged paper and a touch of your perfume, and Paul's never experienced such a wonderful scent in his life.

He's about halfway through his stack of boxes when you come up the old creaking stairway to beckon him down for tea. Paul snaps to attention at the sound of your voice, then scuttles down after you.

"Here, I thought we could dry off by the fire", you hand him a cup and saucer with all the fixings he could want safely placed on the old wooden coffee table behind him. Paul joins you on the wool rug as you fix your drinks then settle in.

"Thank you so much for your help Mr-, er I mean Paul", you smile sweetly, and Paul has never felt so happy to hear someone speak his name.

"No trouble...", He mumbles.

You sip in silence for a while, and suddenly you shiver quite violently. Your cup rattles and spalshes just a touch.

A little embarrassed, you apologize and put down your cup, "I guess I didn't realize how cold I was", you laugh nervously and grab one of your many blankets and a few pillows to surround yourself with.

"No no, don't worry! Here, let me help", Paul hesitates just a second, but when you don't object he scoots closer until you're sitting hip to hip. You smile gratefully, a little blush painting your cheeks as you drape the rest of the blanket over Paul's shoulder.

"Thank you...", daring to take a risk, you cuddle into his side.

Paul welcomes you, holding you tightly and praying you can't feel his heart hammering away inside him. He and rests his chin on your head and places a gentle, tiny kiss to your fragrant hair, lingering just a moment to drink in the scent of it. You smell like paper and wisteria.

"No trouble"

[seizethecarpe]

Between Bookends || Dave and Rio

Timing: Currentish, during versipellis plot.  Summary: Dave knows he isn’t well, and he turns to the only scribe he knows for help. Whether that’s a good idea or not... well. They’ll find out. Content warnings: Body horror mention

Dave trembled, his muscles exhausted to the point of no return. He could barely steer the boat cohesively, except for the hunger eating at his stomach despite the pound and pounds of seal meat he’d already eaten. As he got closer and closer to the shore, the monstrous sickness became even louder, knowing its prey was nearby. He’d almost slaughtered Adam, had come close to killing several other too. Maybe he’d even drowned a couple, even if he hadn’t eaten them. Guilt tried to gnaw at him, but how could it even begin to compete with the hunger inside him? The boat shuddered to a stop, a small distance from where he’d dock it. Maybe just a small enough distance to give Rio the chance to run, or fight, or whatever the kid needed to. Dave took a last deep breath through his mouth, so that the last thing he smelled was the sea. If he didn’t talk, he wouldn’t have to breathe. He raised his hand to Rio in recognition. “You said you could help,” Dave signed. “How can you help?”

 Orion didn’t know what to do with his hands. His eyesight made Dave’s boat coming into view that much more awkward. How close was close enough to start waving? How awkward would it be for him to stand completely still while Dave came closer and closer to land? In context of exactly what Dave was going through, none of this seemed relevant or important. But as Rio’s mind raced with all the possibilities of what could be wrong and how Dave could end up hurt, these annoying little social cues that Rio couldn’t get a grasp of seemed to be the only way to distract himself from completely freaking out. As an annoying compromise, Rio swayed his arms a bit by his side until Dave motioned first. Then Rio started waving and moving to close the distance between the two. Dave’s question didn’t exactly ease Rio’s concerns. Promising help was something that Rio always did. This time he actually needed to follow through on the offer. Easier said than done when he still wasn’t absolutely positive he was right. “Right. Yeah. I have some ideas. Um- I just want to be sure about what you saw.” Rio signed as he spoke, moving closer to the boat to try to help him with anything he needed.

 “Stay back. I don’t rightly know if I have a handle on this.” Dave signed aggressively, taking a couple steps back in his boat. He’d seen Rio against the cockatrices, in tears over the thought of having to kill an aggro chicken. No matter what tricks Rio had up his sleeve, he wouldn’t do what would need doing if… well, just if. The hunger was an ambush predator, overwhelming him before because he hadn’t known it was there. That was the only way he could swallow the guilt of how close he’d come already to eating people. Now it could no longer sneak up on him, Dave liked to believe for a moment he would have control, but as Rio got closer, even without smelling the air, Dave’s mouth was beginning to salivate. “Biggest wolf I’ve ever seen in the woods. Not around a full moon, skin dangling from its back like it was wearing war trophies of something. Barely got away in time.” Dave raised his arm, showing the bandage and the angry red that had seeped through and had dried on the outside. 

 Crossing his arms in protest, Orion froze in place and kept the distance from Dave that was demanded. He didn’t like the idea of it though. Dave was clearly going through a lot right now, and what he needed was someone that could do whatever it took to help him out. Dave had given an overview of what was wrong and how dangerous he was becoming. Rio had to determine the line of separation between helping Dave and trying to keep himself safe. For as smart as he was told that he was growing up, it was just about the only thing that his parents would compliment him on, he hadn’t mastered the art of self preservation. “Jesus” Rio mumbled to himself, not wasting the time in signing it before moving on, “Right. Okay. Well, I have a theory. I think.” It wasn’t perfect and it certainly wasn’t something he had ever come across before, but the pieces of Dave’s story seemed to be fitting together. “I have a place we can go. Nobody but me will be there. But on our way, explain what you’re feeling. Like uh- you mentioned about a hunger for…” Unable to finish the sentence himself, he dropped his hands and left it open ended for Dave to elaborate.

 “I’ll take the hint of an idea over anything swirling through my head at the moment.” Better than wondering what had broken in him, if this was the work of the Valkyrie messing with his head or a sickness Dave wouldn’t shake, or something to do with how rare Leopard Seal Selkies were, that there was something inherently wrong with him. Wild leopard seals ate the young of other seal species… maybe that was what he was relegated to, why he’d been so hungry for Ollie. Reaching out to Rio had been… desperation. Better than continuing to ignore it after nearly killing several. “People,” Dave signed, disgust curling his lips, ashamed of the admission. “I’ve almost killed… too many people, in the last few days. One of them a selkie. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

 It was definitely as horrifying as it sounded, and Orion could understand why Dave was so set on keeping distance from him. He wondered how strong the craving was, or how hard it had to be to hold himself back anytime he was around someone. “I think I know what’s wrong. Maybe.” He couldn’t exactly be sure, not with all of the other craziness that happened around town. At any given time there could probably be three or more explanations to some gory murder or unexplained phenomenon. In this case, all the stars seemed to align. “I have a place that we can go. I’ll have you look through a book with me and if I’m right, it should help us figure out what to do next. Follow me okay?” Rio signed and then waved him along. The trip to the Scribrary wouldn’t take too long, but both would have to be on edge the entire time, wary of what might happen if Dave’s self control wavered. Rio had strength on his side, but he didn’t have experience. Or guts. “And it’s safe there.”

 “And if you’re wrong?” Dave signed back, his hands jerking in agitation. He looked at Rio with wide, agonised eyes, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain his fears here. That even for a young man with very little meat on him at all, Rio looked delicious as a snack. It was only his breathhold that made just looking at the kid bearable. Dave didn’t want to point out that on that boat, he’d almost made a different call, not to a small scribeling with a fear of violence, but a  hunter with a certified skill at murder. He wasn’t sure he’d made the right call. “I need to know you’ll keep yourself safe.” Because Dave had seen that too, in the woods with those cockatrices - that Rio had more strength in his than his baggy sweatshirts showed. Whether the will was there was a whole nother matter. “I don’t know how much grip I’ve got on this whole situation.”

 “I’m optimistic” Orion ignored Dave’s question. He didn’t want to think about what could happen if Rio was wrong. The unknown would just induce panic that Rio couldn’t exactly afford right now. He was already panicking enough internally, a full blown panic attack would do nothing but hinder his ability to help Dave. He definitely didn’t want to think about how dangerous it was to willingly go alone to an abandoned building with a man who just admitted to craving human flesh. “I know how to get in and out of this place way better than you do. If worst comes to worst, I’ll just let you get lost in there.” Rio laughed nervously, unsure if that was actually a joke or not. They both knew that he wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to fighting or defending himself. Rio’s strength advantage probably wouldn’t go very far against Dave. 

 Orion didn’t talk much as they trudged through the woods. He was too busy forming a plan of escape in his head in case it became necessary. Dave kept his distance from Rio, which Rio knew was more in his interest than Dave’s. All Rio hoped was that he could give him some sort of hope that this wasn’t going to last forever. “Here we are” Rio mentioned nonchalantly, motioning towards the empty expanse of forest that sat in front of them. Now was hardly the time to be impressed by the Scribe’s magic, but he could never quite get over how the Scribe building would slowly come into view as if a mist was rising above it. All it took was a simple spell that Rio’s uncle had taught him so long ago. A trick built into an unassuming tree that allowed access only to those that were granted access. Within a minute, the whole building was sitting a hundred yards away, “So uh- welcome to the Scribrary. I’ll lead you back to the library. I have some books we should look at.”

 “That ain’t good enough,” Dave snapped, but his options were limited. Clearly, he didn’t have the fucking werewithal to hold himself captive. He was already thinking about hunting down Ollie again. The crunch of her windpipe if he bit through her throat, the sweet flavour of the blubber of her skin if he caught her in the water. He’d only had harbour seals so far, a ring seal would be a delicious treat. With a start, Dave realised he was staring at Rio, blood-stained drool dripping from the corner of his mouth, every muscle in his body straining. If they’d both been on land, that small lapse in concentration could have been fatal. He put his hand on the engine, tempted to steer away. But what were his choices? Giving in, or calling a hunter.

 Dave was damned if he was about to sign his own death warrant. 

 One final deep breath, and he steered the boat against the dock, and stepped on the dock, gesturing for Rio to lead. They walked quickly through the forest, Dave tapping every tree with a stick so that even when Rio wasn’t looking, he’d know where Dave was. If the tapping stopped… well. For as long as he could hold his breath, the monstrous hunger - unsatiated by how stuffed his stomach was - still craved more. He couldn’t help but stare at Rio, fantasising about how easy it would be to tear his head from his body, how the poor sweet child would probably let him rather than be violent. Dave wasn’t convinced there was much meat on him to eat, but it would be satisfying all the same. And once he’d had one…. Dave was sure it would be easier to eat the others. By the time the scribe headquarters faded into view, Dave could barely even manage to be impressed, only focused on Rio and fighting the temptation to eat Rio. “Hurry,” he signed sharply. He’d feel better if there was a locked door between them. 

 Orion wasn’t sure what to do about Dave’s apprehension. For better or worse, Rio was a lot less concerned about being attacked and eaten by Dave than Dave seemed to be about doing it to Rio. Sure, that was probably because Rio had a serious trust issue. Or rather, a trusting too much issue. He wanted to believe that Dave had the self control to stop himself from doing it. But the fact was that Rio had no idea what Dave was feeling right now. As a small measure of extra precaution, Rio reached into his bag and pulled out the knife that Athena had given him. It was silver, more specifically targeted for werewolves. But it would do fine against a Selkie if he really needed it to. Not that he had any interest or plans to actually use it. “I’ll make sure to stay on guard. Promise.” Rio waved the blade as a show before slipping it into his front pocket. Easily available. 

 Leading their way into the Scribrary, Dave was giving Orion the impression that things were becoming urgent. Rio didn’t like exploring the idea that Dave might actually take a bite out of him, but he still obliged, picking up the pace through the hallways of the Scribe building. “Stay here.” Rio signed when he got to the sleeping area. It was full of old bunks, most of them seemingly untouched for decades. In the back corner of the room was a pile filled with bags of clothes books. They laid next to the only bed with new sheets and comforters. Leftovers from the days that Rio spent most of his days and nights here. Before Winston and Ricky. “I’ll be back.” Rio jogged off as fast as he could to find the book he was looking for. It was his only theory for what was happening to Dave. It was still on one of the tables where Rio had left it and he swiped it off before jogging back. He hovered in the doorway of the sleeping area, keeping his distance from Dave. More for Dave’s purposes than Rio’s own. “Versipellis” Rio signed letter by letter, unsure how to sign it any other way. “My mom-” Rio paused, hands freezing midair before he backed up and started the sentence over again, “I learned about them a tiny bit as a kid, but I have never seen one before. Or even heard of one showing up. They look like werewolves, but they’re different. Their bite makes someone crave uh… cannibalism?” To put it simply. “How long ago were you bitten?”

 Dave looked around the sleeping area, his brows creasing in concern at the sight of the used bed in the back corner, free of the layers of dust that coated everything else. Dave didn’t have to breath to know who had been sleeping there. He looked at Rio with a flicker of concern between all the barefaced hunger. Which was when he was left alone, inhaling shakily and trying not to let the taste of young scribe overwhelm his sentences. He grabbed the post of one of the bunks so tightly it felt like the skin over his knuckles might split. He wiped at the saliva dripping down his chin. When Rio came back, he spelled back the name of the creature, but muddled up the letters. It was so hard to focus on that when he could imagine feeling Rio’s rapid heartbeat under his throat. Rio would let him, wouldn’t even mind. He paused, for a moment not sure of the answer. Maybe the answer would bring Rio closer in, to eat even more easily? Dave rolled up his sleeve, showing the angry red bite on his arm. “6 days ago,” He signed back. “I can’t become a werewolf. This shouldn’t affect me.”

 Orion didn’t like the way that Dave looked. He couldn’t describe the look either. In pain? Starving? Desperate? All of them seemed to fit in part, but none of them felt right. None of this felt right at all. This was the same man who was ready to get torn apart by the cockatrice to make sure Rio was alright. He shouldn’t have to worry about trying to eat anybody. Without knowing much about the man at all, Rio knew he was a good person. “They’re not werewolves.” Rio explained, leaning against the doorframe. He had the book open, but he didn’t need it. He had read the pages a hundred times. Memorized them line for line before even telling Dave he had an idea. He just couldn’t be sure. But he was pretty positive now. “You’re not safe from it just because you’re not human. I don’t even think-” Rio stopped himself. He almost told Dave that he wasn’t sure that he was even safe from the bite. But Rio hadn’t exactly had that conversation with Dave yet. About his hunter heritage. Right now probably wasn’t the best time, all things considered. “If you give in, you’ll turn into one of them.” Rio finished, “But there is some good news? You’re almost done. You only have to stop for like 9-10 days according to the scribe who wrote about them in this book.”

 “Not werewolves?” Dave signed back skeptically, “I saw him change. Tear right through his human skin and be a wolf. How the hell is that not a werewolf-” He crossed his arms more tightly in front of his chest, watching Rio signing, trying to take in the words little by little. He’d turn into one? Bullshit, Dave thought, and began to sign the same. That didn’t happen to selkies. They were resistant, stronger than most humans when it came to whatever magic took one from a human to a werewolf. He already had a second skin, and how they hell would that even work? He shivered when it occurred to him that it wouldn’t. Whatever that thing was, it would not fit into his pelt. He would lose the pelt along with… everything else. His mind, his control. He’d lose the pelt. Dave shuddered, like ice water had been poured down his spine, his demeanor shrinking in on himself. Almost done, the scribe said, but when he said just how long… Under the sudden despair of his situation, Dave’s self control collapsed. To endure half the time again that he'd suffered with resisting his hunger… wasn’t worth it. Not when there was such young tender flesh in front of him. Dave looked up at Rio, opened his mouth to expose his jagged seal teeth, and sprinted at the man.

 It happened quickly. One moment Dave’s facial expression looked like he thought Orion was crazy. Clearly he wasn’t convinced that he could change into such a creature. Rio supposed he understood the disbelief. The idea of changing into a werewolf wasn’t the same for a selkie as it was for a human. As far as Rio was aware, Dave was just as immune to the bite as Rio himself was. But just as Rio was trying to explain, this wasn’t a werewolf. It was another shapeshifter. One far rarer than an everyday werewolf. Rio didn’t think his own hunter genetics would protect him from this bite. But Rio didn’t get much time to think about it. Seconds later, Dave’s posture had completely shifted and suddenly he launched himself towards Rio. The only thing saving his life- and by extension, Dave’s- were the hunter reflexes. His arm shot out instinctively, launching the book he had been holding at the man’s face and then ducking falling backwards to avoid the man’s teeth. If he had been attacked, he might be able to heal. But if Dave got a bite out of him, it could all be over. Maybe. Rio still wasn’t exactly sure if a selkie feasting on a human would count as cannibalism enough to finish the curse. He wasn’t even sure it was a curse. More like some horrible disease. Either way, Rio wasn’t interested in trying it out today. The Scribe journals would have to go unanswered. Rio rolled off his back and out of the doorway, grabbing onto it and slamming it shut as a barricade between himself and Dave. “Okay, didn’t love that!” Rio yelled at Dave, trying to keep an ounce of calmness in his voice despite wanting to scream his head off. But that would only make Dave feel worse about what he had done once he was back to normal. For now, Rio needed to find a way to make sure he stayed isolated for a few more days. “Maybe you should just stay in there for awhile? It’s cozier than it looks!” He wasn’t even sure if Dave could hear him. Without the sign language and visual confirmation, Rio wasn’t sure anything he was saying was getting through to him.

 Jaw wide, intent on sinking his canines into Orion’s pale flesh, Dave barely had a thought long enough to parse the wide swing of the book before the hardback surface slammed into Dave’s face, knocking him off balance. Stunning sense into his for a split second, rubbing his face as he looked up at Rio. He inhaled sharply, and like sharks in chummed water, the split second of control was lost once more as he rushed after the boy. “No!” 

 Dave tried to force his way through the door as Rio slammed it in his face. The hinges of the door rattled but held firm as Dave slammed his body into it. “Let me out!” He barked. “Orion, let me out now!” He backed up, teeth bared, rolling his bloodied sleeves up, and barrelled into the door again, ramming his uninjured shoulder into the wooden structure, over and over, leaving more and more bloody smears on the door each time. “I’ll kill you!” He bellowed, spit flying through the air, slamming his fist on the door. “Orion- kid. C’mon. You don’t need to do this. I need to eat. I’m so hungry it’ll tear me apart. Orion.” His rage drained out of him, forehead dropping to rest against the wood. “Shit.”

 Then, much to his chagrin, Dave admitted, “Maybe that’s a good call, scribeling.”

 There was something deeply disturbing about the way that Dave shifted back and forth. One second, Orion was wincing against the assault on the door from the other side. Rio had to keep him from getting out, but the constant pounding and screaming made him want to do nothing more than cower in a corner. The next moment everything would go quiet. Suddenly Dave would be pleading to leave as if he hadn’t just been threatening the hunter’s life seconds before. Rio’s hands were shaking, an after effect of the fear he felt. Not for himself, necessarily. But for Dave. He wondered how much of the real Dave was beneath the surface. Was he able to see everything that he was doing and saying? Or was he completely taken over by this curse or disease or whatever it was? Would he even remember this in a few days, when all this was over? How did Rio even think he could feasibly keep the man completely locked up for multiple days if he was acting like this? 

 He pulled himself into a fetal position, back still resting against the door. He didn’t know what to say to Dave. Nothing felt right, not in this situation. He couldn’t even know for sure how much of the man was actually there. For all he knew, Dave’s last statement of resignation was just a ploy to get Rio to drop his guard. “My book isn’t damaged is it?” Without any other ideas, Rio settled on a pointless question, quickly following up with “Oh uh- and your face too. How’s your face? Sorry about that?”

 Dave stood, walking over to the bed where he’d dumped his phone, before returning to sit against the door, knees folded in front of him. He used the phone to text his reply. “Easier to talk like this. Less breathing.” It was an terrible way to say that he was one tiny moment away from tearing through the door with his naked teeth if he needed to. “Book’s fine. Might want to leave it in here. Keep that door firm and locked between us.” 

 Truth be told, Dave could barely process the pain. Not from the battery by book, nor the gash across his nose and cheeks - he was aware of it now, a sharb throb worsened by the assault by book, but it didn’t get through the haze of hunger. Not enough to do anything about it. “My face has had worse.” Like’ Rio’s would, if he got through the door. Dave punched the floor, grimacing at the thought. Now he recognised them, they were persistent, a constant whispering in his ears, to eat until the bones were clean. Dave started at the texts on his phone, and allowed himself one, singular moment of weakness. 

 “I don’t know if I can hold on for another 3 days.”

 Orion jumped as his phone buzzed against him. He dug it out of his pocket and checked. A text from Dave. He hated this. Really, really hated this. He had no idea that this was actually going to work, just going based off of what one scribe wrote in a journal sometime greater than forty years ago. Rio bit his lip and held his breath at the man’s text. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Right. Book can stay. Maybe you can read it? Might be some helpful stuff. The information on the Versipellis is like sixty three pages in.” He sent the text and put the face of the phone against his leg. He didn’t want to see any replies for a moment. He just needed a second to collect himself. 

 The pounding on the door shook him from that moment. Just a single jostle, probably Dave releasing anger instead of trying to break out. Rio sighed and readjusted, resting against the edge of the door frame and stuffing his body in to rest his foot against the other side. He didn’t like the vibration of his phone. He didn’t want to see what Dave had to say. He had no idea how to make this better, and just barely had an idea to fix it at all. “I don’t know that we have any other choice.” Rio finally texted back, resting the side of his head against the door. “I don’t want to keep you locked in there.” That much was true. It went against everything he believed in. If there were any other options, Rio would jump on them immediately.“But I don’t know what else to do.”

 Dave nodded, looking over at the book, but he knew in this state he was as likely to eat the pages as he was to read them, nevermind understand them. Hell, he was more likely to use the book to bribe the kid in here to eat him. The thought sent a shiver down Dave’s spine, of horror and anticipation. Hunger gnawed at his self control like a blunt knife at a fraying rope. “Got it.” He texted back, before locking his phone and curling his hands into fists. Dave had survived the maws of a mermaid, hunters bullets, spell caster magic, the chilling grip of an aipaloovik. This monster lived inside, but he could survive. He needed to, for the justice he’d promised his family so long ago. There was stuff on this earth he still needed to do. He clung to the last scraps of his sense of self ferociously. 

 Dave grimaced at the texts he got back from Rio. “Neither.” If it gets bad. Worse. You should call a hunter. Dave typed it out, and stared at the black letters on his screen, his fingers hovering over the send button. There was a long pause. He deleted the message without sending it, and stared at his phone. Eventually he settled on, “Just… keep yourself safe, kid.” 

 A lot needed to be done. Orion would need to figure out how to get food to Dave in the meantime. The scribe’s journal made no reference to the diet while waiting out the curse. Would he be able to eat regular food? Or would his body reject it? He would have to eat something eventually. Even if it had to be raw meat, at least it would be something. But he knew Dave wasn’t a pushover when it came to strength. Leaving him unattended wasn’t the best idea either. Dave could find a way out if he was desperate enough. Without Rio there to try to stop him, who knew where Dave could end up? Or who he could end up eating. 

 Dave’s texts hurt Rio. They sounded so… defeated. Hopeless, even. He couldn’t imagine the amount of stress or pain that he must be in. Rio would never understand the sort of craving that others had to go through. He hated that, wanting to understand something but knowing he never could. All he could do was try his best to do what he thought was right, “I’m going to keep both of us safe.”

[nightrosebud]

So my @toa-secret-santa was for @arcadia-trash who just asked for “Barbara and Strickler,” so I went with a whole bunch of fluff. I hope you enjoy and Happy Holiday!

"It was the night before Christmas, and all through the ward, not a patient was stirring; seriously, I'm so bored."

Barbara felt her lips twitch, but she tried not to smile as she finished the chart in front of her. When done, she closed the folder and glared at the nurse leaning on the counter next to her. "Stop that," she growled. "Talk like that will summon a ten-car pile-up, and I would like to get home before midnight, thank you very much."

Nurse Choen sighed and readjusted his headband. He had lamented that he couldn't wear his ugly sweater with a lit dreidel on it, so he had snuck in a cheap headband with a light-up menorah instead. The little blubs on it twinkled on and off, like each one was being lit separately. When Barbara pointed out that the headband was not allowed because of the dress code, he had just grinned bigger and started singing Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel at the top of his lungs. "Sorry, Doc," he said with a bashful grin. "I guess when I signed up for this shift, I figured we would be busy with the holidays." He gestured at the empty hallway. "I didn't think we would only have two patients and no emergencies. I like staying busy."

"Well, have you stocked the rooms?"

"Yep."

"Put away patient files?"

"Done."

"Made sure the medicine is in order?"

"Oh yeah, and stole some good stuff for me," he joked. Barbara glared at him, and he put up his hands in the universal sign of surrender. "I kid, I kid. So why did you sign up for tonight, doc? Trying to get away from all the kiddos at home?"

"Actually, no," she confessed. She leaned on the counter and looked down the hallway. They only had one patient who had drunk too much at the office Christmas party and came in complaining that he couldn't stop throwing up and one man who had a heart attack two days ago while shoveling some surprise snow from his driveway. Both were asleep and quiet at this late hour. 

"We had a lot of back-to-back adoptions in the last few weeks, so Walt and I decided to wait until after the holidays to bring out more babies from the cradle stone." Most of the people working at the hospital knew about the babies she and Walt were taking care of, so Cohen just nodded in understanding. "Since Jim is older and was spending the night at a friend's house anyway, I figured I would come in and give someone else a chance to spend the night with their families."

"Well, we only have an hour, then we both will be free at midnight," he said. Barbara smacked his arm, and he jumped. "Ow! What was that for? I hope you know that I can go to HR for assault."

"Stop saying stuff like that!" Barbara hissed but then laughed. "You're going to cause an accident. Or the end of the world."

"Oh yeah, don't want evil trolls coming out of the ground and wrecking downtown. Or giant aliens walking around and wrecking downtown. Or evil magic users flying around and wrecking downtown. Or Titans rising up and wrecking downtown." Cohen paused and cocked his head to the side. "What do the bad guys have against the buildings downtown?"

Barbara smirked. "I think Jim has asked that question himself a few times over the last year."

"You know," Choen said with a grin, "When I left New York, I thought I had left the magical creatures behind."

"What do you mean?" Barbara asked.

"Haven't you heard? There are gargoyles in New York."

"Ah," Barbara said, wondering if she should force the nurse in front of her to take a drug test. "How about you recheck the supplies?"

One hour later, the next shift of one doctor and two nurses showed up to relieve them, finding Doctor Lake and Nurse Choen having the quietest race of rolling office chairs they could manage.

"Good to see that the hospital was left in good hands," Doctor Roberts joked as the two of them crossed the finish line made of gauze, Barbara in the lead.

They handed off the patient charts, all two of them, and they said their goodnights and goodbyes. Choen escorted Barbara outside, and they paused at the doors, watching some snow drift down. "Ah, now this," Choen said with a smile, adjusting his coat and blinking headband, "this I missed."

Barbara hummed in agreement, and they spent some time just enjoying the quiet. Suddenly Barbara heard a sound, the sound of bells, and she swore they were coming closer. Before she could ask Choen if he heard it too, something rounded the corner and rapidly came towards them down the deserted street.

It was a sleigh, the kind of sleigh you found on vintage Christmas cards, red with gold details and golden bells. Only, instead of a horse or reindeer pulling it, Aaarrrgghh!! was in front, running as fast as he could on all fours, mad grin on his face. Behind him, Barbara could make out two figures in the sleigh, but in the dark and snow, she couldn't tell who it was. They were laughing, though, as Aaarrrgghh!! turned into the parking lot and skidded to a halt in front of Barbara.

One of the figures stood up and placed a foot on the front of the sleigh. "Ho! Ho! Ho!" it cried, and Barbara could finally make out Toby, smile stretching from ear to ear. "Happy Chanukah! Wait! No! Kleb! That's not what I should say. Meeerrryyy Christmas!" Darci was next to him, and she put a hand over to her mouth and giggled.

"Toby?!" Barbara asked. "What are you doing here?" The smile on her face died when she had a terrible thought. "Where's Jim? Is he alright?"

"Oh, he's fine, Doctor L," Tody said as he hopped down from the sleigh. He walked over to the other side, giving Aaarrrgghh!! a pat on the arm as he passed the troll. Toby had had some growth spurts in the last year and a half since Jim found the amulet, and he was finally taller than Darci, who was still his girlfriend. He bowed and reached out a hand. "My lady," he said in a slightly deeper voice, and Darci took his hand and jumped down from the sleigh, smile on her face. "We're here to take your car home while Aaarrrgghh!! is taking you to your Christmas gift."

"My car?" Barbara asked perplexed. "What about a Christmas gift? Is it from Jim?"

"Not Jim," Darci explained but didn't elaborate on who else would send a troll-drawn sleigh to pick up Barbara.

"Come on, Doc," said a voice from the sleigh, "we need to get a move on before it gets too late." And NotEnrique stood up in the sleigh's seat so Barbara could see him. He was wearing a suit, and a fat cigar hung from his leering mouth.

Barbara felt her stomach drop, but she was being pushed into the sleigh by Toby and Darci. "Um, I don't know about this," she said as she sat down. Everyone else was smiling at her, though, as Darci made sure a blanket covered her legs.

"No sweat, Doctor L, you are in good hands with Aaarrrgghh!!," Toby said, and Aaarrrgghh!! looked over his shoulder to give her a grin, but Barbara didn't know how to explain that it wasn't the hulking troll that gave her pause.

"Well, you have to make sure you tell me what this is all about next time I see you, Doc," Choen said. He lifted a hand and waved. "Happy Chanukah, everybody!"

"Chag Urim Sameach, dude!" Toby said with a grin. "Love the headband!"

As Choen walked to his car, and NotEnrique grabbed the reins attached to Aaarrrgghh!!, Barbara reluctantly gave her keys to the teens. "You two be safe in the snow," she said. Toby tossed the keys into the air, and Darci grabbed them before he could catch them. He gave her a hurt look.

"Don't worry, Doctor Lake, we will be careful," she said, stepping back. 

"Have a nice night!" she said as the couple waved.

"Okay, hang on Doc, Aaarrrgghh!! here is a little fast on the corners," NotEnrique told her, chewing on the cigar.

"And why do you have that?" she asked.

"My payment for my work this evening," he explained, taking the cigar out and wiggling it. "The big guy here is working for socks, I believe."

"Mmmm, socks," Aaarrrgghh!! rumbled.

"Well, just don't light it while I'm behind you, please," Barbara asked.

"Light it? Doc, I plan on eating it," he said with a grin, and with that, he snapped the reins and Aaarrrgghh!! was pulling them away from the hospital.

-----

They flew down the dark, deserted streets, Barbara's face starting to hurt from the cold. The lights wrapped around streetlights and trees twinkled, and the giant Christmas tree in the town's square lit up the whole block. Aaarrrgghh!! kept his pace, but suddenly NotEnrique yelled. "Oi! You missed our turn!"

"Oops," Aaarrrgghh!! rumbled, and he made a u-turn in the middle of the street, making Barbara and NotEnrique cry out as they were almost tossed out of the sleigh. Aaarrrgghh!! straightened himself out and started running towards the museum.

Two figures waited outside for them, and as they got closer, Barbara recognized Claire and Zoe. The two young women gave her large grins as Aaarrrgghh!! slid to a stop in front of them. "Merry Christmas, Barbara!" Claire cried.

"Merry Christmas!" Barbara answered back. NotEnrique helped her out of the sleigh, and she rubbed her hands to warm them. "Are you the one who set this up?"

"Nope," Claire said with a grin. "We are your glam squad!"

"Glam squad?" Barbara asked, but the two girls just smiled.

"Have fun, Doc!" NotEnrique cried out, and he grabbed the reins. "Come on, big guy, let's go get some eggnog spiked with glug." And the others waved to them as Aaarrrgghh!! galloped off.

Claire and Zoe guided Barbara into the museum and then into the bathroom. Claire handed Barbara a garment bag. "Tonight's affair has a dress code that doesn't include scrubs, I'm afraid."

Barbara gave the bag a look, but she went into a stall without comment. A few moments later, she laughed. "What's up?" Claire asked her.

"Oh, nothing," Barbara said with a giggle. "I just realized who planned this whole thing."

"How so?" asked Zoe.

Barbara stepped out a minute later. She was wearing a flowing, floor-length sapphire-blue dress, the empire-style waist accenting her bare shoulders. It was covered in crystals that twinkled as she took a turn. "Only Walt would pick something like this for me." Claire clapped as both girls laughed.

Zoe made a motion with her hand, and a pillow started to float in the air. Barbara hesitated but then sat down and put her full weight on the pillow, happy when she didn't fall to the floor. The girls began to tug her hair out of its bun and helped her to style it. "What do you say, Doctor L?" Zoe said with a grin, gesturing to her own pink hair. "Want to try a new color?" 

"No thanks," Barbara said with a grin. "I think I'm too old for the bright colors."

"Aw, no, you're not," Claire said as she pinned crystal hairpins onto Barbara's hair.

When finished, the girls escorted Barbara deeper into the museum and to the large room in the middle of the building. Jim messed with three table settings on a small table set up with a white tablecloth. Douixe was nearby, his hands glowing blue as candles floated and lit up around the room. Walt himself was in the middle of the room, supervising. He was wearing a green suit, tailored to fit his slim frame. Barbara slowly walked up to him and hugged him from behind. He turned his head to give her a tusk-filled smile. "Hello, darling," he said.

"Hello," she said back. "What in the world do you have planned?"

"Your Christmas gift," he replied with a grin.

"Dinner in the museum? Benoit's would have been easier."

"But Benoit's wouldn't have the rest of your gift for you."

Jim looked up from the table and grinned. "Hey, mom. How was the sleigh ride?"

"Terrifying," she confessed as Walt pulled out a chair and she sat down. "Did I throw everything off schedule by going in for a shift?"

"It pushed the evening's plans back, but all parties were able to adjust," Walt said as he also took a seat.

Jim grabbed the silver dome in front of Barbara, and with a flourish, he uncovered her plate. "Steak au Poivre with mashed garlic potatoes." He grabbed the silver dome in front of Walter and revealed a dish for him. "Raw steak with motor oil," Jim said, in a flatter tone. "Let it be known once again: I'm happy to have human taste buds."

Barbara pointed to the final setting. "Who else is joining us?"

"Me," said a voice behind her, and Barbara turned to see Nomura walking into the room. She also wore a suit, but unlike Walt's, it was jet black.

"You're late," Walt growled.

"Fashionably late," Nomura said with a grin, uncovering her plate. "Believe me, I wouldn't miss one of Little Gynt's meals."

Jim smiled and then leaned down to kiss Barbara on the forehead. "Have fun, mom. I hope you like your gift."

"You're not staying?" she asked.

"We are going back to Toby's and watching Christmas movies until we pass out," Douxie explained. "And don't worry, Doctor, Zoe and I are acting as chaperones."

"Strickler. Good luck," Jim said cryptically.

"Thank you, Young Atlas," Walt said while sipping on water.

Jim and Claire linked arms while Douxie threw his arm around Zoe's shoulder. The young adults waved as they left. "Merry Christmas!" Claire and Jim cried while Zoe and Doxie bellowed, "Happy Yule!"

"So," Barbara asked while she cut into her steak, "what exactly do you two have planned for tonight?"

"Well, Strickler and I have been talking, and we think you need a partner who would appreciate you more," Nomura said. She took a bite of her own raw steak and hummed at the taste. She used the fork to point at herself. "Mainly, me."

Walt rumbled at the other changeling. "Nomura, as curator of the Arcadia museum, was essential in setting up tonight's event." He glared at Nomura as she grinned at him. "Otherwise, she wouldn't be here."

Barbara laughed. "Let me guess, Jim's cooking was your payment for this evening?"

"Yep," Nomura confirmed as she took another bite. "Being turned into a half-troll really helped that boy to be a better cook, for both humans and trolls."

"Well, dig in then," Barbara said with a smile. "I wanna see what you two have planned for me."

-----

When done with their meal, Walt helped Barbara out of her seat, and they wandered to another part of the museum, Walt and Barbara linking arms while Nomura followed behind them. Before they turned a corner, Walt stopped her and looked at her. "Do you trust me?" he asked.

"I do," she said with a little trepidation, but she laughed when Walt gently covered her eyes and started to guide her around the corner. "Don't want to ruin your surprise, just yet," he explained.

They walked for a few moments, Barbara holding onto Walt's cold hands as they slowly moved forward, and then Walt had her stop. 

"I hope you like it," he whispered in her ear, and then he lifted his hands, and Barbara gasped.

Barbara had heard about the exhibition coming to Arcadia, centered on the works of Impressionism artists. She had pointed it out to Walt, proclaiming her excitement at such an extensive collection coming to their small town. Usually, she would have to travel to San Francisco to see a show like this in person. But now, Barbara looked around, and she recognized the works of Monet, Manet, Cézanne, and Degas. All the artists she idolized but had never had the chance to see in person. She held her hands to her mouth and wandered around, both changelings watching her with small smiles on their faces.

"Oh, this is..." she started but stop as she felt overwhelmed by emotion. "This is beautiful." She looked at Walt. "But we could have come here later. Why the secrecy?"

"Well, then you would have to suffer as small children and uneducated heathens roaming around and obstructing the view," Walt said with a smile. "This way, you can enjoy everything without interruption."

Barbara looked around, identifying as many as the works as she could. "La Japonaise. Monet's first wife Camille Doncieux modeling a red kimono." She rushed over to another piece. "Manet's Gare Saint-Lazare. Oh, I didn't know how small this was; I thought it was huge." She slowly made her way to another painting, eyes lingering on the young woman with the sleeping dog in her lap. She gasped when she recognized the third piece. "Degas' La Classe de Danse, featuring Degas' friend Jules Perrot, a ballet master of the Paris Opera." She rushed up to the next piece. "Cézanne's Pyramid of Skulls, one of his last pieces. Oh, look at the detail."

Barbara spent the next 30 minutes wandering around, looking at the paintings and studying each one. Sometimes she would give the changelings a detail or fact about the works, even if she thought they already knew it. They followed her around, smiles on their faces as they watched her enthusiasm at seeing the art in the flesh.

"Oh, thank you, Walt, Nomura," she said after she finished looking around. "This is a really wonderful Christmas gift."

"We aren't done yet," Walt said. He took her arm and started to lead her to another wing. "You see, the museum wanted to feature a local artist with the exhibit. And Nomura and I felt we knew the right person who would fit the bill."

"Who?" Babara asked but gasped as they rounded a corner.

There, on display, was the majority of her work. Goodbye, Walt, Eye of the Storm, her piece figuring goblins, Vendel staring out at the viewer, Jim in his Daylight armor, Blinky in his cubic glory, Walt holding one of the babies. Even the painting that featured the kids after their fight with the Titans: aliens, wizards, and humans all together passed out in a large pile in her living room. Something that she had made to celebrate their victory while also showing them at their most vulnerable. She looked around in wonder at all her work hanging on the museum walls, like she was a proper artist.

"I can't think of anyone who would be more deserving to be featured in the show," Nomura said as Barbara gaped at the walls.

"Oh," Barbara breathed. "Oh, I don't know, guys. There has to be someone else more worthy than me. I'm not an artist."

"A better artist than most," Walt said with a growl. He gestured to Goodbye, Walt. "I wouldn't want anyone else capturing my likeness."

She laughed but then wandered from one painting to the next, trying to see them with new eyes. Were they as good as the others in the next room? She couldn't say. But seeing them on the walls on full display made her heart soar in a way she couldn't recall feeling before.

She paused in front of Goodbye, Walt, studying the piece with a smile on her face. She felt Walt next to her, and she turned to smile at him. "Do you like it?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes," she said, grinning so hard her face hurt. "It is an excellent surprise, Walt."

"Well, there is one last thing," he said, and he cleared his throat and sent a pointed glare at Nomura. She grinned but then left the room with no comment. Walt turned back to Barbara and gave her a shy smile. "Barbara, I have a question for you."

"What is it?" she asked.

"This last year and a half, well... I mean to say, I have lived a long time..." he started to say.

"I will figure out how old you are, Walt," she said with a grin.

"What I'm trying to say is," he growled but paused again and pulled at his collar. "Bloody hell, I didn't imagine it would be this difficult."

"Walt," she said, taking his hands. "It's okay. What are you trying to say?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, gently taking his hands back. "This last year and a half has been the best period of my life. And I can say that with no irony. You are teaching me to be a better person, and I know it is not easy for you or myself, but you make it worthwhile."

He fidgeted with his lapels and then reached into his jacket. "I would like to continue, growing, learning, with you, as long as you would have me. What I'm trying to say is Barbara, is that I want to be with you, officially." He paused and cleared his throat. "And now I made it sound like a business transaction."

She laughed but stopped when he brought a small item out of his jacket. It was a black jewelry box, and he opened it, revealing a gold ring with a green stone. She gasped and covered her mouth as he dropped to one knee. "Doctor Barbara Lake," he asked, barely above a whisper, "marry me?"

She suddenly hugged him so quickly that he almost toppled over. But he caught himself and returned the hug. "Yes," she whispered, trying to answer around the lump in her throat. She leaned back so he could see her face. "Yes, Waltolomew Stricklander, I will marry you."

He stood up and kissed her, crushing her until she couldn't breathe. When they broke the kiss, he reached into the box and put the ring on her finger. She moved it around, trying to identify the stone. "What is this made of?" she asked.

"A piece of my living stone," he explained. He placed a hand over his heart. "Nomura craved it out, so you will always have a part of me."

"Oh Walt, that is.... so weird," she said with a laugh. "But it's so beautiful, thank you." She started to tug on Walt's suit. "Can you show me where?"

"Hey now, no funny business in the museum," Nomura joked as she walked around the corner.

Barbara laughed and felt her cheeks warm in a blush. "Thank you Nomura, for helping with tonight."

Nomura shrugged. "You do deserve to be part of the exhibit, Barbara. We are pleased to feature your work." She crossed her arms and gestured at Goodbye, Walt. "Too bad your best work will inflate this one's ego."

Walt grumbled, but it didn't seem threatening because he was grinning ear to ear. "Well, darling," he said, turning to look at Barbara, "it's late. Are you ready to go home?"

"Yes, I think I am," she said, linking her arm with his.

They headed to the front of the museum, where Walt's car was waiting for them. Nomura handed the keys back to Walt but didn't let go of them. "Just remember Barbara," she purred with a grin. "You are always welcomed to kick this one out, and we could elope."

"To Las Vegas?"

"Of course," Nomura said as Walt finally tugged the keys out of her hand.

"I think I will be happy being Mrs. Strickler but thank you."

Walt looked shocked. "You would take my last name?"

"Nope, still going to be Doctor Lake."

"Figures," he sighed as Barbara laughed at him. She reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

The couple waved and said goodnight, and Walt rushed Barbara to the waiting car. Walt got in and started their ride home. Barbara carefully threaded her fingers with his free hand as she watched the snow coming down outside her window.

"Merry Christmas, Walter Strickler."

"Merry Christmas, Doctor Lake."

[everwitch-magiks]

dance with somebody (ch. 14)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 13

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Dex looks up, startled.

There’s only a handful of people who know that Dex spends most of his lunch breaks in the theatre club’s wood workshop. Ford is in on it, of course, since she literally gave him a key. Then there's Joyo, who inevitably ran into Dex within less than a week – if there's one person on the hockey team Dex had known he'd encounter all the way across campus in the art building, it's definitely Joyo. It really hadn't been much of a surprise when Joyo had stepped out of the pottery studio right opposite just as Dex was locking up the workshop. Dex had been prepared, had already made up his mind to simply tell Joyo exactly what he was up to and ask that Joyo keep it a secret. (Joyo had sworn, most dutifully, not to tell a single living soul. It had been unexpectedly sweet.)

Other than that, the only people who know are the theatre kids themselves, who have graciously granted Dex the use of a corner of their workshop in exchange for his advice on the construction of a few of their more elaborate set pieces. Which is why Dex is more than a little bit surprised to find Whiskey standing before him, out of breath in a way that suggests he’s just run all the way across campus.

“How did you know I was here?” Dex can’t help but wonder.

“Ford,” Whiskey says, and suddenly Dex feels silly for asking. Of course Ford would tell Whiskey, if Whiskey needed to know. There’s probably more sacred pacts between Whiskey and Tango and Ford than between all the other team members put together. “This is kind of important, and she… Wait. What’re you doing?”

Dex looks down at his work for a moment, contemplating his answer. He’s actually gotten pretty far. The red oak boards he’s using for the surface of the table are glued together, and he’s currently in the process of using a hand plane to smoothen it out before he can move on to sanding. Still, there’s actually nothing that gives away what it is that Dex is making, exactly, which is presently to his advantage. He's always intended to tell as few people as possible, just in case.

“I’m using a hand plane to even out the surface of this red oak,” Dex settles on.

Whiskey looks down at the tool in Dex’s hands. He blinks, once. Then he shakes his head a little.

“Sure,” he says, and looks up to face Dex again. “D’you have a second? I’ve kind of got… This thing.”

“Of course.” Dex puts down his things and leans back against his work bench. “What’s up?”

Whiskey, who has obviously gone to great lengths to speak to Dex as soon as he possibly could, hesitates.

Dex raises both eyebrows, a little curiously.

Whiskey clears his throat.

“There’s this guy,” he says, the words coming out in a rush.

“Oh,” Dex says. He feels pleasantly surprised. "That's… That's great, Whiskey."

It’s been so long since their pivotal conversation out on the porch, during the first kegster of the fall, that Dex has started to Whiskey might never bring this up again. Apparently, he was wrong.

Whiskey sighs, running a hand through his hair. He isn't not smiling, but it's a near thing.

“Honestly? I'm not actually sure.”

"Okay," Dex says slowly. He's far from certain of how he's supposed to navigate this. Especially since Whiskey doesn't seem at all inclined to take the lead. "D'you wanna… What's he like?"

That makes Whiskey look away briefly, possibly in an attempt to hide the way his expression softens.

"He's, um. He's kind of amazing. Completely out of my league. I've got no idea why he keeps wanting to spend so much time with me."

Dex smiles.

"It sounds like he likes you, too?"

"I guess," Whiskey says carefully. "On some level, at least. We, um. We've been studying together, and also… Not studying together. Lately, it's kind of been more of the latter."

"Right." Dex tries not to grin too widely. "Good for you, man."

Whiskey cheeks turn a little pink. It's completely out of character and strangely endearing.

"Well, anyway," Whiskey says quickly, with a sudden willingness to move the conversation forward. "The thing is, I'm not out. And he is. And I really want something that's more than whatever we're doing right now, but it's not like I could ask him to go back in the closet. So I'm just not sure what to do."

"... Huh." Dex ponders that for a moment. "And you're not planning on coming out?"

"No," Whiskey says, very firmly. "I'm not going to. That's not an option, here."

"Alright," Dex agrees gently. "That's completely okay, Whiskey. I'm just trying to get the full picture."

"I know that," Whiskey says quickly. "It's just, I've been thinking about that a lot, myself. I'd be asking so much less from him if I at least thought I might come out at some point, maybe in a few years or something. But I'm just not going to do that."

"Right." Dex nods, smiling. "Years, huh?"

Whiskey frowns, a little defensively.

"That's completely okay," Dex repeats firmly. "What I mean is, you're clearly thinking about this guy in a very long-term sense. He must be someone pretty special."

Whiskey looks away abruptly.

"I know. I'm being so stupid," he says quietly. "He probably thinks of this as just a bit of fun, or whatever. And even if he doesn't, a lot of relationships don't actually last past college. I know that. It's just, I tend to consider any important decision in a very long-term sense, and I do really like this guy a lot. A lot, a lot. So much that I could definitely see myself with him years down the line. Even if that does make me a presumptuous fucking idiot."

Dex takes a moment to ponder that. Suddenly, he's almost tempted to tell Whiskey the true purpose of the unfinished wooden table next to them. He wonders how Whiskey might react, if he did. It's not something he's ever considered before – he's been too busy wondering what Nursey will think of it, once he eventually gets to see it.

It's the question that's been occupying both Dex's waking thoughts and his dreams, lately, whether or not Nursey will actually say yes.

"I don't think you're being stupid," Dex tells Whiskey softly. He traces his fingertips across the surface of the red oak. "It's not necessarily a bad thing to know exactly what you want from someone. I think the really important thing is going to be how you tell him."

Whiskey raises both eyebrows. He looks incredulous.

"You think I should tell him?"

"Well, yes." Dex smiles. "If you want to be with this guy, then he's going to need to know where you're at, here. He's not going to magically read your mind."

"But I can't just…" Whiskey begins, before faltering. "I mean. If I come on that strong, and that's not how he feels… Then what?"

"Well." Dex thinks for a moment. "You might not want to lead with the bit about years down the line. But I don't think you should necessarily leave it out. He might not have considered any of that just yet, for sure, but there's a major difference between asking him how he feels about it as opposed to just letting him know it's something you could see in your future."

"I guess." Whiskey sighs. "We might not even get to that point in the conversation. If he isn't okay with having a relationship behind closed doors, it's game over. And I sort of doubt that's anything he's ever dreamed of."

Dex hums. "Has he said something like that?"

Whiskey thinks for a second.

"Not exactly. But I can't imagine he came out because he's a big fan of hiding."

"Right," Dex agrees. "But I guess you've been meeting up pretty discreetly so far? For your, what was it…. Non-studying sessions."

"We do actually study, sometimes," Whiskey says quickly, his cheeks turning distinctly pink again – under different circumstances, Dex thinks privately, he'd have charged a major fine right there. "We have a class together and everything."

"Oh, let me guess," Dex chirps, grinning. "Anatomy of the human body. Project partners. In-depth study."

"Oh, for fucks sake. No." Whiskey rolls his eyes. "We've been kissing non-stop, if you must know. But nothing more. Not yet, anyway."

For a second, Dex mentally kicks himself for teasing Whiskey to a point where he felt obligated to share something so private. Except, there's a change in Whiskey's expression after he's said it. He catches Dex's eyes, a small smile playing over his lips, almost like he's waiting for Dex's reaction. And that's when Dex remembers – Whiskey doesn't actually get to do this, like, ever. He never shares in their jokes about being a disaster bi or too gay to function, never comments on whether Chris Evans is hotter than Chris Pratt or which one of them he'd rather fuck or marry. To Whiskey, boy talk is a rarity, a luxury he seldom allows himself to enjoy.

Suddenly, Dex wonders if he ought to have teased Whiskey more.

"Sounds like plenty of fun to me," Dex settles on, offering Whiskey a grin. "For what it's worth, it sounds like this guy is more than a little bit into you."

"God, I hope you're right." Whiskey runs a hand through his hair, almost absently. He's still smiling. "If him and I could actually work out, that’d be… I don't know. Almost too perfect.”

"Talk to him," Dex encourages readily. "And let me know how it goes."

"Yeah. Okay." Whiskey exhales. "Now I just need to come up with a decent plan."

Dex barely resists rolling his eyes. Of course Whiskey would require a solid strategy, before attempting a high-risk play like this.

"I'm sure you'll come up with something great. You already know this guy fairly well, right?"

"For sure, yeah, I… Wait." Whiskey snaps his fingers. "Yes. You're right."

Dex raises a curious eyebrow.

"So," Whiskey continues quickly. "On a not unrelated note... Is there any chance I could borrow your truck, sometime? Maybe this Sunday?"

"Of course," Dex promises. "Whatever you need. I'm rooting for you guys."

"Thank you." Whiskey smiles again, and there's a weight to his words that probably doesn't have a whole lot to do with Dex's truck, specifically. "Dex, thank you so much. Truly."

Dex returns his smile. He wonders, not for the first time, who the fuck he should offer his dibs to now that Whiskey already lives in the Haus.

"Anytime. And good luck."

ch. 15