#we’re gonna ignore that i Cannot draw crossed arms

[honiemoss]

ok i gave you my alice hc appearance already now here’s my Wife gwendolyn bouchard

[dearestdaffodils]

Stranger Things Series Rewrite; Season 1, Episode 6

A/N: I, of course, do not own anything from or related to Stranger Things. Scenes, events, and dialogue are taken from the show; I am not trying to take credit for the work that the writers for this show did. Some scenes may be left out if I cannot find a way to work the reader in as a character.

Warnings for the whole series: Violence, Gore, Profanity, Alcohol, Drugs, Smoking, Frightening Scenes

“Well, that’s what I couldn’t figure out, but then I remembered.” Dustin grins. “You can change the direction of a compass with a magnet. If there’s the presence of a more powerful magnetic field, the needle deflects to that power. And then I remembered what Mr. Clarke said. The gate would have so much power-” 

“It could disrupt the electromagnetic field…” I finish his sentence. 

“Exactly.” Dustin nods. 

“Meaning, if we follow the compasses’ north…” Lucas starts. 

“They should lead us to the gate.” Dustin finishes. 

----------------------------------------------------

“I just… I can’t believe she didn’t come back.” Mike sighs, pacing around the room. 

“She’s gotta be close.” Dustin shrugs. “She probably went to Y/N’s house.” 

“She just messed up the compasses because she wanted to protect us.” Mike rambles, ignoring Dustin. “She didn’t betray us.” 

“Mike, calm down.” Dustin sighs. “Why don’t we call Y/N on the walkie and see if El’s there?” 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at her.” Mike paces back and forth. “I never should’ve done that.” 

“Mike, this isn’t your fault.” Dustin leans against one of the wooden beams in the basement. 

“Yeah, it's Lucas’.” Mike huffs. 

“It wasn’t his fault, either.” Dustin shrugs. 

“It wasn’t his fault?” Mike frowns, rounding on Dustin.

“No,” Dustin states plainly. 

“So you’re saying he wasn’t way out of line?” Mike’s voice starts to rise.

“Totally! But so were you!” Dustin huffs. 

“What?” Mike pauses. 

“And so was Eleven.” Dustin finishes.

“Oh, give me a break!” Mike groans. 

“No, Mike, you give me a break!” Dustin shouts. “All three of you were being a bunch of little assholes! Y/N and I were the only reasonable ones. But the bottom line is… you pushed first. And you know the rule. You draw first blood…” 

“No! No way! I’m not shaking his hand.” Mike whines. 

“This isn’t a discussion. This is the rule of law.” Dustin stands his ground. “Obey or be banished from the party. Do you wanna be banished?” 

“No…” Mike mumbles. 

“Good.” Dustin sighs. “We’re going to get Lucas.” Dustin grabs his coat. “And then we’re going to see if Y/N has Eleven.” 

--------------------------------------

“You… really like waffles, huh?” I raise an eyebrow, leaning against the kitchen counter as I watch El devour the huge stack of waffles in front of her. 

She nods slowly, wiping at the syrup dripping down her chin. 

“My boyfriend loves them too.” I smile. “Between the two of you, I’m gonna have to buy all the Eggos in Hawkins.” I wink at her, making her smile and laugh. 

---------------------------------

“What do you want?” Lucas huffs, slowly opening the door. 

Dustin smacks Mike’s shoulder, glaring at him. 

Mike sighs. “I drew first blood, so…” He trails off, holding out his hand.

Lucas looks at it for a moment, then back at Mike.

----------------------------------------

“Okay, I’ll shake,” Lucas says after pacing the carpet for a moment. “On one condition.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “We forget the weirdo and go straight to the gate.” 

“Then the deal’s off.” Mike huffs. 

“Fine.” Lucas shrugs. 

“Fine!” Mike snaps back. 

“No, no, not fine!” Dustin shouts. “Guys, seriously? Do you even remember what happened on the Bloodstone Pass?” Dustin grabs Mike’s arm, turning the other boy to face him. “We couldn’t agree on what path to take, so we split up the party and those trolls took us out one by one. And it all went to shit. And we were all disabled! So we stick together, no matter what!” 

“Yeah, I agree.�� Lucas sighs. “But this is the party, right here in this room.” 

“El is one of us now.” Mike huffs. 

“Yeah, and you’re forgetting Y/N.” Dustin frowns. “She basically founded the party.” 

“Um, no, El is not. Not even close!” Lucas frowns. “Never will be. She’s a liar, a traitor--” 

“She was just trying to keep us safe!” Mike shouts. “She didn’t mean to hurt you. It was an accident!” 

“An accident?” Lucas scoffs. 

“All right, accident or not…” Dustin starts. “Admit it, it was a little awesome.” 

“Awesome?” Lucas frowns. 

“Yeah, she threw you in the air with her mind!” Dustin argues. 

“I could have been killed!” Lucas shouts. 

“Which is exactly why we need her. She’s a weapon!” Mike reasons. “Do you seriously wanna fight the Demogorgon with your wrist rocket? That’s like R2-D2 going to fight Darth Vader. We’re no use to Will if we’re dead.” 

“If you two wanna waste your time, looking for a traitor, go ahead,” Lucas sighs. “Cause I’m not spending my time on her anymore. No way! I’m going to the gate. I’m gonna find Will.”

-----------------------------------------------

I hum, reading my book as the water runs in the shower. I look up when it turns off, watching El shuffle out in a towel. “Ready for some clean clothes?” I ask her. 

She nods, swiftly making her way over to my dresser. She tugs open a drawer, fishing around before pulling out a shirt and looking at it. “Boyfriend?” She holds it up, turning the front towards me. 

I smile, looking at the faded ‘Corroded Coffin’ logo on the front. “Yeah, that’s Eddie’s alright. You wanna wear it?” 

El nods again, holding it close to her chest. “Safe.” 

I smile, nodding and setting my book down. “Why don’t you go change and I’ll find a movie for us to watch?” 

El offers a small smile, shuffling over to me. She leans up on her toes, kissing my cheek as water drips off of her. 

I wrap an arm around her, giving her a gentle squeeze.

----------------------------------------------

“This is weird without Lucas,” Dustin mutters, riding his bike next to Mike. 

“He should’ve shaken my hand.” Mike shakes his head. 

“He’s just jealous.” Dustin sighs. 

“What are you talking about?” Mike frowns.

“Sometimes, your total obliviousness just blows my mind.” Dustin laughs. “He’s your best friend, right?”

“Yeah.. I mean, I don’t know.” Mike trails off. 

“It’s fine. I get it.” Dustin shrugs. “I didn’t get here until the fourth grade. He had the advantage of living next door. But none of that matters. What matters is that he is your best friend. And then this girl shows up and starts living in your basement, and all you ever want to do is pay attention to her.” 

“That’s not true.” Mike frowns. 

“Yes, it is.” Dustin sighs. “And you know it. And he knows it. But no one ever says anything until you both start punching and yelling at each other like goblins with intelligence scores of zero.” 

“You sound like Y/N.” Mike rolls his eyes. 

“Gee, I wonder why,” Dustin mutters sarcastically. 

--------------------------------------

“Great to finally see you, boys.” I cross my arms, looking at Dustin and Mike as I lean against the doorframe. 

“We don’t have time for this, Y/N.” Mike huffs, trying to shove past me. “Where’s El?” 

“Cool it, loverboy.” I grab his backpack, hauling him back. “She’s asleep, leave her be.” 

“Can we at least come in?” Dustin asks. 

“Can you ask politely?” I smirk at him. 

Dustin groans. “May we please enter your dwelling, oh great and wonderful Y/N?” 

I step aside, letting them in. “Just don’t wake El. Not yet, at least.” 

Dustin nods, flopping onto the couch as Mike follows. 

“There’s leftovers in the fridge.” I lean down, taking Dustin’s hat off and ruffling his curls. “Help yourselves. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” 

“Where are you going?” Dustin yawns, looking up at me. 

“I’ve gotta go find Lucas and fix whatever problems the three of you have caused.” I sigh, grabbing my keys.

taglist: 

@wayfaring----stranger @themarvelousbee @mochas-rambles @efvyqrs @10minutesofscreentime @allie-mcginn @poguebaby @short-potato @wh0re4harrington @jinxed-jk @seggsyswagger @nothanksdidntask @tenkomybeloved @byebyebikinisss @hellfirebabes @ladyyaya22 @whatisitliketobeinlove @rainbows-dreams​

@fandomxreaders

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

serendipity // bucky barnes

PART ONE

Summary: You end up stuck in 1942 without a way to come back, but when you meet the young and charming version of Bucky Barnes, do you really want to go back to the present?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: lack of ‘40s knowledge

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Thanks to @punxgal​ for proofreading this. You’re amazing!

divider by @firefly-graphics​

next part | series masterlist | main masterlist

“Are you sure we should be here? You know how Tony is about people in his lab,” Wanda pointed out for like the seventh time but you kept on ignoring her. Maybe you should have listened to her and you wouldn’t be stuck in this situation. 

Tony didn’t allow anyone in his lab, he had his reasons, but the majority of it was because he didn’t like it when other people touched his stuff. You had the stupid idea of breaking this rule to go to see what he was working on, and of course, you bring Wanda with you, because if you are going to get in trouble you may as well involve your best friend.

You were a restless person and had the bad habit of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. It was something most people hated about you, you did nothing to change it, but this time took the cake.

You had messed with one of Tony’s new gadgets, the lights went off, an alarm ringing so loud you had to cover your ears. Then out of nowhere, a gust of wind swirled the room.

Wanda screamed at you asking what was going on, sparks lighting up the darkroom. You could feel what felt like someone pulling you and then your body hit the ground and seconds later Wanda was laying next to you.

Pulling yourself back up onto your feet, you looked around taking in your surroundings. You weren’t in Tony’s lab anymore. You were outside, in a dark alley. 

“Did Tony build a teleportation machine?” you asked confused 

“Not exactly,” you turned around to see Wanda, she was holding a newspaper in her hands with a frightened look on her face. You take a look at the paper to see what got her so shaken, and you saw it, the date. 

 “We’re in 1942?”

Was it really possible that you had traveled back in time? Had he really figured it out? You knew Tony was a genius but a time machine it’s too much, even for him.

“What do we do now?” Wanda was looking at you as if she was waiting for you to come with a solution, after all, you were responsible for this situation. If you haven’t sniffed around Tony’s lab you wouldn’t be here right now, you would be back at the compound, safe and eating ice cream while you watch some shitty show on Netflix.

You sighed, “I don’t know”

“They’re going to come for us, right?”

“I guess. The alarms went off in the lab, so they must know that something has happened, it’s just a matter of time until they put two and two together and come to our rescue.” But you didn’t know when that’s gonna happen. “We’ll just have to wait”

“Okay,” Wanda accepted, “What do we do until then?”

You decided the best thing, for now, was to look for a place to stay. You walked out of the alley and into the streets of Brooklyn. As you walked through the crowd you could see the strange looks people were giving you, trying to get out of your way or trying not to walk close to you at all.

“Why are they looking at us like that?” you inquired.

Wanda stopped walking and grabbed your hand, pulling you to a side of the street “I think it’s the clothes” she pointed out. 

“What’s wrong with our- “ you stopped your sentence when you took a look at what you were wearing. Jeans, t-shirts, boots, and leather jackets aren't the most go-to look in the ’40s.

You couldn’t walk through the streets like that. It was drawing attention and that’s the last thing you two needed right now. Wanda paused for a moment, you standing next to her, she was doubting if she should do what she had in mind or not, it was a good option, the only option you guys had. Wanda wasn’t a fan of her powers, especially with people often being scared and disgusted by her. Not that she didn’t blame them though. But it hurt you that some people didn’t see farther than her powers. She is not only your best friend, but an amazing person and who only deserves the best.

Wanda sighed. She didn’t have a choice. You looked at her and instantly knew what she wanted to do. It was one of the many reasons The Scarlet Witch was your best friend. There was no need for words to know what the other was thinking, even without her powers, there was a connection between you two.

Only a snap of her fingers and a few seconds later, you looked down to see your clothes. Your twenty-first century outfit had been replaced with a knee-length, A-line dress and a pair of peep-toe heels and your hair was now lying in loose waves. “Wow.” You looked at her with fascination that you’d always held when seeing Wanda use her powers. You didn’t understand why people could be afraid of her when she could do such wonderful things.

It was the next day when you were laying in the bed of the hostel you were staying at and the ceiling had never been more interesting. It had been more than 24 hours and still, you had no news from your friends. 

You hadn’t left the room, and you were starting to feel suffocated. 

“Let’s get out,” you proposed as you got up from the bed. Wanda tore her gaze from the book she was reading and looked at you like had grown a second head.

“Are you crazy? We can’t just go walking around the city like that!”

“Why not?” you pouted and sat in her bed next to her “What is the harm?”

Your careless demeanor was something that drove Wanda crazy sometimes. You never thought about the consequences your actions could have and you two being stuck more than seventy years in the past was the perfect example of that. And now you wanted to go out and have fun as if this were a normal Friday for you.

The witch sighed and closed the book in her hands. “We’re not home, (Y/N). We cannot go and parade around the city like we belong here.”

“I just want to have some fun!” 

“You wanting to have fun is what had brought us here in the first place.” Wanda muttered under her breath, you weren’t supposed to hear it, but you did. You got up abruptly from the bed and made your way to the door.

“Where are you going?”

You didn’t reply to her as you left the room, closing the door behind you as you made your way out of the building and into the streets of New York. You knew you were acting childish and you knew Wanda was right but you were too proud to let her know that. 

You walked through the streets with no particular destination in mind, you just needed the air hitting on your face. You had walked for at least twenty minutes when you spotted a building that caught your eye. A dance hall.

You crossed the street and made your way into the building. Jazz music flooded your ears as soon as you entered even though the club wasn't that large. It had enough room for various couples to be able to dance and that’s all that seemed to be needed. This scene was so different from what you were used to. It felt different but in a good way. You couldn't help but feel struck by the feeling that you were born in the wrong decade. You’d have loved to live like this. 

As your eyes explored the room, you spotted a short man aside from the crowd that you couldn’t help but recognize. You narrowed your eyes, trying to get a better glimpse of him. Oh my god... He was so much different now, but you would recognize the face of Steve Rogers anywhere. 

 You turned to leave as soon as you recognised him. Steve couldn’t see you. Yes, he had no idea who you were yet, but he’ll meet you in the future and this could affect all manners of things. What if you do something that changes the past and affects the future and- Now you were panicking, your mind running a mile per hour, trying to get out there when you turned and slammed straight into someone. 

“Careful, doll.” That voice, why did it sound so familiar to you? You looked up into the eyes of the man in front of you and there he was. A young Bucky Barnes. With those steel-blue eyes,  full of joy and that charming smile that never left his face. This version of him, at least. The Bucky you knew was nothing like the man that currently stood in front of you. 

“You okay?” he asked worriedly, and it was then you realized that you had been staring at him for too long.

You looked away quickly, muttering a quick, “Y-Yeah, sorry.”

You tried to walk past him and keep your original plan of leaving the club. If talking to Steve was a bad idea, talking to Bucky wasn’t a better one. As soon as you made to leave, Bucky grabbed your upper arm gently, turning your heels so you were facing him again.

“Come on, doll. You can’t leave me like that,” the smile never left his face and you thought how strange it was to see him smile so much. Nowadays, it was a rarity to see Bucky smile, not that you could blame him for his broody demeanor after everything that he has been through. But now you couldn’t shake how damn beautiful he looked with a smile adorning his features. “You own me at least one dance.”

He held his hand to you, and you knew you should have refused, it was the worst idea and it could affect the future but you weren’t known for making the right choices. So, you took his hand and danced through your second mistake of the night.

It was late when you walked into the room, but Wanda was still up, waiting for you on her bed. She was doing her typical ‘scolding a child’ pose and she could be intimidating when she wanted to.

“Where have you been?” she demanded.

You bit your bottom lip, a habit you had when you were nervous. “I fucked up….again”

His hands were on your back with yours wrapped around his shoulders. You swayed to the slow melody the band was playing. 

“So… I don’t think I got your name,”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” His shameless flirting made you chuckle as you’d heard the stories from Steve about Bucky’s amazing luck with the ladies. But now that you had that same man in front of you, his hand wrapped around your middle and dancing so close to you, you could see why so many women fell for him. He really had a game.

“What about you, Romeo? Can I get your name?”

“Bucky Barnes” he smirked. As you kept dancing to the sound of the music, his eyes never left yours, not for even a second, and you wished in that moment that you had the power to read his mind.

He tightened his hands on your back as he leaned a little to be closer to you. “How is it that I have never seen you around before?”

“I’m just passing by” You simply state, not technically lying to him. You still held hope that your friends were working on a way to bring you home.

“Does that mean I’m not gonna see you again?” His voice sounded disappointed, almost sad. 

He brought one of the hands that were resting on your back to your face, caressing your cheek gently. Cupping your jaw, he looked into your eyes, asking for permission. When you didn’t do anything to stop him, he closed the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours. His lips were soft as they brushed gently against your own and you couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed you with so much tenderness. Bucky has only known you for a few hours and his kiss had more meaning than any of the kisses you had received from any of your previous relationships. It was something you didn’t know you craved until now, so you let yourself get lost in the kiss, melting into the third mistake of the night.

“What the hell, (Y/N)!” Wanda raised her voice at you. “Do you have any idea of what you have done?”

“I just- I couldn’t help myself,” you defended yourself, “You should have seen him… I couldn’t tell him no.” 

“Since when do you have feelings for Bucky?”

“I don’t!”

“It doesn’t sound like it…. and it definitely doesn’t look like it. You practically light up every time you mention his name!” pointing accusingly at you.

You weren’t lying when you said you don’t have feelings for Bucky. You had barely talked to the man since Steve brought him to the compound. You didn’t know anything about him other than what basic information everyone already knew. 

He was quiet and shy, spending most of his time locked in his room. The times he did come out, he only spoke with Steve and Sam. He tried to stay out of the way of everyone, not wanting to be a burden.  

“What did you do after the kiss?” Wanda asked, drawing you out of your thoughts.

“I ran away...”

[excelsi-or]

your type (pt. 6)

Hiiii friends, it’s only been like two weeks! Pretty good in terms of posting for me lol. I don’t know what it is about this story in particular, but I feel so self-conscious about posting new parts. But I’m also not someone who likes to leave things half finished.

I hope you’re all doing well :) 

BIPOC recs: I actually have a few! Two books: Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 - Cho Namjoo (basically follows a woman’s life in South Korea and all the micro-oppressive things that women face in their personal and career lives); Winners Take All - Anand Giridharadas (a non-fiction about how billionaires create such a disproportionate world for us all; I love listening to Anand’s talks about this subject. I find it fascinating). Music: Cross Country - Breland (excellent country song); Boyz II Men - Kirby (I love this woman’s energy)

w.c. 2.6k

pairing: jihoon x OC/reader

pt. 1; pt. 2; pt. 3; pt. 4; pt. 5

The summer semester has her in the research lab 8 hours a day. Luckily, Jihoon is also on campus for just as long. His professor got him a gig working on music for a few groups in various companies. It helps get his foot in the door, and while the deadlines are tight, he genuinely enjoys working.

They take their lunch breaks together, wandering the green or just wandering hallways if it’s too warm outside. But since he doesn’t have other classes, Jihoon’s been chatting with a few girls he’s met.

And he’s told her all about them, so she isn’t blindsided if someone else decides to share it with her.

“How was your date last night?” she asks at lunch.

Jihoon shrugs. The girl had come over since Seungcheol was at Jihyo’s. “She was whatever.”

She lifts an eyebrow, eating the sandwich that Seungkwan made for her lunch. She’s now taken to spending the night at Seungkwan and Hansol’s when Seungcheol visits.

Jihoon sighs. “Jiwoo was uninteresting.” When she has no response to this, he pouts. “She didn’t really have any opinions on anything, so we couldn’t find anything to talk about.”

“But you didn’t just go for dinner.”

“She was fine in bed.” Jihoon shrugs. “Didn’t really tell me what she liked, so hard to say how she felt about it.”

“Ahh.”

“What does that mean?”

She pops the rest of her sandwich in her mouth. “I don’t really know how to continue from that.”

Jihoon snorts. “Well, you’re the one who asked.”

She thinks for a minute. “Are you just saying she was uninteresting?” She kicks him lightly under the table. “Did you listen to her?”

“Of course I did!” Jihoon sips his coffee. “You said that I need to look at people more,” he makes a point of staring at her, “and to be aware of my body language because it comes off as standoffish.”

“And still?”

“All she talked about was her dog. I love talking about people’s dogs, but not for two hours.”

“Dinner was two hours?”

Jihoon shakes his head in frustration. “The kitchen kept getting the order wrong. Anyway, enough about my failed date, how’s your research going?” He pushes a napkin towards her.

She pulls out the pencil she was using to hold her hair up. Her hair cascades around her and she begins sketching out her reaction. While Jihoon hasn’t quite learned all the chemistry terminology, he recognizes various things, specifically the compounds she’s working on. She’d taught him some basics about catalytic testing, using drawings to help him follow along.

Multiple times she’s insisted that her research is really boring, especially for people who aren’t in science. But Jihoon likes listening to her talk, and her research lets her dominate the conversation. He asks questions and clarification, and she’s always great at simplifying things.

Jihoon has learned that her amazing attention to detail translates well to analyzing his songs. And she’s always very honest about the parts she likes and doesn’t like.

“I have some finished works I want your opinion on.” They start to clean up their table.

She glances up at him. “You don’t have a date tonight?”

Jihoon waits for her to fall into step with him. “I do, but I also have deadlines. So, if you’re not tired later, meet me in the studio?”

She waves goodbye to him. “I’ll let you know where I’m at.” She waits for him to exit the building before going to put her earphones in. As she’s heading to the stairs, she sees Seulgi heading towards her. They cross paths in the chemistry labs, but have never been on real speaking terms.

She smiles at Seulgi, about to go around her like normal, when the woman asks, “Are you and Jihoon dating?”

Despite her earphones in, she does hear the question. She turns. “Uhm, no.” She pauses and Seulgi says nothing. “Why?”

“I just…” Seulgi gives her a once over. “You seem too nice to be dating Jihoon.”

She’s taken aback by that observation. While Jihoon has given off the hot-cold vibe, player energy, and a slight lack of communication skills, she can’t say Jihoon’s ever warranted a comment like that. “We’re just…” She tries to come up with a word. “We’re just friends.”

“You’re smart.” Seulgi seems to mull something over. “But smart girls like you have fallen for his charm.”

“Like… you?”

“Once, but I’m not talking about me here. I’m talking about my friend.”

This piques her interest more than she wishes it did. Jihyo has warned her against listening to all these testimonials of women dating Jihoon.

“Maybe you just need to give the man a solid chance. If you’re gonna spend all your time with him anyway.”

Against Jihyo’s advice, she asks, “What happened to your friend?”

“Jihoon broke her heart. He doted on her and from the sounds of it, worshipped her, but then all of a sudden, he went cold. Stopped answering messages, stopped picking up the phone, avoiding her in the hallways. Then he said—”

“‘I’m ignoring you now, please leave me alone?’”

Seulgi tips her head. “Have you talked to Wendy?”

She runs her tongue along her bottom teeth. “No. I haven’t.”

“So how did you—?”

“I met another girl he’s dated. And… he’s a creature of habit, so… figured he’d say something similar.”

Seulgi hums. “Well, Wendy refuses to see any other man now. But she’s fine, mostly. We just can’t mention Jihoon around her. So, just…”

“Be careful?”

Seulgi chuckles. “So you’ve heard the warnings before?”

“A couple times.” Under her breath, she mutters, “Maybe I should heed them more.” She gives Seulgi a friendly nudge as she walks away. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Is everything okay?”

Jihoon received her text around 4:30, saying that she wasn’t feeling well and would go straight home after she was done in lab.

“Yeah, I’m just… I think I’m getting sick.”

She had seemed fine when he saw her.

“Okay, I’ll walk you home then.”

There’s a long pause. “I actually caught up with Taehyung, Jungkook’s boyfriend? He said he would walk me home.”

Jihoon turns in his chair at this odd development. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll… see you tomorrow then.”

“Bye.” Almost like an afterthought, she adds, “Sorry.”

Jihoon turns back to stare at the pieces of work he has open in the task bar that he wanted to show her. Instead, he closes them and goes back to work.

Time passes without him realizing. Before he knows it, it’s time for him to meet up with Ara. He glances at the clock, thinking.

Jihoon (19:14)

Meet me at the gym?

Jihoon (19:14)

Hey, don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight. Caught a cold.

Soonyoung (19:15)

Sure. See you in 10.

Mingyu (19:15)

I’m in.

Ara (19:15)

If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you have another woman in mind.

But okay.

Get well soon, babe.

True to their word, Mingyu and Soonyoung meet him at the gym near their homes. Soonyoung leads the way inside and they go stretch while Jihoon disappears to change.

When he reemerges, Mingyu asks him what’s wrong.

“She cancelled on me.”

“Who?” Soonyoung is stretching on his right.

Jihoon crosses his right arm across his body, feels the stretch in his upper delt and across his arm. He updates them on what’s happened in the last 7 hours, from lunch, to her saying she’s sick, to Ara.

Mingyu frowns. “I didn’t realize you two were still going on dates. I thought you’d already gotten to the… dating part of dating.”

“Wait,” Soonyoung seems to realize something, “are you seeing other women right now? We cannot win this bet unless you commit!”

Mingyu observes Jihoon in the mirror. He has a dazed look in his eye, as if he’s thinking hard about something. “You actually like her.” He turns to Jihoon. “You’re genuinely upset that she didn’t come to the studio.”

Jihoon wasn’t really frowning before, but he is now. “No. I’m not.”

“Wonwoo hyung said that he thought you were seeing other women again.” Mingyu turns back to the mirror. “I said that couldn’t be possible, because you don’t like to lose.”

“Can we just work out?” His tone is harsh, but his friends hear a small plea in there too. They exchange looks over Jihoon’s head and shrug.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Soonyoung nudges him towards the free weights.

It isn’t until after their gym session on their way home that Soonyoung and Mingyu begin grilling him.

“Are you seeing other women right now?” Mingyu asks.

“Well…” Jihoon adjusts his bag on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Soonyoung and Mingyu’s jaws drop.

“Dude. The bet.” Soonyoung gives him a push. “What if she finds out?”

Jihoon watches his feet move beneath him. “She already knows.”

“She knows? And she still goes out with you?” Mingyu demands. “Are you guys just friends?”

Soonyoung groans in frustration. “Seriously, Jihoon, bets are serious business. We went all in on this bet. You can’t just let Seokmin win a bet like this.”

“What happened, hyung?”

The question seems to release something in Jihoon. He throws his hands up in frustration. “I don’t know. I really don’t. She just… holds herself at a distance from me. I can’t seem to…” He makes grabbing motions in the air. “Get anything out of her.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we should just give up here. I don’t know if I can win this bet.”

“Yah!” Soonyoung throws an arm around his shoulders. He squeezes his arm. “I am not losing to Seokmin and Seungkwan on a bet that I know that we can win. You are the best at this.”

“She’s just as good at keeping me at a distance. And apparently she’s also had men castrated before.”

Mingyu and Soonyoung blink in surprise at the sudden information.

“Okay, well, we’re not going to let that happen to you,” Mingyu states.

Soonyoung agrees. “But you’re going to have to start pulling out al your moves. You—”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Listen to me. I have been at this since February. The girl won’t even let me kiss her.”

Mingyu scoffs. “You haven’t even kissed her yet? You guys are just friends.”

Soonyoung holds a hand up in Mingyu’s face. “You are not being encouraging.” He readjusts his grip around Jihoon. “Look. We’ll help you then. Lee Jihoon doesn’t tap out like this.”

“You said she canceled on you.” Mingyu tips his chin in Jihoon’s direction. “Why?”

“She said she was sick and found someone else to walk her home.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen. He releases his grip on Jihoon to get a better look at his face. “That’s it?”

Jihoon scowls. “Did I not tell you that I haven’t even kissed her yet? I eat lunch with her every day and then I walk her home.”

“Are we in the 1700s? What the fuck?” Mingyu demands.

“I can’t work out what makes her tick. She tells me stuff about herself, but nothing I can use. All I’ve learned is that she’s one of the smartest people I know, reads a lot, paints, and can give me actual feedback on my music.”

“Oh, come on, that can’t be all you’ve learned.”

Jihoon sighs, racking his brain for more information. There are obviously little things he’s noticed, like that she drinks a shit ton of water; that when she thinks something’s amusing, she lets out a little breath of laughter; or that she presses down on her fingers with her thumbs when she’s nervous. But he can’t share these things. They aren’t useful.

“I’ve learned she hasn’t really dated anyone since Byunggu. That she doesn’t even count that guy as a boyfriend so Jungkook is the last man she dated.”

“Byunggu… why do I know that name?” Soonyoung looks to Mingyu.

“Because he’s the guy who’s either been threatened, murdered or castrated,” Jihoon grumbles.

Soonyoung waves him off. “No.” He reaches behind Jihoon to hit Mingyu’s arm. “Isn’t he that guy who debuted last year?”

Mingyu’s brow furrows.

“He stopped coming to parties because he was filming some show or something, remember?” He pushes Mingyu, as if that will jog his memory. “He was one of your girls’ friends. Remember? She wouldn’t stop talking about him? That’s why you dumped her?”

“Oh! Yeah!” Mingyu pulls his phone out and looks something up. When he turns the phone to Jihoon, Jihoon squints at an article about this man who is currently doing small roles in various dramas. He doesn’t recognize the face. But until this point, he’d never seen any photos of this elusive ex. A debut would explain why he disappeared into thin air.

“What am I supposed to do with this information?” Jihoon pushes the phone away. “She clams up as soon as he comes up.”

“Okay, okay. Forget trying to replicate the men of the past.” Soonyoung says. “Just… be you.”

Jihoon stares at him in disbelief. “She doesn’t like me.”

“She must, because she’s spent a lot of time with you, hyung.” Mingyu sips from his water bottle. “Noona only gives certain people her time, if you haven’t noticed. Her girls, Hansol, Seungkwan, Wonwoo hyung these days.” He shrugs. “If you’re spending so much time with her, she likes you at least a little bit.”

Jihoon bites his tongue, annoyed that they’re right. “I’m only going to give this another month. If I can’t get this girl into my bed, then there’s no way she’s going to say ‘I love you’ first.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” Jihyo asks.

The two roommates are having a night in, watching a movie but talking the entire time with take out on the table.

She came home looking preoccupied, so Jihyo forced her to put on her pajamas, pick what sort of take out they would eat, and to bundle up on the couch. Then she forced her roommate to tell her what was wrong.

“I don’t know. Do you think it’s a sign that two different women have told me I should be careful?” She pouts. “I don’t want to feel like I need to tread carefully.”

“I don’t know what Jihoon was like with those other girls, but he likes you. I know what a guy looks like when all he wants is to get you into his bed. That look on Jihoon’s face when he sees you is pure adoration.”

She carefully breaks apart a cookie before popping a piece into her mouth. “If anything, Jihoon’s just a friend.”

“A friend who adores you. Who you also seem to like.” Jihyo nudges her with the back of her hand. “You can’t go around thinking every boy is going to hurt you like Byunggu.”

“I don’t think that. Why would I think that if I don’t even give them a chance to try?”

Jihyo snorts, both amused and frustrated. “Jihoon is putting in the effort with you. You didn’t even give him your number for like a month and a half. And he still made it work.”

“I did that to keep him away from me.” She rolls her eyes, a slight smile on her face. “So, thanks for helping him out with that.”

“You still hang out with him.”

“You know, he’s seeing other girls now.”

Jihyo pauses. “Really?”

“He tells me about them. He had a date yesterday. He has one tonight.” She shakes her head. “I think it’s just better for me if we stay friends.” She notices Jihyo on her phone. “What are you doing now?”

“Asking Cheollie if Jihoon’s home.” Jihyo turns her phone her way, grinning. Seungcheol had sent a picture of Jihoon next to him on the couch. The two seem to be playing video games. “Give the man a chance. You don’t know what kind of boyfriend he can be if you don’t.”

[tails89]

@ice-mage​

you asked for prompts for your teen wolf bingo. So for the kid fic square, how about this: Derek is babysitting Laura’s kids for a week while she and her spouse/partner go on vacation. While out with them on day 1, he runs into Stiles, who loves kids. Stiles makes a comment that indicates that he thinks Derek is their single father, and Derek just decides to go with it.

“I want choclit milk.”

The hand on Derek’s sleeve tugs insistently, but he can’t afford to let his attention stray from trying to wrangle a wiggly foot back into its sneaker. Caleb thinks it’s hilarious, gripping the Velcro and tossing the other shoe onto the ground.

Derek gives up with a sigh. He lifts Caleb up, settling the two-year old on his hip and retrieves the shoes, shoving them haphazardly into the kid’s backpack.

“Choclit milk.” The tugging has migrated to Derek’s pant leg now that Cameron can no longer reach his shirt and Derek wonders how Laura does it. He’s had his nephews for less than an hour and he’s ready to hand them back and sleep for a week.

“We’re about to head home Cam,” he says, swinging the backpack over his shoulder. “How about we have some with lunch?”

“With cookies?” Cameron asks, eyes lighting up.

“We’ll see about the cookies,” Derek tells him, reaching for the four-year-old’s hand. “Maybe after.”

He leads them away from the park and over to the car. He’s traded in his Camaro for Laura’s more kid friendly SUV while his sister and her husband are off on some second honeymoon.

Opening the door, Derek helps Cameron scramble up into the back and starts buckling Caleb into his car seat.

“Oh, hey man. I think you dropped something.”

Derek turns at the familiar voice, gaze locking on a familiar face. “Stiles?”

The teenager—no, not a teenager anymore—man standing across from him is holding a child’s Velcro sneaker.

“Derek? No way man.” Stiles crosses the space between them, the familiar bounce in his step sending a wave of fond nostalgia through Derek. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“I’ve been here a while,” Derek says, accepting the shoe and stuffing it back into the bag. “I thought you’d moved to uh, New York, or something.”

“I just graduated college last month.” Stiles grins, crossing his arms over his chest, the movement drawing Derek’s attention to just how broad Stiles’ shoulders have become. “So, I’m back with Dad while I look for work. Anyway, how have you been man? It���s been, what, four years?”

“Choclit milk!”

Stiles peers around Derek at the kids on the car, his scent going spicy in a way Derek can’t quite put his finger on.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “You’re probably trying to get these two home and I’m just yapping away. I’ll let you go.”

“Uh, yeah,” Derek says lamely. “But maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Choclit milk!” Cam calls insistently, tugging his arms through the child restraint belt. Caleb joins in with his brother, kicking his feet against his seat.

Stiles shrugs like ‘what can you do?’ and Derek rolls his eyes at his nephews’ antics before turning and reaching to buckle Cameron in. He tries not to flush under Stiles’ scrutiny as he checks the restraints and shuts the door.

“You know, I never pictured you as the Dad-type,” Stiles says, following Derek around to the driver’s seat. “But it’s a good look on you. I’ll see you around Derek.”

With a wave, Stiles crosses the street and Derek sits behind the steering wheel for a full minute wondering why he didn’t correct him.

*

“Oh my God, it’s like looking into a mirror.”

Derek glances over his shoulder and see’s Stiles walking up behind him. The human stands beside him, his gaze fixed on Caleb who is sulking because Derek wouldn’t let him squish the bread.

“He’s got the angry eyebrows and everything.”

Frowning, Derek looks down at his nephew. “I don’t look like that.”

“Oh really,” Stiles grins up at him. “You should tell that to your face.” He laughs at Derek’s deepening scowl. “Anyway, fancy meeting you here.” He comes to a stop beside the Derek, one hand holding his basket, the other loosely gripping the cart.

“At the supermarket?” Derek asks in disbelief. Stiles is standing so close, almost pressed up against Derek, his scent spicy and inviting. “It’s not a big town, it was bound to happen at some point.”

“Ah, so you were hoping to run into me then?” Stiles bumps his hip into Derek’s still grinning.

“No—I—” Derek quickly backtracks, his brows drawing together in confusion.

“I’m just joking,” Stiles’ laugh is rich and throaty. It triggers something in Derek and he just wants to hear it again. He doesn’t quite understand this reaction. Sure, he’d liked teenage Stiles well enough, but there’s something about this new, adult Stiles and Derek can’t help but stare.

“So, you going to introduce me?”

“Oh, um. This is Caleb,” Derek says, flushing. “And that’s Cam—”

“No.” Cameron stands up in the cart. “I can do it.”

Derek catches Stiles’ amused eyeroll and makes the same face back at him.

“I’m Cameron.”

Stiles crouches down in front of Cameron. “Nice to meet you little dude. I’m Stiles.” He straightens up, turning to Derek. “So, have you guys got big plans for the day?”

“We’re gonna play dinosaurs,” Cam says, bouncing in the cart. Derek winces for the groceries being trampled by tiny werewolf feet.

“I love dinosaurs,” Stiles tells him, grinning at the way Cameron’s whole face lights up. Derek groans internally. Whether he meant to or not, Stiles just made a new best friend.

“Come!” The four-year-old practically vibrates. “We can play.”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Stiles says, looking to Derek. “You’ll need to ask your dad.”

Cameron looks around in confusion and Derek panics.

“Oh, I’m—I’m not—”

“It’s fine,” Stiles cuts him off with a wave. “Maybe another time, kiddo.”

Cameron deflates, his whole body sagging and bottom lip wobbling.

“You can come over,” Derek blurts, desperate to avoid a tantrum in the middle of the cereal aisle. “Honestly, it’ll be nice to have another adult around for a while.”

“Yeah?” Stiles’ smile is warm and sincere and Derek’s heart races. “Sounds great.”

*

Derek watches Stiles chatting with Cameron.

They’re surrounded by dinosaur figurines and toy trucks. Stiles hands every truck to Caleb to inspect before it’s placed down on the mat spread out on the floor. Both kids had taken to him immediately, chasing him around in the back yard demanding to be swung around.

“You’re really good with them.” Derek sits down on the floor beside Stiles, appreciating the way he arches back and stretches after sitting hunched over dinosaur figurines with Cameron.

“I like kids,” Stiles says, stretching out his legs before crossing them at the ankles. “Yours are especially cute. It’s super unfair man.”

Stiles has come back every day to hang out and it’s been great, but Derek still hasn’t explained to him that Caleb and Cameron are his nephews. He’s tried. Several times. But now it’s reached the point that he’s lowkey hoping Laura just doesn’t come back. Derek’s pretty sure he’d get custody of the kids over Cora.

The knock at the front door startles them both.

“Where are my babies?” Laura’s voice echoes down the hall and both kids take off screeching towards the front of the house.

“Mama.”

Stiles’ scent turns sharp and Derek panics. He’s not ready. He was hoping to at least have another day to figure out how to fix this mess.

“Hey Derbear.” Laura walks into the living room with a kid in each arm. When she spots Stiles, her lips tick up at the corner and she grins wolfishly. She ignores Derek’s subtle head shake. “I’m Laura,” she says, voice coloured with barely contained laughter.

“Stiles.”

“You’re cute. Where’d you find him Der?”

Derek is going to kill her… once he’s done being mortified.

“The supermarket,” Stiles quips, rising to his feet.

This time Laura does laugh. “I like you.” She puts Cameron down, kneeling in front of him. “Time to say goodbye to Uncle Derek.”

Derek gives his nephews a hug and helps Laura collect their things before walking them out to their car.

When he returns, Stiles is waiting for him, arms folded across his chest.

“I cannot believe you let me think they were your kids,” he says, his voice teasing.

“In my defense,” Derek says weakly. “I did try to tell you, but after the third attempt I gave up.”

“Uh huh.” Stiles nods a long very seriously, but his eyes are dancing with unrestrained glee.

“I did,” Derek insists. “You just talk way too much.”

Stiles steps up into his space. “You know,” he says, smirking. “There is one way you can shut me up.”

“This doesn’t sound very kid friendly.”

“Oh, it’s not.”

[pretend-writer]

Kid Of The Future (Chapter 5)

Mini-Series

Summary: After time traveling from the apocalypse in 2019, a surprise waits for Diego and Y/N as they arrive at Dallas, Texas circa 1960.

Pairing: Hargreeves x sibling!reader, Diego Hargreeves x reader

Word Count: 2.7k words

Warning: mention of violence, mention of sex, swearing

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

'This is an easy fix, do I even need to spell it out?' Five blurted, getting frustrated about the plan of getting back to 2019.

'Yes, Five. I need you to spell out exactly what you mean because if so, that is so messed up.' I yelled at my kid brother. I knew what Five was implying when he said "it was an easy fix." I would never get rid of Bel and if Five tried anything, I would fight him.

Luther sighed, 'Guys can we please not fight about this again?'

'No. It's always Five bringing up bullshit that no one agrees on and he expects everyone to listen to him.'

'That kid doesn't even belong in our timeline. We cannot bring her to 2019. We barely escaped that apocalypse, I'm not going through that shit again Y/N.'

'So you think I'm going to trade off my baby to the psychopath? You must really be crazy Five.'

Allison jumped in, 'I agree with Y/N. You out of everyone knows what The Handler is capable of. Do you really want to hand off an innocent kid to her?'

'Do you know why she wants her? For her to be so desperate to hand us a briefcase? The kid can be some assassin from the future that The Handler wants.'

'More reason for me to keep Bel.' I crossed my arms, 'Maybe she became an assassin because you decided to hand her to The Handler and she's seeking revenge.'

Klaus nodded, 'Y/N makes a great argument Five. I'm sorry but I don't think it's a good idea to give sweet Bel away.'

Groaning loudly, Five balled his fists. 'You imbeciles are so.... ugh.'

'So if The Handler wanted Deloris in exchange for the briefcase, you're saying it's okay?' I raised my eyebrows, watching my brother's response.

Luther laughed but immediately stopped as Five glared at him. 'So how do we plan to go back to 2019?'

Allison licked her lips, holding in her laugh as she made eye contact with me. Honestly, I didn't think convincing Five would be so easy. I should've thought Deloris was the key to breaking him.

'You take me with you to the Commission. Simple as that.'

'Woah, woah.' Diego jumped in, 'Just the two of you? Are you crazy?'

'No, I'm not.' I turned back to Five, 'So what do you think?'

Vanya cocked her head, 'Is this really safe? Shouldn't we all go together and help each other?'

'Ah, no offense Vanya but taking you would be a terrible idea considering the fact that you ended the world in 2019.' Luther flashed an awkward smile.

Five, Allison and Diego groaned in sync, Klaus hitting Luther on his forearm. 'You dummy! Why would you bring that up?'

'Guys, it's fine.' Vanya smiled, 'Let's just figure out a safe and effective way to go back without turning Bel away.'

I smirked, clapping my hands cheerfully. 'Don't worry, I have a plan. Five will love this.'

He rolled his eyes, 'Ugh. Can't wait to hear it.'

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

Diego walked in the room after putting Bel to sleep in her room, sighing as he sat on the bed next to where I was laying down. 'Are you up?'

Turning around to face him, I nodded. 'Yeah.'

'Ah.' Diego scooted a little bit closer to me, biting his lips as he figured out what words to say next. 'Uhm, I'm sorry about yesterday.'

'What do you mean?'

'The things I said before you left to the alley.'

My eyes immediately shifted away from him, embarrassed about what I told him while I was intoxicated. I wish that I could take whatever I said back to him, I hated the awkward tension between us.

'Don't know what you're talking about but don't worry about it.' Pretending that I was too drunk to remember, I tried to brush everything off.

'It's not okay because I was lying, Y/N.' Diego looked down, started to fiddle with the bed sheets. 'I care about you, a lot. I was too scared to talk to you because I didn't know how you felt. I honestly thought it was just a casual thing between us, or at least I thought that's how you felt about me.'

That was a surprising thing to hear, thinking that the response I got from him yesterday at the salon was the truth. I didn't think that Diego would think of me as more than a friend, despite the things we did.

I've always assumed everything we've done was just casual, I tried so hard to suppress my feelings I had for him.

'I thought that you thought the same thing. I'm sorry I brought it up out of nowhere last night. It had been a while since I had alcohol.'

'No, no.' He softly grabbed my forearm, it was a comfort touch that I loved from him. 'I'm kind of glad you did. If you hadn't, I don't think I'd had the guts to tell you all of this right now.'

Smiling at him as he rubbed on my arm, I sat up next to him. 'Well, thank you for telling me.'

Diego nodded, softly smiling at me and enjoying my touch. 'Please be careful tomorrow when you go out with Five. I don't even know who this woman is but she sounds dangerous.'

'I'll be fine, I promise.'

He nodded, 'Uhm, you still don't want me to come with you guys?'

'Five and I will be just fine on our own. Don't worry. Besides, the less of us we have will be better. We're trying not to draw attention to ourselves.'

Diego seemed unconvinced, he always worried about things he didn't know what to expect. Especially with this mystery lady that Diego knows nothing about, I knew he was scared.

'Stop, don't think about it.' I scooted towards him, rubbing my hand on his forearm as I tried to calm him down.

He looked me in my eyes and slowly came closer, leaning into me as he cupped my cheek with his hand. I leaned closer, our lips touching as I gently started to kiss him.

'Daaaaad, the aliens are coming after me!' Bel's scream echoed through the entire apartment, I wouldn't be surprised if our neighbors heard her.

'Mood killer.' Diego sighed as he pulled away. As I giggled, he rolled his eyes. 'I bet you're happy she started calling for me instead of you. She needs to start calling for her mama.'

'Very happy.' I grinned, 'I've been waiting for this day where I don't have to get out the bed after her screams.'

Diego got up lazily, 'Someday when I get old, I'm gonna keep calling her name every ten minutes for her to come get me too.'

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

Crouching down as soon as Five helped me get to The Commission, he looked around nervously. I knew that he was some sort of legend around here, helped them assassin many people in the past to fix the timeline and what-not.

'The Handler's gone in the 50s but she could be back anytime. I'll leave to go get the suitcase while you switch up to The Handler and you try to distract them from me. Please for the love of Deloris, don't leave her office. We can't be caught.'

'Speaking of.' I pulled up a mask, handing it to my brother as I smiled. 'Your famous self can cover up with this.'

It was a mask that fairly looked like the ones ChaCha and Hazel wore, except it was a bunny and I honestly thought it would look good on him.

'The fuck do I look like wearing that?' Five looked disgusted. 'I'm not wearing that thing.'

'Yes, you are. If they find you, this is over. We are never going back home.'

Five decided to ignore me and change the subject. 'Why don't you turn into The Handler first and maybe I'll wear that mask.'

'Ew, she reeked of strong perfume and I'd rather just wait. Besides, I asked you first.'

'Okay, I asked you next.'

'Five, please don't play with me.'

He squinted his eyes, 'You wanna be childish, I'll act like you so you know how annoying it is.'

'I swear Fi-'

The sound of the door nob startled us both, not expecting anyone to come into her office especially without knocking. That queued me to morph into The Handler quickly, rehearsing how she sounded like in my head so I wouldn't be caught by these people.

'Oh, mom. So glad you're back from the trip.' A girl, probably the same age as us Hargreeves, ran up to hug me. She pulled away and looked over next to me. 'Who's this midget?'

I looked over and saw Five wearing the mask I got him. I smiled at myself softly, happy that Five decided to wear it. I knew he didn't have a choice but the fact that he took the mask over running away into thin air made me feel like I did something right.

'Ah- my new recruit. Trying to find him the perfect partner for this new mission I have lined up.'

The girl stared at him, 'Nice to meet you.'

Five just stood still, possibly staring back at her too. I figured he didn't speak because she would've figured out who he was as soon as she heard his voice, so I didn't force anything on him.

'Ah, not much of a talker. Such a professional assassin move.' She grinned and looked back at me. 'Speaking of assassins, why don't you take me to the mission with him. I can be his partner.

'Uhm, no. You can't go.'

The girl groaned, 'Why? I'm old enough you know? You trained me since I was a child for stuff like this and you're not even letting me use my talent. Instead it's always "Lila do this stupid thing" and honestly I'm so bored now.'

'You know I just care about you, right Lila?' I'm so glad she said her name because I was panicking not knowing what else to say. 'You're too important to me and I just can't risk that.'

'Whatever, mom. I asked to go to the Hargreeves mission with you and you didn't let me go so I know that's bull.'

In my mind I was screaming, I wanted this girl to leave so we can get the briefcase and get out of here. 'Five isn't a priority right now and frankly, he's a harmless boy. It was a quick job and I didn't need another person with me.'

'Not Five, Belinda Hargreeves. You told me you'd take me with you and you just left me, knowing I was asleep. Why would you do that, I was so excited to take her down.'

She must be talking about the night The Handler visited me, I thought to myself. The stories were slowly lining up. 'Well, she's just a baby. I figured I didn't have to wake you up and I'd just take care of her myself.'

'Just a baby? Mom, you wouldn't shut up about her being this next big thing The Commission needed and now she's just a baby to you?'

'I think you'll best fit that position anyway. Maybe it's time for us to move on from that.'

Lila chuckled, 'You're kidding me right? This kid has like one of the best powers I've seen. Even the Hargreeves siblings don't have that much talent. You really want to turn that down now?'

It was hard to contain my confused and my urge to beat this girl up. It annoyed me that Lila was talking about my daughter as if she was some experiment, and now she's talking about her having some powers. The frustration didn't help either when I had to stay in character.

'Are you sure that's Belinda Hargreeves we're talking about? That harmless looking baby? Surely we're talking about some other kid.'

'Mom, you clearly need sleep or you're doing drugs or something because you really don't sound right. We need her here, that was your saying. Literally, last night you told me that and now you're changing your mind?'

'There's just things in mind I need to consider before I take that route.'

Lila laughed, 'Okay mom. Whatever it is, I hope you make the right decision for us.'

'Yeah sure.'

She shook her head as she slowly walked to the door. 'You are acting a little weird so I'll leave you to it mom. Take a nap, rethink it. I'm sure you'll change you mind again.'

'I can't believe this.' I heard shuffling from behind as the door shut behind Lila. 'All that girl said was true, the powers and everything.'

Quickly rushing next to Five with doubt still on my mind, I snatched the file from his hand.

Everything about her was there; Her name, her birthdate and birthplace. All the information I knew nothing about was here in my face.

'October 1st, 1989...' I mumbled as I continued to read the rest of her file. 'Sh-she has powers. I-I don't understand.'

'So technically Bel's our sister.' Five blurted, 'How did she get to the 60s with us?'

None of what Five was saying was sinking into my brain. The reason why The Handler was hunting me and my family down made sense, how Bel was probably going to end up being their next soldier that does their dirty work.

Five looked over at me, realizing that I was having a hard time processing everything. 'Y/N, don't worry. We will figure this out, okay? We won't abandon her, I promise.'

'But she's one of us. She somehow ended up in our hands and now-' I was trying to put all the information in my head and tried to make sense out of this.'

'Y/N, Y/N. Breathe, it's okay. The Handler doesn't know that we know, we're one step ahead of her. It's perfect.' Five nodded his head. 'We have the upper hand and we can get rid of her before she tried to her Belinda.'

It was nice to see this side of Five, especially when I was freaking out about this huge news. Even thought it was a bit weird. I turned to Five, 'Why are you being nice to me?'

'Honestly, it's hard given the fact that you look like that.' He chuckled lightly, looking me up and down in my "The Handler costume." 'You seemed to grow fond of her and knowing The Handler, I don't know what she's going to do to her. I've worked with her my whole life and I didn't even know she had a daughter.'

I raised my brows, 'Wow. How brotherly of you.'

'You know, I try but you all are annoying and stupid for me to care sometimes.'

'And there's the brother that we all know and love.'

He rolled his eyes, 'Bel is going to outsmart all of you guys. Not to mention she has ecokinesis.'

'Sounds like you're obsessed with this child now.' I smiled, 'I love that you love her.'

'Whatever helps you sleep at night, Y/N.'

I looked at Five and smiled, it was unbelievable to almost impossible that our beloved brother had sympathy for how I was handling this news. 'Thanks Five, really. Don't know what I'll do if I lost her.'

'You won't, you got us now to have your back.'

'Are you really Five or are you a shapeshifter too?'

'Just trying to be nice, for once.' Five's smile went away as he became serious. 'But if you tell anyone about this, I'll figure out a way to send you to a different dimension.'

I laughed lightly, nudging my brother as he got to leave. 'I try to keep the secret to myself.'

Despite Five's thoughtfulness and caring words, I was scared. Even with my family by my side, the reality was that Bel didn't belong here either. Not only was Belinda warped from 1989 for some odd reason but The Handler really wanted to get her, as if she had something planned for her.

Nothing was making sense, starting from the reason why she was out of her timeline but none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was keeping my child safe from that freak.

No matter what it takes, I was determined to protect my daughter. Nothing was going to stop me.

[choco-glow]

Is This Thing On?

“You, my dear Shan, are a hard man to find at the best of times.” Theron smirked, just a little, as he sipped his drink from the half-hidden booth he’d chosen, gesturing for Jonas Balker to sit in the opposite seat. Both agents toasted one another, and Theron leaned forward a little into the light, chuckling when Jonas swore heavily at the bruises and cuts marring his face. “And what the hell kind of shit have you been in this time?”

“C’mon now, Balker, I know you know what I’ve been up to, I’ve been fending off your droids for months now all over Rishi so that Lana didn’t stab me. Besides, they look worse than they are.” Jonas glared him down…and sighed a little, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a long draught off his own whiskey.

“Force help me, I do. So, the Revanites…”

“Currently in rout on Yavin-4; we’re now working with the Grandmaster of the Jedi and Darth Marr to build a joint operation…which you also know about, because I know I saw you in and out of the Imperial camps at least twice. You fit the uniform just fine, but that accent sucks.” Jonas flipped him the bird, but shook his head and smiled anyway, and they fell into familiar roles, bantering back and forth as they exchanged information both useful and already used, that rare combination of being both spies and best friends since they were teenagers…and as they ordered fresh drinks, Jonas paused a little bit, and looked like he’d bitten a lemon. Theron just sighed.

“C’mon, out with it.”

“…are you alright after that torture?” His voice was low, soft, and honestly concerned…and Theron gave his friend a faint smile, lacing his gloved fingers together and leaning in a little. Closing his eyes, Theron took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, calming his thoughts, his whole being, drawing on everything Master Zho had ever taught him, because even with the stunt he’d pulled to escape…it had been horrific. The pain wasn’t as bad as the mindprobe, and even now, Theron shuddered at the memory of Revan’s casual perusal of his very soul…but he’d gotten his revenge, in the sweetest way possible, and that had also gotten him the opportunity to break free.

“It was…it was bad. Very bad. But you remember those holovids I had to watch all the time when I was a kid? The ones that were made specifically for the Shan family?” Jonas blinked, suddenly confused by the change of subject, but nodded anyway, well aware even now of the ranting Theron used to go off on about the utter stupidity of those vids…and Theron grinned. “Well, I kept a special link of ‘em for the explicit reason of throwing it back in Revan’s face if I ever got the chance. And that idiot gave me the perfect opening.”

“…No.”

“Yup.”

“You didn’t.”

“Damn right I did.”

“How the fuck were you not stabbed?”

“I have no clue. But it worked, I escaped, and here we are.” Jonas narrowed his eyes, and pointed accusingly at Theron now, who was trying to pull his best injured innocent face over the wicked grin.

“Bullshit, there’s so much more to that story, and you owe me the whole thing, Shan.”

“Fine, fine, but we’re gonna need more drinks.” He slapped down a full credit chip on the table, and Theron felt his grin widen even further. “Alrighty then, strap in, because this is gonna be fun…”

---

Eighteen years earlier…

Padawan Theron Shan, thirteen, arms crossed, robes a mess, his lip busted open from the last scuffle, stared resolutely at the wall as Masters Kaedan, Bakarn, and Zho tried to figure out a suitable punishment. Fighting between Padawans was strictly prohibited, of course, short of controlled sparring, but defending a Padawan who was disabled from several of the wealthier children of the elite on Coruscant did merit some praise…but he’d still started a fight. Ngani Zho sighed faintly, and turned to his wayward pupil.

“Theron, please speak to us. We understand why you fought as you did, and we want you to know that defending Padawan Ask’lil is a noble, kind thing…but you still cannot brawl as you did today.” Theron shrugged, slouched as he was in the chair, still glaring a hole in the wall, and it was Syo who shook his head.

“I fear we won’t be getting through to him this way, Ngani; however, there are the old holovids we could show him. It might be good to give Theron a sense of right.” Master Zho noticed Theron glance up at that, but didn’t call him on it, only nodding a little in confusion. Certainly, they had many holovids for Padawans to learn from, but he wasn’t sure what Syo was talking about…until a familiar figure appeared, and Zho had to keep himself from dropping his head in his hands.

“Is this thing on, love?”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh good—-CRAP. Uh…okay. Ignore that. Ahem.” Righting the microphone in the vid, they watched as none other than Revan himself smoothed his robes down, gave the camera a weak smile, and launched into what was possibly the most boring ‘you must keep to the side of Light!’ speech Ngani had ever heard. Now he knew why he’d forgotten this; he’d repressed the memories from when Satele was young.

Theron was staring in horror now, glancing around the room as if looking for escape, and Ngani grimaced in sympathy, because this was just…painful to sit through. Everything from “even thinking impure thoughts can lead to the Dark side” to “Remember, the best way to end a fight is by talking out your differences.” It was cringe-worthy at best, and as the holo finally came to a close, he resisted the urge to punch Kaedan and Bakarn both. Barely.

“…and remember the Jedi Code. There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.” Revan winked out, the room finally quiet…and as the Masters stood up to leave, Theron took his chance and bolted out the door. Ngani didn’t have it in him to stop the boy, and though both Syo and Jaric were disgruntled, he calmed them down with a few words and made his way back to their rooms.

“Master, please please do not let them show me that again.” Theron’s voice came from his hiding place in the vents, and Zho chuckled, motioning for his Padawan to come down.

“I’ll do my best, lad, but you’ve got along way to go. Now, come down and let us work on your form…”

—-

“Oh c’mon, not another round of this stupid vid…”

“Then stop picking fights with other Padawans, Theron!”

“It’s not my fault they have punchable faces…”

“Is this thing on, love?”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh good—-CRAP. Uh…okay. Ignore that. Ahem. Welcome, young Padawans, and may the Force be with you…”

“Arrrrrrrrrrgh.”

---

“No.”

“You have to watch it.”

“No.”

“Is this thing on, love?”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh good—-CRAP. Uh…okay. Ignore that. Ahem. Welcome, young Padawans, and may the Force—-”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“THERON.”

---

“Snooooooooooore.”

“I know you’re awake, Theron.”

“Snooooooooooooore.”

“Is this thing on, love?”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh good—-CRAP. Uh…okay. Ignore that. Ahem. Welcome, young Padawans, and may the Force—-”

“…..SNOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE.”

---

“Is this thing on, love?”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh good—-CRAP. Uh…okay. Ignore that. Ahem. Welcome, young Padawans, and may the Force—-”

“I hate this shit.”

“I do too, lad.”

“We could just leave and let it play…or destroy it.”

“And risk listening to Jaric scream all week long? I’d rather listen to Revan.”

“Dammit.”

“Theron, stop swearing.”

“All due respect, Master: fuck no.”

"Remember, the best way to end a fight is by talking out your differences.”

“Did you hear that, Theron? We should talk things out.”

“Arrrrrrrrrgh.”

---

Six weeks prior

Panting, blood trickling from his half-fried implants, head pounding, Theron closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fighting back a whimper as his two broken ribs seared through his abdomen. He hated interrogation tables for a number of reasons, as did any other sane being, but at least he was lying down at the moment; gravity was not kind to injuries when vertical. And the blinding light that they’d been using on him was off too, small mercies for that…and Revan had also left, which allowed Theron to rest a little before figuring out his next move.

I could just…break out and leave, there’s enough little ways to escape, but with my ribs, the vents and holes in the cave ceiling aren’t possible…I could take out a guard and dress up, but I don’t know the codes…and his people are too paranoid. Dammit…shooting my way out might be the only option… He turned his head to the right to peer through the darkness, narrowing his eyes as he studied the console…and a spark of joy leapt in him when he realized he could see a link between his implants and the console. It’s a Republic model! These idiots must have stolen from Alderaan, because I know that code all too well…

Then, a sudden, vicious grin stretched over his handsome features, and Theron Shan activated the link, uploading an obscure old video to the whole of the Revanite compound as he also had his manacles unlocked and the door opened.

“Take this, you fucking hypocrite.”

"Is this thing on, love?”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh good—-CRAP. Uh…okay. Ignore that. Ahem. Welcome, young Padawans, and may the Force be with you…”

Theron’s laughter could be heard over the alarms sounding as he grabbed up his blasters and hightailed it out the door.

—-

Sipping his fourth drink now and feeling a delightful buzz, Theron grinned at Jonas’ face. The older spy looked like he’d been slapped by a fish, jaw dropped, drink frozen in midair, and Theron couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up, wheezing a little as his ribs twinged in warning under the bandages.

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You’re a mad bastard.”

“And you’re surprised by this?”

“No, just…impressed. Honestly so impressed. How in the name of the Force did that go down?”

“Oh, I probably got us shot at a whole lot more when Revan saw that, he was furious, but damn, it was worth it. My…partners in crime were confused until I explained it, then Lana actually congratulated me for throwing the whole base into chaos.” Jonas just shook his head, finally downing his drink, and Theron slouched back into the warmth of the booth, content to rest for a while longer yet.

“So…how did your…ah…the Grandmaster take it?” Theron smirked at that, and Jonas groaned.

“Let me guess, she hated it too?”

“With a passion. Apparently, all the Shans have been…rather combative since then, I wonder why, and so the Order kept that vid in safe keeping for any future Shans to watch and ‘learn from’. Which…really, has never worked. She thought it was the funniest fucking thing and that was the most bonding we had in years, pretty much since I was born. She patched me up as we talked about it, might just make a habit of spending time with her after all, especially since she’s mellowed out with age.”

“…Wow, I never would have guessed that that would be the outcome of all of that…but what about your old master? I know you lost him before all of this…” Theron gazed out over the cantina, and felt a faint smile touch his lips in fond memory.

“…Master Zho would be proud.”

[samwritesforyou]

We’re gonna be okay

Diego x reader

Summary: You and Diego worked out a system for a situation if he ever comes to your place while being in the highest form of distress and needs your help. He assured you it won’t happen often. Until one night, it finally did.

A/N: i feel like i’ve read the whole tumblr dot com worth of diego x reader fanfics and yet i still wanted more, so the desperate need to finally write something myself has been fulfilled. i would actually love to take requests, so if you want, dont hesitate to message/ask me! im ready to write fics and headcanons :) (my blog might seem new but ive been on tumblr for years and years and i finally dedicated a new blog to mostly reader inserts, either my own or reblogging others)

Warnings: Mentions of a panic attack, gender neutral reader

Wordcount: 3,350

There was a knock on the door.

It was pretty late, but not too late for it to be Diego yet.

Or so you thought.

You got up kinda lazily from a comfortable chair you had situated in the corner of a room, at first designed mainly for reading or napping, but ending up doing absolutely whatever you could on the spot. Eating pizza, watching netflix, browsing through the internet after long working hours that you put in into your tiny art selling business.

You slightly opened the door and already plastered a semi-fake smile for a possible neighbor, but in front of you stood Diego.

Your dear friend, who was at the moment soaked from the rain outside, with big eyes, fast breathing and bloody hands.

Bloody hands?!

“Hello to you too, friend!” you said quite worried, quickly patting him down for signs of any physical pain. For the first time in a while he seemed fine, unscarred.

Your eyes finally went up, literally scanning his face but it was completely unreadable.

His eyes were wide and he looked as if he couldn’t comprehend what was going on around him.

You looked down again and took his fists into your hands. His own palms unclenched and you could see that they were heavily bloodied.

“Diego.. whose blood is it?”

No answer.

You rushed him inside and closed the door behind the two of you, facing the damn vigilante again.

“Diego, I need to know who’s blood is on your hands,” your voice grew steadier as you knitted your brows together in worry and confusion.

Only then the guy decided to move his arms and you noticed how shaky he is. He connected his two index fingers in the form of a cross, pressing it to his chest.

Your own eyes went wide now as you stumbled back a few steps and your mind went blank.

.

.

.

You instantly remembered a night that happened a few years back. He has come in crumbling through your window and was obviously in some new form of distress, that you couldn’t quite understand yet.

“Diego?” it seemed like your voice didn’t reach his ears, so you tried calling out his name again, getting up from the couch and patting him lightly on the body, to determine any sign of an injury.

It looked like there was none, so you tried to reach his gaze that was somewhat absentminded, all over the place, scanning everything but not meeting your eyes.

He was a tough guy, and you knew it. You knew that if you want to get answers, you need to either get them yourself or make yourself heard, until he cannot ignore you any longer.

“Diego Hargreeves, what is going on?” your voice was soft yet determined.

His dark orbs finally stopped on your face and he just shook his head, his breathing oddly fast for a man who was just simply standing.

You continued to push. You didn’t have the best day either, and to be interrupted at 1am by his visit was nothing new, but you couldn’t let him have this behaviour. Even though you’re friends, that didn’t automatically mean that he could do whatever he wanted.

Throughout the whole night he didn’t say a thing, but when you started adding volume to your voice, he.. he just broke down.

That night, you’ve witnessed Diego experience a panic attack. Caused by yourself.

You couldn’t fall asleep that night, even after you eventually calmed him down and the only thing that was left to do for you was to watch him sleep and slowly rubbing circles on his exposed arm out of the blanket.

It felt like neons before you noticed a first ray of sunshine drawing from the half-closed curtains, making you spring to your feet and drag your ass to the kitchen, trying to think of what to do for breakfast.

When you figured the recipe out and finished cooking, Diego was already up and joined you near the kitchen counter, next to which you had two stools.

He settled on one of them, looking at you.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you couldn’t muster anything better, so you just put a plate in front of him and then sat next to his side, simply digging into your portion of scrambled eggs.

“About last night, y/n..” he drifted off, probably at first deciding that it’s better to fill his stomach a little bit.

In the meantime you didn’t dare to speak up and just waited for him to say something, anything.

When he finished his meal, he finally turned to you with a sigh.

“You know that one guy I told you ‘bout? That we.. we do some vigilante shit together from time to time?”

You just nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“Well. I guess I could count him as a close friend. You know.. and,” this was followed by a slight pause and clearing of the throat.

“He died yesterday. I couldn’t save him.”

Your eyes immediately shot up to Diego and all that vulnerability and hurt that you’ve clearly seen yesterday just overtaking him were completely gone. Now present only a strong facade that he mastered whenever he needed to hide from showing emotions. You hated it.

“Shit, Diego..” you spoke quietly and softly, all the words seemed to have left you in all the things unsaid in your throat. But you tried to continue.

“I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry for pushing you over the edge. I.. I didn’t know what happened so I just acted how we would normally do,” he smirked at that, merely for a second, but you still caught it.

“Look, I.. I know, “ he simply said and then it felt as if he was weighting pros and cons of telling you something else that was clearly on his chest.

“You always help me out. Every single night I come to you.. Why do you do it, y/n?” Diego’s eyes were steadily turned your way.

At the sudden question you raised an eyebrow, “well, I.. I care about you.”

He lightly bit his lower lip and turned his gaze away, clearly thinking about something really hard.

“Okay,” he finally said, “y/n, do you think I could ask you for a favour then?”

At that your eyes met and you felt nervous, for some reason.

You really liked him. Not just like a friend. But you understood that there probably won’t be a chance for you two to ever become a couple (mostly considering that you didn’t believe that he could feel about you this way), so you settled for friendship anyways, since you two really got along well.

And having this handsome tough guy as a friend? Damn, just that is already some kind of luck swinging your way.

But your feelings of course meant that.. you’d do more for him than what you’d do just for a friend. You would get out of your comfort zone just to help him with injuries or hear him talk about his girlfriend (at the time, now they were broken up) and how they argued so much that he ended up on the streets and didn’t really want to go to his lonely place at the gym.

And you took him in. You always did. And since the day you became friends you always care for him.

And you’d care now once again.

“What is it?” in your tone danced a question, troubled with what he might ask for.

“Well, yesterday-“ he cut himself from finishing and cleared his throat, starting over.

“I imagine we’re gonna be friends for a long time, right?”

You just pushed your brows up with a small nod in affirmation.

“I never had.. anyone, really, to help me with the states I often got into,” you immediately thought of Eudora, wasn’t his ex-girlfriend supposed to be his support pillar? Or is he just making you feel sorry for him-

“Or I didn’t ever trust anyone that much, you know,” oh, okay, that kind of explains that then.

“And I guess.. I trust you enough? To share this?” he talked quietly and mumbled a lot so you realised soon you won’t be able to hear him at all.

You grabbed his hands with yours and caught his attention this way.

You were never really touchy together, but occasional hugs and even holding hands was kind of a standard for you from time to time.

His eyes met yours again and you cursed yourself for your heartbeat getting faster. This is not an appropriate moment to get butterflies in your stomach, dammit.

“I’m listening, Diego,” you confirmed, nodding again.

“Okay. It’s- it’s just really h-hard to talk about this,” he stuttered a bit, but with the next breath continued again, “When there’s some situation that’s just completely fucked up, like losing someone close to me, or- or somethin’ else, I don’t know.. I finish what I need at the scene where it happened but when I come home I just,” he breathed some air in and you felt his hands squeeze yours a bit tighter, “I just break down, you know? Sometimes it’s just all too much for me and I don’t know how to deal with it and I would just wanna.. someone to hold me, I guess? Otherwise when someone’s trying to talk at me or somethin’ I just get even more worked up and it’s even worse.”

It all started to come together in your mind. Even though it sounded really strange to hear Diego talk about things like.. wanting to be held and shit. But you always guessed there’s a far bigger sweetheart and a soft boy underneath all those harness and knives.

You tried to pick your words carefully.

“So when I started to ask you shit.. You just flipped. Basically because I was talking at you a lot and you couldn’t take it anymore, right?”

He sighed and looked somewhere up, nodding bit by bit.

“Yeah, yep. That was it.”

You clapped at his hands lightly, to bring his focus back again and he looked at you and mustered a sad, faint smile.

You did the same. In the world you lived in, unforeseen and unfortunate events were happening left and right and thinking about his childhood and everything.. no wonders he developed such a huge reaction and coping mechanism to something catastrophic happening.

“That’s okay, Diego. I’m here for you, I mean it. Let’s just talk about some things what I should and shouldn’t do when you come here in that state, alright? I just want you to feel comfortable.”

“Alright. Thank you, y/n,” he was looking down now, the whole morning kinda failing to meet your gaze and just rubbed his thumb across your hand, which send you heart into a race again.

You slowly let go of him, making an excuse to go wash the dishes.

After a while you looked behind you where he sat and said, “We also need some sort of a sign that you can easily show me, since you’re not really talkative when you get like this.”

Apparently he already used said “sign” somewhere, because he had it on the ready.

It was his hands clutching in fists, index fingers crossing each other in a form of a cross, pressed to his chest.

“Something like this. But don’t worry, I don’t think it’ll happen often. That would be really sad,” he laughed a little and then looked at you somewhat longingly and you averted your eyes back to the sink, nodding.

.

.

You almost forgot about that and now it all come flooding back.

Something terrible must’ve happened. You were panicking, but you had to stay strong, for him.

He was still standing in your hallway, with a crossed index fingers pressed to his chest.

“Okay, okay..” you mumbled more to yourself than to him, taking his hands into yours and looking him up and down.

He really seemed.. disconnected. It was kind of scary and you tried so hard not to think about what happened. Or about who died.

“Here, come with me, Diego,” you led him by the hand towards your couch as he was holding onto you, but his usual grip was gone.

You both ended up on a sofa and you really didn’t know how to act around him now, because.. he didn’t talk, didn’t look at you but when he did, his eyes were wide and big and he just seemed suddenly like a small boy to you.

Hopefully he won’t remember this tomorrow, you thought and tried to smile a little bit at him.

“Okay. Can you get your hands up for me, baby boy?” You’ve decided to approach this situation as if you were just babysitting an overgrown child.

Because nothing bad happens to children normally, right? And if you kept thinking about him as usual grown man Diego, you’d lose your mind in the process, wanting to scream and shake him by the shoulders until he spills you what happened.

Being Diego’s friend pushed you to new limits each day, truly.

He didn’t bat an eyelid at your tone change and word choosing, just obliging and putting his hands up.

You helped him to get his knives down and put his black turtleneck over his head, so now he sat shirtless right next to you, hands still smeared with blood.

Goddamit the blood!

You took him by the elbows and lead Diego to the bathroom, where you helped to get the red out of his hands. At the sight of blood dripping down into the sink you deciphered a whimper from him, even through the sound of running water and looked up.

Diego couldn’t stop looking down at his hands and tears were running down his cheeks.

You quickly took his face into your wet hands from the water and forced him to look away and lock his gaze with yours.

“Hey, don’t look at it, okay? It’ll only make you stressed. Until I’m done you can just close you eyes, okay?”

“Oh-okay,” he said and just closed his eyes here and there.

You sighed and tried to finish washing his hands as fast as possible, cursing under your breath pretty often.

“I’m sorry..” you heard him mumble and when you looked up, his eyes were still shut.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, right? Don’t worry. You’re safe now,” you smiled as you were already wrapping his hands in a towel and his eyelashes fluttered, eyes opening.

You stayed looking at each other for a second longer than necessary, but then you already lead him away to the bedroom area, where you actually tucked him in, wrapping in a soft blanket and then rushed to the kitchen, grabbing a few cookies and then leaving it on a plate next to him on the night table. 

 You almost made yourself comfortable on the couch, when he suddenly called out your name from the bed.

You sprung to your feet, thinking he’s actually hurt but you didn’t notice or that- “Can you... stay with me? P-please?” he asked, disrupting your train of thought. You did expect this, but still felt really shy about that.

Diego is vulnerable right now and does need your help and presence though.

And there wouldn’t be anything you wouldn’t do for him.

“Sure,” and after this simple answer you carefully climbed in next to him covering you both with a blanket and he curled up closer to you, almost immediately falling asleep.

From one point of view it felt like you wouldn’t sleep at all tonight, but from the other one.. you actually fell asleep just as fast as he did.

.

.

To nobody’s surprise you woke up first and actually flinched at the sight of sleeping Diego inches from your own face.

Your mind went running with ideas what happened and what’s going on until you realised the real deal and your brain caught up to yesterday’s shenanigans.

It was a wild ride and you were thankful that now it’s - most probably - over.

Your eyes were subconsciously scanning his face, until you realised what you’re doing, but you didn’t stop even then.

You’ve never been this close to his face yet and now you could admire and explore every part of it.

Having feelings for a friend that’s laying in the same bed with you at the moment is really not the healthiest thing that could’ve happened to you, huh..

You actually froze and your heart started racing billion times faster when you realised that you have a weight of his arm around your waist, pulling you closer from his sleep.

He grunted and his nose was now in your hair, shuffling a little to get more comfortable.

You had no idea how to change positions, especially when being held by such a strong arm as his and you got a feeling like Diego might actually wake up just about now, so the best solution that came into your mind was to forcefully close your eyes shut and pretend that you’re still sleeping.

He did, indeed, wake up. You were suddenly pushed to the other side of the bed, arm disappearing from your waist and a waterfall of curses fell from his lips quietly.

You used up all your acting stamina to make a believable scene of you gaining your conscious from the deep slumber that you were obviously in, stretched your arms for a good effect and finally opened your eyes.

You immediately signed up for a staring contest as soon as you looked at him and smiled a little. His face remained unreadable but perhaps a little bit flustered?.. But you may be reading too much into it.

“Hi,” you said with a higher tone than intended and Diego just nodded at that.

You tried your luck by addressing the elephant in the room right away, you never liked ignoring the problems that were always looming over you, “care to tell me what happened yesterday?”

He drew a big sigh and rested his head back on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

You couldn’t stop looking at him. At first because you really wanted to know the mystery, but the longer you looked at him, the more you realised that you’re just admiring the beauty that he holds, until his words fell like a dead weight right onto your shoulders.

“I found Eudora’s body yesterday. I couldn’t get to the place in time and someone killed her.”

What?

It felt like what he said was simply a trick of your imagination. You liked Eudora yourself, she was a very intelligent and an interesting person, you two often hung out and that feeling didn’t cease even after you found out that she and Diego started dating.

And even when they broke up some months after, you still found your way to spend time with her. So did Diego.

You wanted to cry, but thought that it might be insensitive towards him, because he was much closer to her than you were, so you tried to swallow your forming tears down.

“I’m.. I’m so sorry, Diego..”

“It’s your loss too, I know it, y/n,” he looked at you with much softer look this time.

“Come here,” he said a little bit hesitantly and opened up one arm towards you.

This was unusual, but maybe last night’s events tore down some walls?.. Who knows.

You almost threw yourself into his embrace and once your forehead rested on his chest, you started crying.

From everything, honestly. There’s been problems at work, your seemingly unrequited feelings for Diego didn’t help much either and now you learned that you lost one of your friends.

He started rubbing circles on your back, just letting you get those emotions out, while you two were hugging each other on the bed in your apartment.

And as you slowly started to calm down, he said a gentle, “it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay”

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 10: Who Needs You •

    “You!”

    The howl of fury from Sonia Kaspbrak brought a whole new sense of fear to the Losers as they stood on the opposing end of her finger. Having fled the gruesome house on Neibolt, the Losers, in a great panic, had managed to haul their injured friend away from Neibolt and back to his own front lawn. Thanks to Mike, who while thinking quickly, had placed Eddie in his bike’s basket, the two were able to escape on their bikes with the rest of their friends. And though the horrid scene was now blocks away, not a single Loser dared lose a notch of speed. Nor did they stop until they had discarded their bikes on Eddie’s front lawn, panting heavily.

    “You did this!” She hissed, immediately separating Eddie from his friends.

    The seven Losers parted hesitantly as she forced him by the nape of the neck across the lawn towards her car.

    “You know how delicate he is.” She huffed, earning a few heavy eye rolls from a select few.

    Bill stepped forward after them, finding his voice, and powering through his stutter.

    “W-We were attacked, M-Mrs. K,”

    She opened the squeaky passenger door, just about shoving Eddie inside, and turned on the seven friends. She stared each of them down, fiery gaze meeting with each pair of eyes.

    “No! Don’t,” she ordered, slamming the door shut, caging a still frightened Eddie. “Don’t try to blame anyone else.”

    Her hands shake with rage, causing her ring of keys to slip from her fingers and land on the pavement. Seeing this, Beverly bends down after them.

    “Let me help-” She offers, only to be cut off and shooed away by the woman.

   "Get back!“ She bellows.

    She steps forward, retrieving her keys, and straightens enough to lean in close to intimidate Beverly.

    "Oh, I’ve heard of you miss Marsh,” Mrs. Kaspbrak sneered. “And I don’t want a dirty girl like you touching my son.”

    “Mrs. Kaspbrak, please, if we could just explain-” Y/n pleas were soon cut short.

    “Enough!” The woman roared, her puffy face turning red.

    She looked Y/n up and down with a snide look in her eye as if the young girl was nothing more than something she had dragged in on her shoe.

    “Don’t think I haven’t heard of you either, you filthy little thing! Following this harlot around town,” she quickly throws Beverly a hostile look. “begging for scraps like some stray. Wouldn’t be surprised if you picked up on her dirty little habits and I certainly won’t have you lurking around my son any longer!”

    Y/n stood unnaturally still, taking the conjectures she had heard almost her entire life with surprising composure. But that wall she had built up, cracked, just ever so at the mention of Eddie and she glanced past the screaming woman and into the car where Eddie’s small stature was barely visible over the windows in the low seat. This was the first time he had allowed himself to look at one of them, and it was at Y/n.

    Their eyes met, her gaze was distant, and she seemed to be disconnecting from reality as if to spare herself from the pain of saying goodbye. As if she knew his mother would finish her lecture, get in the car, and drive away with Eddie and that would be it. She knew that Eddie wouldn’t stand up for her. Get angry for her, or even for himself, and finally stand up to his mother. But she didn’t blame him, he had barely escaped death, and even still, he had a horribly broken arm.

    But that didn’t stop her heart from breaking as she saw his large doe brown eyes staring back at her. They were frightened and docile as his mother continued shouting abuse at her; The girl who was quickly after his heart.

    “You are not to speak to my Eddie, you are not to set foot within five hundred feet, of my Eddie Bear, nor can you even-” she stopped suddenly, roughly turning the girl’s head to look at her, and lowered her voice. “You are not to even look at my Eddie.”

    She leaned forward into the girl’s face and glared spitefully.

    “I don’t want my son catching fleas.” She spits.

    Everyone had stood silently in shock, not expecting such venomous words from the woman. Nor were they expecting a heated comeback from Richie who stepped forward beside Y/n, fists clenched despite his otherwise cool exterior.

    “With all due respect, Mrs. K, Y/n isn’t the problem,” Her wild glare shifted to the boy. “If you’re worried about fleas, Eddie’s more likely to catch ‘em from living up your v-”

    Richie was suddenly cut off by a hand clamping over his mouth, it was Y/n. Who albeit, very much appreciated the gesture - and would certainly laugh about it in the future - still wanted at least a sliver of a chance of both her and Richie getting to see Eddie again.

    The woman took a long deep breath and glared daggers at the boy. Anyone there would know a million things were running through her head at that moment; several things she would have liked to have said to the no-good heathen that her son always clung to, but she knew she could waste no more time. Her eyes said enough.

    “Don’t start with me young man, this is far from over.” She seethed.

    And with that, she whirled around on her heel and wobbled over to the driver’s side.

    “Thanks, Richie,” Y/n croaked, a silent tear streaking her dirtied cheek.

    “Catching fleas,” Richie grumbled. “Honestly! And you guys actually think my mouth’s the one that outta be sewn shut.”

    The remaining seven Losers watched miserably, and helplessly as the '79 Pacer Wagon containing their friend, disappeared around the block. Y/n felt hopelessly deflated, and her gaze fell to her torn and mucked up shoes. She silently noted they were somehow, even filthier now thanks to her trip to Neibolt. Her slight disappointment with her shoes paled in comparison to what she was really troubled with. It felt as though, even when they had each escaped with their lives, this moment did not feel like a victory.

    Bill turned to face them each, a surprising amount of hope in his eyes and it was enough to pull Y/n from her somber thoughts. That is until she heard what he had to say.

    “I saw the well.” He says, drawing several concerned glances his way. “W-w-we know where it is, and-and next time we’ll be better prepared.”

    “No!” Stan cried incredulously. “No next time, Bill! You’re insane!”

    “Why?” Beverly countered. “We all know no one else is going to do anything.”

    Y/n looked at her best friend with a pained look, shocked and brokenhearted at where this conversation would head. Biting her lip, she steps forward, anger flaring up.

    “And what about Eddie?” Y/n asked heatedly, gesturing down the street before pointing at her other bleeding friend. “or Ben? Does the fact that they, among all of us, nearly died, mean anything to you guys?”

    Bill does not fight hard to stop the wounded expression molding onto his face, but it quickly dissolves in his growing impatience. “Y-You too?”

    “Bill,” Mike eases. “Come on, man, think of what you’re asking.”

    “N-No,” he sputters. “Think of w-what you’re asking.”

    Richie gapes at his friend, a look of wild bewilderment in his eyes and his arms thrown to the sides. “You shittin’ me, Bill? Were you not just in that crack den with us? Did you not see what happened? Fucking Christ, we were this close to being chum!”

    Beverly stepped forward, a hand thrown behind her as she gestured protectively to Bill. “But we’re not! We hurt it - Y/n, you hurt it! Don’t you guys see? The moment we came together is the moment It got weaker.”

    “And look where it got us,” Y/n scoffed, looking around at the broken circle of Losers. “Beverly, this isn’t some make-believe bullshit quest we’re talking about. Hell, I don’t know what the fuck that was, but I do know one thing. That we’re just kids, and we don’t stand a chance against that thing.”

    A sour look crosses Beverly’s face at her friend’s words.

    “Well, we can’t pretend It’s gonna go away,” she argued, suddenly turning to the Hanscom boy. “Ben, you said it yourself, It comes back every twenty-seven years.”

    “Fine! I’ll be forty and far away from here.” He snapped, immediately feeling a small pang of guilt and his demeanor softens just ever so. “I thought you said you wanted to get out of this town, too.”

    “Because I wanna run towards something. Not away,”

    Richie’s eyes rolled behind his thick lenses, and he threw his arm up at the girl with great annoyance.

    “I’m sorry, who invited Molly Ringwald into the group?”

    Beverly merely glared and held up her middle finger to the trashmouth.

    “Richie-” Stan argued.

    “No!” Richie looks around once more, anger flaring up as he gestures to Y/n. “Y/n’s right, we need to face facts. Real world.”

    Richie settled his gaze on Bill, a genuine spark of sympathy in his eyes.

    “Georgie is dead.” He says, and he feels as if the weight he’s carried tiptoeing around his friend has lifted and he begins to walk away. “Stop trying to get us killed, too,”

    Bill jumps in front of Richie, instantly blocking his path, and his face goes beet red in anger.

    “Georgie’s not dead!” Bill roars, squaring his shoulders though he did not feel more powerful.

    Richie looks his friend in the eye and notes his hurt, but cannot ignore his own. “You couldn’t save him, but you can still save yourself.”

    “No!” Bill stops Richie in his tracks once more, his stutter flaring up as every ounce of hurt over his brother resurfaces. “T-ta-t-take it b-back! Y-You’re scared,”

    Bill looks around at his circle of friends, all lost and broken.

    “we all are. But take it back!” He shouts, his heartbreak turning to anger in seconds and he shoves Richie back harshly.

    Richie tenses briefly before charging after Bill and shoving him harshly. Bill can no longer hold back. All his anger, hurt, and loss that had been festering over the past several months. It had all boiled to the top and formed a fist that hooked into Richie’s left jaw that sent him stumbling into the concrete.

    “Bill!”

    Stan and Mike scramble to pick Richie up off the ground, and Ben lunges after Bill to keep him from another attempted swing at Richie.

    “You’re just a bunch of losers!” Richie sputters, fighting against his friends to get a punch in himself.

    “Richie, stop, just take a breath,” Y/n eases, placing herself between the boys.

    Blinded by the betrayal, and the painful welt already forming on his jaw, Richie ignores the girls’ pleas and continues shouting over to Bill. “Fuck off! You’re just a bunch of losers who’ll get yourselves killed-”

    Beverly cuts in, her own anger boiling to the top. “Stop!”

    “-trying to kill a fucking clown!”

    “STOP!” Beverly roars, finally gaining everyone’s attention.

    A look of clarity passes over her and she looks around at her friends. “This is what It wants. It wants to divide us. We were all together when we hurt It. That’s why we’re still alive.”

    “Yeah?” Richie pipes, adjusting his lenses having finally broken free. “Well, I plan to keep it that way.”

    His chest puffed out in his mix of pride and anger, he marches past Bill. Not without a swift but harsh shove of the shoulder, knocking him off balance. One by one the rest of Losers follow his lead, the first being Y/n.

    “Y/n-”

    “No, Beverly,” Y/n states, heartbreak evident in her voice. She turns to look at her two friends, her eyes matching her tone. “No way. That’s three times now I’ve barely gotten out alive. I’m not trying for a fourth.”

    Her mouth parted to speak the parting words that sat on her tongue, but even goodbye was too painful. In a way, she feared if she were to say it, she’d be sealing their very fates. That she’d never see them again, so instead, she settles for picking up her bike, casting one last pained look their way before disappearing down the road.

    Bill shifts his attention to Mike, who is already picking up his bike.

    “Mike-?” His voice is aching, pleading for his friend to stay.

    Mike only stops briefly, throwing back an equally broken and pleading voice. He shrugs, defeated.

    “Guys… I can’t do this,” he shakes his head, his grandfather’s voice ringing in his ears and tugging at his gut. “My granddad was right… I’m an outsider. Gotta stay that way.”

    And just as Y/n had moments earlier, he mounts his bike without another word and starts off down the road. Bill and Bev remain, exchanging sullen looks at a loss for words. And a plan.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

    The town of Derry Maine had never been in more danger with the separation of the Losers Club. And the kids themselves had never felt more broken. In the span of just those few short minutes, their world had shattered. The only Losers to remain in one another’s company was Y/n and Richie, who both carried the heavyweight of Eddie’s absence on their shoulders the most. But even they found themselves alone in times where it counted the most.

    In the weeks that followed, a dark cloud hung threateningly above their heads, watching their every move. While this was by definition, the very concept of Derry itself, they knew now exactly what it was. And yet, after all they had faced, all the pain and horror that would follow them for the rest of their lives, there still lingered the pain of their separation.

    Beverly sat at her desk, head hung over her keyboard as she plucks away a familiar tune. It brought her back to the many times Y/n had been over, the two of them both attempting to play half of a song, laughing hysterically in the process as they screwed each other up. It would go on like this with no end in sight, that is until Beverly’s father came to scold them for being too loud. But when he disappeared they’d just snicker to one another, too amused to care. But all Beverly had now to keep her company was her sullen thoughts and the many photos of herself and her friends - mostly Y/n - scattered across her wall.

    Bill’s house was as lonely as ever. Like Beverly - and the rest of their friends - Bill would wander the halls of his house, desperately hoping for a distraction from the loneliness he felt. Not just from the fight with his friends, but the usual lack of Georgie that taunted him. His picture was everywhere which seemed rather odd to Bill given his parents’ blatant denial of Georgie’s death that went so far as to pretend he had never existed at all. As he sat alone in the dining room now, watching the summer rain patter against the window just has it had that day, he felt the inescapable grip of isolation clutch his heart. He hadn’t been greeted by such a silence since before summer break where he’d face the emptiness of his house with not even his mother’s piano to coat the silence that Georgie left. And to this day, nothing had touched the piano but the thick layer of dust that coated it now.

    Stan had not been fairing so well either. While he usually found himself facing a great deal of frustrations with the combined chaos of Richie, Y/n, and Eddie, he now found he missed them greatly. He missed sharing jokes with Beverly that nobody else understood, and he missed sharing gentle, quiet moments with Mike who always showed interest in Stan’s hobbies like birdwatching. Something the others never really took to. The quick remarks thrown back and forth between Bill and himself from the sidelines when the others got into mischief. And Ben, who often tended to be soft-spoken like himself, was better at creating a space for Stan to talk when he didn’t feel quite as heard. Stan missed the Losers deeply, and more than anything, he missed being one.

    Mike went back to work on his grandparents’ farm. Not that he hadn’t ever stopped, but now he had nothing to look forward to. Normally, his days consisted of farm work until five - sometimes four-thirty if he got his work done early - before he promptly met up with his best friends. Now it was just himself, all alone on the farm again. Aside from Mooriuel, his favorite calf who he had named in secret. She was rather happy to be seeing more of him on the farm. Though like her caretaker, she missed the occasional visits from his friends. But they hardly did, except for Y/n who’d often feed the cows snacks, and even made a daisy chain for Mike that he refused to take off. That had made her smile profusely, and he often thought of that day.

    While Mike had thrown his attention into his work on the farm - including taking up the duty of putting down the sheep, which he greatly despised - Ben spent his time deep within the books at the Derry Public Library. He hadn’t learned much, nothing he hadn’t already yet again he found himself closing another dusty old book. He sighs, looking up at the first thing his eyes find. Coincidentally, though deep in his heart it does not feel right to call it a coincidence, his gaze lands on an old painting framed on the wall that loomed over the entire library.

    It was a woman and her newborn child standing alone on a prairie, looking deep into an old familiar-looking well. Ben knew very well that it was a historical art piece of Derry, the Well House no less and as he looks at it now he can feel the thick layer of ice encircling his heart and chilling him to the very bone. What horrors this town was capable of, horrors he had seen with his own eyes, and yet no one else in Derry had even the slightest clue what lived under their very noses. He wondered if they ever would.

    Eddie Kaspbrak perhaps fared the worst among his friends, he hadn’t realized how suffocating his own home truly was when he didn’t have the simple escapes with the Losers. It was a feeling both metaphorical and literal as he struggled to survive under his mother’s thumb, not to mention he had gone through twice his supply of inhalers with the crushing weight of anxieties his mother gave him. He thought of Richie and Y/n the most. He missed Richie’s teasing and crude humor no matter how crass and disgusting it was. And he longed for the times Y/n would bring out a specific blush in his cheeks when she called him 'shrimp’, or the simple sound of her laughter.

    He knew how sappy he sounded, and a part of him hated himself for it, but it was true. He could picture them now, riffing on one another while still managing to rag on him.

    He hoped they were.

+++

REGISTER TO VOTE IN FIVE MINUTES OR LESS [HERE]

SIGN A PETITION TO BAN THE USE OF RUBBER BULLETS

UNICORN RIOT

“A decentralized, educational 501(c)(3) non-profit media organization of artists and journalists dedicated to exposing root causes of dynamic social and environmental issues through amplifying stories and exploring sustainable alternatives in today’s globalized world.”

×××

Tag List: @seasidecrowbar  @supernovavisionary @readyforitbitch  @geniedocroe @sivords  @ravenclawsprincess @pigwidgexn @kricketwritesstories @spider-boyparker ​  @plum-duels ​ @edmunds-torch ​ @prezy-wez ​ @rosi3e @welcome-to-derry @beepbeep-pennywise @awkwardbullfrog @bibliophilesquared @ongaku-ato-kakikomi ​ @cocastyle @peachysinnermon ​ @cloudymotel ​ @captainshazamerica ​ @kaitlynjones12 ​ @songbird-writes ​ @traceylader @eggytozier @annimalq @lexylovesfandoms @russian-romanova @paigey-mcfreedomly  @whitetrash12345  @witch-of-all-things-soft  @thatsjoemazzellosbbg @blogforhoes ​ @darkcrystal-wolf @astrobre

❥ Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! ❥

[wayhavnsfinest]

The Misadventures of Baby Sitting

This is a “crack fic” I thought up of one day on my way home from work. It’s chaotic and I ran with it. There is strong language in this and mentions of torture. Read at your own discretion. 

Word Count: ~1.7K

Summary: Vexx and Damon find an abandoned baby. Part 1 of ??? 

Characters: Vexx Serif, Damon Reznor, traveler. 

___________________________________________________________

The mood on the Andromeda Six is tense. Aya had gone after June after the announcement of the trip to Orion which left Calderon to pilot the ship. Ryona had gone to the med bay to begin her research on Vexx’s condition. Bash had gone to the cargo hold to investigate the goodies Alisa had bestowed upon the crew, leaving you alone with Vexx and Damon.

You shift uneasily from one foot to the other, terrified that one of them might attack the other. 

“So we’re working together again?” Vexx grins as he holds the icy stare that Damon is throwing his way. 

Damon’s icy exterior shifts into a grin. “Just like old times. Except don’t expect me to haul your ass out of trouble.”

“You never did any such thing.” Vexx retorts sliding back into the familiar banter with his old friend. 

“Bull. Shit.” Damon enunciates. “How about that time you found a baby.”

“Oh my god. I forgot about Bryce.” Vexx smiles. 

“I still cannot believe you named it Bryce.” Damon goes to lean against a wall, still cautiously eyeing Vexx.

“Bryce is infinitely better than Wilbur.” Vexx says as he crosses his arms.

“Hold up!” You say as your brain finally comprehends the conversation happening in front of you. “You two found a baby. And you named it?!”

“Well we weren’t just going to leave it.” Vexx says as he looks at you with genuine shock. “ What kind of monsters do you think we are?”

“Yeah, your majesty, shit, we weren’t about to leave a defenseless baby alone in the city’s underbelly.” Damon replies.

“There is definitely a story here,” You say. “I want to hear it.”

“How much time you got?” Damon asks. “We can give you the long version or the short.”

“Spare no detail” you say as you slide down the ship’s wall into a sitting position.

“Well it all started a few years ago. Carrot head and I were working together on a job for Zovack.” Damon explains. “I had just gotten out of the shower when I heard voices outside our shitty rented room.” 

~2 years ago~

Damon walks out of the shower, his shirt clinging to his still damp skin. He looks around at the rundown motel room Vexx and he had to share. The room is dingy and dark. Only one of the bedside lamps worked, leaving most of the light to filter through the broken shades. The air conditioning in the room had long since stopped working. How this hell hole managed to draw in new customers was beyond him. 

Where the hell is Carrot Head? Damon thinks. He walks to the mini fridge and is about to pop open a beer when he hears a voice. Instantly recognizing it as his work partner’s he heads in the direction of the sounds.

“Come on dude. Just tell me what you need.” Vexx says as he holds a very distraught baby by the armpits.  “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

Damon just stares at the scene. Vexx is still in the clothes he wore to bed the previous night, and the baby he is holding couldn’t be more than 7 months old. “What the fuck is that?!”

“It’s a baby dipshit, what do you think it is?”

“A fucking joke is what I think it is.” Damon says, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation. The smell instantly hits him. Damon’s nose wrinkles at the smell. “How hard did you get hit in the face last night?”

“Why?” Vexx asks turning his attention away from the baby to face Damon. 

“Little dude needs his diaper changed.” Damon states. Vexx continues to stare at him blankly. 

“What the fuck do I change it with?”

“Well I don’t think anyone will miss your pillow case.”

“Fuck, no.”

“Then we need to find a general store and hope they have a diaper or something.” Damon says hunching over and putting his hands in his pockets. This is certainly now how I wanted my only day off to go. He thinks to himself.  

After fashioning himself a baby sling out of extra bedsheets, Vexx leads Damon to the general store in search of baby supplies.

“So how did you find this guy?” Damon asks. 

“He was left alone outside the motel. I heard him crying as you were in the shower. You take long ass showers by the way.” Vexx says as he checks his holo pad with one hand and cover’s the baby’s head from the sun with his other. 

Damon shrugs. “That chick’s body glitter was hard to get off.”

After walking in silence for several minutes, Vexx finally takes his eyes off the holo pad. “The extranet says that there is a family planning store about two miles from here, we should be able to find everything we need there for Bryce”

“Woah, hold on. You named it?! You can’t name it, you’ll get attached. You can’t afford to get attached because we’re not keeping him.” Damon pinches the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and thumb, taking a deep breath before continuing. “We need to find a hospital or one of Orsanna’s guards to take him.”

“We can’t just keep calling him, it, you idiot.” Vexx says. “You got a better name than Bryce?”

Damon studies the baby. “Wilbur.”

“That’s an old man’s name!” Vexx huffs.

“He kind of reminds me of an old man, he’s bald, he can’t take care of himself, and he shits his pants.”

“Wow,” Vexx says as he blinks, taken back. “You know I’m seeing a new side of  you Damon and I don’t like what I see.” 

Sighing and knowing he’s going to regret it the minute he asks. “Were you thinking we could keep him? What the hell would we do with him? Dress him in a top hat and a Kevlar vest and take him on missions with us like a little mascot?” 

“I wasn’t thinking of a top hat….”

Damon actually stops in his tracks. “You cannot be serious.”

Vexx shrugs, “I always wanted a little brother.”

Damon continues to stare at Vexx in disbelief. “You’re shitting me right? Like actually shitting me.”

Vexx continues to walk to the family planning store all the while ignoring Damon’s nagging. 

~~~~

“HOLD UP!” you shout. “You kept the baby?!”

“Would you let me finish.” Damon says crossing his arms. 

“Yeah he didn’t even get to the good part where I get swarmed and propositioned by many beautiful women. Nothing wins ladies over like a baby.” Vexx smirks.

Damon rolls his eyes, “skipping that part. Anyway back to the story.”

~~~

Finally arriving at the family planning store Vexx consults with a manager who gathers up all the basics for Bryce. Meanwhile Damon tries to distance and distract himself from Vexx and Bryce. His distractions don’t amuse him for long and he finds himself saddling up to Vexx and the baby. “Are we done here-“

“Oh wow! What a cute baby! Are you the fathers of this little angel?! Oh I just love seeing young families out together.” An old woman steps up next to Vexx and coos over the baby. “What’s his name?!” 

“Bryce”

“Wilbur”

Vexx and Damon find themselves saying the baby’s name simultaneously. Damon and Vexx share a look before Vexx recovers the situation. “His name is Bryce Wilbur, named after both of our fathers.” Vexx gives the old woman a charming smile.

Damon can’t help but roll his eyes. “Laying it on a little thick there bud.” He mumbles. 

The old lady continues to coo at the baby until the smell coming from Bryce’s diaper has her recoiling. “Oh someone made a poopsies. Your daddies better change you.” She pats both boys on the arm and leaves. 

Damon frowns at the old lady and helps Vexx with the bags full of baby supplies. The two of them leave the store and head back to their rented room. 

Once in their rented room, Damon takes the baby from Vexx and cleans him up. “There you go, you little poop monster. Feel better now?” Bryce looks up at him and coos. “Fuck, you are pretty cute. You’re going to be a little heartbreaker one day, aren’t you?” Damon can’t help but smile at the baby.  “We need to get him to a hospital or a guard.” Damon says as he looks in the direction of Vexx.

“Yeah, Yeah, you’ve said this before.” Vexx says popping open a beer and taking a long swig of it. “Let me shower, then we’ll find someplace to take him.” Vexx says with a hint of sadness.

Vexx emerges from the shower to the sight and sounds of Damon threatening their mark who is tied to a chair. Realizing Bryce is nowhere to be found, Vexx feels his heart speed up. There is no way Damon got rid of Bryce in the fifteen minutes I was in the shower… Could he?! Vexx wonders to himself. Vexx frantically looks around for Bryce. He starts to fear the worst when all of the sudden Damon turns around. 

“You gonna help me with this bastard or not?” Damon asks. 

Vexx notices Bryce strapped to Damon’s chest. His heart rate returns to normal, seeing that Bryce is safe. How Damon still manages to look menacing with a baby strapped to his chest is quite impressive in Vexx’s opinion. “Yeah I’ll take it from here.” A sinister grin forms on Vexx’s lips. 

~~~~~

“OKAY! Spare some details!” You shout covering your ears. “I don’t want to hear how you two tortured and/or killed a man!”

“Kill?! How the hell are we supposed to get the money and manpower from him if we killed him?”  Vexx asks matter of factly. 

“I don’t want to hear it!” You say with a frown.

Damon waves his hand dismissively, “Alright, we will skip that part.” He’s about to launch back into his story when Calderon’s voice comes over the comms. 

“Damon! I need you on the bridge!”

“Sorry, your majesty. We will have to finish the story another day.”

“I’ll finish the story.” Vexx throws a wink in your direction.

“Oh hell no!” Damon snaps, “You’ll lie and embellish the hell out of it and I’ll look like a complete asshole.”

“It’s not an embellishment if you did act like an ass.” Vexx retorts.

“Damon. Now.” Calderon’s voice echoes. 

“To be continued, your majesty.” Damon says as he makes his way to the bridge to help Calderon. 

[berensroadhouse]

(ao3 link)

           Davis drags his damp rag across the dusty countertop, sighing deeply once he hits the edge. He scans the barren interior, jumping from empty table to empty table to an empty table with bottles, plates, and crumbs left behind. His previous customers must have dipped when he wasn’t looking. Davis grabs a nearby basket, moving towards the mess. He dumps the plates inside, then the bottles after he guzzles the dregs of beer left behind. Finally, Davis takes what he’s owed. Their bill came out to thirty-eight dollars and ninety-five cents. They paid with two twenties, flat. “Fucking assholes…” Davis pockets the money, returning to his post.

           Just another ordinary day at Berens’s.

           He brings the used dishware into an equally empty back kitchen, the doors flapping behind him. Davis recycles the bottles and places the dishes in the sink, washing them immediately. As he sets them on the rack to dry, his eyes linger on a framed photograph hanging nearby. He brushes his thumb across a faded face, a wet fingerprint left behind on the glass. Davis smiles, chuckling softly at where water droplets race down Cal’s profile.

           He misses him. It’s been so many years, and yet Davis still aches for his touch. Davis remembers the phantom feeling of Cal’s arm draped over his shoulders, of their fingers lacing together, of his nose tracing the lines of Davis’s cheek while they took this picture. It was a beautiful day at the beach for them, on a spring morning where they both decided clear skies were better than the suffocating walls of a lecture hall. They fled the campus and found a deserted shore, and under the cover of an umbrella they talked, ate, and kissed and kissed and kissed until the moon replaced the sun and made Davis’s night-dark skin shine when its light hit him. Cal, in reverence, traced constellations with his lips from memory; him, a creamy-white nebula hovering over Davis’s pitch-black galaxy, both communing in a transcendent ritual. It lasted past curfew. They were grounded. It was worth it.

           Someone cuts Davis’s reflection short. A sharp whistle interrupts his thoughts, followed by a gruff, “Anyone home?”

           “I’ll be with you in a second!” Davis needlessly dries his hands on the stained apron tied about his waist, hurrying out of the kitchen to greet his new customers.

           He finds them waiting by the pool table, the one with deep-brunet hair inspecting the cues while the other, fairer-haired man tickles a hole in the table’s lining. They’re dressed for the beach, in brightly patterned shirts, bathing suits, and flip flops, and Davis prays they haven’t come from it. He doesn’t think his ancient joints can manage an hour of sweeping floors, collecting sand that somehow gets everywhere. Regardless, he plasters a replica of a smile onto his face. He clears his throat, drawing their attention. “Sorry for the wait,” he says, “what can I help you with?”

           “Lunch,” Fair Hair says, moving close enough Davis can count the freckles dotting his pinkish cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “What d’you have?”

           “Regular fare,” Davis shrugs, “I can get you a menu or –“

           “No need,” Fair Hair says, “we’ll have burgers, fries, and beers, the most expensive you have!” Then, as he motions for the darker-haired man to stand beside him, he wraps his arm over the brunet’s shoulders. Davis spies the silver band on Fair Hair’s hand. It matches the one his friend wears. “We’re on our honeymoon,” Fair Hair tells Davis, without invitation to do so.

           Davis’s demeanor shifts. A more genuine expression appears on his face, while a warmth rouses the rosebuds sleeping in his chest. It makes their velvet petals bloom, urge forward their aroma, rich and sweet, and causes their thorny brambles to wrap themselves tighter around Davis’s heart. “Congratulations,” he replies, “I don’t have a special newlywed section… but you can sit anywhere, at any table, or the bar… I’ll go and fix up your burgers.” He turns, hiding his glossy, brown eyes before he embarrasses himself. Married men always do this to Davis, unlock a more wistful and sappy part of his soul. Some long-buried piece, that used to dream of a time where he might have had a similar experience to those two on the other side of the kitchen doors.

           He places two beef patties on the grill and starts frying oil for the fries.

           While cooking, his gaze wander back – as it always does – onto that photo of him and Cal. Inspired by his new customers, he reflects on a memory years after that lazy beach day. They shared an apartment, one that offered little besides its amazing view of the ocean and a balcony they could watch the sun set along the waterline after work. It didn’t matter if Davis’s tips barely added up to a twenty, or that Cal’s eyes went cross from staring at numbers for hours at end, because they’d come home, watch orange bleed into blue, then purple into orange, and when the ink dried above Davis finally went about cooking dinner. Cal watched him; eyes alight like the stove burner that simmered their pasta water. “You deserve your own place,” he told Davis, “that way everyone can have a taste of your amazing cooking.”

           Davis shook his head, chuckling. “One day, baby. One day. There’s about a million other things we need to do first, and about half of them involve money.”

           “Yeah, yeah…” Cal reached across the counterspace, intwining their fingers. “It might take a while, with how we get paid.”

           “It might,” Davis conceded, squeezing Cal’s hand. He brings it up and softly kisses each knuckle. “At least we’re saving where we can. Homecooked meals, cheap place… lucky we can’t get married, so we’re saving money that way.”

           Cal frowned, seriousness plaguing him for the moment. He stepped closer, stare intense as he breached Davis’s personal space. “If we could?” he asked, voice hardly a whisper, “would you?”

           “Would I what?”

           “Want to get married?”

           “If they’d let us…” Davis paused, chewing his answer over. He released Cal, moving the steaming pot off the burner. He flicked it off. “I…” He leaned against the stove, arms crossed, “Christ, Cal, I’d want to do more than that.”

           Cal arched a brow, head skewed to the side. “What more is there?”

           “I’d want a big wedding, with all the bells and whistles,” Davis explained, laughing, “a party, a celebration of you and me as we become… well, you-and-me. Then, after the party, we’d go on a big honeymoon –“

           “When we already live next to the beach?”

           “A different beach! Maybe an island!” he said, “And once we’ve finished our trip, we’d buy a little property somewhere in the ‘burbs, as we go about looking to adopt.” Davis rubbed his neck, sheepishly peeking through his lashes at a blushing Cal. “What I’m trying to say is… if I could, I’d want more than marriage. I want a life together where we can just… we can be together, without always worrying who might know, y’know? I’d kill for that. Hell, I’d fight to have that.”

           Funny, though, that when it came time to fight, Davis lost. He fought the paramedics, but they wouldn’t let him in the ambulance. He fought the doctors, who wouldn’t let him see Cal. He fought Cal’s parents, their harsh words and condemnation like being stoned in front of an eager crowd as they chewed him out for their ���delusions’. Davis heard Cal passed, but wasn’t there when it happened. He also wasn’t invited to Cal’s funeral, to see him off into his next life. Davis did steal a quick moment, though. A kind nurse took pity on him and snuck Davis down into the morgue. She allowed them a final goodbye, as Davis traced the lines of Cal’s cheek with his thumb and pressed tiny kisses wherever his teardrops fell. “I’m sorry,” Davis croaked, chilled by the waxy numbness of his lover’s lifeless hand, “I’m sorry forever wasn’t as long as we planned.”

           Davis assembles the plates messily, mind caught between the past and present like a line of wash. He, hung up by clothespins, is pushed mercilessly by incoming winds. Those clothespins cannot hold forever. The fabric of his body shifts out of their vice-like hold until, finally, he flutters away and out of the kitchen. He returns to the main room of the bar, delivering Fair Hair and his husband’s meals. As expected of newlyweds, they’re wrapped up in each other. The husband whispering into Fair Hair’s ear as they sit on the same side of the table, their fingers laced together atop it. Davis clears his throat, setting the food and drinks down. “Here you are.”

           “Thanks.” Fair Hair grabs his burger with a free hand, shoving into his mouth despite the silent, amused judgment obviously displayed on the other man’s face. Fair Hair moans around the bite, puffy cheeks bursting with a grin. “Dufe,” he says around soggy chunks of bun and burger meat, “Thif if awesfome!”

           “Thanks,” Davis nods, brushing at his apron, “Now, if you need anything, don’t be afraid to holler –“

           “Actually,” the husband delays Davis’s exit, pointing behind him and towards the bar. “I was wondering if you could settle something for us.” Davis looks to where he’s directed, at the glowing neon sign that hangs above rows of bottles. It’s similar to the one that brands the front of his business, in a similar script, too. Except where the cowboy hat-and-bandana hovered above ‘Berens’s’ of Berens’s Roadhouse, indoors it was placed next to it. “Dean here,” the husband continues, Dean – Fair Hair’s name, apparently – rolling his eyes at being called out, “thinks there shouldn’t be an extra ‘s’, after the apostrophe…”

           “Cas…” Dean whines, unofficially introducing his husband, “You don’t have to –“

           Cas continues over Dean, ignoring him. “Meanwhile, I told him that, as long as it’s not plural an ‘s’ should go after the apostrophe. Can you please tell my husband he’s wrong?”

           Davis stares at his sign, tracing the curve of the script with his eyes. In the background, Dean argues in a fierce whisper. “Why are you bringing him into this? He’s not gonna admit he’s wrong!”

           Cas volleys, backhanding his response at Dean. “It’s his name, Dean, he wouldn’t spell it wrong.”

           “Actually,” Davis interrupts, “it’s not my name.” He turns, laughing at their bent brows and Cas’s skewed head and the tiny dots of sauce staining Dean’s mouth. “It was my old boyfriend’s name,” he explains, “Last name.”

           Dean leans forward in his seat, burger forgotten for the moment. Cas realizes there’s a meal in front of him and begins picking at it, chewing absentmindedly on a fry. “You named your place after an old boyfriend?”

           “Felt only right,” Davis shrugs, “Couldn’t have bought this place without him.” Cal’s job, while lacking pay, had a generous insurance policy. Davis was listed as the sole beneficiary. That, coupled with what Cal left Davis in his will, meant he had enough to buy the little property near the beach like they always planned. Naming it after Cal soothed him, somewhat. That angry, gnarly scar over his chest numbing slightly. “Besides,” Davis says, “at least, with the name… it’s like he’s with me.”

           “But not actually with you?” Cas asks, “Like… you haven’t been feeling any cold spots, have you?”

           “Cold spots?”

           The table jolts, saltshaker sliding a few inches to the left. Davis guesses Dean kicked Cas, from the serious edge to his expression and the apologetic wince on Cas’s. “Sorry about him,” Dean apologizes, “he spent the morning binging supernatural podcasts. Y’know… monsters, hauntings, ghosts. Must’ve fried his brain better than the sun could.”

           Davis huffs, smiling. He moves towards the bar, leaning against it to better chat with his customers. “Ghosts?” he says, “No… ain’t nothing like that, at least the kind you’re thinking of.” Davis lets himself imagine Cal like that, tethered to this earthly plane even after passing. His battered body floating amongst empty tables and dirty dishes. Cal chained to their dream, making it a nightmare. Davis quickly dismisses this notion. While he misses Cal, Davis knows wherever he is must be better than this failing monument to Davis’s love. “Maybe if I thought it’d help drum up some business, I’d’ve entertained it. But I doubt ghost stories would help this late in the game.”

           “Oh,” Cas hums. Davis recognizes the tone, familiar with it. Hears it from his accountant, his sister, and the occasional guest who dawdles in the front before skipping off elsewhere for food. “Is your business failing?”

           “Cas!”

           Davis watches them descend into another fight. The paradise of honeymoon quickly crumbling, storm clouds rolling across clear blue skies. He walks behind the bar, grabbing an empty glass and filling it with the tap until the rim is frothy. As he meanders his way closer again, he tunes into their conversation. Dean picks at Cas’s bluntness, while Cas defends his claim in an even pitch that makes Dean sound hysterical.

           “He’s not wrong,” Davis joins them, sitting at an unoccupied seat, “I mean… you think I’d be here chatting with you two if there were things that needed doing?”

           Dean shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable given how he’s looked at the door five times in the span of a minute. “Sorry to hear that.” He guzzles his drink, drowning whatever else he might have said.

           Cas resists the threatening tide of awkwardness lapping at their ankles. “It’s odd that this place isn’t more packed,” he tells Davis, “with the amount of people here – the vacationers alone – there should always be a steady stream of customers.”

           “Those lemmings?” he snorts, sipping at his beer, “They’re always chasing after the next thing. What’s new? What’s shiny? When Berens’s was new and shiny, we got a lot of traffic. There was a time when you couldn’t walk three steps without bumping into someone else. But then more fancier places were being built… chains and clubs and all that… I couldn’t compete. I mean, Roadhouses are popular in the middle of nowhere when there’s barely anything else to do! But I’d’ve been damned if I had to live somewhere without the ocean. Would never want to be fuckin’ landlocked…” His eyes find that swirling script of Cal’s last name. Something heavy crushes his chest, each subsequent breath more labored. “It does suck though. This was our dream, having a place that was… ours. Even when it was just me, I still went ahead because, I thought, why not? Wasn’t as if I had much going for me after Cal… but every month now it’s like the water rises a bit higher and keeping myself afloat doesn’t seem all that worth it anymore.” He glances back at the newlyweds, seeing how he commands both their attention. He notices a somberness in their gaze Davis does not care for. “What am I doing?” he asks aloud, scoffing “This is your honeymoon. You probably have something like parasailing or jet skiing planned, right? Probably cutting into your time –“

           “No, no,” Cas assures him, lips tight as he smothers the pity straining for release. “That’s not it at all –“

           “Yeah,” Dean adds, “We’re all jet skied out from yesterday –“

           “Dean!”

           “And I’m afraid of heights,” he trails off, shoving fries into his mouth, “so that’s a no on parasailing…”

           “What he means,” Cas translates for Davis, “is that we don’t mind listening. It must be stressful, running this place by yourself?”

           Davis chuckles. “Stressful is an understatement.” He slides his drink back and forth across the table, its rhythmic scraping sound almost hypnotic. Skrt. Skrt. “You’d think being mostly empty would make it easier, but actually it’s worse.” Davis looks away from them, bouncing around the room. He frowns at how stray sunlight highlights the dust covering his furniture or floating in the air. “Getting to the point where I don’t know why it’s worth it, coming back day after day.”

           “Because this was your dream,” Cas says, “Yours and Cal’s.” Davis bites his tongue, holstering whatever pointed he comment he had that might burst his bubble. It’s not his fault. Four minutes cannot compare to the four decades of hell Davis lived through without Cal. Forty years of slowly being picked apart by people who didn’t care nor understand what this place meant to Davis. They saw a building where they could eat for an hour, maybe two, and then leave without thinking twice about it. Dean and Cas didn’t plan on gnawing his ear off with this conversation, they stopped by because they were hungry. They were here for their honeymoon, and some of that magic must shield Cas from the harsh reality of Davis’s predicament. He’s blinded from the pain by those romantic, rosy shades. “Doesn’t that make it worth it?”

           “It did, at first,” Davis concedes. He rests his elbows on the table, shoulders sagging with the tiniest amount of relief that feels like water on a blistering, arid day. “But I can’t keep doing something because it’s worth doing… not at my age… not with how business is doing.”

           Cas bristles, responding with more heat than appropriate. “But what you’ve done, for as long as you’ve done it, it’s been good,” he insists, “why stop now because of a – a slump!” Davis’s good temperament chars from the observation.

           He squeezes his drink, hands trembling. “It’s more than a slump,” Davis says, “it’s a freefall. I’ve been putting in all this hard work, and for what? What do I have to show for it?” Davis finishes his drink, meeting Cas’s fierce gaze with his own. “This place’ll probably do better as a condo –“

           “You don’t know that.”

           “I might not, but some folks do.” He bites his lip, unsure why he hurls his troubles into these strangers’ laps. Davis guesses it’s because Cas’s eyes, while hard, effortlessly prodded at the truth and that Dean listened like he cared for whatever left Davis’s mouth it made him want to say something meaningful. Or perhaps Davis was tired of keeping this to himself, and these saps were the tipping point. “Got some realtors skulking about, always asking when I’m ready to put this place out to pasture. Condos were one thing that was discussed… so were gyms, a dispensary, a parking lot –“

           “You’d let them turn this place into a parking lot?” Cas asks.

           “I don’t have much of a choice in my position,” Davis says, “They’ve got money that I need.”

           “But you said this place… you named it in memory of your love,” Cas murmurs, softer. He shrinks, drooping slightly. Dean gently cups Cas’s neck and massages with such care Davis sucks in a quick breath. Davis feels the memory of a caress on his neck, enough that he ghosts his fingers over the skin there in case someone had touched it. “If you sell… then isn’t that like giving up on him?”

           Davis wondered the same things. He spent countless hours awake in bed, worrying about how admitting failure went past the surface. That giving up on Berens’s meant letting go of that final piece of Cal he can call his.

           But Davis, weary from these thoughts, has made peace with this sacrifice. “Everyone else already gave up on Berens’s,” he says, “I’ll only be the last…”

           “That’s bullshit.” Dean speaks, finally rejoining their conversation. His sudden outburst places him at the center of this conversation, affixed at his husband’s side. “You shouldn’t give up. Cal wanted this place for you, didn’t he? You were only able to buy it because of him.”

           “Because he died,” Davis growls, “That’s how. If he knew how much of a shitshow this whole business would’ve been, I doubt he’d have wanted me to use the money for this. Hell, he’d probably hate if I stayed and pissed away the rest of my money trying to keep the lights on in here. Like stopping footprints from being swept smooth by the tide, it’s like.”

           “Well…” Dean fumbles, scratching at his plate for something to do. There’s no food left. Neither on Cas’s plate. Davis knows Cas was too busy to eat. “Okay, what if you sold it to people who… who want to run it as it is?”

           “I’d ask them how they think they can do this any better,” Davis sighs, slumping backwards. “Besides, there isn’t anyone who wants to do that who’s also eyeing this property.”

           “What about us?”

           Davis asks Dean what he said. Dean repeats himself. From Cas’s wide-eyed stare, Davis knows he heard correctly. “Really?” he drawls, sarcasm heavily coloring his tone. “You want to buy this place? Like that?”

           Dean shrugs, fiddling with his thumbs. He sweats, spotlight too warm for him now. “Uh… yeah?”

           “Have you ever run a restaurant before? Or a bar?”

           “No,” Dean says, “But I had family, who ran a roadhouse. Helped them a few times when my brother and I stopped over – we traveled, a lot, for work. It was years ago but I still remember a lot of what went into it…” Dean smiles unnaturally. It reminds Davis of those phony grins motivational snake-oil salesmen would coach suckers into doing in front of mirrors, to inspire confidence. “Besides, Cas and I have been looking for a career change.”

           “That is true,” Cas adds, brow raised, “Although we never discussed running a roadhouse.”

           “Cas, sweetie, I mentioned how owning a bar might be cool.”

           “Bars and roadhouses aren’t the same thing.”

           Davis coughs, nipping the budding argument while young. “As nice as the offer is,” he starts, “You boys don’t haf’ta buy this place from me because of pity –“

           “It’s not pity,” Dean insists, “No, not at all. I…” He glances at Cas, a strange emotion shuddering across his face. Like maybe he’s seen a ghost. That grip on Cas’s neck visibly tightens. “I know what it feels like, wanting to keep something… of someone you love. A physical reminder that they were here and that they mattered and… they mattered to you.”

           Cas leans into his husband’s side. “Dean’s very sentimental.”

           “Yeah,” Dean laughs, “I guess you could call it that.” He takes the empty plate with his free hand and stacks it atop the other, pushing them towards Davis, knocking it into the salt-and-pepper shakers and napkin dispenser. “I’ve lost a lot in my life, and I’ve only been so lucky to not just have them come back to me, but to get second chances. Or third chances, or even fourths.” Dean’s lips lift at the corners, flashing a friendly smirk. He definitely appears more relaxed than he did seconds ago. “I want to be the one to give chances, now, because I can. I want to buy Berens’s from you… if that’s okay?”

           It’s too good. Davis pinches himself, first. When he doesn’t wake, he knows he isn’t dreaming. He places a hand over his heart. Its strong beat reveals Davis has not died. Still, Davis cannot lower his defenses completely. “This isn’t a sting?” he asks, “Some harebrained scheme cooked up by scuzzy developers to get me to sell?”

           “The fuck this look like, Scooby-Doo?”

           Cas chuckles, “It might if you brought your ascot with you.”

           “Cas –“

           “So, you’re…” Davis scrubs a hand over his mouth, pressing it against stubble and focusing on the drag. “You’re serious? About wanting to buy this place?” He huffs a tired breath, tension leaking out of the cracks in his bones and leaving him with little support. Davis collapses on himself, smiling. “What about your honeymoon?”

           “Honestly?” Dean laughs, mirroring Davis’s posture, “We were running out of things to do. Probably would have hit the road in a few days, head on back to Kansas.”

           “Kansas?” Davis squawks, “You sure you aren’t using this as an opportunity to jump ship from there?”

           Cas sips at his drink, a bead of condensation falling off it from how long it went untouched. “We love Kansas,” he tells Davis, “but where we live now it… there’s a lot of baggage there. We want to start fresh.”

           “Besides,” Dean adds, “my brother was talking about renovations, making it more… work-friendly. Figured it’s best me and Cas dip and let the little brat have a go at it on his own. He’s earned it, I guess.”

           Davis nods. “If that’s all…” His gaze darts to the neon sign, a question in his mind. “Hey,” he says, “if you are plannin’ on doing this… this crazy idea of yours, are you – do you have any preference to what you call this place?”

           Dean taps at his chin, drawing the silence longer than necessary. “Well… a few come to mind. Harvelle’s… Campbell’s… Singer’s… hell, I could follow your lead and name it after Cas here, Novak’s – “

           “You’re not funny.” Cas elbows Dean hard enough the other man gasps from the pain, the other two delighting from the bug-eyed look that flashes. “We’ll keep it Berens’s.”

           “Thank you,” Davis says, standing, “Really… I – this is good. Great, actually. You want another round? On the house?”

           “Hey!” Dean protests, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “No giving away free booze! That’s our profit you’re eating into…”

           “Not yet,” he jokes, digging through his pockets, “Deed’s not yours until the I’s are dotted and money’s in my hands.” Davis finds what he searched for, tossing a quarter towards them. Cas catches it, effortlessly. “Why don’t you pick something from the jukebox, my treat!”

           He rises, and Davis turns to round the bar. Davis grabs three smaller glasses, and the Jameson he keeps on the highest shelf. He pours them each a generous fifth, maybe more. It’s a celebration, after all. As he carries the drinks back over, the opening chords of a familiar song start. Davis nearly drops the drinks.

           His expression must concern them, because Cas clears his throat and asks, “Is this okay?”

           Elvis croons from the speaker. Davis’s face strains from the too-wide grin threatening to crack his face in twain. “It’s perfect,” he says, settling at the table. He distributes the drinks, Cas joining them. “Cal always dug Elvis.”

           “I get it,” Dean says, “guy was a hunk, for the fifties.”

           They spend the next hour like that. Getting drunk, discussing the hardships of running a business and debating Elvis’s legacy as ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ plays in the background on loop. During a lull in their conversation, Davis feels, for the first time, that Cal is alive again.

           It wasn’t because of the bar, or how it fares. But because of these two men, a sense of calm washed over him. They make Davis hopeful for the future.

           Berens’s is in good hands.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Personal Demon (Indruck)

@pantstacular requested: 58 Is such my entire jam I’d pretty much die if you did it with Indruck.  “I’m a demon, you’re a witch, we’re enemies but when I show up to kill you, you’re crying and I really don’t know what to do now.” SFW

A talented, young warlock will employ the most complex, innovative, and powerful wards on their home. 

A seasoned warlock who was never that excited about all this in the first place will employ straightforward but deeply aggravating wards on their home. 

Indrid’s nemesis is in that second category. His wards are never fancy, but they’re durable and reliable, an utter pain in his tail to break down. Some cannot be broken by spells at all, and even a demon of his skill could burn through all his power trying to destroy them.

Which is why Indrid simply pays a passing human twenty dollars to kick a gap in the salt barrier, grits his teeth passing through the Rowan trees while his skin feels like he’s getting a full-body tattoo, and uses an oven mitt to open the iron door knob (the door is lined with iron, so he cannot slip as a shadow beneath it), hissing in pain all the while. 

“Duck Newton…” He lilts, certain the warlock will be terrified to hear his voice in his strong hold, “it is time to end things once and for all, dearest enemy.”

He keeps his eyes on the present, not wanting to spoil the fun for himself by peeking at the futures. He glides into the human’s bedroom, plants his feet on the floor, “your worthless soul is mine.” 

“Ughhhh” a muffled sound, Indrid flicking on the lights to find the human face-down on his bed, “are you fuckin serious? Now?”

“Yes, Duck Newton, now” dark energy crackles in his fingertips. 

Thwump

“Ack!” He shakes his head, Duck now sitting up, preparing to throw another pillow at him. 

“Get out.” Duck glowers, voice flat. 

“You dare to order me-”

Thwump

“Get!” Duck’s eyes are wet, red-rimmed, and Indrid notices he’s in sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt that’s damp in patches. 

“Have you been crying?” 

Thwump and his glasses are knocked askew. 

“How many of those blasted things do you have?” 

Two hovering pillows turn to four and all collide with him at once.

“Clearly you are, ow, in no mindset to, ow, duel me as I, ack, see fit. I shall return!”

He dissolves into shadow and speeds out the door, materializing on the sidewalk and paying a passerby ten dollars to fix the salt ring. 

Not willing to let a plan go to waste, he repeats this process the next night. This time, Duck is laying in the darkened living room. 

“Now, my greatest adversary, it is time to meet your end--why are you still crying?” He cocks his head as Duck magics the light on. 

“Because I’m in my own fuckin’ house and can do whatever I want.”

“But you seem upset.”

“No fuckin shit, sherlock.” Duck raises a throw pillow and Indrid covers his face far faster than he’d ever admit in public.

“I merely mean that, ah, perhaps a duel would be a welcome change of pace?”

“I look like I’m in the headspace to duel to you?” 

“Not at the moment, but that could change, yes? I do wish to destroy you, is that sufficient motivation to shake off this fog of misery that’s hanging about your soul like stale cologne?”

Duck groans, but straightens, reaching over the far arm of the couch. Indrid perks up, approaches at a safe distance, certain he will see a familiar sword or spell in a moment. 

What he gets is misted with holy water.

He hisses, wiping his face in a hurry. His power is so great that the diluted mixture doesn’t harm him, but it’s as if someone is squirting him in the face with lemon juice. 

“I banished you worse ways than this, demon, but I’m fuckin tired and you ain’t worth the goddamn energy and you don’t wanna end up straight back below. So get.” He raises the spray bottle, spritzes him again and Indrid backs away, spluttering and hissing. 

“You, you think you can threaten me, shoo me out like OW some common ghost GAh that was in my nose that time fine, fine I am going.” He stumbles over the threshold, falling on his ass on the pavement as Duck slams the door. 

Perhaps a new plan is in order. 

----------------------------

“You wanna know Ducks’ what?” Aubrey taps her spoon on the edge of the potion she’s mixing. 

“His favorite food. I wish to cheer him up. Unless of course, you wish to simply tell me what is troubling him.” Indrid grins at the witch.

“You know the rules, Cold; I don’t trade information between sides. And, like, even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you what’s going on with him. It’s...personal, okay?”

Indrid sighs. He expected that answer. Aubrey is the child of a witch of the light and a witch of the shadows, giving her a rare balance of powers. It also means entities of all moral alignments will come to her for aid. Her rules are simple; no fighting in her house and no getting her in the middle of major conflicts.

For all that, Indrid still has never told her his true name. She calls him ‘Cold,’ as everyone does. 

“French Onion Soup. That’s his favorite thing, from the Wolfe Grill downtown.”

“He likes that coffee fudge too, the one Barclay makes” Dani, Aubrey’s wife, adds from her spot spinning fur off a massive angora rabbit. 

Barclay is a kitchen witch, one with whom Indrid has a shaky truce (he egged on a fight in the restaurant, needing some quick points with the higher demons. It’s not his fault one of the humans knocked over a candle). He can probably manage to buy fudge without being scolded.

Duck’s added more fortifications since yesterday, and Indrid only needs a few moments anyway. He finds a sliver in a plane that lets him slip into Duck’s mirror, knowing the human is getting ready for bed. 

The human senses him, looks up from the sink, toothbrush still in his mouth. He blinks once, to tired to even count as annoyance.

“ ‘wat ‘ow?”

“I have brought you food.” Indrid waits until Duck spits into the sink to pass the two bags out of the mirror. 

“Why-”

“It will cheer you up. It is your favorite. Then you will have your fight back, and be ready to face me.”

Duck takes the bags, then several steps back, “y’know, most demons would see this is a chance to get me while I’m down.”

“Well” Indrid sniffs haughtily, “I am not most demons. Besides, what good is claiming your soul if it was like stepping on an ant?”

The warlock looks at the food, then at Indrid, “I ain’t gonna eat this.”

“Bu-wha-I got it specifically to please you!”

“And it could be poisoned or cursed or some shit.”

Indrid growls in frustration, “fine, wallow in your misery.” Then he’s out on the street again, ready to cause some evil. Or to go back to the bakery and drown his aggravation in a caramel eggnog latte.

----------------------------

Duck stares at the bags, still sitting on his kitchen counter. If he’s not going to bed any time soon, he should at least eat something. Not that though. Even if it’s his favorite. How the fuck did the demon know that?

Cold has never quite been like other demons Duck’s run across. When he’d yanked him out of Boyd (because Ned decided to read the inscription on a new artifact for the Cryptonomica), he hadn’t taken it personally, but proceeded to try and tempt Duck for two days solid with everything he could think of. Then he decided he liked Kepler and could do plenty of demonic work in it, which had Duck worried. The demon is powerful, he can feel it when they fight. But, while he still worries, Cold sticks to being a mid-level threat at best even if he keeps promising to destroy him.

God that soup smells good. 

He picks up a piece of amethyst, runs it over and over the air around the bag. No trace of anything dangerous. 

Fuck it.

Twenty minutes later his belly is full, he actually feels kinda sorta almost borderline happy, and he hasn’t turned into a frog or been transported to the underworld. 

When Cold inevitably shows up again a few days later, Duck doesn’t even look up from the model ship he’s working on . 

“Thanks for, uh, for dinner.” 

“How did you know I was here?” The silver-haired man steps out of the hall, red eyes glowing behind redder glasses. 

“I may not be able to sense auras or souls or shit, but you and I been dancin around each other for long enough that I can tell when the hair on my neck is standin up thanks to you.”

“Then you are prepared to fight?”

“No. Look, I dunno now how it is for demons, but takes more than nice food to make a fella get over somethin serious.”

“I see…” Cold looks around the room, “are you certain you are not interested in even a small bit of conflict?”

“Nope. Busy.”

“Well I am not!”

“Can’t you just go find another warlock to bother?””

“No! Well, yes, but I do not wish to. You are my adversary, the one I devote most of my time to tormenting.”

“That’s kinda an exaggeration. And it don’t change that I’m workin on this.” He points to the model, “so I’m just gonna ignore you until you leave.”

There’s a huff, followed by the fluttering of his mail as the demon knocks it onto the floor. He glances up and notices that Cold’s tail is now visible and twitching with agitation. When Duck does nothing else, he knocks the remaining mail on the ground. 

“That ain’t changin my mind.”

A roll of glass on tile, Cold pushing a water glass towards the edge of the counter with his finger. 

“Y’won’t like what happens if you do that.”

The glass tips over. As water spills onto the floor, Duck summons a towel with one hand and a dish of salt with the other. Before the demon can stop him, he draws a salt circle, trapping him in a small spot by the table. 

“Erase that this instant.”

“Nope. You been poppin in and out the last two weeks and not leavin when I ask nicely, so now you’re gonna stay right here until I decide you can leave.”

The demon drops down onto the floor, arms crossed and tail thrashing, “I just do not see what is so severe it makes you uninterested in anything but work, sleep, and making ships that cannot go anywhere.”

“Don’t expect you to understand.”

“Yes, but you also will not tell me so how can you know if-” a future flickers into vision, “your romantic partner left you.”

“That’s cheatin’.”

“That is what has upset you so?”

“Yeah, because we were together for six fuckin years, and she watched me grow up since I was eighteen and was my mentor and it feels like a big constant in my life is just fuckin gone.” He leaves out the part where he'd felt it going for awhile, where part of him knew it needed to but the rest wanted things to stay as they were. 

The demon cocks his head in that way of his, smirks but says nothing.

“Nevermind. You’re a demon, love ain’t somethin you got a concept of.” He stands, retrieving another bottle of adhesive from the too-empty living room. 

As he picks up the next piece, Cold murmurs, “It is not so foreign a concept as you might think.”

Duck shoots him an incredulous look. 

“I was a creature of the divine once, beings capable of great love, even if many of them do not utilize that capacity. Even if I was not supposed to in my role. But more than the memory of that feeling, I have moments in which I suspect I can feel it still.”

“Like when you see someone do somethin real wicked?” 

The demon doesn’t rise to the paltry bait, “When I go sit in a park, or those woods you like, and draw and watch people coming and going in a thousand little moments of mundanity, I feel something more than mere tranquility. Sometimes I will go to movies or to concerts, to feel the swell of joy and excitement, and it almost seems as if I love those around me.”

It’s the last thing Duck expects him to say, and so all he can do is stare at him a moment before returning to his work. The demon, content with the silence, watches cross-legged. When Duck grabs a packet of cookies from the kitchen he pauses, then hands one to Cold. 

The demon sniffs it, proceeds to nibble on the edge before making a delighted sound and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. 

“You never had Girl Scout cookies before?”

“No. I do not need to eat, and often only do so when temptation requires it. Or when Barclay makes something with eggnog in it.  Which is a pity; I really enjoy human food, you come up with such interesting things. Now it is my turn for a question. Why are you making those?”

Duck looks at the near-complete model, “I dunno. Helps me relax, nice to just be able to focus on one thing rather than worryin’ about work or warlock stuff or dyin’ alone or if you’re gonna randomly turn up in my goddamn bedroom without warnin’.”

“Knocking is not exactly demonic.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, the smile on his face oddly honest, that Duck cracks up. Giggles spill out of him as he rests his face in his hands. His elbows slip on the shiny tabletop, collapsing him forward, laughing loud enough to startle the cat from her hiding place. 

“Yeah” he sniffs, finally sitting up while wiping away tears and still chuckling, “guess it ain’t.”

The demon is smiling again, softer than his usual grin that glints like a knife in the dark. 

“Will you show me more of your ships?”

“You ain’t gettin outta that circle that easy.”

“I am aware. But you could bring them where I could see.” He seems genuinely excited at the idea. 

Duck stands, hands him the packet of Thin Mints, “I could do that, yeah. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

-----------------------------------------------

Duck picks up to the two reusable grocery bags, locking doors and throwing up extra wards behind him as he walks to his car. 

He slides into the drivers seat, sets the bags in back behind him. Turns around and finds the passenger seat occupied. 

“Venturing forth at last, I see.”

“I ventured forth plenty.”

“That was only for work. You have been the picture of a hermit since you were dumped, Duck Newton.” Cold adjusts his glasses in the rear-view mirror. 

“Have not. And it was mutual.”

“Shall we get out of the car so I can destroy you?”

“We could do that. Or…” he points at the bags, the demon peering into them curiously, “we could take these two bags of snacks to a concert in the park.”

Cold bites his lip. Duck holds his breath, already gearing up his spells in case the demon says no.

A seatbelt clicks, “very well.”

They find a spot under some trees, far back from the crowd. Cold is in his human disguise, but Duck would rather not risk being seen if his tail or horns make an appearance. The concert is all movie soundtracks that Duck doesn’t pay attention to. He’s too busy watching the demon gleefully explore the food he brought (he chose the weirdest desserts and snacks he could find, wanting to give him a taste of things he’d never had) and talking with him about more or less everything.

As they’re getting into the car under the light of the half moon, Cold sighs happily, “we should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah, we could. Just uh, don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Duck is up to his elbows in the pieces of an IKEA dresser when Cold’s voice comes through the mirror.

“I need to be let in right now please and thank you.”

He sounds pained, so Duck hurries out to the front yard and opens the circle, allowing the demon to pass through. He’s hunched at an odd angle, clutching at his back. Once they’re inside he strips off his coat, revealing a splinter at the base of his neck. 

“Shit, what happened?”

“I materialized in the house of a well-prepared witch and was immediately backed into a Hawthorne bush. Lucky I am not a vampire, but gracious it stings.”

“Why come to me?” Duck is already guiding him to the couch.

“I thought you might be able to help. Also it is movie night.”

Duck examines the injury; it’s a small splinter, but the skin is already looking sickly. 

“Should be an easy fix. Lemme get my tools and I can get to work.”

------------------------------------------------

Indrid waits patiently for Duck to return, tries not to hiss at him too loudly when he pulls the splinter free. The human works quickly, and soon a tingling salve coats the sore spot. 

Rather than pull away, Duck smooths his hands down Indrid’s back, “damn, you’re all knotted up.”

“I was trying not to move too much and aggravate it.”

Duck’s thumbs rub small circles along his back, “here, I can fix that real easy.”

Indrid foresees where his fingers will touch next and let’s his desire overtake his caution. When Ducks hands come down again, he whimpers and wiggles happily. 

“Uhhhhh”

“It is my wings. In a way. They exist on another plane when not manifested here, and where you are touching is the place where it feels as you are stroking them.”

“That a good thing?”

“Yes, but you do not need to continue if you do not waAAhnnnt” he gasps as Duck slowly, steadily, runs his fingers over the spot again and again. 

The human leans forward, giggling, and whispers in his ear, “you’re purrin’.”

“I am awarerrrrrrrr.” His tail and horns appear, seeming to understand there is no need to hide here.  One of Duck’s hands skates up to his head, petting his hair and stroking his horns.

He whines, pushes his head into Duck’s hand for more. 

“Is this-”

“No Duck Newton, it is not sexual. It can be, but at the moment it simply feels comforting and pleasurable.” He purrs louder as Duck rubs the base of one horn. 

“That’s a good, uh, good demon? Bein’ so patient while I patch him up.” Duck coos. 

“Yes.” Indrid whimpers. 

“Lookit you, goin all mushy on me, so goddamn cute. Who knew you had it in you.”

“Duck.” Something is coiling through his veins, warm and ecstatic, as the human keeps up his stream of praise.

“Right here, demon of mine, just relax, lemme tend to you, there we go, you’re bein so good, such a charmin demon.”

Tears prick his eyes; he can’t, he can’t handle Duck speaking this way but speaking as if Indrid could be changed out for any one of his kind. He wants to know he means those words for him, he must, the feelings flooding him are incomplete without it and if they remain so he will wither away.

“Indrid, please, call me that.”

“Indrid.” It sounds joyous in that drawl as Duck adds a hint of pressure to his touches, “Indrid, you oughta stop gettin into trouble, oughta just stay here and put your head in my lap.”  The human is getting carried away, the fantasies becoming more elaborate, interspersed with his name, until the name itself becomes the litany. 

Indrid cries out, the energy in his veins enveloping him utterly for a moment, wings of absolute darkness flashing into view for an instant

He collapses forward, shaking, hoping the thanks pouring from his mouth are intelligible. 

“You, uh, you doin’ okay--Oh FUCK!”

Indrid whirls, finds Duck staring at his arm. There are glowing markings on it, blue and black light fading into a facsimile of ink on his skin. 

“What did you do?”

“What did I do? What makes you think this has anything to do with me?”

“Because this wasn’t there a minute ago! And you got one too!”

“I…” Indrid gapes at his forearm, where a matching symbol is setting in his skin. “Oh dear.”

“What?”

“It is, ah, well, it is a soul bond.”

“How in the everlovin’ fuck did that happen--wait, fuck, is Indrid your true name?”

“Yes.” 

“Shit! I thought you gave me another false one, or I never woulda kept saying it. I ain’t that kind of warlock, I don’t want a personal demon.”

“I am not exactly thrilled either. I cannot return to the underworld, and for the first few days of the bond I will need to stay very close to you. All the same, that was rash of me and I am sorry.”

Duck rubs his forehead, takes a deep breath, “we’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now, all I wanna do is sleep.”

“I as well. I suspect that took a lot of energy from both of us.”

The human stands, heading off towards the bedroom. As soon as he’s out of sight, pangs pulse through Indrid’s chest.

“Ah, Duck?”

A groan, “yeah, I feel it too. Get in here.”

Indrid hurries to the bed, finds Duck down to his boxers as he turns over the covers. 

“I, ah, I can sleep on the floor, or get a blanket for that chair, or lay by your feet.”

Duck pats the bed, “sleepin next to you ain’t nothin’ compared to bein’ soul bonded. Bed feels too big anyway. And none of that by my feet talk; you’re my equal, not my fuckin pet, even if you are a pain in my ass sometimes.”

Indrid crawls in beside him, lays stiffly on his back as the lights go out. After so much contact, his body aches to touch Duck again. 

A hand rests in the space between them, and Indrid takes it.

“Duck? I, ah, I am glad that if this had to happen to me, it was you who it happened with. I cannot think of another warlock I would actually enjoy being linked too.”

“Feelin’s mutual.” Duck squeezes his hand, voice gentle.

Indrid rolls to face him, and in the dark he can just make out the slight smile on the warlock’s face. 

“Goodnight, Duck.”

A yawn, then, “sleep tight, Indrid.”

[fiction-in-my-blood]

MC Being Lesbian Fluff/Smut-ish (MWA7R)

I thought it’d be pretty funny to think of how stories would turn out if the MC was gay. So basically this is a shit post but heh heh let’s see how it goes.

Warning: Mature, Reference to sex, Mild language.

~~~~~~

After the company wide meeting appointing the new special executives, I make my way up to the CEO’s office to collect my reward. This is all pretty sus. I should have asked to sign later. I sighed to myself, dropping my face into my hands as I walked down the hall. 

“Hey, MC, nice work!” A female coworker I’m... close with laughs as she passing me and I sigh. She’s smirking, probably imagining me naked after all the times we’ve rolled around in each other’s bed after company parties. Luckily, she doesn’t work in my division, so we only see each other in the halls, but somehow she always finds me.

“Still available for later?” She pretends to hand me a file, drawing close so she can whisper in my ear. I blush, having completely forgotten about the meeting we organised. I don’t know how today will turn out after how crazy its already been.

“I’ll text you if my plans change.” I force a smile and this time she sighs. 

“So tense. You need to relax.” Her voice is low as she discreetly runs her fingers down my back and gives my ass a quick pinch. I squeak, not expecting it, and she laughs, continuing her voyage back to her office.

~~~~~~

My grandfather is- was the CEO of the company I work at and I have to marry a man? That’s all I got from what the now acting CEO, Hayami explained. I was distraught, embarrassed and confused. First of all, what asshole doesn’t introduce himself to his own granddaughter? Well, maybe I should be thankful for that, he could have disowned me too. Who’s to say he didn’t already know I was gay? Well, him insisting I marry a man would be a clue to his ignorance. 

“Um, there’s just one thing.” I laugh awkwardly as Seiichiro asks if any of us have any questions. Ren and Yamato aren’t here, so I don’t feel as embarrassed to come out to all these strikingly handsome men... Until they burst through the door... And agree to join the marriage program. I try to interrupt their conversation, but they seem too busy planning what to do with me to listen. Eventually, I get tired. 

“I’m not marrying anyone in this room!” I announce as loudly as possible and they all freeze, turning to me with varying degrees of amusement or annoyance. 

“You have to, you signed this contract.” Seiichiro smirked, pushing forward the evidence he’s already threatened me with. I cross my arms, wishing I was in a closet on the other side of the planet- excuse the pun. 

“I’m not marrying anyone because I’m not interested in men.” Trying my best to ignore my two childhood best friends standing either side of me, I blush, avoiding all the astonished looks that take over their faces. I didn’t realise I was only attracted to women until after they graduated, and I’m too awkward to just come out and say it, they never needed to know anyway. Arisa and Yumi know, mainly because they walked in on me and my lady friend making out on my desk late one night at the office, but no one else does.

“You’re gay? This is just perfect!” Asahi laughs, obviously amused by this development.

“MC... Why-?” Yamato frowns his brows at me but I give him the look. The look that says this really isn’t the time for him to be acting brotherly. 

“This is a predicament.” Seiichiro’s face screws up in contemplation, glaring at the document in his hands as he tries to think of what else to do. 

“Yeah, it’s a real shame... So I’m gonna go...” I lead off, already turning around o leave the room when I hit face-to-chest contact with someone who snuck up behind me. Blushing, I step back, only to see Hiroto smirking down at me. 

“I do like a woman who likes to experiment.” 

This time, I laugh. Mainly because I cannot believe he just said that. “You’re a pig.” I spit, pushing him to the side so I can make it out of this room with as much dignity as I came here with. God, I hated coming out. Why can’t it just be normal to be a homo.

~~~~~~

That night, I definitely called over my lady friend. An agreement of our working relationship is that we share no feelings, its just sex, but I’m so pent up with frustration I may have dominated a little more than I usually do. Which, thankfully, she doesn’t seem to mind.

Panting on the bed in my apartment, I gazing up at the ceiling, resting my head on her arm. 

“You... You really went there today.” Her breathing was just as ragged and, although her tone was light-hearted, I grew worried I had hurt or annoyed her. “No, its fine. I liked it. But, there’s something bothering you? After you won all that money, I would have thought you were buying me champagne.” She chuckles, sitting up once I did to gauge her expression and grabbing a shirt off the floor, not checking if it was hers or mine. 

“I didn’t win money.” I sighed, throwing my head back against my pillow as I spread my limbs as I far as I could. I needed a massage. I was still pissed by what the financial group’s executive said and how I was probably still going to get pushed into that situation. The bed dipped beside me as my sex friend rested her head on my chest. 

“You’re heart’s racing, but that might be because you just gave me the best orgasm I’ve ever had.” She jokes, worried but trying to keep the conversation light, and I huff a chuckle.

“I won a husband.” I didn’t mind telling her what happened today. We trusted each other with our secret and I knew she didn’t like gossip. But, I could tell my admission made her concerned when she lifted herself up on her arms and stared into my eyes. She was trying to see if their was a teasing glint in my eyes, but, alas, this was not a prank.

“Apparently, I’m the granddaughter of the late CEO and I need to marry one of the Special Executives unless the company folds. That contract I signed? A fucking marriage contract!” I growled, getting more annoyed by the second. I still hadn’t put any clothes on, the sheet draped over my lower half, but I was getting hot with anger. What kind of grandfather, not to mention CEO, makes that kind of deal?!

“That’s not legal.” Being a part of the company’s legal team, my bed buddy frowned her brows as I sat up, resting my head against the back board, keeping my gaze on the ceiling to try and stop my tears. I. Was. So. Annoyed. It took me a long time to admit to myself I liked... loved women and now I’m being pushed into a loveless marriage with a man!

“Of course it isn’t, but that’s not gonna stop Sanno’s right-hand man.” I said the title in a funny voice, which made my friend giggle, but I just sighed at my poor attempt of a joke. We’re silent for a moment, both of us in deep contemplation over the strange change of events. 

“Marry me.” She suddenly says and my gaze jerks to her. Her expression is serious, more than I’ve ever seen it, and I become increasingly aware that I am butt-ass naked. 

“Wh-What?” I blush. I’ll admit, I had more feelings for her than I should have. She’s funny, sweet and incredibly beautiful. Even though she pushes the line of what’s appropriate in the workplace, it’s light-hearted. I’ve never had a bad time with her. Not to mention how good a cook she is. How unbelievably smart. We’ve been at this for months. 6 whole months since we hooked up at the office Christmas party. But, we’ve never gone on a date. I’ve never met any of her friends, and the only time she’s met mine is when we were half naked, grinding on each other in my apartment, and they ran out seconds after they walked in. 

“Come on, MC, we both know we have a greater connection than just in the bedroom. I... I’ve loved you for a long time now, I was so scared to say it, but if we say you’re already engaged, they won’t be able to push you into anything.” She cups my cheek in her hand, her eyes growing dewy and almost childlike. I feel my own eyes grow with tears. 

“B-But that means you’ll have to come out. What about your job? If anyone knew you were gay, won’t they look down on you?” I frowned my brows, not wanting her to ruin her life for me. Although, my heart fluttered with each word she spoke. 

“My team knows, they have no problem with it. And they can’t fire me, its against the law. We’re in separate divisions, so we won’t get in trouble. I’m not scared if I’ve got you to back me.” Her gaze nervously drops for a moment, but the seriousness within them returns two-fold when we make eye contact again. I feel my face blush darkly and I gulp to try and wet my throat enough to speak without a shaky voice. “So, will you marry me?” 

“Y-Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you!” I start off quiet, but its difficult to hold in my excitement as I jump onto her, pushing my lips so fiercely against hers I would have worried I’d chip a tooth, but I was too happy. I feel vibrations of her chuckle as I clamber on top of her, my body alight with desire once again, even after the hours we went at it only moments ago. 

“You giving me newly-wed sex, now?” She sighed in pleasure as I practically ripped the top off her, hungrily kissing her neck. 

“I’m giving you everything.” I lean up to whisper in her ear before dipping down again. What followed were hours longer of exercise and love making, which I was definitely happy to have for the rest of my life. 

~~~~~~

“You’re already engaged?” Seiichiro didn’t look very impressed as I stood in front of his desk, a broad smile on my face. It was still a little embarrassing to say and, seeing as I had neither a ring on my finger or my partner beside me, it was hard to prove .Not to mention how exhausted I was when we kept each other up until morning, but I paid that no mind.

“And who is this partner of your’s? A woman, perhaps?” Likely not believing my excuse after walking out of the meeting yesterday, the acting CEO raised an eyebrow at me. 

Then, a knock came to the door and my heart fluttered. “You might want to answer that.” My smile grew and he frowned his brows, instructing the person to enter. 

There stood my beautiful bride-to-be, dressed in her sexy pant suit with a whole stack of sexy legal files tucked under her sexy arm. I might be a little biased.  She was going to help me get out of the contract. When our eyes met, my heart raced, making my face blush. She stepped forward, introducing herself as an employee of the company before bowing to our boss’s boss’s boss. 

“I would like to know how you thought you’d get away with forcing my fiancee to sign that marriage contract of your’s?” She smirked, Seiichiro’s expression faltering and my heart exploding at the word. Fiancee. Wow, I’ve never heard it sound so good. 

“You- And you- You’re-?” Seiichiro couldn’t wrap his small pee-brain around the idea and we both tried to stifle a laugh at the bewildered look on his normally stoic face. 

“Would you like me to prove it?” My fiancee- oh god I’ll never not get excited at saying that- wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close to her. Using all my self control not to jump on her right here and now, I mockingly slapped her arm, telling her how unprofessional this was. 

Before, however, she could release me, the doors the office opened once again.

“Sei, have you solved the-?” As we turn around, my soon-to-be-wife’s arms still wrapped around my waist, I see several of the men competing for my hand freeze the second they observe this scene. I blush, still as horrifically embarrassed by PDAs as I was before, but my girlfriend seems very amused, noted but the jump in her chest as she chuckles.

“You shouldn’t be looking at other marriage candidates when I’m around.” She whispered in my ear, guiding my gaze back to her with the pinch on my chin. I blush, mustering my courage to say what I want to say in front of all these eyes. 

“There’s no others.” I mumble before crashing my lips into her’s. We’re heatedly seeking each other for a moment, my fiancee maybe feeling a little possessive with her hand bunching my hair to pull me closer. Luckily, I have the wherewithal to pull back, although my breathing is a little ragged and my face is bright red as I smile sheepishly at her. 

“I think you’ll find all these documents prove intent and evidence of your crime. Oh, and if you think of firing me, I have a contract with the company that allows me to sue for wrongful termination. We’ll have a meeting at the end of the week to go over a consolidation arrangement for causing emotion harm to my fiancee. Good day, Mr Hayami.” My fiancee smiles as she hands over the papers she walked in here with and bows.

“I’ll see you at lunch.” She leans into my ear but speaks loud enough for the other’s to just about hear as she pinches my butt again, leaving with almost a skip in her step. 

“That was a lawyer from HR?” Hiroto loudly exclaimed once the door shut and probably the woman I’ve ever loved most is no longer here. I’m almost caught in a daze remembering how strong she just acted to save me. 

“Why am I not surprised you knew that?” Junta sighs, obviously not happy with this turn in events as I shake the sinful thoughts out of my head. God, I love her. 

Turning back to Seiichiro, who’s leisurely sifting through the files my fiancee gave him, I watch the scowl etched in his face cut deeper. He sighs, mutters something under his breath, and pulls what I’m sure is my marriage contract out of his top desk drawer. “You can marry anyone you please, it won’t impede the soundness of the company or pile a mountain of debt over you.” I can hear him crying internally at being bested as he tears the contract in two.

“Thank you, sir! I’m very grateful!” I bow lowly, too overjoyed to notice how ticked off most of the men in the room are. 

After that day, I’m very open with my relationship. Yamato and Ren warm to my fiancee very well, although it seems like a purely professional relationship. Yumi and Arisa, mainly Arisa, are more than happy to help me plan the wedding- seeing as they’ll be a big part in it- and we have a small destination wedding thanks to my inheritance money. I’m more than happy, I don’t know a word to describe it. Our careers are going well and neither of us want kids just yet, but in time. I’m just so happy I could marry the person I love being the real me.

~~~~~~

This turned out way cuter than I expected it to, but I am SO here for it lol. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I’d love to hear your thoughts!

[bloodlnthemoonlight]

Fic: i love you never felt like any blessing

Another little Caryl thing I had brewing in my head that I started writing down for @equuleus86 on her birthday (sorry it's not longer, love, but I'm the slowest writer in the world.) I felt I needed to write this conversation that we're all hoping they'll eventually have. You can pretty much imagine it taking place where/whenever you like, I haven't been specific. Hope y'all like! 

***

“You fucked up.” 

The rumble of his voice breaks the terrible silence palpable in the air, and Carol finds herself very aware of the distance between them in this room where they stand; every awful inch of space. He doesn’t sound accusatory or angry, just so damn tired. 

I did this to him. The thought stabs her in the chest. 

“I know.” 

She forces the words out because Daryl deserves this acknowledgement. He deserves so much more than she can give him anymore. He deserves to take out his anger and grief on her because she is responsible, and she doesn’t know why he still refuses to say it. Why he hangs on to some misplaced sense of loyalty or obligation to her. She’s not worth it. 

“You couldn’t just leave it alone.” She can hear the bitterness now, the sadness. “Why the hell’d you even promise me anything if you were just gonna...” 

He trails off and she catches his face crumpling briefly with too much emotion before he ducks his head and hides, hair falling into his face. The movement is so characteristically him that it hits her like a gut punch, fingers itching to reach out, to soothe. He looks overcome and conflicted and lost and, God, does she empathise. All at once she wants to push him away and draw him close and never let go.  

“I meant it,” Her voice breaks and she hates how raw and vulnerable she feels. How all her defences have always been useless in the face of this man. “I promised you and I meant it when I said it. I wanted to mean it.” 

“Well, that don’t mean shit now, does it?” 

It’s not even close to the worst thing he could say to her right now, but he growls it and she can’t help it, she winces, even though he’s entirely in the right. She knows Daryl sees it because he sees everything. 

His face softens just the slightest fraction, blue eyes shining, pleading with her again, for what she isn’t sure either of them know anymore. 

He takes a step towards her, “Carol -“

“No.” And she moves back. “No, you’re right, it doesn’t. They’re dead, regardless of my intentions.” 

He draws a deep breath at that, but his gaze doesn’t break. 

“I know what it’s like, you know,” His voice is back to that soft, quiet cadence that it always takes with her, and Carol can’t bear for him to be gentle with her right now. It hurts. “To want revenge so bad that nothing else matters. Glenn died because of me -“

Denial and years-old grief rise up in her throat, “That’s not -“ 

Daryl shakes his head, “Maggie’d say otherwise but it still feels like that’s on me. I didn’t swing the bat but... “ His eyes close, brows pinched in pain, and of course he still carries that with him. Of course he does, because Carol knows so would she. Just as she knows that he would carry her pain for her like she wishes she could for him. 

Still... “It’s not the same.” She alone blew up that damn cave, ignoring this man - this good, brave, true man whom she loves - trying to be there for her. Trying desperately to talk her down. 

Carol crosses her arms, holding on to them to stop herself from walking across into Daryl’s. She knows he wouldn’t deny her. 

“We’ve all done things we wish we could take back. I know you wish you could -“

Carol crumbles. 

“Stop trying to make what I did okay! Stop being understanding! Please, just stop!” 

The last is a broken cry as she shrinks into herself, eyes squeezed shut and biting her lip against the sobs fighting to break free. The guilt feels as though it’s searing through her, eviscerating from within. All she can do is keep her arms wrapped around herself as though that might hold her together. She didn’t hear or see Daryl move, but she can feel him hovering close now. 

“It’s not okay. We lost people. Friends. But - hey... look at me?” Carol feels his fingertips brush under her chin and opens her eyes, tears spilling over, to find Daryl’s face just inches away, his face an open book for her to read, no longer hiding... “I was where you are, I was ready to do anything to take out the Saviours. The only thing that mattered more was you.” 

She feels a rush of deja vu as he cups her cheek, catching tears with his thumb, and she wants to reach for him so badly. She can feel her resolve weakening and her mind spins at his words. 

 “I - I don’t understand.” 

“Stuff happened. Doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that you matter to me. More than anything.”

“I shouldn’t -”

“Even if I can’t be that person for you. Even if I can’t be enough to stop you, to save you.” 

His voice trembles, catching in his throat, and that hurts even more than the guilt tearing through her. Daryl Dixon should never, ever think that he is not enough. 

“You are,” She sobs, “You are my person, Daryl, you’re -” everything, she should say but still can’t because he deserves so much better than her. Because she is afraid. “I’m not… I’m not worth it. I’m not good. I kill people. People die because of me!” 

He can’t die because of her. She cannot stand the thought. Everything hurts; it’s too much. 

Carol breaks out of his light grasp and turns, old habits and the instinct to flee almost driving her out the door until strong arms wrap around her from behind and Daryl pulls her back flush against his chest.  

“Don’t -” He begs roughly next to her ear, “Please don’t run again.” 

Dimly, through the rushing in her head, Carol thinks he sounds terrified; afraid, probably, that if she walks out the door he might not ever see her again. 

She wishes she could say for sure that he’d be wrong. 

“You should let me go.” She can’t stop the tears. She never could when it comes to him. Could never shut it all down and plaster on a mask because he will always see right through her. “Why can’t you just let me go?”

“You know I can’t.” As if to emphasise his words he squeezes her tighter. “You know why.”

Carol does. Deep down, she does, she just doesn’t want to face it. 

“Daryl,” she begs, unsure of what she’s even begging for anymore. 

“Fuck…” He draws a shuddering breath and she feels the pressure of his head on her shoulder, wonders if he’s hiding his face. “I love you,” He says finally, sounding wrecked and raw, and all the fight goes out of her. 

Carol lets herself fall apart, knowing that somehow, no matter what, Daryl’s arms will hold her together. 

[flowers-of-io]

Where Lost Things Go

Read it on AO3 here.

Spider’s Palace. Oh, what a lovely spot to spend the evening.

Ór pulls her hood over her face before walking in, all knives in place, Ghost hidden and gun loaded. Two Eliksni in spiky armour guard the door but let her through without a word. They seem more of a warning than actual threat. When she passes them, the airlock behind her shuts with a thud.

The room is all chaos and noise – dozens of voices in at least four languages, chairs shuffling against the metal floor, suspicious fluids being poured to and drank from dirty glasses. Runi chitters uncomfortably in the comms.

“Don’t drink anything here. I don’t want to reconstruct your blown-up stomach,” he warns. Ór only rolls her eyes.

She scans the swirling crowd: Eliksni and Awoken, and even some Cabal deserters, all squashed together in a brightly lit space, drinking, gambling and shouting over one another. She catches a sentence or two in Terran, and a pair of Dregs behind her speak Eliksni so fast she cannot make out the words. Suddenly, a tall Awoken woman in the corner spills her drink over a Legionary sharing the table with her and pulls out a knife.

The guards in spiky armour are beside her in split second. One punches her in the stomach and the other whips the knife from her hand. When they drag her out through the airlock, she is still throwing curses in a posh Reef dialect.

The Palace is a venue with no rules but one: absolutely no violence.

Ór makes her way through the room, eyes sweeping over every passing face. When she spots a table under one of the lamps, just by the bar, with only one seat taken, one corner of her lips moves slightly upwards. The Spider knows his clients remarkably well. A Vandal sitting there looks haggard even for an Eliksni, shreds of grey and violet cloth hanging from his lanky frame and a helmet that has certainly seen better days. She notices no House symbols on him, though the violet rags seem to be a remainder of Dusk attire.

She checks the knives again, then throws a bag of glimmer on the table in front of the Vandal and slips onto the other stool. He looks up and his eyes flicker aggressively yet curiously.

“Heard you liked Human card games,” she says.

The Vandal’s gaze flicks between her and the glimmer before he hisses in Terran with a distinct growly accent, “Yess… for what?”

“Twelve thousand,” Ór gestures to the bag. “In turn… I want information.”

His eyes narrow under the mask, “Information valuable.”

In response, she pulls out a sidearm from the holster and places it on the top of the glimmer pile. A nice piece, custom-made. Black market. Runi hisses in her ear.

“Tell me this isn’t your only gun. Ór. Ór, is this your only gun?!”

She ignores him and leans over the table. The Vandal ponders the offer for a moment, then nods. As he takes out a card deck and shuffles it, she hears Runi’s distressed whines over the comms.

“You know what? I take it back, all of it back. If you win this, I’m never gonna complain about you playing with Drifter again. Ever. But if you lose your only gun and get killed in this hellhole, I’m. Not. Rezzing. You.”

She gives him a reassuring mental nudge, at the same time doing maths in her head on how many knifes she could spare to get out of here alive.

 ------------------------------------------------------

 When she places her last card on the table, the Vandal’s eyes shine with disgruntlement but he says nothing. Runi, on the other hand, lets out a long, digital sigh of relief.

“Never pull something like this out again.” He sounds as if he was planning on buying Drifter flowers.

The Vandal gently pushes the bag of glimmer in her direction with his lower hand and folds the upper ones. Ór reaches for her sidearm and puts it back in the holster.

“Let’s talk,” she says, trying to look him straight in the eyes but lacking a pair to properly do so, “but not here.”

They slip through the back door she remembered from the first time she was here, into a trash alley full of empty crates and drained ether tanks. Her eyes sweep the area and when she is sure they are alone, she presses her luck.

“Velask,” she says, praying it’s the correct pronunciation, and pulls back her hood.

The Vandal, leaning his back against the wall with both pairs of arms crosses, flinches.

“I hear about you,” she continues in broken Eliksni, “Have no House. Once Dusk, but not like their doings. Want something different.”

She observes his figure as he is considering her words, left lower hand fidgeting with a knife by his belt.

“Who did you hear from?” He replies, mercifully using simple structures, “What do you want?”

“Just talk,” she shrugs. “Dusk hate humans. But you work for Reef people, no?”

“You are not of the Reef,” he narrows his eyes. “Terran. Light-child?”

Ór nods.

“Dusk fight Light-children. But not all Eliksni want to, yes?... And not all Light-children want to.” She pulls out one of her knives, takes it by the blade and reaches it out, the hilt pointing towards him. “They want peace.”

The Vandal stares at the knife, stunned, then glances at her, then back at the knife. After a long moment of silence, so deep Ór can almost hear her own heart thudding, he raises his upper arm and takes it.

“Why?” His voice is softer now. He is leaning against the wall again, seeming a lot more relaxed, and eyeing her curiously.

“Must know about Io. What happening there. What make your Whirlwind.”

He winces, but nods.

“We must fight. Together,” she presses on. “Alone we lose. Alone, there is Whirlwind again. Collapse again.”

The knife spins in his fingers. “Why’ve you come to me? I’m a bannerless mercenary. No fighter, no kell.”

“Your father fight for the Queen. After Cybele.”

“Long ago. Reef is chaos now,” he barks a laugh and gestures towards the door they have left through. “The Spider now rules it as much as the Queen.”

Ór observes him intently. She has to look up, he is towering over her even when slouched against the wall.

“No Queen,” she says slowly, “No kell. But you hear about House Light, no?”

“Misraaks,” he mutters, almost making it a question.

“Yes,” she smiles with relief. “Hear you look for him. As I do. Want peace like him.”

The Vandal holds her gaze. She cannot tell what his eyes express, but it is certainly not hostility.

“Meet me tomorrow.” He makes a slow, careful move with his lower hand, pulling out his own knife and handing it over to Ór. She takes it by the hilt and smiles again.

“Here?”

“Yes. And my friend.” He withdraws his hand just as slowly, then bows his head in a gesture the meaning of which is unknown to her. “My name is Iskaar.”

A silence falls, him waiting for her to reply, but she only nods. They share a long look, six blue eyes glowing dimly in the shadows, until Ór sheaths Iskaar’s knife by her belt and straightens up.

“Tomorrow, then.”

  ------------------------------------------------------

With her legs stretched out and back against a jagged rock, Ór is observing the evening—or at least what passes for it out here—settle over the Tangled Shore. In the Reef, day and night are a societal construct, and the only way she can distinguish one from the other is by lamps lighting up and turning off around Eliksni burrows. She watches from above as dozens of tiny lights vanish and darkness gradually takes reign over this scattering of junk and stone. Moaning of thick metal lines holding the shards of asteroids and wreckage together and distant gunfire are a constant hum she’s grown used to. It’s just how the Shore is ��� always torn apart and whimpering.

From her spot on a rock floating above the Cobble Ór spots an Awoken woman driving off on a Fallen Pike and a group of Dregs chasing her. A Cabal Legionary shoots one of them in the back and he plummets to the ground, his vehicle crashing and erupting with flames. The rest of the band dashes by undisturbed and in a moment it’s quiet again.

She loves this place.

It is chaotic, vast, and full of hideouts. Hunter-esque. But what appeals to her the most is the mere idea of a makeshift space built with hooks and cables and ship parts and rocks and Traveler knows what else, and the fact that someone could call it a home. It seems alive – ever growing, ever changing.

Runi materializes beside her.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“We’re meeting these two Eliksni, remember? From the bar?”

“Ah, yes…” he twitches his shell and Ór suspects he actually wanted to ask about something else. “You’re not telling the Vanguard, are you?”

She raises an eyebrow, “We’ve talked about this, right?”

“Yes, but… uh,” he sighs, “I don’t like doing things off the record.”

“But you said this plan was a good idea.”

“Mhm.”

“And you know what they would say.”

Ór respects the Vanguard. Sha admires how they carry the weight of the City on their own shoulders, steady and unmoveable like pillars of a temple, how they wiggle and bend but never break. They are not a pair of cowardly zealots blinded by the Light, as Drifter would put it. Zavala is scrupulous and protective, Ikora is clever and bold; together, they form a leadership she is willing to trust, a leadership under whose banner she would gladly march into a fight.

Yet there has always been something she couldn’t quite place, ever since she came to the Tower. For all their welcoming nods and words of encouragement, she has been flinching every time she saw Cyle run off, excited and proud, to report back at the courtyard; every time Shinon sat in an alcove reading a book borrowed from the Vanguard’s exclusive library. Always that needle of envious regret pinching her.

She knows what they would say.

Zavala wouldn’t even try to listen, he’d slam his fist and close the case before she could mutter a word. Ikora’s criticism would be gentler; she would draw her to one side and list all the flaws of her plan until Ór barely had the energy and equally little confidence to defend it. She can well recall the barely stifled weariness in Zavala’s eyes, she has seen Ikora’s hands shake, and she knows where that would be coming from. They were protective, they were worried, they needed to defend this City—this world—out of a sense of duty and genuine love for it. She could not act against that. She would not bear their contempt.

It is a weakness, maybe. Drifter would put it this way, she thinks, but again, he calls many things many names and she does not agree with most of them. To her, it’s a splinter stuck under her skin, painful and festering. A need of appreciation? A call for recognition? There are so many lives all around her, Titans building defences and Warlocks understanding things, fellow Hunters getting intel and cracking codes. Rivers of people overflowing her, a nameless pebble thrusted by the current. The Vanguard still refer to her as ‘a Guardian’.

Maybe that is also why she loves the Shore so much.

It is her own thing; because here, she is entirely on her own. No fireteam to save her hide, no voice in the comms telling her the correct path. When Drifter brought her here first, he just showed her around and that was it—now she musts fight her way alone. And it feels freeing, as much as the dread of the unknown is intoxicating.

Sleepiness creeps upon her as she watches lights below disappear one after another into the darkness of space. They must find cover; she wouldn’t like to be surprised by a Scorn patrol alone on an exposed rock, with her Ghost out.

“Come,” she rises to her feet and gestures at Runi, “have any idea of a spot for the night?”

“Couldn’t your new friend rent us a room?” He teases, and her lips quirk.

“I think he only accepts payment in handguns.”

[ladylynse]

Forewarning: All Dipper knew was that there was something buried in some special thermos behind the shack; all Danny knew was that he had no idea how he’d gotten here. Inspired by this artwork by @hashtag-art​ and begun for @bibliophilea​

Happy New Year, everyone!

Chapter 2 [FF | AO3]

-|-

Danny knew magic when he felt it.

Well.

He could recognize it, anyway. Usually. Unless the magic came with a memory wipe. Between Desiree, Dora’s amulet, Circus Gothica, the Reality Gauntlet, and everything else, he was getting pretty good at picking out it or its effects.

That’s why he knew it was magic that held him in this stupid circle.

It was also why he wasn’t wholly sure he could just burn through a part of the chalk drawing with an ectoblast without bad consequences.

And just about when he was ready to risk those consequences (because he did not want to know what an attempted exorcism would do to him), he found himself with the unfortunately familiar weight of a clockwork medallion around his neck.

Clockwork floated on the edge of the circle, not far from the two kids who had released Danny and then trapped him here. Clearly, whatever bound Danny wasn’t strong enough to bind him. Not that Danny really expected it would be, with Clockwork being who he was and the kids possibly targeting Danny after seeing him earlier. But if Clockwork was here now—

“You are where you need to be,” Clockwork said as Danny opened his mouth.

Danny frowned. “Yeah? Why can’t I call Jazz’s cell? Where am I? When am I?”

Danny didn’t really expect Clockwork to give him a straight answer—it was Clockwork, after all—but the ghost shifted to that of a child and replied, “Welcome to 2012.”

Ice filled his chest. 2012? 2012? He’d been stuck in a thermos for five years? No wonder his call to Jazz hadn’t gone through! She’d be in college now, maybe through college by now, or trying to get a masters degree, or a PhD, or—

Or she might not be.

No. He wasn’t going to jump to that conclusion, wasn’t going to assume this was like last time, not when this was all he had to go on, not even when Clockwork was the reason he was here. Clockwork, who wasn’t supposed to interfere. Clockwork, who refused to interfere more often than not. Clockwork, who saw it all from above and had very clearly forgotten what it was like to be part of the parade, if he’d ever even known that.

“Are you serious?” Anger was safer than panic, and he had good reason to be angry. Clockwork had never talked to him about this, whatever this was. Not like the last time he’d sent Danny to the future. “My family probably thinks I’m dead!”

“Technically speaking, you are.”

Danny hissed through his teeth. “No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to rip me out of my life and shove me in a thermos and stick me somewhere on the other side of the country. You can’t just put me wherever you think I need to be! I just lost five years of my life thanks to you!”

“You’ve been held in stasis for over thirty,” Clockwork said mildly as his form changed again. “You’ll be returned to your own time before your friends and family realize you’ve taken a detour.”

A detour? That’s what he was calling this?

“This isn’t a detour! Just because you can put me back where I came from, doesn’t mean I haven’t still lost that time. And what do you mean, thirty years?”

Clockwork’s expression didn’t change even as his face shifted, growing younger again. He didn’t deign to argue with Danny, instead saying, “The tapestry of time is scarred here. Further interference is…discouraged.”

Danny crossed his arms. “What the heck do you call this, then?”

“A correction.”

“Why do I have to be the one to fix it? It’s not like the Observants don’t know to watch me. If they think I’m meddling in the timestream again—” Danny broke off. “Wait, what do you mean further interference? What did you do here before?”

That earned him the barest shadow of exasperation crossing Clockwork’s face. “The interference was not mine.”

“Until now.”

That might be a slight thinning of the lips. It was probably as much as he was going to get from Clockwork, anyway. “Seeking to repair what others have damaged before reality becomes unstable is hardly unwarranted interference.”

“So a stitch in time saves nine? Wow, I did not realize that expression could be applied literally with time travel. But that still doesn’t explain why me.” Clockwork said nothing, and a horrible thought occurred to Danny. “Except. Wait. You said thirty years. I…. You’re trying to interfere without the Observants knowing, aren’t you?” He pulled a face. “Why thirty years?”

“That was the point of least interference, when your placement would have the smallest effect.”

“So how come I don’t remember anything?” He tried not to let it show how much that bothered him, but it did. He wasn’t sure what he’d been doing before this. Hanging out with Sam and Tuck? Fighting? School? Homework? Nothing seemed clearer than the rest.

He couldn’t remember if he’d been in the Ghost Zone, but he definitely didn’t remember seeing Clockwork.

Still, he hadn’t come out of the thermos wearing one of Clockwork’s medallions, so it’s not like Clockwork just ambushed him, sucked him into a thermos, and dropped him here. And…it must still have been Clockwork, right? Because point of least interference was still interference, and thirty years was definitely time travel when it was thirty years in the past. Or twenty-five and— Whatever. This had to be Clockwork. That had to be why he was here now. Not whoever else was messing around with time.

“You’ve seen the dangers of an uncontained future,” Clockwork said, and it took Danny a second to realize he was ignoring Danny’s question instead of answering it. “Similar destruction is almost certain here. If they stay on this road, they will find themselves on a path from which they cannot turn away. You must warn them.”

“How is that my job?” Danny wanted to ask why Clockwork didn’t just warn them himself, but of course that would be interfering. As if this weren’t already blatant interference. “Why can’t someone else do it? Anyone else? I don’t even know these guys.”

“Perhaps not yet,” said Clockwork as his form shifted again, “but you know the dangers they face. They wish to pierce the fabric between dimensions, between realities, and will release more than they realize if they succeed.”

Danny scrunched up his face. Too bad he couldn’t just straight up tell these guys not to mess with interdimensional portals, but Clockwork wouldn’t be happy with him spelling out the future like that. Even if he did, Mabel and Dipper wouldn’t believe him when he had no other details than that. They’d just think he’d spied on them. Telling them would probably make them more likely to keep doing everything they were doing. “Let me guess: containment of whatever they let out isn’t gonna be simple?”

Clockwork didn’t answer, but Danny supposed he didn’t really need an answer. Clockwork wouldn’t have said anything about it if it was easy. And Danny wouldn’t have been dragged out here to interfere if these people weren’t playing with fire. Or rather, interdimensional portals.

“There’s, um, a path where they win, right, when they don’t listen to me and do this anyway? Because that’s going to happen. Nothing I say is going to make these two trust me.”

“You must warn them,” Clockwork repeated.

Danny didn’t know if that was a yes, but it hadn’t been a no, so he counted it as a win. This was Clockwork, after all. Danny knew there were lines, and he knew he’d crossed those lines, but he wasn’t entirely sure where those lines were—and which ones Clockwork was happy to ignore. More than the Observants were happy with, sure, but beyond that….

“Can I go home after this?”

No immediate answer. Bad sign. Very bad. There shouldn’t be any reason Clockwork wouldn’t just say yes if all he had to do was give these guys a warning they probably wouldn’t listen to. If nothing else, Clockwork would know it would be a way to make Danny immediately play nice and do what he was told. So for him to say nothing….

That meant Danny was supposed to do something else, something Clockwork figured he’d do if left to his own devices. Something Clockwork didn’t think was worth telling Danny, or maybe that he didn’t think Danny would actually do if he were told about it, or—

“I do get to go home after all this, right? There’s not some other detour you expect me to make first? I just need to warn them not to do whatever they’re thinking about doing, and then it’s over, and we’re done, and I can go back to Amity Park the same day I left it?” Because that was part of the problem. He couldn’t just go home from here because it wouldn’t be the home he knew. And even if next to nothing had changed (unlikely; his parents were inventors, after all), he couldn’t risk being caught (especially if his parents had five years worth of ghost tech he’d never seen before). That would require too much explaining.

Unless they already knew everything, in which case it would take less.

Or next to no time at all, if they didn’t take it well and he had to—

But he didn’t want to think about that possibility. He much preferred thinking that Jazz was right, that they would accept him, even if it took a little while for them to get used to the idea or even if they asked him a bunch of rather intrusive questions. And, right now, he much preferred not knowing, just in case the little voice in the back of his mind was right and ignorance was bliss. And—

“Why…why am I really here, Clockwork?” His voice came out as a whisper, drained of anger and instead tinged with desperation. What was he missing? Surely Clockwork wasn’t just being cagey because he didn’t know. Or maybe…maybe he didn’t want Danny to get involved in whatever the kids were doing? Or maybe he did, and just couldn’t risk saying it without the Observants noticing what he was doing?

“Warn them about this path,” Clockwork said gently, “and your own will become clearer.”

Danny hated that answer. It told him nothing. It guaranteed nothing. It was too vague when things mattered this much.

But he also had a better idea of when he could push Clockwork, when begging or wheedling for favours would work, and this wasn’t one of those times.

Danny sighed, settling down in the middle of the circle and holding his head in his hands.

Clockwork was probably being as helpful as he could, even if there was a chance a part of him was also being lowkey as spiteful as he could after Danny’s last time travelling fiasco. Danny kind of owed him for that. There had probably been some pushback from the Observants, and Clockwork must have borne the brunt of that because Danny had never faced any consequences once the timeline was back on track. And this…. It should be simple enough. There were worse ways to repay a favour.

But still.

A little warning would’ve been nice.

-|-

Dipper didn’t know what had happened. He wasn’t going to trust the phantom—if it even was a phantom, since for all he knew, it was just a different sort of ghost trying to trick them into thinking it was a phantom by calling itself one. At least, it wasn’t living up to the whole ‘phantoms cause pain to those who summon them’ bit in the journal. Not that he was complaining. It would just be nice to know what he was dealing with for once.

Maybe the pain part didn’t come until the phantom escaped the summoning circle?

“What….” Mabel hesitated and looked at him, but he didn’t know if asking questions would make things worse. She plowed on when he didn’t stop her, asking, “What are you talking about?”

“If you stay on this road,” Phantom repeated, “you’ll find yourself on a path you can’t turn away from. That’s it. That’s the message. I’m apparently a messenger now. Don’t shoot me.”

“Who are you supposed to be a messenger for?” Dipper asked. The strain of keeping Phantom contained was worth it to get some answers. The journal…. He couldn’t figure out why Phantom’s section in the journal had been coded differently, and he would rather find out as much as he could.

“That’s…not really important.”

Assuming Phantom would be helpful. Dipper should’ve known better than to hope he’d be forthcoming about everything. “How is that not important?” he demanded. The author of the journals—

“You won’t know who it is anyway. He’s, uh, not supposed to interfere as often as he does.”

Interfere? What was that supposed to mean? Interfere with what?

“Try us,” Mabel said, crossing her arms. “We’ve had an interesting summer so far.”

Understatement. And maybe a bit more information than Dipper would’ve liked to give away, even if it was completely vague.

“Fine.” Phantom looked defiant now. “His name is Clockwork. Happy now?”

No. He’d never heard of Clockwork. Dipper had no idea who he was supposed to be. Or, more accurately, what.

“Why’s he sending us messages? And through you?”

Phantom rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just really unlucky. And maybe because he thinks you’ll listen? Clockwork’s not the most helpful guy out there. I’m surprised he interfered at all. I’m surprised I got dragged into this.” He said this last part with a sneer, looking to Dipper and Mabel’s right.

Dipper didn’t need to look to confirm that there was nothing there—nothing visible, anyway—but he did anyway.

The apparent absence of something did nothing to reassure him.

Phantom sighed, his annoyance draining away. “Okay, look, I’ll be straight with you. I don’t know why I got drafted to play messenger boy, but it’s probably because I owe him a favour, and he’s not supposed to be doing this kind of thing. Interfere, I mean. Which means that if he is, it’s big and you should listen to me. So stop whatever you’re doing. Drop it. Walk away. Your future selves would thank you for it if they had the chance. It’s probably a lot of pain and suffering or it wouldn’t be on Clockwork’s radar.”

“Pain and suffering, huh?” Mabel echoed, glancing at Dipper. He knew how she felt; he hadn’t expected Phantom to warn them of the pain he was going to bring in an attempt to trick them into releasing him, but it just meant they needed to be on their guard. If they hadn’t had the journal, they might have fallen for it.

Phantom nodded, not noticing or not caring how uncomfortable they were. “Clockwork wouldn’t interfere for something small. He thinks other people are messing around, though—I don’t think just you guys? I mean, not you you, you’re too young, and if this started thirty years ago or something, it couldn’t be you…unless you’re time travellers?”

“Did you want us to be?” Mabel said slowly.

Phantom blinked. “What? No!”

“Then we aren’t,” she said, and Dipper glared at her and kicked at her leg. He couldn’t really put any strength behind it, and she’d probably been half expecting it, since she didn’t flinch. Phantom might not have noticed the movement, though. Or the glare. If he did, he didn’t react to it.

“Time travel is impossible,” Dipper said pointedly, switching his gaze back to Phantom.

Phantom just stared at him. “I’m a ghost, you’re keeping me trapped inside a magic circle, and you draw the line at time travel?”

Dipper nodded. “It’s not possible. You can’t go faster than the speed of light.” He wasn’t a great liar—Mabel was definitely better, and she wasn’t particularly good, either—but he wasn’t about to tell Phantom that they knew time travel was possible. Or that they had time travelled and run into another time traveller. Phantom might tell them more if he thought they were ignorant of that.

“You’re using magic. And talking to a ghost. What part of that do most people consider possible?”

“Actually—” Mabel started.

“Forget I asked,” Phantom interrupted. “My point is, if you don’t believe in time travel, you should, and if you don’t believe in interdimensional travel, you should, because something along those lines is in your future if you don’t stop all this. Which you should.”

“Because you said so?” Mabel asked, and Dipper kicked her again, this time less subtly. He didn’t care if Phantom noticed that one.

Phantom snorted. “Because whatever it is is bad enough that it merits forewarning. Courtesy of Clockwork. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

“Bit of a circular argument,” Dipper muttered, not quite quietly enough that they wouldn’t hear him.

Phantom groaned. “Fine, ignore me. Just let me go.”

“No. I’m not going to let you hurt anyone.”

“Who said I was going to hurt anyone?” Phantom spluttered. “I’m not! Seriously, I’m just the messenger here.”

“Yeah, that’s what you’d say if you were planning on hurting someone and wanted to trick us into letting you out.”

He caught Mabel’s eye again and saw the trace of worry on her features. She knew he was bluffing. She knew he couldn’t do this forever, that his strength would give out and the magic within the circle would fade. The symbols could only hold power for so long. With Phantom being as strong as he was—or Dipper being as weak as he was; whichever was the main reason behind why it had taken so long for the spell to work in the first place, though it might be both considering he was still fairly new to magic—Dipper wasn’t sure they had much longer.

Judging by the increasingly frustrated look on Phantom’s face, though, he didn’t know that. Which at least meant the magic wasn’t noticeably weakening yet. It would buy them a little time, but—

“If you insist you’re not going to hurt anyone,” Mabel said, “then you don’t need to keep secrets from us. Keep talking, and then we’ll let you go.”

That was one way of putting it. If the spell was going to collapse on him anyway, at least they might be able to get something out of Phantom. Not that they’d know if it was truth or lies, but at least it would be a starting point. And that would be better than nothing.

Phantom threw up his hands. “I gave you guys the message already!”

“No, she’s right,” Dipper said. Mabel smiled at his words as if she hadn’t expected him to approve. “You’ve hardly told us anything. What do you know about the author of the journals?”

Phantom looked confused. Dipper didn’t think it was feigned, either. “What journals?” He looked at the open book and added, “So that’s not a magic book? Or is it just a journal full of spells that you’re not calling a magic book?”

“It’s a resource, not a book on magic.” Not alone, anyway. But if Phantom didn’t recognize it or know anything about it, he wouldn’t be able to help Dipper figure this out. And it meant if this Clockwork person had written the journals, Phantom didn’t know about it. Dipper flipped the book cover up just enough to show the symbol on the front with the three emblazoned on it, but Phantom just shrugged. Either he was a really good actor or he genuinely didn’t know anything.

Which was funny, considering he was in it.

Mabel clearly had the same suspicions, since she said, “You have to know something. The author of the journals is the reason we found you.”

Phantom frowned and flicked his eyes to the still-empty spot beside them. Dipper couldn’t quite suppress a shiver. After a few long seconds, Phantom admitted, “I don’t remember how I got here. I’m not lying, okay? I really don’t know. And it’s bugging me. That’s why I wanted to know if you knew Vlad. This is the kind of thing he’d do to me. And then Clockwork….” He trailed off. “He won’t tell me my own future or anything else about yours. But if you’re trying to find out more about whoever wrote that journal, and if they wrote me into it, well, that’s probably what Clockwork’s warning was about.”

“The author hasn’t been wrong about anything that’s turned up before,” Dipper said.

Phantom crossed his arms. “Well, from the way you two are looking at me, he’s wrong about me. It’s not like I’m going to snap and kill everyone. Seriously, let me go, I’ll be gone, and everything will be back to normal.”

He’d been forced to summon the phantom, and now it was trying to trying to trick him into releasing it.

Of course, if they didn’t do something soon, it would get free anyway.

“How did you….” Mabel broke off, bit her lip, and looked at Dipper. Then, turning back to Phantom, “Danny. The boy who was in here earlier. What about him?”

Phantom swallowed. “His name is Danny Fenton.”

Dipper didn’t say anything, and Mabel knew to hold her tongue, too. Phantom squirmed, one hand reaching up the rub the back of his neck. They waited, but he didn’t volunteer any other information.

Dipper sucked in a breath, deep and long, and let it out slowly. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this. He clenched his hands into fists, afraid that if he didn’t, it would be too easy for Phantom to see him shaking. “And?” It came out as a growl, and Phantom flinched.

“And he’s a friend.”

That was a lie. It had to be. Dipper looked at Mabel and saw that she didn’t believe Phantom either. But Phantom had straightened up, and though Dipper couldn’t see it, he could feel Phantom reaching one hand behind him to prod the boundaries of the circle. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but trying to hold the spell together was becoming more and more like trying to hold water cupped in his fingers. It was draining fast now, and—

“Look, just stop this business with the journals and finding whoever wrote them,” Phantom said. “What’s coming if you keep going the way you’re going isn’t good. It’ll be like…like you’ve opened Pandora’s box. The one from the myth, not her actual box, although that, too, if it’s on the wrong setting….” He trailed off. “Please?”

“We can’t,” Dipper said, hoping it would get Phantom to argue with him. But his voice was shaky now, and he couldn’t—

The spell dissipated, and Phantom smiled before vanishing.

-|-

“Is he gone?” Mabel asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Dipper admitted. He leaned back against his bed and closed his eyes. “Probably not, if the journal is right about phantoms.”

“What if that’s not what he is?” Pain and suffering might be in their future, but it hadn’t started immediately. What would Phantom gain from waiting? He already knew they expected it, and he had to know Dipper was weaker now than he would be in the future. Sure, he didn’t know she wouldn’t be able to exorcise him, or at least that she’d never tried doing that to a ghost before, but it shouldn’t stop him from jumping on an opportunity to strike while they were down.

“I don’t know.”

Mabel tried to swallow down her fear at Dipper’s repetition. The cryptic message about Phantom had been coded differently than anything else in the journal, and it hadn’t even been near the pages on ghosts and exorcisms. Maybe he really wasn’t a phantom like he pretended. Maybe the author hadn’t even known what he was. Maybe that’s why the author had never specified what was in the thermos that Dipper had found.

There’s something stuck in some special thermos buried behind the shack….

She wished Dipper had had a chance to examine the thermos before Phantom had taken it.

“What about his warning?”

That prompted Dipper to open his eyes. “We can’t stop. He’s not really here just to warn us. We wouldn’t have found him where we did, the way we did, if he’s telling the truth about everything.”

Mabel said what Dipper didn’t: “And that doesn’t explain Danny.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

Dipper must have no idea what did, no real idea that he didn’t think was too much of a stretch, or he’d have said it.

“So we don’t listen to him?”

“He hasn’t really given us any reason to trust him.”

“Yeah,” Mabel said quietly, “that’s what I thought.” But she couldn’t get Phantom’s abrupt change out of her head, the way he’d been pleading with them to let him out before breaking off mid word and moving faster than she’d been able to see. He’d…changed. In a split second. Still asking them to let him go but with less desperation than before.

He’d claimed that he didn’t know more than what he’d told them, but she didn’t believe that any more than she believed that Danny Fenton, whoever he was, was just some friend. As if they couldn’t see the similarities. As if they had never been tricked before by someone pretending to be someone—something—they’re not.

Even if Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom weren’t the same person—ghost, creature, whatever—they had to be connected. Why would Danny Fenton have come here? To scout out the territory? To try to find Phantom, if Phantom hadn’t sent him? But then there had been the phone call to his sister, before he ran out….

“He talked about other dimensions,” Mabel said slowly. “Do you think he’s from a different dimension?”

Dipper didn’t answer, instead pulling the journal towards him and flipping through it.

“Do you think it was the author of the journals who wrote that note about him? Or do you think it was someone else?”

More silence. Mabel didn’t like that. She much preferred Dipper to talk her ear off with explanations or theories, at least when she had none of her own. She’d rather ignore his ramblings than not have them when they needed them.

“Is this a trap?”

“I hope not,” Dipper finally said, settling on a page in the journal and showing it to her, “but we better be ready for when he comes back in case it is.”

(next)