#we also recently had a guy call and ask if we had ducks he could have

[the-apotheosis]

still thinking about the person who called our nature centre and asked if they could bring their pet bird in a backpack for a walk on our trails

[ladykailitha]

Paper Hearts Part 5

I have no restraint. I have NO restraint. I HAVE NO RESTRAINT!!! So guess who starting writing a SEQUEL to this because she was feeling too sad to write Sweet Home Indiana? Yup! I would apologize, but this story is too cute for words.

We have a mild panic attack about the ending of the chapter from Steve, Eddie's plan, and Steve accepting an offer that made mostly in jest, but also in deep earnest.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

TAG LIST IS CLOSED!!!

But if the people on my list that haven't interacted on my stuff lately don't reply by Sunday slots may open up. So don't despair just yet if you want to be on the list and can't.

****

Steve banged his head on his locker in frustration. Why did he do that? Why did he tell Eddie he was interested in boys, too? Why did he trust the other boy to have his back? Especially when no one else seemed to.

He sighed.

He wrenched open his locker and a little pink heart fluttered to the floor. He frowned as he picked it up.

They weren’t going to hand out the hearts until Valentine’s Day so what was this then?

-Stevie

I like the way you’re kind even when it doesn’t benefit you.

Kas

Steve blinked down at the little heart in confusion. It wasn’t the exactly the same color as the hearts they were going to give out for the holiday. But it was close. He rubbed his thumb over the sender’s name.

Kas.

He knew it wasn’t a real name, having recently poured over the yearbook. So it had to be a reference to something, but what he didn’t know. He stuck it in his jacket pocket and grabbed what he needed for his next class, vowing to worry about it later.

As he sat in his chemistry class waiting for it to start he pulled it out of his pocket to look at it again. The pen was red ink and bold. Steve found himself smiling at the strange little pink heart.

Suddenly it was ripped out of his hand.

His head snapped up to see Tommy H. standing there with it in his hand. “Someone is sending Harrington Valentine’s hearts?”

“Give it back, Tommy,” Steve growled. “It’s none of your business. Not anymore.”

Tommy looked him in the eye before tossing it to the ground and walking off. “Whatever.”

Steve bent over to pick it up.

“Some girl named Kassy or whatever,” Tommy was telling Nicole. “Could be anyone from the younger grades.”

“I suppose so,” she said, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. “But anyone with sense would know he’s the plague now.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “Just because he refuses to suck either of you two off doesn’t mean he’s still not the hottest guy in school.”

Tommy rounded on her and called her a bitch.

She just scoffed and swung back around just as the teacher walked into the room. The tardy bell rang and he called the class to order, effectively squashing all gossip.

Steve ducked his head to hide his smile. He might feel a bit bitter that it was her party that Nancy threw their relationship in his face at, but it wasn’t her fault his girlfriend had gotten so pissed drunk that she lost her ironclad control. And right now he was feeling especially grateful to her for that comment.

He managed to get through his class just from riding that high alone.

His last class was algebra and it really should have been made illegal by now. The way the numbers and letters seemed to float off of the page as he struggled to parse their meaning. He just had to pass one quarter of this shit and he could graduate.

So he put his head down to learn and just suffer through it.

After school, he got to his locker and knelt down to open it.

Again a pink heart fluttered out of it. But this time it had a couple of friends. Steve stuck them in his jacket pocket again and exchanged books. He grabbed his English and history homework so that he could get them done for tomorrow.

He opened the back door of his car and threw in his backpack. He went to open his door when Eddie was suddenly at his side.

He leaned up against the door, preventing Steve from opening it.

“So the king swings for both teams?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Steve looked around, but they were alone for the most part, so he just shrugged. “Some guys are hot and for some reason I can’t fathom, I trust you not have it all over the school by lunch tomorrow.”

Eddie chuckled and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I wouldn’t do that to ya.”

“Yeah and why would that be?” Steve asked turning around and sticking his hands in his front pockets.

“That would be because it would be hypocritical of me to go spreading around the school someone likes guys,” he said, bumping their shoulders together.

Steve looked at him for a long time before he nodded. “You know by now I don’t put much stock into rumors. I did that once and got my shit rocked for it. Lesson learned, man.”

“I heard about the infamous Byers left hook,” Eddie agreed. “That was some pretty major shit rocking.”

The jock rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure he was my first concussion.”

The older boy looked up at the sky as he thought about it and then nodded. “Billy Hargrove would be round two, I’m assuming?”

Steve nodded and then threw his head back. “This year has gone from bad to worse and I’m barely keeping my head above water.”

Eddie hummed his agreement. It really has seemed like Steve couldn’t catch a break. “I feel that. I’m really struggling this year. Last year I didn’t graduate because I so focused on getting out of here, making it with my music that I forgot the promise I made to my mom that I would. Graduate I mean. But this year is just hell.”

“That sucks, Eds,” he agreed.

“You think you’re going to graduate?”

“God, I hope so,” Steve murmured, collapsing against the side of his car. “I just want to get out of this town.”

Eddie chuckled and shook his head. “Where would you even go, man?”

“I’d pick a direction and just drive for as long as I could,” he admitted softly. “I just need to be as far away from this place as I can.”

The metalhead nodded. “If we both graduate we should hop into my van and just run for the coast.”

Steve smiled fondly. “I think I’d like that.”

Eddie pushed himself off the car and then waved Steve goodbye.

The younger boy got into his car with a sigh of relief. Not only did Eddie promise not to out him, he came out to Steve, too. Now it was mutually assured destruction.

Steve smiled and started the car for home. Maybe this year was starting to get a little better.

****

Eddie shoved his hands in his back pockets as he made his way to his van. He didn’t know what possessed him to ask Steve to runaway with him or what possessed Steve to agree but it left a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest.

He hauled himself into the van and sat there for a moment just thinking about it. Of course that meant graduating himself, so he would have to focus on that. His van roared to life and he drove off.

It took him a couple of tries but he finally found the construction paper he needed. He had even found some black construction paper that he was going to use to make little paper bats to tape on the inside of his locker to make it less miserable.

Especially as he was told he couldn’t have his metal band posters up in there. They were too “evil” and “Satanic” and he should be more “Christ like” as if they were epitome of Christian virtue with all the hate they had for anyone not like them.

But Eddie got down to work and started making as many pink hearts as he could. He had thought briefly about adding a couple of red hearts in the mix, but he thought that was a step too far. He didn’t want to get Steve’s hopes up that he had multiple crushes on him if that wasn’t true.

He still planned on giving Steve his one red heart that he had bought. That wasn’t in question. He had already filled it out and returned it to the great big baskets that had been in the main hall.

It simply read:

Stevie,

You make being in this town worth living in,

Love,

Kas

He let out a slow shuddering breath. That was one of the scariest things he had to do since choosing to live with an uncle he had only met twice his entire life over being in the system. He knew his life was infinitely greater being with Uncle Wayne and he hoped this would yield a similar result.

Because he had made a promise and with all signs pointing toward Steve at least being receptive to a date, he had to shoot his shot and hope for the best.

He had made roughly fifty or so of the pink hearts and set about dividing them into four piles. With Jeff, Gareth, and Brian offering to help with the friendship hearts he wanted to make sure everyone got a few of them. Plus it made it easier to come up with things. Because even if they came up with similar ideas, they at least would be phrased slightly different so Steve wouldn’t figure it out.

He also had the idea of using pseudonyms so that it wasn’t all anonymous and initials, though there would some of those too.

But it was time for band practice, so he gathered up his things and the hearts and trotted off to his van, a wave and goodbye to Wayne on his way out.

****

Steve finally opened the other three hearts. Two were anonymous but the third surprisingly was from Tina.

It read it in the tiniest print that was still legible:

Steve,

I know we’re supposed to turn these in or whatever,

But I just wanted to say you’re still A-OK in my book.

-Tina

He blushed. That was nice of her and after she stuck up for him in chemistry, he was feeling a little better about himself.

The other two were just as sweet if a tad unusual in their delivery. The first one said:

Steve,

I’m sorry you lost your crown,

you kept the bullies from being their worst selves.

And the other read:

Steve,

You are a good dude.

Sorry people are shit right now.

Steve shook his head. They were well-tended, he had no doubt but they were odd. Like they were trying to find something nice to say and didn’t know how to word it.

Which, fair.

He knew he had a hard time coming up with complements for the twenty girls he’d picked out for his little project. He had to make sure the message wasn’t creepy or would come across as stalker-y.

He smiled down at the messages. He pulled out a little notebook that he had used to collect all the little things that the kids had given him over the past couple years and put the hearts on their own little page. He carefully put the book back, hidden between two textbooks from his freshman year.

“Steven!” his mom called. “We’re home!”

“Coming, Mom!” he cried, hurrying down the stairs.

****

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: Closed

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[jamiedc-they-them]

Good People (Platonic)

Summary: While in the Wasteland, running on nothing but fumes and even less hope, you meet someone. Someone who might just be the one thing you need in a place like this: a friend.

Note: This is shorter than my usual stuff (both in terms of words, probably, and also just in terms of content - more so a scene than anything else; maybe a series of short scenes showing Lucy's arc if you guys want and how her friendship with Y/N develops?) Let me know in an ask!

You were a survivor. You had been since the moment you were born, but you weren't sure how much longer that was going to last.

Your day hadn't started off good, you see. You were running out of water and had passed out earlier due to some kind of infection - no idea what it was or who/what it was from, you had come across a lot of beings and things in your travels - and some guy had thought you were dead and even pissed on you just in case. Was not refreshing, or nice.

You had fought him off, tackling him to the floor and punching him quite a few times. You didn't kill him, however. You just left him be after that.

An odd fellow with a briefcase who promise you everything you could ever want passed you by. He gave you something that gave you a boost. You had no caps, so the only piece of fluid you had left on you - your water container - was given to him in exchange for this item.

So, now you were even more screwed then before.

The man even seemed to somewhat pity you, but he still left.

You find an abandoned bus. It's been picked, recently or otherwise doesn't really matter, picked clean is picked clean. Or, well, as clean as you can get within the apocalypse.

"Hello?" a voice says. You spin around, reaching for a weapon you don't have as you lost it in the scuffle before, and so instead duck down - hitting your head on one of the seats.

You hear the person outside cringe.

"Sorry," she says, earnestly to your shock, "that sounded like it hurt."

"...It did," you find yourself saying in reply, but still keep your head done.

"Sorry," she says, again, "it's ok," she assures you, "I won't hurt you. I promise."

You peak your head up. The first thing you notice, is how clean she looks. She gives you a bright smile.

"Hi," she says, enthusiastically.

You just blink at her.

"It's ok," she assures again, "my weapon is away. I just - I just wanna talk. I'm a bit lost out here give, you know, everything is mainly just sand."

You guess that's fair. So, against your better judgment, you make your way to the stairs at the bus, and sit down. The woman sits down, letting out a sigh, glad to be able to rest for a moment.

She stretches. You adjust your neck. You must've slept funny.

"I'm Lucy," she says, holding out a hand to you.

"Y/N," you say, shaking her hand. Feels weird, being this open with someone.

"Y/N," she says, "that's a nice name. I never knew someone called Y/N before."

You're about to ask her why, when you see what she's wearing.

You whistle, or as best you can with a dry throat, it's croaky but the idea comes through, "you one of them Vault Dwellers?"

"I am," she says, and you're unsure if it's a proud statement or not, "but, I do also recognise my privilege for being one."

You hum, "how you finding up here?"

"Hot," she says, "we have air conditioning in the vaults. So, it's weird not being able to just turn down the temperature."

You chuckle. She smiles.

"Thank you for not trying to kill me."

You gesture to yourself, "don't exactly have anything to do that with, you know? Besides, you're not a bad person. I've met some bad people, you ain't one of them."

"Thank you. I knew there were good people out here."

You shrug, "I don't think I'm exactly 'good', but I've known worse."

"Well, I'm glad I've run into you. You're alot nicer than the previous man I met."

"Yeah, there'll be people like that..." you pause, then ask the question on your mind, "what brings you top side, Lucy?"

"Oh," there's a hint of hope, mixed with sadness in her eyes while she answers, "I'm looking for my dad. Some horrible woman called Moldaver took him. She steals dads."

You may internally find that last part funny, but you find yourself saying 'I'm sorry' to her about her plight. She thanks you once again.

"You're not crazy like that other man."

She's blunt, you'll give her that.

"I can be," you don't quite know why you're insulted by it.

She cocks her head to the side, "I'm good at reading people," you aren’t sure on that one, but you don't say anything, "and you're not like that previous man."

"What'd he do?"

"Drank most of my water. You ever met anyone like that?"

"Guy pissed on me this morning. Another stole my canteen."

"Oh..." Lucy says. You nod, expecting this to be the end of your conversion, but then she reaches behind herself for something. Instinct makes you freeze, but she just gives you a reassuring smile once again, and holds something out to you.

Her own canteen.

You look at her, doubt, confusion, and thanks all in your eyes at once.

"Take it," she insists, shaking it a little to tell you that there is still water inside it, "I mean it."

"But, that other man --"

"He's greedy. You aren't. And, judging by your lips, rough voice, inability to whistle, and slight grovel to your voice, and the way you hold yourself," perceptive too, "you need this more than I do."

"You sure?" she nods. Hesitantly, looking from her to the canteen as you reach out - her leaning forward to help you with your lack of energy due to dehydration and all - you grab it. It's not harsh, you don't rip it out of her grasp. Your actions are slow, deliberate.

You open it, and lift it up to your mouth, letting a few water droplets hit it.

You close it and give it back to her. But she pushes it to you again. This goes on a few more times.

"I meant what I said," she says, "take it."

You look around at the desert, "next water well won't be for a while."

She shrugs, "there's a town nearby. There should be some there. But, either way, you need this a lot more than I do."

You drink the rest of it. And, you feel ok. Not great, but better.

You cough a bit. Both due to whatever illness you have, and just from the water and how fast you drank it.

"That's a bad cough," she notes, taking the canteen back.

"Ah, it's nothing," you say, waving her off. Had worse infections.

You stand up, and she holds her hands out in case you fall. You put a hand up, telling her you're ok.

"Well," you say, "thank you for that, and the talk. Good people are few and far between. Best of luck --"

"Hey, wait!" she calls out as you start to walk away, "wait, please. Maybe - maybe you can help me."

"I ain't exactly much help given the lack of weapons, strength, and my illness."

She frowns, "well, once we find my dad, we can go back to my vault, we have doctors there who can help you and give you a good meal!"

She's preppy, but soon that softens in her eyes, "please...I can stop people from...urinating on you."

You snort at her disgust of the language. She has a lot to learn. Social ettiquite may exist in some places in the wasteland, but not everywhere.

"Well, when you put it like that..." you say, before smiling. She beams at you.

"Okey Dokey!" she exclaims.

"Okey Dokey!" you find yourself saying in kind, not mocking for once - you and your mouth had gotten you into trouble before, it was nice to not have some agenda with it this time. To let your guard down.

"Have you ever been to Filly before?" she asks you as you walk side by side. Though, she slows up a bit as you try and both get your strength back and keep your remaining bit.

"Once or twice when passing through," you say.

"Alrighty then," she says, glad to not be going in completely blind, "'this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.'" she says to you, clearly quoting something, based on her voice. You look at her confused.

"I'll show you the film when we're back at the vault," she says, before you continue on your way.

It's good to meet someone who didn't want to kill you on sight or extort you or something.

It was nice to not be alone anymore.

Lucy feels the same way. She has a sort of guide now. A friend.

An actual friend from the outside.

She's glad.

And, little did she know how right she'd be. It would be a friendship that would stand the test of time and everything in between.

Lucy had just met her best friend.

You had met yours.

Even if you both didn't know just how dark and dangerous the road ahead would get...

Part 2

[thevioletcaptain]

🤠🎶🌬️

Thanks for the prompt, anon! I hope you enjoy, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to fill. You can also read here on Ao3 💚

Deus Ex Caschina

Dean/Cas | 2k words | Mature When Dean and Sam get into a bad situation on an impromptu hunt near the Cuevas Ranch in New Mexico, Dean calls on Cas for help.

There’s something whistling out in the desert; a shrill, two-note call that starts high and ends low and makes all the hairs on Dean’s forearms stand on end.

Even knowing that whistling back is the worst possible thing he could do, he feels the impulse ricocheting through his body. He tamps it down. Hard. Presses his lips together and waits for the compulsion to pass.

Beside him, Sam has gone stock-still, eyes sharp and jaw tense as he scans the dark for some sign of the — well. Whatever it is.

Why he thinks he’s going to be able to see a damn thing beyond the fire-lit edges of their camp is a mystery, but Dean doesn’t bother to mention it. More likely than not, he’s not even thinking that far. A lot of the time, Dean knows, it’s less about having any real hope of success and more about the need to feel as though you’re at least doing something. Anything at all.

Because really, when it comes down to the cold hard facts? They’re helpless out here.

Sitting ducks, waiting for whichever desert-dwelling monster has been picking off the local horses — and most recently, an extremely unfortunate veterinarian — to stop toying with them like a cat batting a mouse from one side of a room to the other.

They’d found the case entirely by accident. Had been passing through New Mexico on their way back to the bunker when Dean had heard a familiar voice while waiting for his order at the Watrous Coffee House. He’d glanced toward the door, scanning faces, and found Cesar Cuevas talking with an older guy in dusty flannel.

Within the hour, he and Sam had been sitting in the kitchen of Jesse and Cesar’s ranch house going over the scant clues the retired hunters had managed to pull together in the days since a local vet — a well-liked guy named Petey — had been found on the edge of the neighboring acreage with his insides on the outside.

It’s not a lot.

Like the three horses which had suffered similar fates in the week before Petey died, there wasn’t any sign of a fight. No scuff marks in the ground to suggest he’d been dragged there after.

The local cops determined pretty quickly that the remains were in line with those left behind by a mountain lion and closed the case.

"Because of the missing spinal columns," Cesar had explained, his nose crinkling up in disgust. "Cougars tend to go for that first, and Petey and the horses were all… well. You get the idea."

"So what makes you think they're wrong?" Sam asked.

"Besides the fact that they're cops?" Jesse had snarked back, and Dean snorted. "No bite or claw marks, no paw prints, no scat, for starters."

"And this," Cesar added, handing over a long chunk of glittering stone. It only took Dean a moment to realize why it seemed familiar.

"Fulgurite?" he'd asked, handing it off to his brother, and Jesse and Cesar had nodded. "Any lightning storms lately?

"Not in months. And we found these at every site."

"Any idea what it means?"

"No clue."

"And that's all you've got so far?" Sam had asked, and the pair had nodded.

"Yup," Jesse said. "That's all."

That was six days ago, now, and though they've found a little more evidence, they're still stumped. Hence the camp out. Dean wasn't keen on it — camping isn't his bag on a good day, let alone when there's something eviscerating everything it can get it's hands on in the area — but after days of dead ends, and two more dead horses, they're beyond the point of putting it off.

Staring out past the creosote and cactus that edge their campsite, and knowing full well that he'd have just as much luck with his eyes closed, Dean listens for some other sound that might tell him what they're dealing with. Where it is.

Nothing. Just the distant pop of a car backfiring, and the tiny blinking lights of a plane flying east to west overhead. He's ready to give up when the whistle comes again.

Hiiiiiiiigh-low.

Shrill and sharp. It seems to come from somewhere straight ahead, and Dean strains to see. Strains and strains until his eyes start to sting.

He needs to blink.

…why the fuck can't he blink?

He tries to tell Sam, but his jaw feels wired shut. His tongue heaves against nothing, unmoving in his mouth as if pressed flat by some invisible force. He can’t speak. Can’t move.

He has the brief, panicked thought that he might not be able to breathe, but it passes. His lungs expand. Deflate. Expand.

Whatever is doing this, it doesn't want him dead.

Yet, he thinks, and the panic sets back in, dialed to eleven. It doesn't want me dead yet.

Thanks to the way they're standing, he's only peripherally aware of the side of Sam’s face, but it seems that he is experiencing the same problem. Great. Awesome.

Another whistle. Dean's skin prickles head-to-toe. Itches, like he's brushed up against fiberglass. His vision blurs as his eyes water with the agony of it, of being so goddamn itchy that he can't think, but utterly incapable of doing anything about it.

Another whistle.

Closer, now, but this time it's behind them. A little to the right.

Suddenly, the fact that there was never any evidence of a struggle makes a lot more sense. It's not that the thing is fast, or even particularly sneaky. It’s just been doing this. Rendering its victims incapable of fighting, moving, making a sound.

If they were anyone else, they’d be screwed right now.

If they were anyone else.

Cas, he prays, grateful beyond words for the angel on his shoulder and his freshly-reinstated wings. We’re in a bit of a situation here, buddy.

Another whistle.

Closer, still.

Another.

Then;

SNAP.

A wet crunch and a sound like a hose unravelling.

Cas, I really fucking hope that's you, Dean prays again, trying not to let himself imagine that a spinal column might make that sound if it were being yanked out of a living creature.

A whistle. Distressed gurgling.

THUD.

Footsteps crunching closer, and—

"Dean," Cas strides into his view, concern etched into his brow, his face spattered with blood. The wet droplets reflect the crackling fire, making him glitter in a way that should not be hot, but somehow really is. "That creature was about to kill you. Why didn't you call me sooner?"

You said you wanted to spend the week with Jack, Dean prays. I didn't want to interrupt Heaven stuff.

Cas frowns. Reaches out to touch Dean's jaw. His body floods with warmth as Cas' grace works whatever paralytic agent he'd been afflicted with from his system, and though he's been able to breathe the entire time, he sucks in a breath. Relaxes his muscles that feel as though he's been tensing them for a solid hour.

Fuck, he's gonna need a massage tomorrow. He can already tell he's gonna be feeling it in about three hours.

"'Heaven stuff' can wait. And Jack is God. He has plenty to occupy himself when I'm on Earth."

"Yeah, I know. I just… I feel like I've been monopolizing your time since you got back, that's all."

"It's not monopolizing my time when you're the person I wish to spend my time with," Cas reminds him. "Besides, I thought we agreed that if I was taking time off from hunting, you would too? You were supposed to be driving straight back to the bunker. I would have stayed to make the drive with you if I'd known you'd be putting yourself in danger."

"We were driving back. But then we ran into Jesse and Cesar, and they told us about this thing that had been— look, it's a long story, okay? And hey, you saved the day. So, y'know. All's well that ends well."

Cas huffs and crosses his arms. Unfortunately for him, Dean thinks the display is more cute than it is imposing.

"I'd prefer you didn't need saving in the first place."

"Well, yeah, obviously," Dean tells him. He glances over his shoulder. "What was it, anyway? Thing had a killer freeze ray."

"I'm not entirely sure," Cas admits, and Dean steps forward, pulling his sleeve down over his hand and wiping the dark blood off of Cas' cheek.

"But you killed it," he says.

"I did. It was projecting its intentions rather strongly. It was going to eat your spine, and then most of your organs. I couldn't allow it to live."

"My hero," Dean tells him, then, a brainwave; "Deus ex Caschina."

He grins wide, and Cas rolls his eyes. Waves a hand to zap the rest of the blood away. Dean takes that as his cue to properly express his appreciation.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he says.

Try as he might, Cas can't keep the displeased frown on his face when Dean pushes into his space and kisses him. He does still manage to sound huffy when he says you're welcome, Dean, but the tilt of his mouth softens the bite.

"So, is Jack expecting you back upstairs tonight?" Dean asks, nipping lightly at his lip. "I'd kinda like to repay you for the assist. Get on my knees, say a prayer of thanks, maybe get my mouth on your—"

"Sam!" Cas blurts out, and Dean leans back, making a disgusted face, before he realizes what Cas is saying. Unwinding his arms from around Cas' shoulders, he turns to look at his brother as Cas makes his way over to him. He's still stock-still, eyes wide and pleading as he stares into the middle distance somewhere beyond Dean's shoulder.

"Oops," Dean grimaces. "Forgot we weren't alone."

"He started praying," Cas says by way of explanation, and boops Sam in the middle of his forehead. "My apologies for the delay, Sam. I was… momentarily distracted."

Stretching out his jaw, Sam shakes his long limbs as if to make sure they're all still functional.

"It's fine," he tells Cas, nice as pie, before turning a glare on Dean. "Maybe next time make sure everyone is alive and functional before you start macking on your boyfriend."

"We actually decided on 'partner'," Dean corrects him, mostly just to be annoying, and Sam narrows his eyes.

"Really?" he says flatly.

Dean knows he's just pissy about the whole left-in-a-frozen-state situation, but Cas — wonderful, badass, occasionally too literal for his own good Cas — moves back to stand at Dean's side, and Dean knows, immediately, that he's about to tell Sam why they settled on the term. He wishes he were filming the reaction, but there's no way he'd be able to get his phone unlocked in time.

"Yes," Cas says proudly. "Partners. Like cowboys, but married."

"You're not married," Sam says, incapable of well-actuallying no matter the circumstance, and— here comes the kicker, Dean thinks.

"We got married in 2013," Cas says. Matter of fact. Like Sam's forgotten something everyone knows. Sam's eyebrows rise high enough that they somehow seem to clear his forehead.

"What?"

"Admittedly, we weren't in a romantic or sexual relationship yet, and it was mostly to ensure that if I were to wind up in hospital as a human, Dean would be able to visit me without any difficulty. Though obviously now we can both acknowledge that we were very much in love with one another at the time."

"What?"

Dean whistles. High-low. It does the trick, snapping Sam out of his stupor, and after his snap-reaction of fear dissipates, Dean clears his throat. Points toward their campsite.

"Hey, uh… maybe we should pack all this up, head back to the ranch before it gets too late? I know the uh… the thing is gone, but the insects are not. So…"

"I can't believe you got married without telling me," Sam says.

"Oh my god, it was over a decade ago, get over it," Dean says.

Sam does not laugh.

"Dean."

Groaning, Dean throws his head back.

"Listen, when we do it for real, or like… renew our vows or whatever? You'll be the first to know."

"We can do that?" Cas asks.

"Yeah, I mean. People do it all the time. Why, d'you— do you want to?"

"I'd like to," Cas tells him.

"Okay. Let's do it. Maybe Cesar and Jesse will let us do it on the ranch."

"Are you two serious?" Sam asks.

"What?"

"Just like that, you're engaged now?"

"We're already married, Sam," Cas tells him, squinting. "Did you not understand what I said earlier?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, Sam pushes out a hard breath, and shakes his head, and seems to let it go.

"Congrats," he says finally.

"If you're wondering what to get us for a present," Dean says, pulling Cas alongside him toward the camp, "I hear waffle irons are always a good choice."

[written for this prompt game] [posted here on ao3 as imogenbynight 💚]

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for reminding a friend to keep the promise he made to me?

Everyone I've asked so far has had really weird knee-jerk reactions but I think it's probably just because they don't know me super well. I'm pretty sure I'm being reasonable but hey, best to double-check, right? (And sorry if this is long, but boy do I have a LOT of ground to cover!)

Anyway... I (??M) am a ghost, and a bunch of people recently moved into the place I'd been (un)living in, and then about half a year later all of them were suddenly able to see me. They're all really chaotic people, so a lot happened between them pretty quickly and I wasn't able to fully catch everything that went down before I became visible to them. This is to say -- I don't know why my friend (??M) decided he wanted to have the grand prize for his claw machine game be a no-strings-attached favor from him, I just know he did that.

I eventually got the grand prize (technically someone else won it first and it was a whole thing, but we're even now) and met up with my friend to talk about it. Basically, I told him I wasn't going to call in that favor unless there was something I really needed him to do, and otherwise we'd be fine to keep being friends as usual. He seemed a little unsettled (I guess my nervous laugh kind of freaks people out?) but said he understood.

Fast-forward a couple months later, and there's this whole... situation. Extremely short version: I need a bunch of diamonds to restore my memories from before I died, the queen keeps stealing precious materials because she's possessed, and my friend wanted to use the diamonds in her hoard to do an exorcism. I pulled him aside and asked if I could call in the favor and get him to give me those diamonds for something really important, and he flat-out refused. Even though this was technically getting into strings-attached territory, I respect him a lot, so I settled for asking him to get me the diamonds after we'd done the ritual.

Anyway, we do the exorcism and it goes great, and I nudge my friend and ask him if he can help me grab the diamonds now, and he says "no, let's go out to eat first." Honestly I probably should've just stopped him right there, but I was really hungry at the time so I agreed. Everyone went out to eat, but after a while I started getting antsy and ducked outside to ask my friend to help me go get the diamonds like we'd agreed on. We headed out to the ritual site and uh oh! A mutual friend (?M) of ours apparently had a relapse in his kleptomania, because all of a sudden all the diamonds are gone, something that wouldn't have been a problem if my friend had just listened to me and gotten them right after the ritual!

A lot happened that night (specifically, the apocalypse -- long story, everyone's mostly okay now) and everyone sort of lost contact with each other for a few months before finally reconnecting. I notice my friend is avoiding me, but I figured he just needed some space or something and waited for him to come visit me. He did (I actually showed him the new house I'd gotten) and we chatted for a bit before I got tired of dancing around the issue and asked him if he was still going to keep his word -- and y'all, he just leaves. Doesn't even explain anything, he just turns around and leaves.

I figure, okay, maybe he just remembered something else he needed to do, but it's been several weeks now and every time I ask him if we're still going to work on the thing I asked him for or at least ask him for something different, he insists that I'm "holding it over his head" and he's "going to follow through, just not right now" and it is getting really frustrating. I asked him for something, I even compromised on that thing despite the fact that I technically didn't have to, and now apparently I'm the bad guy just because he's being a flake!

Also I think he might be planning a coup and/or my murder. AITA?

[smoothies-are-cool]

one more night

semi toxic! chris sturniolo x reader

summary: reader and chris are so toxic but can’t stay away from each other.

warnings: swearing, pet names (baby, ma, princess, mama), toxic relationship, throwing stuff, implied sex, kissing.

a/n: wasn’t really sure how toxic this was so i put semi toxic so yeahhh

“who is he?” chris screamed. we were in the middle of a fight because chris saw me texting ‘ryan <3’. yes it looks bad but ryan is my brother who recently got home from the military, and chris knew that.

“my brother!” i yell, giving him an ‘are you dumb’ look.

“you don’t have a brother!” chris argues, attempting to grab my phone to read the messages again.

“YES I DO!! you’ve literally met him!“ i tell him, backing away from his grabs.

“yeah okay.” he scoffs, walking off.

“nuh uh. get back here.” i demand, following him down the stairs to his room.

“it’s whatever, just leave.” he rolls his eyes.

“really? if i leave then we’re done because you clearly don’t believe me.” he stays quiet and i scoff. i run around his room, grabbing anything of mine that i can see.

“2 years down the drain. i can’t fucking believe i wasted my time on you.” i rant, shoving as much stuff as i could into my bag. “i’d never hurt you’ ‘i love you so much’ ‘you mean everything to me’ yeah go fuck yourself.” i mock him.

“baby stop for a minute.” chris tells me, his voice soft. i roll my eyes even if he can’t see it. i really don’t want to, but my hands stop grabbing my stuff. the tone in his voice makes me stop. even if we fight he never calls my first name. it’s always a pet name. it’s silent for a few seconds.

“you really have a brother?” he asks. my jaw drops and i’m impossibly even more mad.

“you are unbelievable. you’re a fucking asshole.” i scream. i grab the nearest thing, which was a bottle of pepsi, and i throw it at him. he ducks just in time, the bottle going right over his head and colliding into the wall. i continue grabbing as much stuff as i could. the room is silent until chris’ door swings open. his two brothers, nick and matt stand in the doorway.

“uh hey.” matt says awkwardly, my and chris’ attention turning to the other two. it’s quiet again.

“so we know you guys are fighting but then we heard a loud bang so we wanted to make sure everything was okay.” nick explains. i nod.

“everything’s fine.” i give them a fake smile. “just fucking fine.” i glare at chris, throwing my bag over my shoulder and walking past nick and matt. as i reach the front door i hear chris. judging from how loud his voice is, i know he’s at the other end of the hallway.

“you’ll come back princess.” he smirks pausing for a second. i turn around to see him leaning against the doorway, one of his arms above his head, also leaning against the doorway. “you always come back.” he continues.

i shake my head. “not this time.” i walk out of his house and towards my car.

it had been three weeks since i had last seen chris. i had told him that i wouldn’t come back and i kept my word. everytime we fight we always say the same shit. ‘i never wanna see you again’ ‘i hate you’ blah blah blah. it was a reoccurring thing and this was the longest we’ve went without making up.

i was in my kitchen wiping down the counters when i hear a knock on my apartment door. the faint sound of ‘one more night’ by maroon 5 plays. i had music playing on my alexa because everyone needs music when they clean. i throw away the paper towel and walk towards the door.

when i open it my breathing stops and my heartbeat picks up.

“hey mama, can we talk?” he asks.

“do we have to?” i ask, rolling my eyes. chris just nods. i sigh and open my door enough for him to walk in. we walk into my kitchen and i lean my back against my kitchen island and my arms are crossed in front of me. he stays quiet. i shoot him a look that let him know to start talking.

“oh! right. i just wanted you to know that i believe you about your brother.” he tells me. my eyebrows furrow.

“so why do you believe me now instead of believing me the first time?” i ask him, super confused.

“i have my reasons.” he shrugs.

“okay what’s the real reason you’re here? because you never apologize first.” i get straight to the point. chris never apologizes first. he thinks it’ll bruise his ego so he always just waits for me to apologize.

he steps closer to me, placing his hands on my hips. i shake my head, already knowing where he was going with this.

“i miss you ma. i didn’t think you meant it.” he whispered, the pads of his thumbs roughly rubbing against the exposed skin on my hips.

“of course i meant it. i love you chris but i know i deserve so much better than this.” i sigh, trying to get out of his grip which only makes it tighter.

i notice him slowly inching towards my face. as he goes to kiss my lips, i tilt my head to he’s met with my cheek. he still takes the win and begins to kiss down my neck, sucking on the one spot he knows will make me weak.

“chris.” i whine, my eyes shutting.

“what?” he teases, a smirk on his face.

“no.” i mutter. “please stop.” i add on. he continues kissing my neck. i can feel him leaving multiple hickies.

“hm, do you really want me to stop?” he asks and i stay quiet. he smiles and kisses my lips. i stand there for a minute, internally fighting with myself. losing the battle, my body gives in and i kiss him back. my hands find his cheeks and they work their way back to his hair.

“you sure?” chris asks, pulling away.

“mhm, one more night can’t hurt.” i shrug, pulling him towards my bedroom.

a/n: i wrote two fics today i’m excitedddd

[shyphonics]

Salad Days, Chapter 7: I Used To Be a Baby, Now I'm Just a Criminal.

(babypunk Rodrick Heffley x reader)

chapter directory

I think this is the longest chapter I've written, I broke 6k words!! Also very excited to finally use the most Rodrick-coded song I can think of, please treat yourself to the music video lol.

I've been working on the next few chapters all at once, so they might come out a little faster. :)

Time is our enemy, we’ve had enough

Let’s get together, let’s show them what’s up

1312, ACAB

Es para la gente, pa todo el mundo

Sale del corazón, queremos ser libres

1312, ACAB

You pull up to the front of The Strike, and it’s bad.

Where there was once a giant, beautiful bay window, almost as tall as the building itself, there is now a giant hole. Flyers which previously coated the window are crushed and ripped, the colorful papers poking out under smashed panes of glass.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

You get out to observe the damage, and find Mike sweeping up shards of glass.

“Did you call the cops?” You ask, stepping over a broken barstool.

“They were already here. Didn’t give a shit, of course. Said they had an anonymous tip, but they probably just wanted to go back to doing fuck-all.”

You look around, and notice crude graffiti on the walls.

I burned down the Plainview library on one wall.

And I’ll do the same to this shithole on the other.

RH is spray painted on the mirror behind the bar.

RH…

Rodrick…? You’re pretty sure his last name is something with an H.

And all those cop cars at his apartment…

Either Bryan Kemp is a complete and utter moron, or there’s some other RH out there, and you’ve got it all wrong. One is far more likely than the other.

You head to the back, and find the thick binder of banned IDs.

Before you can open it, the phone rings.

“Strike,” you answer, “we’re closed.”

You tuck the phone into the crook of your neck, and open up The List.

“This is Officer Houston, can I speak to your boss?” A condescending voice creeps into your ear.

“You can speak to me.” You say harshly.

He’s quiet, before you hear a small sigh.

“In relation to the vandalism case at your address, we could not make contact with the perp alleged in the anonymous tip.”

“Because your alleged perp didn’t do it. Rodrick H? Is that the name he gave you?”

“I… can’t disclose that information at this time.” The cop sounds nervous.

“Okay, well, he was with me, all last night and today.” Your voice is low and stable. You really wanna bite this guy’s head off, but you have to stay bare-minimum professional.

“Ma’am, this person was implicated in two separate crimes, with the threat of a third, and we would like to go forward with questioning when we make contact. We will check his alibi when we do.”

You find the most recent pages, with the ID scans from last night. There he is. That motherfucker. You squint, reading his information.

“It was Bryan Kemp, okay? I have his address right here, go talk to him. 452 Spring Hill Lane. On the college campus.”

You hear the sound of a pen scratching paper.

“And your reasoning?”

“We had to kick his ass out of our bar last night for assaulting a performer- assaulting the person he gave you the name of, mind you. He’s lucky we didn’t call you.”

Silence falls over the phone line, save for the sounds of the detective jotting things down. You get impatient, tapping your nails faster and faster on the desk.

“We’ll look into it, ma’am.” He finally says.

You feel anger bubbling up in you, slamming the phone down before you can say something regrettable. Ma’am. Fuck off.

You grab a broom off the wall, and walk back around to the front of the bar. It's a fucking mess.

You duck under the bar to find the stereo, thankfully safe in its little plexiglass prison.

“There’s one thing they can never take from us, Mike.”

“If you’re gonna say our dignity, you’re alone, kid. Mine’s been gone since ‘82.” Mike sits in the middle of the floor, rubbing his temples.

“Nah,” you flip the stereo on, and the typical weekend mix starts playing, gritty and upbeat, “It’s totally cheesy, but I was gonna say the music. Literally and figuratively. Because the stereo still works.” Mike smiles, looking up at the speakers as the room fills with the sweet sounds of T.S.O.L.

“God dammit,’ he sighs, standing up, “C’mere,”

He puts his arms out, and you hug him. It’s comforting, almost parental. You pat each other on the back, soft, then harder. Reassuring, like you’re trying to hype each other up.

“We’re gonna clean this fucking bar up, right?” You say, feeling tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re gonna get all this glass out of here, and- and get paint, fix the window.” Mike sniffles.

“Jimbo has to have a glass guy, have you called him?”

“I’m gonna call him!”

“Hell yeah, you are!”

“Kid. It’s strange to say, but- you’re my best friend.”

You pull away, holding him by the shoulders.

“And you’re the last real punk. What did you always used to tell me? When I was a little street rat?”

“You can do anything you want!” He beams, pointing at you.

“You can do anything you want!” You grin, shaking him slightly.

The two of you are all psyched up, sweeping up glass, playing your brooms like guitars, screaming along to Minor Threat and Adicts and and Stiff Little Fingers.

Other bartenders show up, along with the bouncers. You sit in a big circle on the floor, drinking shitty beer and laughing. Jimbo is up on a ladder- he does have a glass guy. You knew he would. They’re brushing all the broken bits out of the frame and measuring the dimensions. For now, it’ll be plywood, but it’s something. You want to call Rodrick, tell him everything’s gonna be okay, but you realize you don’t even have his number.

You make your way up to the office, and log into your email.

From: worldsbestbartender@aol.com

To: lodeddiperrawkz@aol.com

Subject: All good :)

We're getting everything cleaned up over here. Measuring for a new window and everything. I gave the cops Bryan’s address. I think he was trying to frame you. Stupid asshole LOL. I told the cops you were with me all night and day. They’re being jerks, though- kinda their M.O. I guess- but if they come back, you don’t have anything to worry about.

I had a really good time with you.

Call me, okay? 444-7881

You smile as you hit send, and head back downstairs.

You really don't want him to worry- he'd looked so sad when he got out of your car. Everything will be okay. He'll still be waiting for you when you're done taking care of business.

Rodrick sits against the wall, knees to his chest, hyperventilating.

“What does that even mean? Associated with a crime scene- what- what does that mean?”

“Dude, chill out,” Ben crouches next to him, “You didn’t do anything, right? You’ve been with that girl.”

“Yeah, but,” Rodrick puts his head in his hands.

He’s never told anyone what he did.

It was stupid, and reckless, but nobody had gotten hurt. The repairs to that street went over pretty easy, and it never even comes up in the news anymore.

Sure, people assumed.

He'd been the weird kid. Dark hair and eyeliner. Metal band. Nearly a high school dropout. Essentially a pariah. Of course people had assumed it was him.

But they never knew for sure.

There’s no point in telling anyone. He’ll just keep it with him, until one day, it’s barely even a notable memory.

But the bar. That’s on him, as far as he can figure. He could’ve just kept his mouth shut.

“Ben, the bar got fucked up, and it’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have fought back against Bryan, I should have just-”

“Dude,” Ben puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Taken it like I did back home, and now she’s gonna hate me, I fucked up,” He wails.

Sobs rack his body as he sinks further down the wall. Ben sits next to him and stares, agape.

“What are you talking about?”

Rodrick takes a moment to calm down, trying to breathe slow and steady. He wipes his eyes with the sleeves of his denim jacket. He really hates when he cries, especially when he can’t stop it like this.

“Someone- well, Bryan, probably- wrecked the bar, and it’s all my fault, I can never go back.” He hates how whiny his voice sounds.

“Should we go down and see if we can help?” Ben asks gently.

“No. No, I’m never going back there. We can find a different bar, or- or get real jobs. I can’t ever show my face there again.”

“Real jobs? What the fuck has gotten into you?” Ben asks, “That’s not why we’re here, dude.”

“Ward and Chris are at work.” Rodrick pouts, “I just saw Ward. At his job.”

“Yeah. Shit jobs to make rent. We all said we’d get one of those. But you are not gonna sit here and say anything about real jobs.”

Rodrick frowns up at him.

“You gotta calm down, man. I’m sure it’s just a big misunderstanding.”

Rodrick looks down. There’s no way. He’d felt so good before all this. He should’ve known better. He’s not allowed to be happy. He doesn’t deserve it.

He let you down.

You’re probably back at the bar, cursing his name. Regretting ever taking him home, or spending the day with him, or enjoying his company. Letting him write his band name next to yours. He feels like a total fraud.

Ben is still talking. Rodrick isn’t listening. Ben hoists him up, and puts him on one of the floor mattresses.

“You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Rodrick does not feel better in the morning.

His dreams are loud.

He's on trial for arson. Heather Hills is his defense lawyer, dressed in a pink, tweed skirt suit like the blonde woman in that movie his mom liked.

I'm supposed to defend this loser? She laughs. He totally did it, are you kidding me? Just look at him.

The judge laughs at him. The jury laughs at him. Rodrick realizes they're all people he went to school with.

He's beyond help. He's scary. He's crazy! He's a danger to society. Just let him rot.

Rodrick puts his head in his hands, and when he takes them away from his face again, he’s in orange, long sleeves and handcuffs. His hands are shaking. Two men are gripping his shoulders, leading him down a hallway.

Sent to prison, but it looks… abandoned. Like the ones he's seen on those ghost hunting shows. The walls are filthy, and crumbling. The guards trip him and jeer as he walks by.

He’s thrown into a tiny, concrete cell, with only a tiny window on the door.

He sees his mom’s face through the window. She shakes her head.

Then his dad's voice, He's better off in there. It's better for all of us.

He's buckled into a straitjacket, and a psychiatrist is sent to see him. It's you, dressed in a white doctor’s coat, glowing and angelic against the drab concrete. You have no idea who he is. He tries everything to get you to remember.

C'mon. You know me. From the bar! We played a show together, you took me home and we spent the day together. I'm not dangerous, I just… I fucked up! I didn't hurt anyone. You know me!

Your eyes are cold. You sit with a clipboard, legs crossed, scribbling down notes. Like you're observing a science experiment. He's sobbing, begging for you to say something, but the more desperate he gets, the faster you write. You say nothing. He struggles against his restraints. Maybe he really is crazy.

He wakes up in a cold sweat.

Ben and Ward are standing over him. He jolts up.

“Fuck,” he pants, “what the hell are you guys doing?”

“You were freaking us out, dude.” Ben sits on the couch, looking at him.

“Yeah, you were twitching and talking and shit.” Ward walks back to the kitchen, pouring a mug of coffee.

“I had a weird dream.” Rodrick sighs, rubbing his eye.

The doorknob turns, and Chris walks in.

“Did you guys hear about what happened to The Strike?”

Ben looks at Rodrick. Rodrick panics.

As Chris moves to the kitchen to tell Ward, Rodrick escapes through the front door.

“I’m going out,” he mumbles.

~

Oh, what happened to my little boy?

It's so fuckin’ sad

He used to be a little baby

Now he's just a criminal

~

You adjust the neckline on your top, weighed down by a lav microphone. The news crew buzzes, and Mike nervously paces back and forth. You stand in front of The Strike, the boarded up window in view. With the police being seemingly no help, you and Mike had decided to call the media. Mike would rally, you and Jimbo would stand in as support. Local punks of all ages had heard what happened and were milling around on the street, a sea of black leather and bright hair.

The news anchor flashes you a fake smile, smoothing down her coral blazer, and running a hand through her long, brown hair.

“Are you excited to be on TV?”

You grimace, raising an eyebrow. Excited? Is she kidding?

“Yeah…” you answer, choosing not to pick a fight before you’re on air.

Mike can be a very impassioned guy. You’re slightly worried about what he’ll say and do on live TV, but you can’t say you won’t support it. He’s instructed you to do two things: stand next to him, and look angry.

The camera operator starts to count down from 5, pointing at the anchor on 1.

“Hi, I’m Sadie Shaw, Port Hanna Channel 7. I’m here with local bar owner, Mike Morello, and two of his employees. Their bar, The Strike, was vandalized early Saturday morning, and they’re putting out a call for justice.”

You try your best to look alive, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.

“Well, Sadie, I wanna take you back to San Francisco, 1978…” Mike starts, his voice more pronounced than usual, still with its nasally twinge.

Here we go.

“Dan White assassinates Harvey Milk and George Moscone. Milk, a gay icon and a friend to the punks, Moscone, an ally to both. Got a pathetically small sentence because he used to be a cop. We made it known that that was not appreciated.”

The news anchor’s eyes go wide.

“Dianne Feinstein takes over the city. Punishing us because of what they did to us! The cops are putting padlocks on the Art Institute before an Avengers show! They’re coming by the Mab, and the Deaf Club, and 330 Grove and beating up kids who weren’t doing anyone any harm!” He raises his voice, pointing ardently at the camera.

“Uh…” Sadie stutters.

You nod firmly, staring into the lens. A few cheers of yeah! and woo! erupt from the people on the street.

“But we didn’t sit back and take it! We fought back! And we’re not gonna let some frat boy take punk away from us, just like Dan White and Dianne Feinstein tried to take it away from us 30 years ago!” Mike shakes his fist at the sky, like he's making a promise.

People are cheering behind you. You crack a sly smile, still staring into the camera.

“We know who did this! We have his name and address in our ban list! We told the cops! Did they believe us?” Mike looks towards you.

“Nope.” You say, matter-of-factly.

“Of course they didn’t! Look at us! They don’t want anything to do with us! They just want us to shut up and deal with it! Meanwhile, this little douchebag threatened to burn down the bar! So I’m here to tell the cops- do your jobs!”

People laugh and yell behind you, oinking like pigs and parroting Mike.

Do your jobs! Do your jobs, piggies!

“Support your local bars, your local bands, and your only local radio station that hasn’t been taken over by the robots, 98.7!” Mike yells over the noise of the crowd. “And when we're open again, we promise to be more of a nuisance than ever!”

Sadie, with panicked eyes, turns towards the camera.

“Alright, well… you heard it here first! I’m Sadie Shaw, Channel 7.”

The crew starts to put the camera away, looking relieved.

Your microphones are taken off, and after a cold goodbye, the news crew drives off in their van.

As soon as they’re gone, you find yourself bursting into laughter, high-fiving passerby as you turn to follow Mike into the bar.

You check your cell phone, hoping for a call or a text from Rodrick. Hoping he got to see the chaos, too. But there’s nothing. You frown, but you’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts as Jimbo hands you a paint roller.

“Got a perfect match for the old walls. Guy at the store said the color is called 100 MPH.” He grins, flashing horns at you, “Sounds like me on my bike.”

You laugh, taking a peek at the paint lid. It’s the exact same jarring red as before, and the name makes you smile. You mirror Jimbo’s horns and walk inside.

Meanwhile, Rodrick drives aimlessly.

His eyes are dry from crying, and he can barely focus on the road. The radio is off.

He’s getting further and further out of town, and he realizes… his autopilot is taking him home.

He doesn’t want to go home.

He shouldn't even still be calling it home.

But there he is, passing his high school. The diner. And then he’s pulling up on his street.

He sees his family piling out of the car, just getting back from church. He slowly pulls up outside the house, and he sees Greg in the window, his eyes widening when he realizes who it is. He gets out of the van, slowly walking up to the door before knocking tentatively.

“Rodrick, you’re alive!” His mom wraps her arms around him when she opens the door, “You didn’t have to knock!”

“Jesus, mom!” Rodrick recoils slightly as she embraces him, “What? Of course I'm alive. Why wouldn't I be alive?!”

As he sits at the dining room table with his family, he's overcome by a sense of familiarity. He feels like his old self.

“Greg got an A on his geometry final,” His dad says.

“Ha! Dork.” Rodrick lightly punches Greg on the shoulder.

“Rodrick, how was your concert?” His mom grins across from him. He notices his dad looking  away.

“Good. Great!” Rodrick smiles, recalling the noise of the crowd and the praise they'd gotten, before everything went to hell.

“Did you get paid?” His dad asks, still not looking at him.

Rodrick gives a pointed look to his dad, waiting a few seconds before answering.

“Yeah, we did. $200, plus we sold half the shirts we had.” He crosses his arms, “And the girl who got us on the show said we should have a lot more offers from other places by this weekend.”

He feels a twinge of guilt, knowing all that probably won't happen now. Knowing you probably hate him, and have already warned the other bars not to book his band. Even if they do get another show… he's too much of a coward to show up, anyway.

Proving his dad wrong comes above everything, though.

Frank scoffs out a laugh.

His mom smiles nervously, looking from Frank to Rodrick.

“That's great!”

“Yeah, great,” Frank rolls his eyes, “Two of the neighbor kids are starting medical residencies, and one is studying for the bar, but… you got $200! That's great!”

“Frank-”

“No, Susan, that's just fantastic! My son is being paid to hang out with bums!” He laughs, a high cackle, slamming his hand on the table.

Everyone is silent. His dad gets up, and disappears into the basement.

"Its, like... a third of our rent." Rodrick mutters, looking down.

“Greg,” his mom says after a minute, “Take Manny and go to the living room, would you?”

Greg looks at Rodrick for a minute, then back at his mom, brows knit in worry.

“Mom…?”

“It's cool,” Rodrick looks at him, smiling as much as he can manage, “Go on.”

Rodrick sits at the kitchen counter with his mom. She takes out two stemmed glasses and fills them with generous pours of sweet white wine.

“Don't listen to your dad.” She slides the glass to him.

“What?” Rodrick’s voice comes out weak.

“Sure, maybe for a while, I wanted you on a different path too, but… you're happy, right?”

Rodrick looks down into his glass. That's a big question. He decides to lie. Pretend that Saturday never happened. He takes a long sip of the wine, wincing at the sweetness.

“Yeah,” he nods, looking up at her, “I am. We… we got accepted, like, right away. Everyone liked us.”

His mom beams, leaning on the counter.

“People said we were really good, and- and we're on the list of bands that can open for big bands now. Like, touring bands.” Rodrick feels his heart skip a beat, knowing he's lying.

“That's great,” his mom puts her hand over his, “As long as you're happy, and you're alive, I'm happy. As for your dad, it might take a while, but I think he'll come around.”

“Mom, I…” he pauses. He wants to tell her everything. Everything. He almost does, then the urge is gone, “...I love you.”

His mom walks around the counter, hugging him tight. This time, he lets her.

He leaves without seeing his dad, giving Greg a noogie on his way out.

The drive back to town is quiet, but more peaceful than the drive in.

On the outskirts of town, he notices the liquor delivery plant he and the guys had visited a few days before, with a giant HIRING sign out front. He stops.

~

How do you know what my best interest is?

How can you say what my best interest is?

What are you trying to say, I’m crazy?

When I went to your schools?

I went to your churches?

I went to your institutional learning facilities?

So, how can you say I’m crazy?

~

It's late. You’re on the last leg of one of the most active radio shifts you've ever worked. People have started dropping money in the mail slot for repairs, and you’d had the idea to tell any future donors to include a note with a name and a song request with their cash. You're calling it Donation Roulette.

CDs and tapes sit scattered around you, covered in sticky notes with names, play order, and track numbers.

A song ends, and you get on the mic, picking up CD number 20, track 6. You pop it in and skip ahead.

“Number 20! Big thanks to Dennis Hall for your donation, and a request for one of my all time favorites, ‘Institutionalized’-Suicidal Tendencies. This is the last one before I sign off for tonight, and we’ll have a DJ back on roulette duty first thing tomorrow.”

You smile, finger hovering over the play button.

“All of us here at 98.7 thank you for your support. We can’t do any of this without each other.”

You hit play, and the riff kicks in as you start shutting down. The CDs and tapes are stacked in order for whoever has the morning shift, and you’ve placed a basket underneath the mail slot in case more people drop off money. There’s already another bundle lying on the ground. $20 and a request for Search and Destroy by The Stooges, with the name Marie Parks attached. Your eyes linger on the note for a while, before you add it to the stack with the CD attached, slipping the money into a metal cash box underneath the radio board.

Doesn’t matter, I’ll probably get hit by a car, anyway.

The song comes to a close, and you shut the board down, then the lights, one by one. Quiet. Dark.

The drive home is short, and you unlock the door to your empty apartment. Quiet. Dark.

You'd thought after such a busy day, filled with talking to people and working, that quiet and dark would be what you wanted.

You sit back on your couch, realizing that’s not the case. The absence of people and noise is jarring. Your brain is buzzing. You flip the TV on. You can’t sit still. You check your email and phone, and find nothing from Rodrick on either. You sigh. You don’t want to think the worst, but… what else can you think?

You sit, trying to focus on the mindless sitcom in front of you. Flipping channels, again and again. Nothing catches you. Back out you go.

You walk over to Pyramid, and it’s completely full. This place tends to trend more traditional goth, and the music is proving it. Moody, pumping bass, and girls with teased hair swinging their mesh-sleeved arms.

You see a group of people you recognize, and they yell when they see you. You yell back. As you sit at the table, the doubts start to fade away. You just need people around you right now. And these are good people. Good, good people. Some of the first people you met in this town.

A band called Put Down. Five guys, about five years older than you, Joey, Jake, Gabe, Marcus, and Nick.

They greet you warmly, making room at their table.

Nick- a tall, tall guy, with a high, bouncy sprout of black, curly hair and a beard, grins at you.

“You were so fucking cool on TV.”

“Aw, c’mon, I said one word.” You wave your hand dismissively, bashful.

“Still fucking cool.” He smiles.

A martini glass with a deep purple, glittering liquid is placed in front of you.

“This is called a Musidora. You gotta try it. These goths know what they’re doing.” Joey smiles, a small, stocky ginger with a nose ring.

You sip it. It's incredible. It tastes… purple. You don't know how else to describe it. You finish it, and order another.

Before you know it, you’ve had… 4, maybe? You can’t even remember. You’re having too much fun. It seems like every band in the city got the memo that this was the place to be, and everyone is up and swishing their arms like the goth girls.

You laugh, spinning, the purple lights of the room glinting around you. Every face is familiar, and you feel the best that you have all day. There’s one face that seems to be missing, though. You look for him, but he isn’t there. Your spin slows, and you still your movements, dizzy.

As the bad thoughts start to creep in, you’re saved by someone grabbing your hand and delicately twirling you. You sigh with relief. He’s here, you knew he’d show up eventually. Plus, the two of you actually pulled off a spin!

“I was waiting for you, why didn’t you call me?” You shout over the music as you turn towards him, and his arm coils around you.

A drunken grin spreads across your face as you land against his chest, in his arms, and…

It’s not him.

You frown, looking up.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to.” He smiles.

Your eyes widen. It’s your ex.

“...Andy?”

He grins. You start to wiggle out of his hold.

Andy is the first person you'd ever dated in this town, all the way back in your borderline crust punk house show days. He’s a beautiful man, with turquoise eyes and tan skin, a sharp, stubbled jaw. His hair is different; what used to be a high pompadour is now a feathery, chin-length cut. He looks down at you lovingly, and for just a second, you let yourself remember the good times.

You’d been a wreck in your younger days, and as much as you tried to discourage him, he seemed fascinated by you. He just kept following you around, and eventually, you let him in. Late night walks down to the water, 40z beers in hand, running from the cops. He’d kissed you for the first time in the woods, underneath a full moon, and made you feel like a person again.

Then the betrayal.

It started with little whispers all over town.

You got your first job, and your co-worker couldn’t stop gushing about her boyfriend, Andy.

It had to be a coincidence. It's not like Andy is an uncommon name. Yeah. You were being crazy.

But then it happened again. And you were so scared, so hesitant to cut one of your only lifelines in this town.

Then you caught him.

He’d given you a spare key to his apartment, which is really a stupid move if you’re gonna cheat, and you came in late from work.

You saw them, right there on the couch. Undeniably nude bodies, shrouded in shadows. The girl screamed when you opened the door.

You’d burst into tears on the spot.

Fuck you, you bastard!

She'd realized what was happening and laughed at you. Andy didn’t say a thing. You ran off, slamming the door, and you never saw him again.

Until now.

“You looked hot on the news today,” He smirks.

You wrench his arm off of you, mouth twisted into a sneer.

“Get away from me.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he reaches for you, “You were excited a second ago.”

“Because I thought you were someone else.” You hiss, slapping his hand away.

You feel something threaten to break within you. You’ve worked so hard over the years to form this calm, stable shell. You pride yourself on staying cool and getting shit done. Seeing Andy, combined with expecting Rodrick, and 4 or 5 of those purple martinis, just put a crack in that shell.

“I miss you,” He gives you a sad look, “C'mon, let's just hang out, no pressure.”

“No fucking way!” You laugh, bitter, feeling shakier by the second.

“I’ve changed.” He takes you gently by the shoulders.

“I don’t care.” You push him away from you, “It’s been years.”

“I just thought it had been long enough to try again.” His eyes are so sad, but you don’t buy it for a second.

You cross your arms, staying silent, frowning at him.

“Are you really with someone else?” His face drops.

“Yeah. Well, kinda. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. Either way, I don’t want you anymore.”

He looks down, his expression hurt. Good. When he looks back up at you, there's a smug look on his face, and a meanness in his eyes.

“So, what I'm getting is... you met a guy, maybe even slept with him, and you want to be with him, but he hasn't called you? And you're totally freaking out, because you're worried you're letting him walk all over you?”

You stare at him, arms still crossed, still slightly wobbly. You narrow your eyes.

“Shut the fuck up, Andy.”

You disappear into the crowd, hearing him yell wait!, but you don’t go back.

It can’t be true. Rodrick is not walking all over you. It’s only been one day, and something is clearly going on with him, anyway. Andy has no idea what he’s talking about, even if he had been scarily accurate. He hadn't been there. You nod, stumbling through the crowd as you try to convince yourself in your mind. One by one, you find all your friends and let them know you’re leaving.

You exit the bar, and see Nick leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

“You heading out?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, walking up to him.

He reaches out to give you a side hug.

“Alright. Hey, festival’s on in a month. You're in. We're gonna put you late in the day on Saturday.”

“For real? Hell yeah,” You smile, his words breaking you out of your funk.

“I'll let you know when everything's all worked out. See you around, D.”

You wave as you walk back to your apartment, trying to get Andy and Rodrick and whatever else out of your head and focus on the positives.

Even if Andy was right, even if Rodrick never calls you again…

You're playing at a music festival in a month. No dumb guy can take that away from you.

~

“Welcome to the team, kid!” The man who runs the plant, Buck, claps Rodrick on the back, “Now comes your initiation.”

“My… what?” Rodrick looks up, putting his paperwork on the top of a stack on Buck’s desk.

“You gotta come out with us!”

Buck is a large man, hairy and menacing, dressed in a worn-out old work shirt over a ratty white tank top.

“Out?” Rodrick gulps, “I’m kind of trying to avoid, like, the bars downtown and stuff…”

“Downtown?” Buck spits, “No, no, we’re not going downtown. We go to Johnny’s, it’s on this side of town. It’s for the guys, not those weirdos, you know what I’m sayin’?”

Rodrick frowns.

“Weirdos? They’re not weirdos, it’s just-”

“Ricky.” Buck takes him by the shoulders.

“Rodrick,” He corrects.

“I’m callin’ you Ricky. And all of those people down there? Grade A weirdos. Trust me. Now c’mon!” Buck shakes him.

Rodrick hesitates, looking at Buck’s red face.

“Uh… okay, fine.”

“That’s the spirit, buddy! Follow me, it’s not far.”

Rodrick pulls up to a cinderblock dive bar in a dirt lot, with overgrown brush sprouting up around the edges. The neon sign is green, half-dead, and flashing. Inside, it’s dark. Dollar bills hang from the walls, with profanities and funny faces scribbled over the markings. Old blues rock blasts from the speakers. Rodrick sits at the end, next to Buck, and guys in various work clothes line the rest of the bar. Everyone chatters, yelling and laughing, and Rodrick tries his best to pretend he’s paying attention whenever Buck nudges him. When they’re not looking, he finds himself staring at the bubbles in his beer mug, feeling completely out of body.

This feels weird. It feels wrong. He thought this would just be a job, but now he’s hanging out with these guys? These guys, with their sweaty beards, barking like dogs at the bartender? At the vintage beer ads with pinup girls that line the walls? He can't believe Buck had really had the nerve to call other people weirdos. He makes sure to tip the poor girl behind the bar as much as he possibly can, hearing your voice ring painfully in his head, flashing her apologetic looks.

“She looks pretty wild, eh, Ricky?”

Rodrick looks where Buck is pointing. It’s an old poster of a woman with feathered hair, in a low-cut top and daisy dukes, sitting with a beer bottle in between her legs. He doesn’t answer right away. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say.

“Uh. Yeah, she looks pretty, uh, wild? I guess?” He grimaces.

The guys around him all hoot and holler at his answer. Rodrick looks down the bar, bewildered. Is it really this easy? To be a… guy, as Buck had said?

He keeps downing mugs of watery beer, as the men keep cheering. Soon, he’s drunk, in a game of pool, against a guy who is absolutely schooling him.

“We’re not gonna put any money on the line, Ricky, we wouldn’t do that to you.” Buck laughs.

Rodrick sways, lining up his cue on the table.

“Now, once he gets his first paycheck, that’s a different story!”

Everybody laughs.

He sinks one ball, then fails horribly, as the men around him laugh. Hours seem to go by, as everybody kicks his ass in pool. Maybe this is what Buck had meant by ‘initiation’?

Eventually, he finds himself giving his keys to a large man in overalls.

“You said you lived downtown? I’ll drive you, don’t want the cops on your ass.” His voice is deep, grumbly.

Rodrick nods, nearly passing out as he’s driven home in his own van. The man parks outside his apartment complex.

“I’m Vaughn, by the way.” Vaughn tosses Rodrick his keys, laughing, “I’ll see you tomorrow, if you’re up.”

Rodrick gives a weak wave, shoving his keys into his pocket and stumbling up to his apartment.

“Where have you been?” Ward sits on the couch, legs crossed.

“Got a job.” Rodrick slurs, hanging up his jacket by the door.

“Dude, your girlfriend is so cool.” Ward doesn’t seem to notice, instead grinning at the TV.

He freezes, feeling his heart jump out of his chest.

Rodrick is stunned as he sees you, almost letting himself smile. Then he sees the rage burning in your eyes, looking straight into the camera as Mike rambles and a crowd cheers behind you.

It feels like you're looking right at him.

Guilt washes over him, and he wobbles on his feet.

“She's… not my girlfriend.” Rodrick walks off, shutting himself in the bathroom.

~

She tries not to shatter, kaleidoscope style

Personality changes behind her red smile

Every new problem brings a stranger inside

Helplessly forcing one more new disguise

~

tag list: @crumpets-are-better-with-jam

[chaotic-and-mentally-ill]

So, Ducktales x Cult of the Lamb, am I right?

Ok it's not actually a Ducktales x Cult of the Lamb au, it's more of a weird Mickey and friends Cult of the Lamb au, but it mostly focuses on the duck triplets.

(Huey, Dewey, and Louie)

I, sadly, don't have a whole lot of art for this au yet mostly cause i'm still figuring out how to draw all the characters, so bare with me cause this is gonna be a long text post until I have art I can/am willing to share.

TLDR;

Cult of the Lamb au but make it Ducktales/Mickey and friends because i've been watching Ducktales and recently got back into Cult of the Lamb again. I'll mostly be focusing on Louie for this au sense I have the best grasp on his character as of right now, but others will show up.

Sense Louie is the main focus, Louie with be the one taking on the role of The Lamb for this au, meaning he will bare the crown.

(But that doesn't mean I haven't thought about the "what if" of if Huey or Dewey got it instead.)

Cult of the Duck

So, before I really get to this I need to explain one very important detail:

All the ducks? Yea, they're dead. All expect Louie of course. (or one of the other triplets but we'll get to that later). This, of course, means Donald, Della, Scrooge, his brothers, and frankly and other duck within the series are, well, gone.

Like the lamb, Louie as the last of his kind. There are no other ducks. He has no one to protect him, and no one to protect. He is completely and utterly alone.

So when he's sent to be sacrificed in order to prevent the "prophecy", there was not much he could do. Sure, it was absolutely terrifying! No one wants to be sacrificed, and he was damn well sure that "prophecy" was bogus!

"Come closer, little duckling, for I still need you. I will grant you back your life, in return, I ask for a cult in my name. Do we have a deal?"

But as he looked up to the Bishops, gods amongst the people, those who always knew what was right, those who should not be questioned, as all he could do was bow his head and squeeze his eyes tight, hearing his heart beat agents his ribs as he prayed.

But when no pain had arrived, curiosity got the best of him as he opened his eyes and looked up. It was so bright.

Something beckoned him forward, and he followed. A voice gently assured to him as he made his way forward.

And with new found life, Louie escapes with the help of one of Oswald's children, a previous vessel to The One Who Waits.

And the story continues as per usual from there with one of Oswald's kids taking the place of Ratau (at least until I think of someone better). The first follower to be saved by Louie would be Max, who after this point is pretty darn loyal.

Louie, at first, is pretty upset about having to work and build the cult in the first place. He wasn't used to doing so much hard work, nor did he enjoy it very much. But, it was better then basically every thing else he'd been through, so he'd learn to tolerate it.

After some time of going on crusades (which, frankly, he hates more), he'd get a pretty good flow going between growing the cult and relaxation. He'd upgrade quickly, recruit (or as he'd call it; "Sweet talk") people, and find ways to make it so everyone could care for themselves so he'd have more time to relax.

Occasionally he'd go on crusades, but only if he absolutely needed to. (Food, supplies, gold, stuff like that.) He'd avoid the Bishops as long as he physically could, only caving when he didn't have a choice but to face them.

Sure, it be a heavy learning curve at first (learning to be selfless and what not for the sake of the cult), but eventually he'd be a pretty decent leader. His favorite days are when the whole cult (also known as his "community") would take one big break and not work at all, but he also enjoyed the days where everyone would hand him gold and/or do all the work for him. Because man does he hate having to do hard work. And yes, he's still the greedy, money loving guy we all know and love.

He'd often have Max be the one looking over the "community" when ever he leaves. Max would also probably be the tax collector and such considering he was the first follower and is the most loyal. Him and Max are close.

I can also see Louie marring many people, for tax purposes of course.

But what about the other 2? What would happen if they were given the crown instead?

Well, the sacrifice process may as well go the same. Oswald kid still takes Ratau place, Max still being the first follower and being loyal beyond belief, but that's likely where the similarities would end.

Dewey, being the prideful and adventures guy he is, would absolutely LOVE crusades. Sure, he'd love his cult and would enjoy being around them, but he would be nowhere NEAR where Louie would be in growth in the same time frame. He'd spend far to much time doing crusades and fighting monsters or even the bishops. Tbh I can see him taking out the most amount of bishops in the shortest amount of time out of all his brothers (with Louie taking the longest).

He'd probably come back to a hungry, angry followers because he'd be gone so long thanks to his crusades, which would inevitably lead to a LOT of damage control after. Would he ever learn? Probably not.

That's basically all I got for now, still a lot of stuff to work through and think about, but it's a neat idea that's been plaguing my mind for the past few days.

Huey on the other hand would spend an equal amount of time on crusades and with his cult. He'd most likely have everything under control from the get go. Plus, he now has a healthy way of letting out "The Duke of Messes" via crusades. Occasionally he'd have to preform damage control, especially with any new stubborn followers, but for the most part everyone is happy and capable of functioning orderly with or without him (mostly due to his schedules). Let's be honest, he's just glad people are finally listening to him.

His cult would probably embrace nature to it's finest, tents and all. It would probably be more put together and more advance then Dewey in most regards, but not nearly as advanced as Louie.

In other words: Louie is basically running a really weird town, Huey is running a camp, and Dewey is uh- doing his best.

[typingdyslexiaisathing]

Cranky Exchange Student (Obey Me!) fic

The entrance to the House of Lamentation would ease open for me to walk in out of the cold weather and into warmth. Snow dusted over my frame for me to start hanging up my winter gear. A frown etched into my face and jawline as Mammon poked his head out to then saunter over to me. "Oi. There you are. What gives? I texted you and you never answered back?"

My temper flared without a warning to Mammon as I growled low. "I was at work. You know. That thing all of us have to do to make a living?" Mammon stilled to then scowl at me. His snark lacing through the air as I removed my boots. "I know what a job is. But you could have at least shot me a text back." I huffed to then glare right at Mammon and feel my temper building. "I was busy! Since I was the only one working in the entire gas station! Means I had to deal with every customer and clean the place and stock and count the safe! While also dealing with several rude jerks that kept trying to get free coffee!"

Mammon flinched to then jump back when I stomped right past him and fuming under my breath. Marching past Satan and Asmodeus for them both to take the hint and just get out of my way. Satan asking Asmodeus after I passed by, "Do we duck and cover or beg forgiveness or both?" Asmodeus shook his head to hustle Satan off as I trudged up the stairs. Heading right for the twin's room to march my feet on in without knocking. Belphegor was drying off after a recent shower to have only his sweatpants on. His blush dusting over his face to note after a second, "I take it the four hour shift felt like two days?"

I nodded to turn to where Beelzebub was sitting on his bed. A duffel bag full of various snacks and wrapped sandwiches for him to dust off the crumbs on his shirt and sleeves. Then he opened his arms to say, "Then come here and I can hug you for a while." But I shook my head to rub at my eyes. "I might try to roar and fume and Godzilla stomp you right now. I need a minute."

Belphegor sat himself down to ask simply, "Did you have to call the police again like last week?" I sighed to just throw my hands up and snap. "Yes! Since I had walked in to find a homeless guy passed out in the men's restroom! But the police refused to come and remove him from the property!" Both twins blinked to look very shocked. Beelzebub frowning to look rather upset himself. "Why would they do that? This man might have been dangerous. How can the police not show up to help you?" I huffed to rub at my face. "The person on the phone said they wouldn't send an officer when our store has called them for non emergencies removing drunks from the property. Which is ridiculous! So I had to call my head manager and his husband to come to the store and see to removing the guy from the restroom! Dwayne's husband is a fireman and is more than willing to-" Beelzebub cut me off to be standing and looking right at me with a mixture of anger and fear. "You should have used our pact! I would have made sure you were safe! Why didn't you summon me?!"

I blinked to see that Beelzebub was on the verge of tears. With Belphegor looking just as upset. But the Avatar of Sloth sighed to answer for me. "Beel. Gas stations have cameras all over the place. You would have been seen and that would have caused problems. Besides. If Maycee did end up in serious trouble and was in danger, she would have summoned all of us instantly. That didn't happen. So she was safe enough to handle it with her manager." Beelzebub thought about that to then sigh and wrap his arms around me to give me a tight hug. Making me hug him back to feel all my anger ebb and shift. My words coming out hoarse. "Beel. I know I will always be a blink away from you and the others when I really need help. Promise. But it worked out. Dwayne's husband was able to wake the guy up and have a talk with him. Turns out he was off his medications and wasn't really able to function. So Dwayne and Benji got him to the hospital and filed a report how the police refused to show up. Turns out they should have sent someone when they were told I was all by myself and that the guy might have needed emergency medical assistance. So someone got lectured that wasn't me. Dwayne made sure I felt safe enough to finish my shift. The day just was super busy and I never really got a chance to decompress after all that. So every dumb teenager asking if we have ApplePay or mother with a crying toddler in tow just grated my sanity."

Beelzebub nodded to nuzzle his nose into the crown of my head. Giving me a bear squeeze that had me hum to let all the bad feelings melt away. My arms shifting so I might give Beelzebub a squeeze back. Which had him chuckle that rich sound of happiness I dearly love. "I didn't think humans can pay for things with apples. Or is that not what they do." I laughed as Belphegor smiled at us to shake his head. "No. It's an app on their phones that they use like a credit card. So they only need their phone to go shopping for things." I nodded as Beelzebub lifted me off my feet for us to fall into the bed. Which meant Belphegor was able to hug me from behind. So I got surrounded by love and warmth. Making all my woes float away to leave me feeling tired yet content.

[sawdusst]

The Rainmaker Heist Chapter 9 (Coroika Pirate AU) ⚓

Hiii!!! Sorry this update took so long. I spent a while working on the ending but I hope y'all like it :D Wowie, we're on chapter 9-- the second to last chapter :"

Anyways, enjoy! :D

Previous Chapter

Main Thread of All the Characters & Such :D

Word Count: 1,776 (+ some edits done)

====== [ ⚓ ] ======

[Wait for an opportunity]

After Half Rim and Straps showed up, the four of them decided to go to a cafe since there was still plenty of time before the auction. They ordered a few pastries, sitting at a table near the window. 

“So, the auction starts at sundown,” Gloves began, “Which means, they’ll probably present the Rainmaker later on in the night. Hopefully it’ll be dark enough that we could escape without making too much of a disturbance.” 

Everyone else nodded in agreement.

“I’m thinking Half Rim could try to splat at least one of them with the splatterscope,” he continued, “Then, I’ll go in, grab the Rainmaker, and start heading back towards the ship.”

“That might be easier said than done,” Half Rim objected.

“I could just make up the rest as I go!” Gloves replied with nonchalance, then grinned.

“Wow, you've really got it planned out,” Half Rim mumbled.

“We should get something to replace the Rainmaker with, it’ll cause some trouble if they find out it’s gone,” Straps interjected, “That way, we won’t disturb the auction, we just need to take care of the X Bloods.”

“Oh, that’ll be easy,” Gloves shrugged, “I say we wait for sundown then and head over to the auction stage. You guys hide backstage, let me take care of the Rainmaker just in case it goes wrong— you guys will still have a way out.”

“Sounds good to me, but what about you?” Half Rim asked, “How are you going to escape if you're caught?”

“I have my ways,” Gloves replied with a scoff, “I could just escape with my dualies and forget about the Rainmaker. Depends on how bad the situation is.”

Gloves then set his hands on the table, “Are you guys ready?”

The four of them nodded in agreement.

====== [ ⚓ ] ======

Once the sun had begun to disappear along the horizon, the four made their way back to the stage. Gloves held a golden statue of a lucky cat, hidden in his coat. The four of them had their weapons prepared, strapped to their backs. 

“Looks like we made it just in time,” Half Rim commented. 

As the auction proceeded, the X-Blood Pirates were abruptly called to the stage. 

“Now’s our chance,” Gloves whispered to himself, then looked over at his crew, “Let’s take our positions. Be prepared to run once I grab the Rainmaker.”

Everyone nodded. The four of them hurried to the backstage area. Half Rim ducked behind a stack of crates with the splatterscope propped on his shoulder. Straps and Clips hid behind some boxes of sound equipment. Gloves took a deep breath and followed after them. 

He looked around, ducking under a roped off section. The sunset was masking his presence. Most of the other patrons were too occupied with watching what was on stage to pay attention to him. Gloves could hear the announcer up on the stage. 

“Good evening all! And welcome to Hagglefish Market’s monthly auction!” 

The glass case was seemingly left unlocked. Gloves carefully lifted it up, trying not to make a sound. He set the glass case aside, taking another deep breath. Gloves waited for a split second before taking the red tarp off.

“We have plenty of exciting prizes from all around the world to showcase tonight!” 

Sure enough, the golden Rainmaker stood on the stand. Gloves looked at it for a split second in awe. 

Gloves slowly reached for the golden statue. 

“We also have a few special guests here with us today,” the announcer continued, “Captain Vintage and his crew recently returned from a bounty-hunting job. It looks like they've brought something to sell!"

Gloves cringed inside after hearing those words. He hesitated for a second.

“Would you please give them a warm welcome?” 

There was a round of applause from the audience, plus a few murmurs from the crowd. Gloves could hear the X Bloods saying something while they were on stage.

Gloves then seized this opportunity. He quickly grabbed the Rainmaker and replaced it with the golden cat from his coat pocket. Gloves then took off his coat, wrapping the Rainmaker in it to hide the shimmering gold. 

Gloves quickly covered the golden cat statue with the red cloth, grabbing the glass case and placing it back over it. He sighed a breath of relief. Gloves quickly hauled the Rainmaker onto his shoulder. Immediately, he staggered forward from how heavy the Rainmaker was.

He could hear the announcement that the auction would start soon. Gloves could hear footsteps steadily approaching the backstage area.

The auction was starting as it was supposed to, the first item was being presented with the audience making their bids. Gloves winced, trudging forward with the Rainmaker propped on his shoulder.

“Hey, didn’t I tell you hands off?” 

Gloves stopped for a second. He slowly turned around. Standing before him were four cyan inklings with dark red eyes. 

“Ah— You must be Captain Vintage,” Gloves said, nervousness creeping into his voice, “It’s so nice to finally meet you—”

He took a hesitant step back.

“It’s you from earlier,” Vintage began, “Just what do you think you’re doing?” 

“What? Me?” Gloves laughed, “Nothing at all! I have no idea what you’re talking abou—”

“The Rainmaker,” Vintage interrupted, “I know you took it. If you hand it over now, I’ll leave you and your crew alone, you might be able to get out of here alive. Your choice.”

“Shoot,” Gloves whispered, then took a deep breath. He looked behind him, seeing his crew still hidden behind a few boxes. There was a small opening he could take if he made it quickly enough. None of the X Bloods had their weapons with them.

“Well…?”

Gloves swiftly turned around, “The jig is up! Let’s go!” 

Straps leapt out from the stack of boxes, raising the splat roller and slamming it into the ground. The X Bloods dashed out of the way, splashes of green ink staining their shirts.

Without hesitation, Gloves turned around and ran as fast as he could. He kept the Rainmaker under his arm as he ran through the crowd. He wove his way through the crowd, heading towards the back alley. The rest of his crew hurried after Gloves.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?!” Half Rim exclaimed as they ran.

“Trust me! I’ve got it all figured out!” Gloves responded with a wink, “I’m totally not making this up as I go! Don’t worry about it.” 

The four of them sprinted ahead, dashing past the shops from earlier. Gloves hauled the Rainmaker on his shoulder then glanced over his shoulder. 

“Straps! You go on ahead and get the ship’s anchor raised so we can get out of here!” Gloves ordered, “We’ll try to keep them away.”

Straps nodded. Gloves stepped off to the side so Straps could run ahead of him. The four of them turned the corner, running into the alleyway. Gloves nearly tripped as he turned the corner. He steadied himself, running next to Half Rim.

Gloves vaulted over a crate that was propped in the street. Suddenly, there was a volley of ink bubbles launched at the four of them. Gloves jumped up with surprise as the cyan ink splashed the road beneath them.

“We’re not letting you get away that easily!” One of the cyan inklings exclaimed, she had a bloblobber in her hands. Another series of bright cyan bubbles were launched that dribbled towards them.

Clips and Half Rim jumped out of the way. Half Rim raised his splatterscope, aiming it at the cyan inklings in the distance from him. They stood in the alleyway, holding their weapons.

Vintage held a ballpoint splatling. He scoffed, “Take his crew down. The captain’s mine.” 

Half Rim quickly fired a shot from the splatterscope. Vintage ducked as the green ink flew over his head. He raised the splatling, taking a step forward. He had a bright red glint in his eye.

“Scatter.”

In a flash, all three of the crewmates standing next to him seemed like they disappeared. Gloves’ eyes widened with shock. Without a second to waste, the four of them turned around and began to run away again.

“Keep an eye out!” Gloves exclaimed, “They could be anywhere!” 

The four of them sprinted ahead. Their boots steadily beat the mossy cobblestone ground as they ran ahead. As they ran towards the end of the alleyway, an inkling with a nautilus 47 jumped out from a corner. 

A volley of ink was launched at the crew. Gloves took a hesitant step back, dashing to the side as bright cyan ink splattered the ground. 

Straps quickly dashed forward, raising the splat roller. She slammed the roller into the ground, creating a shockwave of green ink which launched at the other inkling.

The latter dodged, using her arm to block some of the green ink. She raised the nautilus again and launched another barrage of ink. 

“Captain! Let’s split up and take them one-on-one,” Clips suggested, “We won’t make it to the ship in time if we stay clumped up like this!” 

Gloves nodded. “I’ll see you guys on the ship! Be careful out there!”

They all nodded in agreement. Clips dashed to the side, firing a few rounds of ink at the cyan inkling. She dodged another series of rounds from the nautilus as she ran in another direction. 

As Clips kept the inkling occupied, the three of them charged forward, sprinting past the cyan inkling towards an intersection in the road. Straps sprinted forward, while Half Rim ran off to the left. 

Gloves sprinted off to the left, giving one last glance to the rest of his crew. He turned around, running with the Rainmaker still propped on his shoulder. He could hear footsteps chasing after him. As he looked down, he could see bright cyan ink staining the soles of his boots.

“I just have to get to the shore,” Gloves told himself, “Head in the same direction as everyone else— Do everything you did to get here, but backwards.” 

Gloves jumped to the side as bright cyan ink blasted past him and splashed his shoulder. He sighed a breath of relief. He could hear heavy footsteps hastily approaching him from behind. 

“Shoot, I can’t use my dualies while I’m holding this thing,” Gloves though as he hurried ahead. He turned the corner, hearing the footsteps from before slowly fade as he sprinted onwards.

Gloves then skidded to a stop, seeing there was a solid wall in front of him. There was a fork in the road, splitting the alleyway into two separate streets. 

“That can’t be right,” Gloves uttered, “I could’ve sworn I was heading the same direction as—”

Gloves looked behind him, seeing Vintage was no longer chasing him. There were still a few splats of cyan ink on the ground, but it seems Gloves was alone. He sighed a breath of relief, setting the Rainmaker down and brushing off his hands.

“Okay, okay, I need to think,” Gloves said, steadying his breathing, “Which way am I supposed to go? Was it left or right…?” 

• • •

Yayyyy thank you for reading! If you've made it this far, I really appreciate the support :"D I'm having fun working on this and I can't wait to finish off strong!

Sorry again for taking so long, the chase scene was a bit tedious to write but I still had fun.

Have a great day/night! <3

[zexalisliving]

I have a confession. I made a new pin post.

Hello! My name is zexalisliving. You can also find me at

@zexalisliving (Where you're at currently/my main blog)

@zexalisloving (My writing blog)

@zexalislaughing (my art blog)

@zexalisgaming (my Duel Links blog)

@zexaliscreatinganewblog (my reblog blog)

and @zexalisidkanymore (where I post random odds and ends)

You can also find me on other platforms!

I'm active mostly here, but also on Ao3. You can find me at Keyshipping_til_I_drop there. You can also find me on Fanfiction.net and Wattpad, where I am XKeyshipperX and ThatKeyshippingLover respectively.

Some Things About My Blog:

I think I made it obvious that I love Yu-Gi-Oh!. I have watched DM to VRAINS (even though I haven't quite finished it), but I have not watched SEVENS or GO RUSH, or any episode other than ep 1 of Season 0. I have also seen every movie but the Toei one and Dark Side of Dimensions.

I am fine with/encourage the LGBTQ+ community here. I am not against that kind of thing.

However, I myself am straight.

I occasionally post about hentai/NSFW topics. Sometimes pictures are included. But only about Yu-Gi-Oh! Doujins I find on the internet, so if you're problem is real people half-nude or something, your eyes are safe here.

I don't typically block anybody, but those I will block include:

People who ask me for money or to share or anything like that (specifically if they send me an ask about it),

People who vocally show hate of yugioh,

and bots (cuz they're... well... bots).

Some Things About Me: I was born, raised, and am currently in Texas. Yea-haw, I guess...

I love anime (I think I made that very obvious). I also love video games beyond words and measures.

My ambition is art. It's, as Yuma said in my fic, "My passion, my purpose, my reason for living!" It all began when I was watching my dad draw (he's so much better than I am), and he was drawing a picture from a show called Sarah and Duck, and there was like, this moment that people have in movies where you just know. I knew I wanted to grow up and be an artist that could make pictures that looked completely official like he did, and so here I am.

Also, fun fact, Yugioh is the reason I'm as good as I am now, because my first time drawing from reference and really trying hard, was from an episode of DM.

I love to write as well.

I play Yugioh a lot. A WHOLE LOT.

I'm also a card collector, though I only collect Yugioh and Pokemon... Mostly Yugioh.

Doujinshi is my guilty pleasure.

I... I own 6 toads. And I love them very much. I've owned 14 in total, but... they don't typically live very long. They get diseases easily and due to that, I've just recently gotten over the loss of a sweet little guy named Visitor.

I'm learning Japanese, but I do not know how to speak much of it. (Mostly from watching the sub of Zexal without English subs on)

My OTP is keyshipping (Yuma x Astral)

And... that's pretty much all.

Some examples of my art:

Some tags that you'll find in my blog:

#yugioh (obviously)

#yugioh zexal (also quite obviously)

#keyshipping

#my art

#bonds beyond time again (my fic that I'm posting here)

#zexalisliving writes (any works that I have written and posted here)

#ask (when someone sends me an ask)

Some other Fandoms that I'm in/ might be in the future:

My Singing Monsters, Dawn of Fire included. (I've been playing that game legit since I was 6. However, since a big move in 2020 and stuff, I had quit. I'm back into it now, so yeah...)

Minecraft (I mean, you haven't lived life to the maximum if you haven't played it)

Terarria (If there's even a fandom for it. I've been playing this game since I was 7. I definitely recommend it to everyone. It's like 2d Minecraft but actually better)

(Very Technically) Naruto/Naruto Shippuden. (If any of you are wondering how much of a fan I was, I wanted to train my dog to be like Akamaru, I learned the handsigns for Fire Style: Fire Ball Jutsu, and I made cringy videos with my siblings about it, because they too were huge fans)

Veggietales (Yes, to those of you who have watched it, it's a weird fandom to be in. But I'm in it)

And last but not least, Inuyasha. (Not much to say other than the fact that I was crushing on him hard a while back)

You can find my future and already-existent posts about these in my misc blog @zexalisidkanymore.

That's all for now, well, until I remake this intro post. But I hope you were able to get through this monster of a post while keeping your sanity. Because I almost lost mine while making it.

Bye for now!

[writtenfromhawkins]

hoax - part two.

ship: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: as you had feared, your fake date changed the dynamic between you and steve. but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. 

word count: 2.7k

warnings: swearing, alcohol, princess bride spoilers (kind of? i don’t know, it’s been thirty years, watch the movie and then talk to me about it because it’s my favorite).

author’s note: it’s finally here! hope everyone enjoys it. @taylorsmylover​ @sllooney​ @cheerupbarry​

part one.

all's well that ends well to end up with you.

After Steve dropped you off at home, life went on. You worked, you studied, you spent time with your friends—including him. Nothing felt off per se, but there was a shift, a change in routine, a difference maybe not dramatic to you, but something the others definitely picked up on.

For movie night, your suggestion The Princess Bride lost handily. Despite that, though, Steve still showed up with a copy.

“Oh,” he’d said, almost sheepish, “this isn’t the one we agreed on? Sorry, guys.”

The two of you sat a little closer on the couch, whispered softer, and giggled more. He rolled his eyes and grumbled when you talked about how cute Cary Elwes was, you playfully smacked his bicep in response. It was a nice, quiet night, totally typical, so you couldn’t figure out why Robin looked so perplexed when you caught her eye from across the room.

Maybe if that had been it—just one weird night of affection—your friends could have left it alone, chalking it up to a lapse of judgment on your part. But it didn’t stop. Hugs went on for too long, and smiles lingered. Any time you passed, his hand somehow found the small of your back, guiding you by. Sure, Steve was known to be affectionate with you, boundaries long abandoned, so it wasn’t that weird. But the way you’d lean into each touch was a new development. Although not as alarming of one as Steve’s very recent lack of flirting.

Cute girl after cute girl passed through Family Video without receiving so much as a wink or a terribly delivered pick up and Robin was becoming increasingly concerned. If he wasn’t sick, and he wasn’t, he wasn’t whining enough for that, it meant something else was going on.

“Harrington,” she hissed one day, eyes wide, “that total babe was throwing herself at you. That, like, never happens.”

“Was she?” Steve’s bewilderment was genuine, he simply hadn’t noticed.

“Come on, you didn’t see that? I could feel the sexual tension from here.”

“Nope,” he answered, popping the ‘P’. “Guess she just wasn’t my type.”

But Robin knew better, he wasn’t exactly discerning; anyone with a pulse and boobies was his type. Something was up and, after conspiring—gossiping—with Eddie, she was determined to figure out what exactly it was.

—     

You’d probably never admit it, especially not unprompted, but Tuesday was your favorite day of the week. Sure, you were stuck at work for far too long—three doubles allowed you the freedom to study while also affording you the luxury of paying your bills—but it was also heavy metal night. Pickings were slim in a town the size of Hawkins and, as a result, Corroded Coffin got the chance to basically do a full set and you got to see your friends.

It became routine ever since Eddie joined your little group. You, of course, had no choice but to be in attendance. But Steve and Robin would come by too. Your regulars hadn’t been too receptive to the band—you’d been asked what is this ruckus? too many times to count—so, while none of you were exactly metal heads, you figured three confused, but supportive faces in the crowd couldn’t hurt. Besides, you found if you cheered loud enough, you could get most of the other bargoers on board. 

So it was no surprise to see Eddie step through the dinged door, followed promptly by Robin. Even if they were a little early.

“Hey, guys,” you call out, waving. 

You duck below the bar where the sanitizing bucket and rags were located. The very brief lull after Happy Hour didn’t allow for much dallying and you were stuck doing your regular tasks in a very short window of time: clean the bar, get clean glasses, and cut up your garnishes. 

You grab a torn piece of fabric, dip it in the cleaning solution carefully and stand. You’re barely back to your full height when you’re greeted by Eddie and Robin’s faces just inches from yours. They’re leaning forward, elbows resting on the very surface you need to clean. 

“Jesus Christ!” You rear back, free hand jumping to your chest. 

“Are you going to tell us what’s going on?” Eddie asks, raising his brows. He can’t help it—he’s curious.

“Yeah,” Robin encourages with a nod, “we don’t keep secrets here.”

You sigh, reaching out and pushing them back gently so you can wipe up rings of condensation and spilled booze. “I’d really like to play along but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Robin laughs. If it sounds like she doesn’t believe you it’s because she doesn’t. “Uh huh, sure.”

“Something’s up with you and Steve, we can tell.”

You freeze. “I—what?”

“You’re not denying it,” Eddie points out, grinning.

“No, she’s not,” Robin agrees.

It was then you realize what was going on: you were being interrogated. “Nothing’s going on. We’re friends.”

“We’re friends and he’s not all over me,” Robin points out.

“Yeah, I wonder why that is,” you quip.

“The Princess Bride!”

“What?”

“The Princess fucking Bride,” Eddie repeats himself, eyeing you knowingly. “I was finally gonna get you guys to watch Labyrinth and he showed up with that.”

“He grabbed the wrong movie, so what?” You pause. “And you loved The Princess Bride!”

“Yeah,” Eddie admits with a chuckle, “I really did. It has some really badass sword scenes and Andre the Giant, what’s not to like?” All very fair points.

Robin sighs, poking at his shoulder. “You’re getting distracted.” She fixes her gaze on you. “Steve is the worst liar. You gotta know he did that on purpose.”

Alright, yeah, you kinda did. He wasn’t going to be getting any Oscars any time soon. But it was an act you didn’t—couldn’t—think too much about.

If you really considered it, after that night with his parents, a switch flipped, and never went back. You weren’t together, you were still very much just friends, but the touches, the unbridled affection, the soft moments didn’t stop after the facade ended and you weren’t complaining.

The dam had burst and you didn’t think you could go back. You worried if you brought it up, shining a spotlight on the niceties, that it would all end. You were selfish—you wanted it all.

“Okay…” You let out a huff of air. “So, we did kinda go on a date.”

The revelation sends Robin spiraling. “What?” She exclaims, dramatically throwing herself on the bar—she couldn’t just feel her despair, she had to show it too. “And here I thought you were the one girl in town left immune to the Harrington… uh, charm, I guess?”

“Shush,” you admonish, shooting her a warning look. You turn, flashing your customers an apologetic before your focus turns back to your friends. “It wasn’t real.”

“Alright, you lost me now,” Eddie pipes up.

Robin raises her head just enough so she can look up at you through long lashes. “What does that mean?”

“His dad was being a dick about some work dinner and he needed a plus one.” You shrug. “I just had to act like his girlfriend.”

“Oh god,” Robin groans. “Can’t believe we gave him that much credit.”

“Huh?”

“He’s been making goo-goo eyes at you for ages.”

“Mhm,” Eddie hums in agreement. “It’s kinda gross.”

“We thought he finally did something about it. Even though I always thought you were too smart for that.”

They kept going but your mind was reeling. “Goo-goo eyes?”

“You’re still on that?” Robin can’t hide it, she was enjoying this. “Yes, he practically turns into a Bugs Bunny cartoon with giant heart eyes every time he sees you. And, in true dingus fashion, he asks you on a fake date instead of a real one.” She shakes her head. “Makes no sense but it obviously worked on you somehow.”

“It didn’t—I—”

“Oh, come on.”

You blink, there’s nothing for you to say. You can’t exactly argue with Robin but actually agreeing feels wrong too. You’re stuck, two pairs of eyes trained intently on you, and you’re desperate for escape. You scan the crowd of bored-looking customers, none of which seem to eagerly need you, before you catch glimpse of the empty stage.

“Don’t you have a show or something?”

Eddie smirks. He knows what you’re doing but, in an act of pity, he decides to play along. “As a matter of fact, I do. Think the boys should be here by now. Wanna help us set up, Rob?”

“Sure.” She spins around on the stool and, when she gets up, you think you’re free. Until she calls over her shoulder, “Better figure it out soon, lover girl.”

—

Less than an hour later, the stage was full of instruments, microphones, and, most importantly, the band itself. The crowd increased, although not entirely for the music, and you didn’t notice Steve arrived until he was standing right before you.

Your grip on the bottle of Southern Comfort you were holding slackened a bit. All you could think was goo-goo eyes.

“Hey. sweetheart,” he grins, plopping down and claiming the nearest bar stool as his own.

You hold up a finger, letting him know you’d be with him in a minute, as you replace the bottle of whiskey with sloe gin and amaretto—with both hands officially occupied, you poured an ounce of each into the shaker.

“Crazy night,” you let him know, voice just barely able to be heard over the screeching of electric guitars and booming drums. You’re talking but you’ve yet to really look at him.

Orange juice fills the rest of the metal cup before you’re sliding a cover on, throwing it over your shoulder, and shaking the cup from side to side. Once it’s mixed and chilled, you drain it out into a Collins glass, admiring the brightly colored liquid that trickled out. Prettiest Alabama Slammer you’ve made yet.

That drink belongs to the redhead at the end of the bar. You slide it over to her with the friendliest “there ya go, love” you could muster before walking back over to your newest customer.

“Want your regular, Stevie?”

When he gives you the affirmative, you get to work. Whiskey sour, very light on the sour.

It’s easy enough and you’re handing him his drink in record time. In exchange, as always, you get far too much money. You used to argue, your attempt at letting him know he was being too generous, but he’d never budge—if he could, he’d give you even more, you were worth every penny.

He sips it casually while studying you over the rim of the glass. You looked pretty, that never seemed to change, but your shoulders were stiff and your jaw clenched. He could tell something was up. “You seem tense.”

You got that right. “I’m fine, just a little tired, I guess.”

It’s an easy lie after being at work for nine hours but it was one Steve didn’t really buy. Not that he pushed it. The two of you were close enough that he knew if you wanted to talk to him, you would. So he changed the subject. “Where’s Robin?”

“She’s around here somewhere. She showed up with Eddie to help set up.”

“Weird, we always come together.”

“Yeah, weird,” you agree. But he had no idea just how strange it was.

The mention of your mutual friend gets you thinking, though. You have no idea how Steve felt or if what they said was true, but you knew what was going on in your heart and your mind—and it was enough to alarm the people closest to you.

For the sake of the whole group, maybe it would be a good idea to just clear the air.

“Steve?” When he looks at you, you avert your gaze, focusing instead on the hanging wine glasses above the bar.  “What are you doing after this?”

“Hanging out with you.” The delivery was smooth, easy. But panic set in as he sat on the words, unease seeping through at the idea that you weren’t asking because you wanted to get together. “You, uh, know if that was like.. what you meant.”

It definitely was. “Come by my place after closing?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

—

When you pull up outside your apartment hours later, Steve is already there, leaning against his car, waiting for you. You take a moment just to enjoy the sight—he looked like he belonged there, outside your home—before throwing your car in park and getting out.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” You suggest. “It’s late.”

You lead the way up rickety stairs, past long dead plants you’d since abandoned, and to your front door. It certainly wasn’t Steve’s first time at your place, but you couldn’t help it—you were nervous, unready for the conversation you were going to have to initiate. 

You look around for a moment, hoping for a distraction, one that would never come, you nod towards the living room. “We should sit.”

It’s a suggestion, but one Steve eagerly takes. As if it’s not your own home, he places his hand on your back, urging you forward until you’re both on the couch, almost touching. 

“You’re freaking me out with how quiet you are.”

You don’t mean to. It’s the one time in your life that you don’t know what to say. Still, you try.

“I talked to Robin and Eddie earlier.”

“The gruesome twosome,” Steve mutters. “They didn’t upset you or anything, did they?” Lord knows when they got together, especially alone, they could be a lot.

Not that he was complaining. Sure, they were a handful, but so were you and Dustin and the rest of the kids. He found himself in more trouble than ever and his blood pressure had certainly risen, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. After years of shitty friends and sycophants, he considered himself lucky to have a group of people who genuinely care for him.

None of that stopped him from worrying about what they could have done, though.

“No, no, nothing like that,” you answer quickly, assuaging his concerns. “I’ve just been thinking about what they said.”

“Uh oh, what was it?”

“This is totally crazy, but they think there’s something going on with us.” You expect Steve to laugh but he doesn’t. His cheeks flush and he looks away but he doesn’t seem to find it humorous. 

“They’re too nosey for their own good.” He shaves his head. “If they made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” you assure him. “I guess I just worried about things getting weird with us or, God forbid, the group.”

“Nothing will ever make things weird with us, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“The thing is... I don’t want anything to change either.” And you really don’t. “I, uh, I really like whatever we’re doing. Maybe too much?” It comes out like a question but it isn’t—it’s just the truth.

“I do too.”

There’s electricity in the air, a good tension.

“I always have,” Steve adds, emboldened by the disclosure. “I know we—I— joked around a lot but I think there always was some truth there.” He reaches over, grabbing ahold of your hand. “Then that night with my parents... which really was a favor, by the way. I didn’t have any gross ulterior motive.”

You squeeze his hand, not needing the assurance. You didn’t know a better human being; there was never a doubt about his intentions. “I know, Steve.”

“It was kinda the same, you know? You were still ridiculously pretty and I got to call you all those cutesy little names you love to hate. But it also felt serious. Like, it wasn’t real but it felt like it was.”

“I get what you mean,” you agree. “It just felt natural. I didn’t really want it to end.” 

“What if it didn’t have to?” Steve pauses for a moment, considering his words. “What if we tried it for real this time?”

You smile—big, bright, genuine—and Steve’s brain practically short circuits. “Are you asking me on an actual date?”

“I sure am.”

You can’t help yourself, the confirmation makes you giggle. He looks alarmed and you cover your face. “Hey,” he says, hands gently wrapping around your wrist, pulling your hands back down. “What’s so funny?”

“Robin is going to hate this.”

That gets him to laugh too. “God, you’re right. Especially when we tell her it’s all her fault.” 

“If only she kept her mouth shut,” you agree, your shoulder bumping against his.

“But thank God she didn’t.” Steve wraps an arm around you, pulling you even closer. “I might have to send her a fruit basket or something.”

—

[lavendermage]

Characters: Itto(Romantic), Shinobu (IDK), Arataki Gang

Genre: Sagau, gender neutral reader

TW: Violence, blood, fear

1.6k words

AN: I lied. Sagau time.

You pressed yourself underneath the rotting hull of an overturned fishing boat, face pushed into the mud. A hundred heavy footsteps clamored over the beach; the shogun’s army. You stayed still and quiet, desperately trying to stop shaking. A polearm struck the side of the vessel but you didn’t move. Running out was suicide. 

Finally you heard a call to keep moving. The footsteps moved away and you relaxed slightly. You stayed though. You waited until the tide moved up to your cheek before getting out from under the boat. The beach was covered in foot prints, at least the part that hadn’t been smoothed over by the rising water. You stretched, trying to uncramp your leg. Your muscles were stiff and your skin was littered in bruises and cuts. The cuts were mostly superficial but some would need treatment. 

 Your blood was different than it was in your past life, shining almost golden. Maybe that was what set them off.

Loud voices sounded from your right and you ducked behind the boat.

“Keep your eyes peeled! These little guys are great at hiding.” 

Oh no. Were they also looking for you? You shrunk into yourself.

“Found one!”

Your heart jumped to your chest before you heard a yelp.

“Careful boss!” Another voice called out.

Boss? You peeked out to see familiar red horns. He turned to you and you dropped back behind the boat.

“Who’s there?” Several loud steps and then the boat was moved out from behind you.

You scrambled away, keeping your eyes fixed to his face. Your hands struggled to find purchase in the wet sand.

“You don’t look too great.” He leaned closer and you moved away. 

“Boss, you’re scaring them.” Shinobu. You didn’t know to be relieved or more nervous at her presence. “My name’s Shinobu, this is my boss, Itto. He might look scary, but he won’t hurt you.”

“Sorry little guy.” He sat down, presumably to make him look less intimidating. He scrunched his eyebrows. “Do I know you?”

“Maybe?” 

“Been to any beetle fights recently?”

You almost laughed. You wished that’s what you had been doing. “No.”

“Hmm. I swear I’ve seen you somewhere.”

“What happened to you?” Shinobu asked.

You thought for a minute, and remembered Itto’s story quest. He was your safest bet at the moment. You decided to be honest. “The shogun’s army is after me. I don’t know why, but they are and I’ve been running from them for days. I know it’s a lot to ask–”

“You’re coming with us to headquarters.” Itto didn’t even let you finish your sentence. 

You half expected Shinobu to be the voice of reason but she didn’t object. “We should keep them out of the city.” Her gaze lingered on you and you gave her a nervous smile.

“Do you guys have anything I could cover my face with?” You asked Itto.

“Yeah! Great idea. Disguise, disguise, disguise, Akira, give ‘em your hat, Genta, I need your jacket.” Itto gave you the hat and jacket to put on. “Don’t wanna get too close and scare you again, you know?”

You smiled at his thoughtfulness as you put the clothes on. “And people think you’re a bad guy.”

“You’ve heard of me?”

You realize what you said and panic slightly. “Of course! People were talking about you in Inazuma city..”

“Oh you have? Tell me ‘bout it while we walk back.”

“Sure!” You nodded and the hat slipped over your eyes. 

Itto laughed while fixing it. “I’m sorry, the hat’s just so big on you, you look ridiculous.”

“Boss…” Shinobu warned.

“No, it’s fine. He’s right.” You laughed, genuinely, for the first time since you entered Teyvat. 

You chatted with the gang as you walked to their hideout. 

“We need to get you cleaned up.” Shinobu said. “Get some clean water!” She called out to the gang and they hurried to follow her orders. “Now, are you bleeding from anywhere?”

You remembered your strange blood. It had dried, so it might be ok? “Not really. I’d prefer to clean up by myself anyway.”

Shinobu looked at you strangely but nodded. “I’ll bring in some supplies.”

After she left you pulled up your pant leg to check on your injuries. Your blood had dried, but had kept some of the shimmer it had when fresh. Strange. 

“Here’s your water!” Itto yelled barging in the door. You jumped and barely had time to cover your leg again. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you again.”

“It’s alright, Itto.” You smiled softly. “Could you give me a minute to clean up?”

“Oh, ok. I’ll leave some, uh, threads outside.” He seemed uncharacteristically flustered.

You pulled off your filthy clothes and started washing off the dirt and blood. You rinsed the grime out of your hair. It was so nice to finally be clean after running around covered in mud. You cracked the door open to see neatly folded clothes. When you tried them on they were soft and comfortable. You couldn’t quite figure out how to tie the top. 

“Itto..” You called out softly. “Itto..”

“You dressed?” He asked.

“Not really, can you help?”

He bent down to help you. His fingers were clumsy as he struggled to tie the knots. “The, uh, strings are really thin. Thin strings, hard to work with, you know.”

You chuckled. “No need for excuses, you’re still much better than I am.”

He finally finished and slapped a hand on your shoulder. “Done!” He noticed you flinch. “Sorry, sorry.” He quickly removed his hand. “So, are you an outlander? Your clothes don’t look Inazuman.”

“Yes.” Not technically a lie.

“How’d you get here, with the whole Sakoku degree?”

“Not entirely sure.” You actually didn’t know at all.

He didn’t seem surprised at your answer. He also often got himself into situations unknowingly. 

“Food’s ready!” Shinobu called from outside.

You and Itto headed out. The rest of the gang was already there, roasting lavender melons.

“Itto! And…” Mamoru trailed off. “What’s your name again?”

You decided to answer with a nickname. 

“Cool name!” Itto nodded approvingly. 

“Here, eat something.” Shinobu handed you a melon.

“Thank you.” You finished it quickly and wiped the juice off your face 

“Didn’t realize you were starving.” Itto shoved a plate toward you. “Crab! That’s actually why we were on the beach, wanted to catch some of these little guys.” He smiled widely.

It took you a bit longer to eat the crab, the shell slowing your progress. It was sweet and flavorful. You smiled as you picked the shell clean. “Thank– ”

“Rice too!” Itto excitedly passed you a bowl and chopsticks. He just wanted you to keep smiling, your joy infecting him.

You shoveled it into your mouth, still hungry. “Thank you all! The food’s great.” You noticed Itto staring at you. “Do I have something on my face?” 

“No, you’re just so cute!” It was more than that, but that was all he could communicate.

“Cute??” You were taken aback by his outburst. 

“Boss!” Shinobu looked mortified for some reason. 

“What? I’m a say-what-I-mean guy!”

She turned to you with your face in your hands. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, just didn’t expect it.” You lowered your hands and smiled. Everyone had finished eating by now. Time to clean up! You started gathering plates but Shinobu stopped you. 

“Don’t. You’re still healing.” 

“It’s not that bad–”

“I’ll do it!” Itto gathered all the plates and balanced them on his arms. 

You laughed. Such a show off.  You reached up to steady a plate that was about to fall. “You don’t need to take them all at once.”

“Boss, be careful!” Shinobu scolded.

A small bowl of rice was left behind. No one had touched it, and the bowl was much nicer than the other tableware. “What’s that?” You asked.

Shinobu looked at the bowl. “Oh, the boys always make an offering to the gang’s shrine.”

“Who are the offerings for?” Itto didn’t respect the shogun, maybe his ancestors?

“The Creator, of course!” Itto barged into the conversation. “Here, I’ll show you.” 

He led you inside and showed you a high shelf. On it was a simple wooden shrine underneath a rope of rice straw decorated with white paper. Various cups held offerings, including one with flowers. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“Ah, no it’s nothing. You should see the main shrine.”

“Could you tell me about the Creator?” You were eager to learn more about Teyvat,

“You don’t know? I thought outlanders worshiped them too.” Itto looked confused at your ignorance.

“I grew up really isolated.” You hoped he’d believe your lie.

“That checks out. So the Creator, well, created everything. And now they strengthen certain people.” Sounded a bit like celestia. “They gave me this sweet weapon.” He showed you his sword, the same you equipped him with.

“What’s it called?” 

“The Redhorn Stonethresher! Cool name, right?” 

Your mind raced as you tried to put the pieces together. If you gave Itto the weapon, and the Creator gave Itto the weapon, were you the Creator? And your blood…how did you get here? 

“Hey, hey, buddy, what’s wrong?” Itto’s hand on your shoulder grounded you somewhat. 

You pressed yourself to his chest, his presence comforting you. “I don’t know what’s going on. Why are people after me? I don’t even know how I got here.”

“I don’t know the answers to all these smart-people questions, but you can trust me to keep you safe.” He gently rubbed your back as he comforted you.

“Thank you.” Your voice is muffled.

“No problem. The gang loves you.” He ruffled your hair. “I think it’s time for you to hit the hay. You look exhausted.”

___________________________________________________________

Sorry if the description of the shinto shrine was innaccurate, I'm not well versed in shintoism. I also feel that Itto wouldn't be fully aware of all the rules either. I have this mental image of Itto picking up the reader to show them the shrine, because it should be above eye level and Itto is super tall so that's the only way the reader can see.

[heliads]

The Ex Friend (Part Three)

Luke Patterson isn’t used to any part of life as a ghost, let alone trying to figure out the drama between Julie and Carrie’s friends. However, he has a feeling that there’s more to Y/N L/N, Julie’s old friend, than meets the eye.

part two / masterlist

Luke sits across from the girl he loves. They’re fresh out of one of Y/N’s gigs, talking about all the things in the world. He’s holding her hand, absentmindedly tracing patterns with his thumb. Ever since Luke found out he could actually touch her instead of simply passing through like everything else, he’s rejoiced at the chance to use this power as much as possible. 

They’ve been sitting peacefully for the last half hour or so, but Luke notices that Y/N’s face has recently changed from content to quiet, as if she’s thinking about something. There’s something stuck on her mind, something more than him. He has to know what it is, although Luke already has a feeling that he might have figured it out.

“What’s up?”

Y/N glances up hastily, as if she hadn’t noticed that she’d descended so completely into her own head. “Oh, sorry. Zoning out, I guess.”

Luke reaches forward to poke her on the shoulder with his free hand. “You want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

Y/N sighs. “I keep thinking about Julie. In all honesty, I haven’t stopped feeling bad about what happened to our friendship ever since those first fights between her and Carrie. I didn’t want to lose what I had with Carrie, so I chose her side, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t regret it.”

Luke nods slowly. “I thought you and Julie were doing better. I saw you guys talking a few times after our shows.”

Y/N lifts a shoulder. “Kind of, but it isn’t the same. We’re kind of dancing around the whole issue, like we’re acquaintances who’ve just met instead of people who’ve been friends since the first grade. Every time I try to apologize or get closer, Flynn shows up out of nowhere and escorts Julie away, or Julie makes up some excuse to go. I don’t know what to do.”

Luke inclines his head. “Have you directly addressed the fights, or are you just trying to move around it?”

Y/N’s brow furrows. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t directly apologized. I could try that, I guess, I just don’t know how to be alone with her long enough to manage it. Flynn should be there too, I guess.”

Luke presses a hand to his lips contemplatively. “Julie and the Phantoms has a show coming up. If you come to that, I can find a way to get Julie and Flynn to hang around long enough for you to get them alone.”

Y/N’s eyes shine. “You’d do that for me?”

Luke chuckles. “I’d do just about anything for you. I thought we already covered that.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “You’re so dramatic.”

Luke clasps his free hand to his heart. “Dramatically in love, maybe. I can’t believe you’d call me out on that.”

Y/N giggles. “I had no choice but to call you out. I haven’t seen this many theatrics since Sour Candy’s last show.”

Luke arches an eyebrow. “You’re comparing me to Carrie, the sworn rival of my own bandmate? Out of friendship, I feel like I have to cut you off now. Starting now, I may never look at you again out of spite.”

Y/N smirks. “You’re still holding my hand.”

Luke shrugs. “I don’t see your point.”

Y/N’s laugh might be one of the best sounds on the planet, second only to the angelic chorus when she sings. “Of course you don’t.”

She leans forward to kiss him, ducking away just as quickly when Luke tries to kiss her back. 

“What was that for?” He asks.

Y/N laughs. “I’m proving that you can’t let band rivalries come in between us. Also, I won’t be letting these rivalries come in between Julie and me anymore. I’m going to do it, Luke. I’m fixing this.”

Luke studies her proudly. “Look at you go. So determined. I like it.”

In all honesty, though, he is. Luke knows what it’s like to be angry at a former friend- ever since he found out Bobby stole all of Sunset Curve’s songs and didn’t give them a single shred of credit, he’s been absolutely furious. It’s hard, sometimes, to compare the boy who had been their good friend and the guy who had taken their last legacy after death without a second thought. How do you weigh both parts of Bobby against each other?

Needless to say, if Y/N can find a way to make amends with Julie, it’s kind of like Luke is living by extension through her. He can’t fix this friendship with Bobby, partially because he doesn’t want to at all, but maybe Y/N can solve her problems with Julie and then it would all be alright.

That’s his main motivation, at least. Also, he doesn’t like seeing his girlfriend and one of his best friends struggle with something that could be avoided. Luke can already picture it- him, Y/N, Alex, Reggie, and Julie all hanging out, maybe writing songs together or just having a good time. It would be practically perfect.

So, when the show rolls around, Luke’s all nerves, and not just because it’s yet another chance to get Julie and the Phantoms’ name out there. Julie might suspect something, probably because Luke’s about as good a liar as a five year old wracked by guilt. All the same, Y/N’s here. The best Luke can do is go along with the plan and hope things work out, especially because Carrie’s here too and looking none too happy about it.

After the show, Luke rushes over to Julie, asking her and Flynn to head over to a more secluded part of the backyard. He conjures up some excuse about how someone wanted to talk to the only visible member of the band and her manager about future gigs, but it does the trick.

Julie and Flynn disappear to the other side of the yard, and Luke flashes Y/N a thumbs up. She looks nervous, but heads after them. Luke isn’t sure whether or not he’s supposed to be there, but he can’t help it, so he follows them. He does stay out of sight, though. He doesn’t want to be a distraction.

He poofs into place a few moments before Y/N arrives, so he gets the perfect view of the surprised looks on Julie and Flynn’s faces before they manage to school their expressions back to neutral.

Flynn looks like she has several words to say, but Julie manages to speak first. “Y/N. It’s good to see you.”

Y/N nods. “Likewise. Look, I really wanted to apologize for everything. I’ve been unnecessarily mean to you guys, and I regret all of it. Being friends with you guys was amazing, and I miss it every day. If I could go back in time to tell myself not to burn those bridges, I would without a second thought. You don’t have to forgive me immediately, but I wanted you to know that I still think about those childhood memories with nothing but happiness.”

A heavy silence hangs in the air for a few moments, and then Julie rushes forward to throw her arms around her former friend’s shoulders. Y/N looks stunned, but quickly hugs her back. 

“Y/N, I need to apologize too. We’ve been awful to each other, and I really wanted to tell you that you were amazing, and always have been. There’s no reason to avoid each other so much.”

Y/N beams, even more so when Flynn steps forward as well. “What she said. I’ve been trying to stay mad, but it’s practically impossible. Your voice is killer, by the way. If we’re cool, I’m expecting Julie and the Phantoms x Y/N crossover songs. We are cool, right?”

Y/N grins. “Of course we’re cool. I think we’ve been cool for a while, just didn’t know how to say it, right?”

Julie nods, but her expression falls flat when she sees someone approaching behind Y/N. Y/N, sensing a change in her friend’s demeanor, turns to see Carrie stalking towards her across the backyard. The girl looks furious, likely because Y/N’s been caught fraternizing with the enemy.

For half a second, Luke thinks that Y/N’s going to run, but then she squares her shoulders and greets Carrie with a smile. “Did you catch the show? I thought it was amazing.”

Carrie scoffs. “Don’t try and blow this off like it’s nothing, Y/N. We all know what you did.”

Flynn raises an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

Carrie gives Flynn a cutting glare. “I don’t remember involving you. I’m talking to my friend, or someone I thought was my friend. I try not to pay attention to you unless absolutely necessary.”

Y/N holds up her hands. “Both of you, stop. Carrie, I’m allowed to talk to my friends. I’m not getting in the middle of you guys. We are not as different as all of you like to pretend, and I’m sick of the arguing. Julie, your voice is incredible, and your songs make me want to burst out in tears and sing at the top of my lungs at the same time. Flynn, I have never met somebody so devoted to their friends, I don’t know how you do it. Carrie, I am inspired every day by your confidence, and your dancing is iconic every time. All of you, can we please stop fighting for a second and realize that we were always better as friends?”

Carrie takes a half step back. “Well, don’t keep all that to yourself. Any other stuff you want to say before you finish lecturing us?”

Y/N throws up a hand. “I’m not trying to demean you, Carrie, just point out that you can’t get mad at me for wanting to keep my friends, which includes both you and Julie and Flynn.”

Julie’s nodding. “I agree. You don’t have to like every part of me, but we can do without the constant criticism of each other.”

Carrie snorts. “I like that you’re acting like I’m the sole problem. Don’t you guys talk bad about me every time you see me?”

Flynn grimaces. “You’re not wrong there.”

Y/N nods. “See? All I’m asking is that you guys give it a breather for a while. Maybe you don’t partner on every assignment or move in with each other, but just take it easy. Please.”

Carrie sniffs. “Maybe. I suppose it was a good show after all.”

Julie grins. “I’ll take that as a strong compliment. I love your outfit, by the way.”

This makes Carrie’s face light up, although she does her best to hide it.

Across the backyard, someone calls Carrie’s name and she heads out, Julie and Flynn following her. 

Once he’s sure that the drama is over, Luke appears by Y/N’s side. “I’d say that went pretty well.”

Y/N nods, watching them go. “Better than I thought, actually. I don’t know how long the truce will last, but I have high hopes.”

Luke chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I like that about you. Optimism to the max.”

Y/N smiles into his chest. “Well, I hoped that I could have both my friends and my boyfriend, so I’m glad that worked out.”

Luke tilts Y/N’s chin up with his finger so he can kiss her for real this time. “Trust me, I’ve never been happier.”

The afternoon grows longer by the minute, the dusky sun just beginning to set. For Y/N and Luke, though, they’re doing just fine. Let the time pass. They’ve got years to go, and for once, everything is smooth sailing from here.

part three requested by @karma-reader​

jatp tag list: @rogueanschel​, @lxncelot​, @caswinchester2000​, @lovesanimals0000​

[peerlessscowl]

Real Solid Snake Hours

klagens

they could turn back. it's the thought etzel has when raymond looks at him and implies in fewer words that there wasn't much choice other than going ahead with it, and it's the thought that follows him as they navigate down the winding and increasingly clammy series of tunnels burrowing beneath the ground, his strides only a few behind the younger man's. he has the impression that the weight of the other's hand that'd come down on his shoulder earlier was meant to encourage him — and it would've been, etzel thinks, if nerves were the problem.

it only felt like a waste, betting their lives for something like this. but etzel supposes he should have thought of that weeks ago when he'd first been asked to help look into the ring of counterfeit heroes. his foresight had been lacking; he hadn't thought it'd grow this large.

they could turn back. up until they are taking the last few steps towards the archway with the draconic engraving — and they cannot turn back anymore.

up until the door squeals shut behind them with the dragon's growl of fatal intent and sweat gathers instinctively under etzel's collar even as he thinks, grimly, that this would be a damned place for him to go and see ursula again. if he was going to die, it should be in a better place than this, shouldn't it?"raymond." short, clipped.

it's all he gets out — the sing of arrows whistling forces him to duck on instinct, and etzel is running, again, for the entrance that'd just closed behind them, hoping to make good on what he hadn't been able to tell raymond ahead of time: that much of the reason he'd kept a lower profile compared to him in their interactions with the crime ring thus far was so he could keep as much about himself out of their purview as possible. including: his recent acquisition of a fire magic tome of considerable force, and the fact that the door that'd just shut was made of wood.

( he could only hope it would work. )

"raymond!" more urgent this time, as in — cover us.

the rush of air in front of him is movement, and the tangy smell of steel, and etzel calls from the tome in his hand a whirling siphon of flame; a shout and crackle of charring fabric tells him he'd hit his mark, and he forges on blindly forward even as more shouting closes in from all directions, along with — the snarling of beasts? how many were they up against? heat balloons in his palm again, fingers curled to gather what heft he can, and with a grunt of exertion, he launches a massive, brilliant fireball of bolganone roughly where the door had seemed to be. a heavy rattle of hinges on impact and a shower of burnt, chipping oak means success — but not without an answering shock of an arrowhead embedding just above his shoulderblade. fire magic meant, of course, that for the brief instant it was cast, it also gave away his location.

he had to be faster.

Raven's body moved on instinct, in the direction he last felt Etzel, heard his name being called, before the archers got their shots off. Glancing blows, mostly, knicks along his shoulders and forearms as he lifted them to cover his face, and he hissed at them, unsheathing his sword the moment the volley clattered to the floor. 

In the pitch darkness he could not see the enemy, but he felt them, inching closer, heard their breathing in the cavernous room they had been locked in. How many? His mind scrambled to put a number to the enemy's forces before he dismissed it as useless. He could only focus on what was in front of him. The enemy is one until it isn't. 

He heard his name over his shoulder again and shifted closer to Etzel, hearing the command in the tone. Suppose now we see what this guy's made of. He felt the rippled of heat at his back and for just the moment the cavern lit before him, eyes scanning the faces desperately before the ball of fire heaved against the door. From the corner of his eyes he saw the archers rearing up for another volley, and just as the blackness hit them again he swung his sword in an arc, pleased to hear some clatter uselessly to the floor, though the hiss at his back told him that he had missed at least one important one. 

"You got another one of those in you?" If conditions were better, he could lever the pins from the door hinges, but he didn't think the enemy would be so kind as to let him take the time. 

"Be silent, fools!" 

Raven stiffened at the voice, so different from the Dragon's, and almost...childlike? Not adolescent, quite, but...it had been years since he had heard the telltale crack of puberty, and he felt somewhat dumbstruck. 

From a far corner, a single lamp brightened, and he saw the Dragon, fat and stooped in his glittering robes, and beside him sat...a boy. Early teens at latest, speckled with what must have been his first spots. His clothing was stiff and pressed, and even from the distance Raven could see that it was quite well made. 

This can't be...their Lord? 

"You two think you're soooooo clever, don't you?" The boy propped his hands on his hips, leaning forward as he spoke. "You knew that I didn't have an Eliwood for my collection so you thought you'd just come in here and ruin everything. Well guess what, dummies? Lord Eliwood can whistle. What do you think about that? Bet you feel pretty dumb now, huh?" 

Raven had to admit it, he did. He shifted nearer to Sir Etzel, blocking him as much as he could with his body and bringing his sword up to a ready position, eyes narrowed and scanning. Now that he could see, even dimly, he had a better gauge of the enemy's numbers and their arms. 

If he were the type, he would smirk – this could be worse. 

[manekicatwriter]

hellooo! i was wondering if i could make a request for an modern au sbi x gn sibling reader where they’re around 17-19, and they’ve got depression. they’ve had to go away for a few weeks after a bad episode ended in an attempt and they were hospitalized and sent somewhere for rehabilitation and now they’re coming home and they’re all anxious and quiet and stuff- so the boys do their best to like comfort them and reassure them that they’re loved and they belong there? i’m sorry if that’s an awkward request, i was just recently discharged after a similar situation and honestly the comfort would be great. it’s totally your call if you chose to write it tho, i understand that this is a difficult and triggering subject and not everyone is comfortable with writing things like it. if you aren’t comfy please feel free to just ignore my ask! <3

you’re here, and that’s what matters.

TW: mentions of attempted suicide. please proceed with caution.

hey! i just wanted to let you know that i’ve been through a similar situation and understand how you feel (though my case was not as severe). i wish you a safe road to recovery.

note, i think you asked for their characters but it leant itself towards their rl versions. i have a feeling the dsmp versions would be too chaotic for this sensitive subject.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! please do not be afraid to send in an ask. ANON IS ON!!

Phil:

- phil was very scared about you being so gravely hurt, it kept him up for some nights. thankfully, you pulled through.

- he visited whenever he could. if he couldn’t, he was busy making sure coming home felt as comfortable for you as possible while also educating himself on how to take care of you.

- phil would listen to how you felt, and be understanding of your feelings.

- “You don’t have to tell me why you did it, I’m just glad you’re here,” pulling you in for a warm hug.

- when you got back home, he made sure he and the boys had prepared your favorite dinner and desserts.

It was the day you had just got home from rehabilitation, and you two were sitting on the couch. You hadn’t said much, you felt like you had nothing to say. Phil had asked for you to sit down so you two could talk, one on one.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m sorry,” your voice started to crack. “For making you guys worry about me.” Tears started to form from your eyes and you wept into your hands.

Phil immediately reached over to you to hug you, letting you cry on his shoulder. “We don’t blame you. We don’t blame anybody. I just want you to be here safe with us. Let it all out.” He pat and rubbed your back soothingly as you kept crying. But it was a good cry. He was just glad you came home.

Tommy:

- even though many see tommy as a loud and obnoxious boy with a general disregard for others, we all know deep down that’s a persona. he will go out of his way to make other comfortable in his presence if he truly cares for them. which he does, for you of course.

- he wants to make you happy! when the time is right, he’ll crack jokes and offer to play minecraft with you.

- would tone down the yelling. not because you asked, but he’s afraid of triggering you. treats you like glass. if you notice he’s being quieter than usual and you don’t care, you tell him you don’t.

- if you’re feeling it, he’ll take you out to fun places and to eat. nothing that’s too outlandish like a theme park, but just enough to have a reason to get out of bed that day instead of sleeping in.

It had been a week since you had gotten home and Phil had instructed you to maintain somewhat of a schedule to upkeep yourself. Right now was your nightly routine, washing yourself, brushing your teeth, and finally sliding under the covers. It felt nice. The blanket of sleep consumes you easily…

…

Until you bedroom door opens you’re being aggressively shaken awake. You groan, shying away, but they’re persistent.

“Ey, wake up, it’s morning!” Tommy shakes you again.

You realize you didn’t dream, but think nothing of it. “Tommy please, what do you want.”

Finally, Tommy pulled your warm sheets from over you, making you flinch. “I wanted to go out to the park today! Feed the ducks! Yeesss!”

You sighed. If you didn’t comply now, Tommy will refuse to stop nagging you for the rest of the day. You rolled out of bed and into the bathroom. You could very clearly hear Tommy’s cheers.

You two had gotten ready, eaten breakfast, and said goodbye to the rest of your family so you could head over to the park. It was close enough that it wasn’t unbearable to walk to. Even if you weren’t completely yourself yet, you were glad Tommy was.

After the short walk you two finally reached the park. Tommy immediately bolted toward the pond and you jogged behind. He had already started throwing the ducks some seeds, and even threw it on a duck. It didn’t seem too pleased.

You two sat at the edge of the pond as you watched the ducks eat. “Hey.” You hear Tommy call to you, and you turn your head to him.

“Can we talk about what happened? With you? Is it okay?” You could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Go ahead, what is it?”

“When Techno found out what happened to you, and told us the news, I was scared shitless.” He let out a sad huff. “I thought we were going to lose you.” Tommy kept his eyes fixed at the pond in front of him. “I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have brought this up. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He sighed.

You put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh Tommy…” You started, “I’m sorry for making you worry. You shouldn’t have to feel like that because of my actions.”

Tommy was lost in thought for a moment, before finally speaking up, “No, please don’t apologize. It’s not anybody’s fault this happened, right?” You nodded.

Tommy stood up, dusting his pants off from the grass. “Come on now, let’s go get some ice cream!” He pulled you up from the ground.

“Last one to get to the shop has to pay!”

Immediately, Tommy bolts in the direction to the ice cream shop, and you catch up to him. No matter the circumstance is, he never seems to fail at putting a smile on your face.

Wilbur:

- i HC wilbur being the oldest, being older than techno by 3 years and older than tommy by 8, like IRL. :]

- i think out of all of your siblings, wilbur exudes the most “protective older brother” energy, yeah?

- remember when tommy lied about his mother being in trouble and how worried and anxious wilbur got? turn that up to 11 with what happened with you.

- with wilbur being the oldest, he of course had the responsibility of taking care of everyone. but somehow you and him didn’t spend as much 1 on 1 time as much as wilbur did with his other siblings

- wilbur definitely was going to change that, realizing that and not wanting to make that mistake again.

- he decided that finding a new hobby with you wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

You were sitting at the dinner table, being the last one there. You were poking at your food for the most part, and Wilbur got home late from… whatever Wilbur thing he was doing. Phil cooked pasta for dinner tonight. Wilbur put down his bags at the door connected to the garage. “I’m home! What’s for dinner?”

“Pasta.”

“Mmm, I love some good ol’ pasta.” He said, already taking a plate out to serve himself. “Also, hey, I bought something I wanted to build with you. Do you mind?”

You finally looked up from your very interesting pasta. “Build..?” You had no idea where this was going.

Wilbur placed his plate on the table and approached the bags of groceries, going through them to find the bag he was looking for. He pulled out a LEGO set. More specifically, a LEGO City set from the looks of the box? “Wilbur, how much was that?”

He blinked at you innocently. “It was only, like, £25. And look! It’s got a little submarine we can make with a rock and ugly sea monster—“

“But why?”

“Why not? It wouldn’t hurt for you to do something new, yeah?” He smiled at you, shaking the LEGO box in front of him to show it off. You sighed, but smiled. “Alright. But maybe you and I should eat this pasta first before we start building.” Wilbur nodded.

“Speaking of water, don’t you think I could teach you how to swim or something?”

“Oh, fuck off with that!”

Technoblade:

- i think out of everyone in the family, he understands you the most in terms of how you feel.

- not suicidal, but just generally having depressive episodes due to his ADHD.

- techno’s generally closed off, but started to really open up to you because he wanted to show he cares, even if it meant going out of his comfort zone.

- techno suggested journaling. once a day or once per week, it didn’t really matter. just as long as you could write down your feelings somewhere.

- he didn’t explicitly say it, but he also bought a book for himself so he could do it along with you. although, he more often than not just forgets to write in it until you mention your own journal.

- if you want to be sad and quiet, you can be sad and quiet with him. his room is a safe space for you if you ever need it and you’re always welcome to come in, just as long as you knock first.

With one hand on your mouse scrolling through the internet, and another resting your head on it, you were safe to admit you were utterly and completely bored. Honestly, you thought about taking another nap after your last one, but a knock on your door stopped you right before you pulled the covers over yourself. “Can I come in?”

You rose from your bed. “Come in. Oh hey Techno.”

He gave a simple wave and his signature “Halloo.” He walked right over to you and handed a journal and a ballpoint pen. “I got this. For you.” His stare was sharp but you could sort of tell he was nervous.

“What for?”

“I dunno. Writin’ your feelings down or drawin’ or somethin’. Whatever helps you vent.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh Techno, thank you. That’s very sweet of you.” You gave a slight smile, but saw that he still had another journal in his hand. “You have two journals?”

Techno raised his eyebrow in confusion before looking down at his hand. “Oh this? It’s for me. So we could do it together, I guess.”

You let out a happy hum. “That’s nice. Say, why don’t we go to your room? I want to see your new lava lamp and stuff.”

Techno shrugged. “Sure. I’ve got more stationary too if you want.” He waved his hand before letting himself out the door, with you following not far behind.

hi hope u enjoyed reading as much as i did writing it. this format was new for me but very fun!