#who have slurs thrown at them on the street just for looking the way they look.

[dazzlingjaeyun]

𝟐:𝟏𝟖𝐚𝐦 - 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

situationship!heeseung x fem!reader

genre: angst

warnings: heeseung just being toxic, mentions of alcohol and drugs/being high, skinship, suggestive, cursing, jealousy, mention of drowning (metaphorically)

word count: ~2,5k

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‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

your fingers reached up to softly massage your temples as soon as you stopped your car at the red traffic light. why did you even stop? when the digital clock on the display right underneath your car's windshield read 2:18am and the empty streets had pracitcally turned the city into a ghost town?

you scoffed to yourself at the grotesque thought of you being the only soul out at this time, only to pick up heeseung, who had been way too far gone to call you himself.

"'m sorry to call you and burden you with this, pretty, but you gotta pick up your man from my place", heeseung's friend sunghoon had slurred at the other end of the line when your phone had rung less than ten minutes ago. he'd went on about how all of them had been either too drunk or too high to take heeseung home and how letting him sleep over was not an option cause he was 'unbearable and didn't shut up about you'. you would have declined, denying the truth behind sunghoon's words, and most importantly, you would have told sunghoon that heeseung was, in fact, not 'your man'. you would have told him to remind the elder that you'd already instructed him to stop drunk-texting or -calling you, that you didn't want to be there for him, only to get thrown away the second his mind was clear again. you would have done all those things, hadn't it been for heeseung's faint voice you could hear through your speaker, his almost desperate plea for someone to call you, to ask you to come. it made your heart ache and your gut fill with both pity and anger. and against all the rationality you could muster, you gave in. just like all the previous times.

the red light switched, illuminating the dark night in a rich green light.

you dropped your right hand to the gearshift, your left one to the steering wheel, and continued your way to sunghoon's place, the route being all familiar by now from the countless times you had found yourself in the exact same situation before.

when you arrived, sunghoon was standing outside the front door, waiting for you with an apologetic look on his face. his eyes quickly scanned you up and down, your lack in effort to dress up and your tired eyes making him realize that he must have really woken you up with the call.

"i'm sorry again", he mumbled, and when you didn't reply he continued "he's in the living room"

you nodded and followed him, finding the drunk man in question sitting on the sofa with his eyes only half open, seemingly complaining to his friend jake about something you couldn't quite make out from the distance and the way he could barely form a sentence without tripping over his tongue.

the sight made you sigh, wishfully thinking that he'd meant what you had overheard on the phone call with sunghoon earlier.

jake, who looked to the living room door in despair, let out a relieved sigh when he spotted you standing there with sunghoon.

"god bless you, thank you for coming", he said to you before turning back to heeseung, "your girl came to pick you up, now please shut up and don't annoy her the way you did with us"

"i'm not-", you started to protest, but decided to drop it the second heeseung's tired eyes met yours. the dark shade of brown caught you off guard, like it did every time, almost leaving you speechless.

you kept your eyes fixated on his, desperately searching for sincerety, for longing, for something to light up at the sight of you - anything. but the fuzzy feeling in your stomach that the first look into his eyes had given you soon subsided, giving way to disappointment that made you realize your search would stay without result.

"let's go home, hee", you mustered all the strength it took you to fight back tears or any sign of vulnerability.

he complied wordlessly, standing up from the couch, only to sit right back down as the dizziness shot up to his head.

"god, how much did you drink?", you mumbled, half worried, half annoyed. heeseung got wasted at least twice per week. he should have known his limits by now.

you walked up to the sofa with weak knees, hoping you wouldn't instantly melt into his touch the second he took the hand you offered him. you pulled him up, your grip on his hand just tight enough to steady but not hurt him.

you said a quick goodbye to his friends and slowly pulled heeseung outside the front door. when you reached your car, you opened the passenger door, carefully guided him to sit down and made your way to the other side of the car to sit in the drivers seat.

"seatbelt", you said sternly, watching him from the corner of your eyes. heeseung reached back to pull the seatbelt, only for it to slip out of his loose grip right after.

"how much did you drink?", you repeated the question you posed earlier, leaning over him to reach for his seatbelt. so close to his face you could feel his intoxicated breath on your skin, which instantly made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

"missed you", heeseung's whisper sent goosebumps down your spine. his hand found its way up to your cheek, softly caressing your skin with his thumb.

for a second, you closed your eyes, let yourself lean into his soft touch, wishing that it would stay like that forever. opening your eyes, you locked them with his darker ones immediately. the two of you held eye contact for some seconds, neither of you daring to blink - almost as if you were scared that if you closed your eyes now, you'd lose sight of the other forever.

you felt your heart sink more and more, knowing that this was exactly how you felt, knowing that he did not feel like that at all. you didn't want to be here with him and yet you couldn't help yourself to get into your car in the middle of the night to pick him up, to be with him for a few hours before he'd wake up and leave you alone as always. before he'd, again, keep you at a distance, only to call you 'his' whenever it would suit him. but for a reason unknown to yourself, you always gave in, always came back to him - as if the few hours of him holding you could heal all the scars he cut so deep into your heart, as if this time it could be different and he'd stay.

heeseung was the first to look away, his eyes wandering down to your plump lips. it took you all the strength you had left to not give in; to place your hand on top of his chest to hold him back before he could lean in.

"you smell like alcohol", you made up an excuse to not let him kiss you, aware that it was no use trying to address the real problem when he was in this state now.

you sank back into your seat slowly, ready to start the engine without another word when heeseung reached out and stopped your hand from turning the key.

"why were you so close to sunghoon at the party two weeks ago?", he slurred.

you didn't reply. you wanted to tell him that you came to sunghoon crying, almost begging him to look after heeseung, to make sure he wouldn't drink as much - you really did. but you didn't want to make yourself more vulnerable in front of him than you already were. you didn't want him to be aware of the power his drunk actions had over you, not now. so you decided to leave him clueless as to why sunghoon had had his arms wrapped around you tightly when you let your tears soak his shirt two weeks before.

the truth was, you couldn't handle it anymore. the constant on and off with heeseung. you should have known when you had accepted the friends-with-benefits agreement with him four months ago, but in your intoxicated state of mind you'd had the delusion that it might turn out to be something more.

by now, you weren't even that anymore. to be friends with benefits, you had to be friends in the first place. and friends were there for each other, cared about each other, made time for each other. you did all those things for heeseung, he did none.

"i asked you something", heeseung's voice brought you back to the moment.

"it was nothing", you replied shortly, finally turning the key, despite his hand still lingering on yours, and pulling out of the parking lot.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

you didn't know if it was the best idea when you decided to not bring him home and letting him sleep at your place instead, but you couldn't get yourself to leave him alone - although deep down you knew well enough he deserved it.

after you reached your place, every step seemed like pure routine to you; leading him inside the building and up to your apartment, then to the bedroom, where you made sure he removed his jeans to sleep comfortably, before tugging him into your silk sheets. you went to the kitchen to fill a glass with water and leave it, along with some painkillers for the next morning, on your small bedside table.

the faint scent of you on your pillows clouded heeseung's already intoxicated mind even more, bringing back memories of countless nights you'd spent together. you'd always been so easy to him. it'd only needed a call and some kisses to get you where he wanted you.

now, with you sitting on the edge of the bed, you seemed different - almost out of reach.

"what happened to you? realized you like sunghoon more than me?", he scoffed, reaching out his hand to draw small patterns on the outside of your thigh. his soft touch contrasted the almost harsh tone of his voice.

"i don't wanna talk right now, heeseung", you moved further away from him, ready to stand up, but his hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you.

"y/n", he started, "you cannot go after my best friend. you're mine", he purred, tightening his fist around your wrist a little.

"can you drop the whole sunghoon shit, for fucks sake?", you snapped back, pulling your hand out of his strong grip, all the emotions you had been bottling up overflowing at once, giving way to anger and the courage to finally let them out.

heeseung raised an eyebrow. he was used to you cursing whenever he touched you in just the right places, hit the right spots, or when everything felt too much for you, but you had never cursed at him outside the bedroom. and although he couldn't help but feel just a little attracted by it and the way your angry state made your chest move up and down in fast, shaky breaths, a switch inside of him flipped. you were at fault, you had been so close to his friend, so why were you mad now? he should have been the mad one. mad at you and mad at sunghoon. hadn't he told all his friends that you belonged to him?

"if you didn't want me to say anything, you shouldn't have been a bitch", he hissed, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut.

out of everything heeseung had done so far, out of everything you wanted to curse him for, to scream at him for until he finally heard you, he had never insulted you.

"i was crying, heeseung. cause you have been acting like a bitch", your words caught his attention, making him sit up on the bed, "sunghoon only comforted me when you were too busy getting wasted"

"so as soon as i'm out of reach, you just run to my friends to get dicked down?", he dug deeper, his jaw tensing.

you rolled your eyes, anger and annoyance outweighing any other emotion you felt towards him at this point of the conversation. "no, but even if, it would have been none of your business who i fu-"

"you're mine", heeseung interrupted. you opened your mouth to object, but he was faster, "pretty sure the marks on your body are still there to prove it"

"i'm yours? fucking act like it, then!"

"i just said the marks on-"

this time, you were the one to interrupt him.

"you, heeseung. you should prove it. not 'the marks', i'm not a trophy. you're only calling me when you're drunk, high or horny. you don't even ask me how i am, how my day was, you wouldn't-", your voice broke, cutting you off. only now, you realized the tears that had slowly started to roll down your face one by one now that you finally voiced part of what had been troubling you for so long.

heeseung's expression remained stoic. "that's kinda what friends with benefits means, you agreed on that"

"we're not even friends. i care so much about you, i worry about you, i want to be by your side when you're having good times and when you're struggling. i put you over everything, i always did what you asked me for and more. but you'd never do that for me, not even half of these things. you throw me away like a piece of trash as soon as you don't need me anymore. heeseung, i lo-", you sobbed heavily, your confession stuck in your throat, "why are you doing this?"

you already knew. you were expecting what was coming, but hearing it from him would for sure make everything crash down on you like a big wave, ready to drown you.

"you're easy, y/n, you're always right there when i need someone", heeseung replied, almost nonchalant. although something about the way you were standing in front of him shaking and crying tugged at his heart, he couldn't get himself to comfort you. "i didn't know it hurts you so much, you always come back to me."

you're easy y/n, his words echoed in your head. everything started spinning. regret started to fill you up, daring to overflow. was the pain really worth the the few hours with him in which you'd wished time would stop and things would stay like this forever?

"don't call me again", was the only thing you said, before you walked out of your own room, leaving heeseung alone, and making your way to the sofa, where you lay down and silently waited for him to sleep off the alcohol. knowing that he would leave without another word in the morning . just like always.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

a/n: i think this is the most angsty thing i've written so far and ngl idk how i like it (ᵕ—ᴗ—) also i was thinking of maybe making a permanent taglist so in case you'd be interested to be added, lmk hehe ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

thank you so much for reading up until here. it means the entire world to me and i hope you guys enjoyed it. please do not copy. ❤︎︎

- dazzlingjaeyun

[thotsofadepravedwoman]

Serpentine Nights Ch 1,

Ridin’ with James Dean

Pairing: Benny Cross x Fem!Biker!OC

Fandom/Universe: The Bikeriders

Word count: 1105

Summary: As a last resort, Azzie calls in a favor to help keep her people safe.

Trigger warnings: smoking, drinking, this chapter takes place in the bar, borderline harassment, Its the late 60's what'd you expect?, this chapters' pretty tame. compared to the rest of the series.

Series masterlist Main masterlist

___

Lakeside Inn had always been dingy, clouded in smoke and smelling of bourbon. She had come to associate the unique electricity thrumming through the air from the loud music and rowdy patrons with home, the biker bar back home, owned by her father, had always been the same way. She had parked her bike, kicked down the kickstand, taken her gloves off, and popped a cigarette in her mouth before taking the few steps to cross the street and enter the bar.

She could tell they were in the middle of a meeting of sorts, the entire bar filled with bikers in their colors, the leather on her own back worn from years of wear and slightly sunbleached. The men around her looked at her, many catcalls were levied her way, and she wouldn't even want to know how many men were eyeing her backside with lust. She had a simple mission, one goal, one objective, and she would achieve it, even if it meant knocking a few heads.

“Hey there pretty thing,” she could nearly taste the alcohol on the mans breath, his obviously inebriated state leading to him slurring his words ever so slightly. “What's a girl like you doin’ in a place like this?” 

“I'm looking for Johnny.” her words came out blunt, but still twinged with her mothers southern accent. “Where might I find him?”

“What’d you wan’ with the big man?” a man beside the first one asked, his eyes beard bamp from what she could only assume was alcohol of some kind.

“That's none of your concern.” she had thrown an uninterested glare at the men blocking her path. “Either point me in his direction, or move so I can find him myself.” 

“Alright, alight. No need to get all feisty on us sweetheart.” The first one had slurred again, bringing his bottle of beer up to his lips, taking a swing while unabashedly raking her figure up and down with his eyes. 

She pushes past the two, shoulder checking both of them, the leather jacket on her arms shifting as she rolls her shoulders, scanning the bar for the dark hair and signature unimpressed grimace. She had spotted a few women inside the bar, the few she saw either hanging off of a biker's arm, or wearing a jacket herself. It took her a second to spot Johnny through the haze of smoke, but when she had found him, she wasted no time in making her way over, taking mental note of the few men he was sitting with.

Johnny had barely noticed her until she was a mere step or two away from the table, her eyes nearly blank, only a dark sense of emergency pulling at the hues in her eyes. He had barely recognized her, having not seen her in quite a few years, the last time being at her mothers funeral nearly 10 years ago. It had almost shocked Johnny to see her after all these years, a full grown woman dressed in her own jacket and not borrowing her fathers. 

“Well, look who we have here.” Johnny said, setting his glass of whisky down, sitting up a bit taller in his chair as he regarded the woman in front of him. “What bring you to-”

“We need to talk.” She hadn't even let him finish his sentence before she grabbed the only empty chair in the establishment, pushing herself in between two bikers, one with black hair, and the other with sandy blond hair, a look of surprise flashing across both males’ faces.

“Right to the point then,”Johnny took a drag from his cigarette, the burning end almost glowing in the low-light., “just like your father.”.

She didn't say anything, just continued to stare at Johnny as he stared back, her conviction almost startling her, where had that sweet little girl gone, the one that had almost cowarred behind her father. He had no clue, but he was interested to know where this new persona had come from. 

“What’d you need?”

“We need to talk.” Her words had conveyed enough of her intent, the blaze in her eye only deepening into a near glare. 

“Alright, alright.” Johnny waved the boys off, only the blond one next to her remaining stationary. “Yall go get a drink or somethin’.” 

She had looked over to the one still sitting next to her, her eyes determined as she looked back to Johnny with a quizzical look in her eye. 

“He stays.”

“My father is dying.” her words were concise, she had no time to dawdle and she knew it. 

“I'm sorry ‘bout that,” Johnny picked up his glass, downing the remainder of his drink in one fell swoop. “He's a good man.” 

“I'm calling in the favor.” she said. It didn't take long for the boy next to her to look over confused. His gaze flickering back and forth between her and Johnny. She was too young to have garnered any favors with Johnny, he could tell, but by the way Johnny had stiffened, his eyes growing concerned and determined, he knew something had to have gone down. 

“What’d you need?’ was all Johnny said as he stubbed out his cigarette. 

“Pigs’ll come circling, we’re gonna need some extra muscle.” the exchange was succinct, nearly formal as such few words were exchanged, yet each sentence carrying an heavy, near grave, importance. 

“We’ll ride out in the mornin’. Take Benny with ya back home till then.” Johnny had nodded towards the man next to her, his deep blue eyes scanning over her leather jacket. 

“Thank you.” That's all it took for her to stand, making eye contact with the blond man and walking out of the bar. She had gathered the man next to her as the Benny that Johnny had offered, seeing as he took out his riding gloves as he followed behind her, kicking the bar door closed with his boot. 

“Where we headed?” Benny had said, his gloves now on as he swung his leg over his bike, kickstarting it as he pulled the kickstand up. 

“North Indiana. Small town.” her words were short, as she kickstarted her own bike, the deep emerald green color standing out from the other bikes around her. 

“Can I atleast know your name before we hit the road?” he asked, his head tilted to look at the undeniably beautiful woman in the pulled her bike up next to his own. 

“You can call me Azzie.” was all she said before she pulled out, her bike roaring as she took off down the street with a barely perceptible smirk. 

[butchbarbieagainstterfs]

i'm so tired of cis women going "do you KNOW how terrifying it is to be a cishet white woman in a first world country and have to potentially share a bathroom with a MALE???"

like my nemesis in hell i can get hatecrimed, harassed or even killed at any time by anyone for any reason at all just because i exist as a trans man. i have to deal with dirty looks being thrown my way because i'm not closeted but also don't pass, people throwing slurs at me and calling me a dirty tranny on the street. i have to listen to a hysterical transphobic weirdo shouting "TRANNIES ARE TAKING OVER THE WORLD! WE HAVE TO STOP THEM!" in a middle of a busy shopping mall. i have to see my trans friends come to me with bruises from assault.

so my answer is, do YOU know how terrifying it is to be trans in a fucked up transphobic society that wants you gone? because i think sharing a bathroom with a stranger who wants to piss isn't as bad as being scared for your life every time you go outside.

Yeah like

a) they do not understand misogyny is not The Only Oppression and that oppression isn’t some competition. They can talk about their experiences, sure, but don’t use them to take away from other people’s experiences.

b) I have literally told one of them before that people like them make me as an afab butch human they would claim is a woman kind of afraid to use the women’s bathroom. More so than any trans woman ever would make me afraid. I was told I needed to seek help basically.

[whumpbug]

whumperless whump event day 18: i dont see it @whumperless-whump-event

hallucinations / fever dreams / “it's just a nightmare. you're safe.”

see this post for character information!

caretaker: Archie

whumpee: Simon

guys this is like my 2nd favorite fic i wrote for wwe its so silly

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Archie hadn’t heard from Simon in nearly three days.

He had been taking a break from patrol after a bad rib break left him laid up in bed for a few days. Simon vehemently stated that it was forbidden for Archie to do anything more physical than climbing the stairs to his apartment. 

Usually, Archie would have fought him on this, but he didn’t really want to this time. A break sounded nice, especially if he got to spend it with Simon.

Which is why the radio silence confused him.

Typically, when Archie is on house arrest for an injury, Simon texts him often to check up on him, and if not that, he comes over to see Archie in person.

Sure, rib fractures weren’t the most serious thing Archie could be recovering from, but it still didn’t explain why Simon wasn’t having him report his pain on a scale of 1-10 every four hours.

So, Archie did the only logical thing there was to do.

He broke into Simon’s apartment.

He really needed to get better locks on his window. Archie finally clicked it open, and slipped into the kitchen. He hissed a bit as the movement pulled at his still sore side.

“Simon?” Archie called out, his voice a bit quiet just in case Simon was sleeping.

There was no response.

He ventured further into the apartment, noticing that even the apartment looked like it hadn’t been tended to in a few days. There was old fruit on the counter and dishes piled up in the sink and papers strewn about everywhere. It was completely out of character for Simon, who was one of the most organized people Archie knew.

Archie started getting a weird feeling. Simon being kidnapped wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, so that was always a possibility, but it still didn’t feel quite right to Archie. There were no signs of struggle, no signs that any person had been here in a few days.

He took a few more steps into the small living room, intending to go check on Simon’s bedroom when he heard a creak.

He froze.

There was a whoosh sound, and before Archie even had time to react, someone was tackling him to the ground and pinning him there.

“Woah, what the hell?!” He shouted, easily dodging the clumsy punches thrown his way. 

“Get out'f my house!” The figure shouted.

In the slivers of street light coming from the window, Archie finally caught a glimpse of his attacker’s face and--

“Simon?!” He shrieked, ducking from another swing of his fist.

“Get out!” Simon slurred, nearly falling forward with a flair of his arm. 

Archie got a better look at him now, his vision finally adjusting. Simon was breathing erratically. There was a deep flush on his cheekbones, and his eyes were glassy and hazy. Even in his voice, Archie could tell he wasn’t all the way there.

That explained the absence, then.

“Simon, it’s me. It’s Archie. You need to calm down--”

A knee flew up to meet Archie’s middle. Right where his ribs were wrapped up. A strangled cry escaped him.

“You’re not g’nna take me again..” Simon panted, squinting down at Archie as he hissed in pain.

“Fuck, Simon..” Archie groaned, finally grabbing Simon’s wrists and pinning them to his side. Simon did not like this, and began squirming and thrashing in Archie’s grasp.

It was no secret that Simon was taller than Archie, but his strength didn’t begin to compare. Archie gritted his teeth and sat up, pulling Simon off of him while still keeping his arms restrained.

Simon weakly tried to wrench himself out of Archie’s grasp, but dizziness began washing over him rather intensely, and he just groaned.

“J-Just.. leave me alone,” He demanded, but it came out as a soft whimper.

Archie frowned, feeling Simon’s fevered skin beneath his grasp. He approached him once again, kneeling in front of him.

Simon looked utterly and completely out of it. He was blinking slowly, trying in vain to focus his eyes on something. Underneath his hostility, though, Archie could see he was terrified.

“Hey. Look at me. It’s just me, it’s Archie. No one is here to hurt you. You're safe. It’s just a nightmare,” He said, voice gentle. He reached up to cradle Simon’s cheek, but also to gauge the fever and.. yup. He was absolutely burning.

Simon blinked again at Archie, tilting his head like he was seeing him for the first time.

“..Archie?”

Archie breathed a laugh. “Yeah bud, it’s me. Somethin’ tells me you’re not feeling too good..”

Simon fluttered his eyes closed and shook his head. 

“M’cold..” He murmured, and as if to punctuate the statement, a brief shiver wracked his frame.

Archie frowned sympathetically and reached over to the coffee table to flick on a lamp.

He used this opportunity to get a better look at his friend. Simon was wearing an oversized t-shirt that looked suspiciously damp, and some pajama bottoms. His socks were mismatched, which isn’t that odd, but for Simon, completely out of character. He was also rocking a severe bedhead, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Knowing Simon, he probably hadn’t.

Simon was swaying slightly where he sat, looking positively miserable. Archie sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead, smiling softly when Simon melted into the touch.

“How long have you been feeling sick?” He asked, threading a hand through Simon’s sweaty hair.

Simon shrugged. “Since.. Tuesday?”

“Simon, it’s Friday.”

“...Oh.”

Archie sighed softly and wrapped his arms around Simon’s trembling form. He peppered kisses across his warm face and carded a hand through his hair once again.

“How about we get you all cleaned up and into bed?” He offered, standing with a sharp wince.

Simon nodded before noticing Archie’s hiss. He squinted at him in confusion.

“Wait.. your ribs.. how’s the pain?” He questioned softly.

Archie smiled sheepishly. “Well, they were getting better until uh.. well, y’know..”

Simon suddenly remembered what he had been dreaming of previously, and blanched. 

“Oh.. shit, Archie, m'so sorry..I thought..” He trailed off, covering his mouth with a hand.

“Ah, it’s fine. You didn’t mean it! Let’s just get you into the shower, alright?” Archie’s voice had a hint of mirth.

Simon nodded, still feeling his ears burn red with embarrassment.

“I will, however, have you look at them when you’re feeling better. You’re surprisingly strong, even when dying of the plague.”

Simon mumbled more apologies as Archie led him into the bathroom, hiding his face in his hand.

Archie huffed a small laugh. He was never going to let Simon live this down.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[beckettj]

1 Year Repost: There's No Harm in Repeating (A CS oneshot)

It's been a year since I posted the oneshot I probably had the most fun writing so here it is again!

Summary: Killian Jones has lived in apartment 204 for a year and has never exchanged more than ‘hellos’ with Emma Swan in apartment 205. That is until a run-in with her son, Henry, results in the boy doing some unintentional matchmaking. For how else do you find out what a woman thinks of you, if not through her four-year-old son?

A Captain Swan as neighbors au featuring Captain Cobra moments.

Words: 4432

Read on AO3

A flask of coffee in hand, Killian Jones stepped out of his crappy apartment, into the just as crappy hallway, to the oh-so-familiar sweet sound of arguing travelling up the stairwell from the entrance hall below.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Emma? You have no right to stop me from seeing my own son!”

“Look at yourself, Neal! You can barely stand! You’re hardly in any fit state to look after yourself, let alone a four-year-old boy!”

Emma Swan. The irritation was clear in her voice, as it travelled up the pungent staircase that Killian started to take down, yet it was her voice which reminded him of the single reason why he hadn’t moved the hell out of the crappy apartment building at any point in the last year. Even when shouting, screaming at her dickhead of an ex with all her might, her voice was as captivating as a siren’s song, drawing him in as the rest of the world fell away around him.

“Every fucking time, Emma! There’s always something with you, isn’t there? You can never just hand him over without causing a scene.”

“Perhaps that has something to do with the fact that you are never able to turn up sober. You need help, Neal.”

“Leave off! I’m perfectly fine.”

“I’d almost believe you, if it weren’t for the slurring.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t believe this! No, in fact, I can! I can totally believe this! This is textbook you, Neal! You get his hopes up and then you let him down.”

“Let him down? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, and utterly shit-faced, you damn asshole.”

Killian chuckled to himself, having heard enough of their arguments through the building's thin walls to be invested enough to back Emma over her alcoholic ex. He’d also overheard enough to know that when Emma resorted to cursing, she was well and truly pissed. 

Commotions were a frequent occurrence in the apartment complex. Day or night, the residents just did not care. Killian had quickly learned that the best way to cope with it all, was to just treat the whole thing like a soap drama; it was almost more compelling than the ones on television. It wasn’t just Emma and Neal; there was enough drama in the building for him to develop his own soap drama television show if he wanted. If it wasn’t Emma, his lovely neighbor in apartment 205, arguing with her ex, it was the guy in apartment 101 making direct complaints over noise levels, someone accusing the pickpocket in 219 of theft, the guy in 117 finding a megaphone through which to broadcast his crazed ramblings that no one could make any sense of, or the young man in 301 hosting his midnight raves which attracted all the youth in the city like the bloody Pied Piper.

Yes, life in Enchanted View apartments was just charming. And extremely entertaining, in a guilty pleasure kind of way.

The arguing continued as Killian made his way down the stairs, obscenities and insults getting thrown back and forth as Emma went for it in giving Neal a piece of her mind. Killian had to hold back a cheer of satisfaction that she was finally doing such a thing; making himself realize just how invested he had gotten. 

He stayed quiet, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. He hoped to get by unnoticed, to slip out onto the street, and go about his day, leaving them to their dispute. It was only when he reached the bottom step that he determined such a feat to be impossible for Emma Swan stood in the building doorway, blocking his way. Or rather, preventing her tool of an ex-boyfriend from gaining entry to the building. Neal was bladdered; completely and utterly bladdered. Killian had known, from his slurred words, that he was drunk, but the man stood before Emma was well and truly hammered, incapable of standing still, staggering around the doorstep. His movements were slow and shaky, resulting in any attempt he made to get past Emma looking weak and pathetic. The only danger there was of Neal getting over the threshold were if he were to fall flat on his face. Killian chuckled lightly to himself, amused by such a scenario playing out in his head.

“I promised I’d take him bowling so I’m damn well going to take him bowling.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you chose to go heavy on the booze for breakfast. It’s not happening, Neal.”

“I’m not leaving ‘til I see him. Where the hell is he? Henry! Henry!”

“Cut it out, Neal. You really don’t want him to see you like this.”

“Oh, lighten up, Emma.”

Killian moved off the bottom step, with the plan to slip out through the back door which led into the side alley. Yet, as he began said plan, his eyes fell on the very boy at the core of the adults’ argument. Henry. The four-year-old sat patiently on the bench, positioned opposite the out-of-order elevator, a book open in his hands. Peter Pan, Killian read from the cover. Henry’s head was buried in the book, avidly inspecting the colourful pictures within it but, every now and then, whenever his parents’ voices rose or his name came up, the boy’s head would shoot out of the book, sending an apprehensive glance towards the doorway in which his equally unrelenting parents stood.

Killian thought back to his own childhood, to all the times his mother argued with his drunk father. He recalled how much he hated it, how he always found a way to blame himself for their arguing, and how useless he had felt every time; the urge to help his mother conflicting with the fear of how his father may react if he did. Killian couldn’t help but see himself in Henry but with one key difference; Liam had been there for Killian, right by his side, throughout every argument. Henry had no one, an only child, sat alone on the bench, just a book for company.

Killian wondered over to the young boy, taking up the empty space on the bench beside him.

“What have you got there, lad?” Killian asked, nodding to the book in Henry’s hands.

“A book,” the four-year-old responded with the obvious.

Killian chuckled to himself; ask a stupid question.

“That a good book?” Killian tried again, determined to strike up conversation to distract the lad from the scene behind him.

The boy shrugged, lacking enthusiasm, “It’s okay.”

Henry’s head turned to the entrance again, just in time to see his father attempt to force Emma’s arm out of the way, only to stumble backwards and fall into a pillar.

“Do you want me to help you read it?” Killian offered, successfully drawing the boy’s attention back onto him.

“That’s okay, thank you,” Henry politely declined his offer. “I look at the pictures and make up my own story.”

“Do you now?” Killian replied. “Care to tell me one?”

Henry smiled at him and nodded enthusiastically. He pointed to the picture in his book, a crocodile circling the waters around the Jolly Roger.

“Once upon a time, Peter Pan took a girl called Wendy to a place called Neverland and they flied there but actually, properly flied, not on an aeroplane, with, like, magic and stuff, and it was an island but there were no animals on the island and Wendy was sad because she loves animals,” Henry began to tell his story.

“Oh, why were there no animals?” Killian asked.

“They went in the water with the crocodile,” Henry answered.

Killian wasn’t quite sure what the four-year-old was implying with that statement.

“So, they all went to live in the water with the croc?” Killian checked.

“No!” Henry protested, looking at him like he was stupid. “The crocodile ate them all up!”

“Well, that’s not very kind,” Killian responded.

“Duh, he’s the bad guy,” Henry said.

Killian laughed; that told him.

“Good point,” he conceded.

“Are you going to let me tell the rest of the story?” Henry asked pointedly.

“Sorry, lad, sure, go ahead,” Killian encouraged.

“There was also a very, very, very bad guy on the island and his name was Captain Hook! He was a pirate who got everyone’s treasure and didn’t like Peter Pan or Wendy,” Henry continued, putting a great level of emphasis on certain words. “Peter Pan and Wendy didn’t like Captain Hook because he was naughty and didn’t have kind hands or kind words so they went to fight him. With swords! And a tyrannosaurus rex! And a dragon! But Captain Hook was really stronger and a gooder fighter and he pushed the tyrannosaurus rex and the dragon and Peter Pan and Wendy into the water and the crocodile ate them all up!”

Henry grinned, looking really proud of himself for coming up with such an exciting story. Killian raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t the good guys supposed to win?” Killian asked.

“But that’s boring!” Henry defended his story.

“True,” Killian conceded with a chuckle. “And I must admit, it was a twist I didn’t see coming. You’re quite the storyteller, lad.”

Henry beamed at him, completely distracted from the argument raging on behind him.

“That’s what I want to do when I’m bigger!” Henry spoke enthusiastically, bouncing up and down on the bench. “I want to be a story maker!”

“I’m sure you’ll make a fine story maker,” Killian encouraged, smiling at the boy.

“I’m going to make stories about castles and princes and princesses and space and pirates and dragons and dinosaurs!” Henry told him eagerly, speaking at a hundred miles per hour.

“Wow, that’s a lot of stories,” Killian remarked.

“My favorite dinosaur is the tyrannosaurus rex,” Henry segued slightly, once again impressing Killian with his pronunciation.

“Good choice, lad. Those are the big ones,” Killian replied.

“But they’re all extinct now,” Henry spoke matter-of-factly.

“That’s a big word you’ve used there,” Killian commented as the four-year-old continued to impress him with his vocabulary. “Do you know what it means?”

“It means they’re all gone,” Henry answered confidently. “They died and turned into fossils which is good because if they weren’t died they would eat us all up!”

“You’re just full of knowledge, aren’t you?” Killian mused.

Henry grinned at him, seemingly appreciating the compliment. Killian was just happy to have lifted his spirits slightly, even if it was only temporary. The commotion in the doorway was bound to end eventually and he couldn’t pretend to know how things would proceed from there. In the meantime, Killian was more than happy to keep the lad company; it was far better than the boy sitting on his own, listening to every word his parents exchanged.

“My name’s Killian, by the way,” he introduced himself.

He had seen the boy around the apartment building on multiple occasions. They had even nearly bumped into each other several times; the energetic boy didn’t have the best spatial awareness. They had smiled at each other, waved on occasion, and Killian had exchanged the odd ‘hello’ with his mother, but no official introductions had ever been made. Killian suddenly realized that his conversation with the boy meant that he had had more interaction with young Henry than with the boy’s mother. As good company as the boy provided, something had gone seriously wrong with that one.

“I’m Henry,” the boy introduced himself in return.

Little did the four-year-old know that Killian already knew his name. The apartment walls weren’t exactly thick, and Henry wasn’t quite as well behaved behind closed doors as he was when out in public. There were a few times each week where Emma got forced into resorting to shouting her son’s name to get him to listen to her.

“Nice to meet you, Henry,” Killian smiled at him.

The boy smiled back in return and Killian took a pause from the conversation to take a swig of his coffee whilst thinking of the next question to ask to continue his distraction attempts.

Henry spoke up first, “My mommy says fucking hell.”

Killian spluttered and choked on his coffee as it went down the wrong hole. He promptly recovered and looked at the boy beside him who was looking up at him with such sweet, innocent hazel eyes. There was no way, Killian decided, that such a young boy had said what he thought he had just heard.

“Sorry, kid, I missed that one,” Killian told him.

Henry replied, assured and matter of fact in what he was saying, “My mommy says fucking hell.”

Bloody fucking hell. Killian was out of his depth the second he had struck up a conversation with the boy, let alone when he found himself having to deal with a four-year-old cursing.

“I don’t think you should be repea-”

“That’s what my mommy says to my daddy.”

Killian couldn’t help himself and let out a loud laugh. He glanced at Neal and took in the man’s inebriated state; the way he staggered as he tried, and failed, again, to force his way past Emma who stood strong in the doorway, continuing to refuse to relinquish her position. A series of slurred insults poured out of Neal’s mouth, all directed at Emma and none of them harbouring even a slither of truth.

Killian turned back to Henry, his own chain of choice words coming to mind when he thought of Neal.

“Honestly, lad, I don’t blame her,” Killian remarked.

Henry glanced down at his book and absent-mindedly flicked through a couple of pages, barely glancing at the pictures. Killian took the momentary pause in conversation as another chance to take a swig of his coffee.

“Killian?” Henry spoke up again.

“What’s up, lad?” Killian returned.

“Are you going to have a sleepover with mommy?” Henry shot a random question at him.

Killian frowned, wondering where the boy could have possibly gotten that question from, before answering, “Not that I know of.”

“Oh,” Henry’s shoulders slumped, radiating disappointment.

“What makes you ask?” Killian questioned curiously.

Henry sat up straighter and set his book down on the bench. He turned back to Killian, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Once upon a time, I had a scary nightmare at night-time and it was really, really, really late because it was really, really black out my window,” Henry delved into what Killian feared for a moment was going to be another story ending with everyone getting eaten up, rather than an answer to his question. “And because I was scared, I wanted my mommy and I found her in the living room and she was drinking wine!”

“Did she drink it all up?” Killian asked.

“She drank loads of it. Mommy says wine is really nice but I don’t know because she won’t let me try because I’m not big enough. She says it’s a grown-up drink,” Henry said, instantly making Killian regret asking, distracting the boy from the original point. “Mommy says too much wine make you silly like Daddy, and not in a good way like a clown, but she said she needs wine sometimes to deal with Daddy. She says Daddy drives her round the bend.”

Killian laughed and made a mental note to watch every single thing he said around the boy, picking up on his habit to repeat things he heard. He guided the lad back to the original point, “What were you saying about a sleepover?”

“Oh, yes!” Henry grinned at the reminder. “Mommy was drinking wine with her friend Mary Margaret and I heard Mommy say that she wanted the man next door in her bed. That’s you.”

Killian knew it was him before Henry had even pointed it out to him, given the resident in apartment 206 was a woman. He smiled to himself and looked knowingly across at Emma. She still had her back to him, too caught up in dealing with Neal and was probably totally oblivious to his presence there. She wasn’t, however, oblivious to his presence in the apartment next door; her kid had just made that much clear to him.

She may have been drunk at the time of Henry’s earwigging, but drunk meant free of inhibition which meant there had to be some level of truth to her words. It had been a year since he had moved in, and it was the first hint he had ever received that she was at all interested in him. With nothing but passing exchanges of ‘hellos’, Killian had assumed otherwise but, after talking to Henry, he put the pieces together, realizing that she was essentially a single mother, single-handedly bringing up a four-year-old with a pathetic excuse for a father, which undoubtedly left little room for dating. If he wanted to be more than neighbors exchanging the odd polite hello, he was going to have to make the first move and, armed with the knowledge Henry had given him, he was suddenly extremely eager to do so.

If only Neal would give up already. The man was still arguing his case to Emma.

“So?” Henry spoke up, forcing Killian to take his eyes off Emma and return them to her son. “Are you going to have a sleepover?”

“We’ll see,” Killian responded, trying to be as careful as he could with his choice of words.

‘Killian wants to have a sleepover with you’ coming out of Henry’s mouth was not the way he wanted to approach asking Emma out.

“Are you going to be my new daddy?”

Killian was so glad he wasn’t drinking his coffee in that moment for he would have choked on it again. He stared at the kid, unsure if he really wanted to find out where that question had come from and yet, he was curious.

He couldn’t help himself, “What makes you ask that?”

“When Mommy said that she wanted you in her bed, Mary Margaret said that you would make a better daddy for me than my daddy,” Henry recalled then sighed, dropping his head and inspecting his shoes. “My daddy’s rubbish. He never does anything he says he’s going to do.”

Killian made a mental note to thank Mary Margaret, if he ever met her, for dropping him in it with that one.

“Your daddy’s not rubbish, Henry,” Killian reluctantly forced the words out. “He just needs… a bit of help.”

A lot of help. And Neal needed to accept that fact too.

Henry frowned, looking slightly disappointed, “So… you’re not going to be my new daddy?”

“You’ve already got a daddy, Henry. And maybe, if he gets that little bit of help, he’ll be able to be a good daddy. And if not, maybe in the future Mummy will find you a better daddy,” Killian replied carefully, not at all sure he was saying the right thing; he was so far out of his depth. “For now, though, I can just be your friend.”

A small smile crept onto Henry’s face, “Friends?”

“Friends?” Killian returned the question.

“Yeah!” Henry nodded enthusiastically.

The boy’s smile broadened into a huge grin, one which Killian couldn’t help but return. As they fell into a comfortable silence, the heated exchange in the doorway was the only sound which filled the room.

“You want to see your son?” Emma snapped. “Sober the hell up and get some help. I’m done playing these games with you.”

“Fine!” an exasperated Neal shot back.

“Fine!”

Killian watched as Neal turned and staggered off down the steps back towards the street, amazed and slightly disappointed to see him do so without falling flat on his face. Emma slammed the door on him, the loud bang making little Henry jump. She let out a heavy sigh, and took a moment to compose herself, before turning around to find her son. Her eyes landed on Killian and she narrowed them, confused and surprised by his presence, watching him inquisitively as she walked over.

“Hey there,” she greeted.

“Hi,” he returned.

An exchange of hellos.

Henry jumped up from the bench, bouncing enthusiastically on his feet as he grabbed Emma’s hand.

“Mommy, Mommy, this is Killian, the man next door. He’s my new friend. He’s very nice. He sat with me whilst you and Daddy were arguing again,” Henry told her excitedly.

Emma glanced to the door and there was a harder look on her face when she looked back at Killian, “You heard all that?”

“I heard all the stories your boy was telling me,” Killian responded, choosing not to acknowledge the argument that she didn’t seem too thrilled about him overhearing. Something told him she hadn’t realized just how thin the walls were in the building, and just how many of her behind-closed-doors domestics he had also heard in the past. “He’s got quite the imagination.”

“Did they end with everyone getting eaten?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

“They did, indeed,” Killian confirmed with a nod. “Quite the thrilling twist.”

“Predictable if you listen to too many,” Emma warned.

“That, I look forward too,” he returned.

She smiled slightly then spoke, with some of the sincerest words he had ever heard, “Thank you, Killian.”

“It was my honor,” he returned, matching her tone. “That’s one fine boy you’ve got there. He’s a real credit to you.”

Even if he has been dropping you in it.

Emma looked down at Henry beside her, ruffling his hair. When she looked back up at Killian, their eyes locked, his blue ones meeting her green, captivating him, drawing him in just as her voice did. Henry’s words echoed in his mind; I heard Mommy say she wanted the man next door in her bed. That’s you. It was him. Emma wanted him and man, did he want her. Not necessarily in his bed (though he certainly wouldn’t protest) but even in general; he wanted her there, with him, beside him, around. He wanted to be hers and, lost in each other’s gaze, he had the chance to take a step in that direction, to ask her out.

“Where’s Daddy?” Henry spoke up first, beating him to it.

Damn it. Bloody Neal.

Emma’s eyes left his, dropping down to her kid once more and Killian followed her gaze. Henry was looking towards the closed door of the apartment building, no Neal in sight.

“He said we were going bowling,” a disappointed Henry sighed.

“I know, kid,” Emma crouched down to his level, pushing the hair away from his eyes before taking his hands in hers. “But Daddy had to be somewhere. He’s really sorry. Maybe in a few weeks-”

“Let’s do it,” Killian spoke up, cutting her off.

Emma looked up at him, frowning, “I’m sorry?”

“Let’s do it,” Killian repeated. “Let’s go bowling.”

Henry gasped, his eyes immediately lighting up as he started excitedly bouncing around again. “Really?”

“If your mum doesn’t mind…” Killian hesitantly trailed off, realizing he probably should have spoken to Emma about it first.

He looked at her. The sharp look he received back from Emma told him he most definitely should have spoken to her first.

Bloody hell.

Had he put his foot in it the very first chance he had gotten? Had he screwed things up before they had even begun?

Emma stood up. She encouraged Henry to take a look at his book whilst she discussed some plans, and then pulled Killian away from the bench and towards the door. Her touch was light and her skin smooth against his arm. He was hit by a pang of disappointment when her touch left him, desperate for more. She folded her arms, guarding herself.

“Look, Killian, I appreciate-”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, cutting her off before realizing he was developing a bad habit of doing so. “I should have spoken to you before saying anything to the lad. He just looked so disappointed.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Killian, but all you did is delay the disappointment, probably even increased it. I can’t take him bowling,” Emma told him with an exasperated sigh. “I’m living pay check-to-pay check as it is and we’re only just scraping by. I can’t afford to take him bowling.”

“It’s on me,” Killian told her.

Emma gaped at him, “Why would you do such a thing?”

The question had multiple answers, as far as Killian was concerned. He could spend all day answering that one. After all, why wouldn’t he do such a thing? He decided to keep his response as concise as possible in an effort not to appear all gushy.

“Because your son is quite the charmer, in his own little way,” he told her. “And it’s about time I asked you out on a date and I can’t wait a week and I don’t expect you to find a babysitter on such short notice. So, Emma Swan, would you and your little prince care to join me on a bowling and pizza adventure?”

“You know my surname?” she didn’t miss a trick.

“I may have peeked at your mail,” he confessed.

“That’s crafty, Killian Jones,” she smirked at him.

He raised an eyebrow at her own crafty confession, “Is that a yes?”

“Hey, kid!” Emma avoided answering, calling over to Henry instead, whose little head shot out of his book like lightning. “Wanna go bowling?”

“Yes!” Henry exclaimed.

The four-year-old tossed his book aside on the bench and jumped to his feet, racing across to Emma and Killian before once again returning to his excited bouncing.

“Killian’s treating us to bowling,” Emma told the boy. “What do you need to say?”

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Henry exclaimed.

Without warning, the boy charged at him, running straight into his legs, and wrapping his arms around them. The action knocked Killian off balance and he would have fallen were it not for Emma grabbing a hold of his hand and steadying him, saving him from that embarrassment. With his balance restored, Killian gratefully ran his thumb along hers as he let go.

“That’s quite alright, Henry,” Killian replied as he gently patted the boy on the shoulder.

“Come on then, kid, go fetch your book and we’ll set off,” Emma prompted.

Henry released Killian from his tight grasp and ran off back to the bench, doing as he was told. Killian’s eyes met Emma’s once more as she smiled at him, a gesture he automatically returned.

“You just made his day,” Emma told him.

“You just made my year,” Killian returned.

--

Tags: @teamhook@laianely@booksteaandtoomuchtv@exhaustedpirate@anmylica@hollyethecurious@kmomof4@winterbaby89@undercaffinatednightmare@resident-of-storybrooke@tiganasummertree@stahlop@lfh1226-linda@darkshadow7@fleurdepetite@captainswan-kellie@motherkatereloyshipper@soniccat@jrob64@whimsicallyenchantedrose@jonesfandomfanatic@myfearless-love

[abnormalcleric]

Manic T. Hedgehog is Canonically GNC/Nonbinary

Please note that I'm not a Sonic expert and I didn't feel like scrubbing through the whole show for screencaps, so most of these are from the same four episodes.

1. From So This is Basically Sonic the Hedgehog: "The boys wear shoes and the girls wear entire outfits." This is true across pretty much all media. Some characters have goggles, a hat, and/or a bandana, but otherwise everyone follows this rule. Except the drummer. Manic wears half an outfit.

That's shoes and gloves (gender-conforming boys mostly have gloves, too) but also bracelets, earrings, a bag, and a vest. I'm not going to count jewelry, but no other masc-aligned character covers that much skin in thier regular outfit. The earrings seem to be unique among Sonic characters, though. It's worth noting, but not immediately relavent, that he has a double helix in his left ear.

While we're on the subject of clothing preferences, let's talk about Wedding Bell Blues. Now, it's possible he could be secure enough in his masculinity to be Little Bo Peep, but that doesn't explain the attitude or how quickly he suggested disguising himself as his own mother in the first place.

Look at the elation in those eyes. The disgust at being thrown to the ground. The poise and grace. The fact that apparently both ears are pierced, but he only wears the two earrings most of the time. And he didn't have to go all the way. The lipstick isn't necessary for the disguise. But it is a good segue to point two.

2. You know how Sonia wears mascara (or at least has eyelashes)? And Sonic just has eyelids?

Sonic's eyelids always stop before the edge of his eye. Even when they draw the line a little thicker, it never extends outside of the eye itself. Manic's frequently (not always) flicks out at the end when he blinks. You'd think it would happen equally to both of them if it was just a mistake. And while I have these pictures here, I need you to stop and look at how fucking cute Manic is. This hedgehog slays.

3. Sonia's voice is "girl", Sonic's voice is "boy", and Manic's voice is "sassy". I want to describe it as valley girl/surfer dude. They could have had a Brooklyn accent or used different slang and filler words, but they, like, always go for "like." That's way more valley girl than it ever was surfer dude. You'll notice that they use "dude" as a descriptor and an interjection, but they usually reserve "bro" for when they're actually referring to Sonic. It's not just the dialect, either, because that could be a learned behavior they picked up in the streets. Half of it is their tone. Even Sonic, who is famous for being snarky, doesn't swing his hips and strut the way Manic does.

4. Look at the way this hedgehog stands, especially as compared to Sonic in the same situations.

The confidence.

The attitude.

The lean back.

The dainty way they hold their hands. That's not a traditional drummer's grip. That's a sassy drummer's grip.

5. There are no gender lines in punk. Sonic is basic, Sonia is posh, and Manic dresses like someone who would flip Sleet off for calling them a slur. Not that Sleet would. Look at that cape.

6. Sonic's hair goes back. Sonia's hair goes forward. Trevor's hair goes back and down. Manic's hair goes up and forward.

It looks like Sonia's hair, but spiky.

7. In general, masculine and feminine characters in the Sonic franchise have roughly the same shoe size. In Underground, feminine, dainty characters like Sonia and Bartleby have smaller feet.

Manic's feet look smaller than Sonic's, but only by a hair. It's actually mostly an illusion. Their feet are the same proportion of their bodies and are drawn to be the same size when they're standing on the same plane. But something about them makes Manic's shoes look smaller in most shots.

Now, you might notice that some of these trends remind you of another Sonic character. Full outfit, smaller feet, overdramatic stance, highly expressive tone and word choice...

[cxpidsrevolution]

Wink Murder

Prologue: Why did it have to be a college party?!?!?

WC: 1.3k CW: Mentions of Alcohol, Death, Slight sexual themes, swearing Taglist: Open

Attending a frat party wasn't really your ideal way of spending a friday night, but the promise of free drinks and the pleas of your friends had gotten you to agree to go. Knowing the night would be an uneventful blur of other college students downing drinks and making out with people whose names they wouldn't even recall in the morning, you were certain you'd be leaving the frat house before some drunken guy could try convince you to go back to his bedroom with you (and most definitely fail). If you were honest you had considered locking yourself in your dorm room until your friends had left just to avoid an inevitably bad night, studying for your upcoming finals seeming like a far better alternative to navigating around sticky floors to avoid any awkward situations. But before you knew it, Lumine and Hu Tao had pulled out a dozen dresses from their own wardrobes and were prompting you to try on and choose one of them and so your plans of hiding away from the nights were fooled by sparkly fabrics cut to a less than appropriate length.

“Are you sure there isn't anything more modest I could wear?” you say turning your head to the girls who were sitting on your bed gushing over ‘how good you looked in that dress’ and other statements along those lines while you attempted to shimmy some of the fabric down in hopes of it at least reaching halfway down your thighs.”I don't even want to go to this stupid party, can i not even wear something from my own wardrobe?”

“C’mon YN its a frat party, this is kind of the standard dress code,” Hu Tao rolled her eyes at your statement “You never know, maybe this'll get you out of your shell and you'll finally start having fun. That's what college is for.”

“I’m pretty sure college is for educa-” you were cut off before you could finish your correction of Hu Tao’s statement by a long sigh coming from Lumine.

“You barely get out as it is, just this once for us?” Lumine offered a smile and starting routing around the piles of clothing thrown around various areas of your carpet, a mess you were 99% sure you'd be left to clean up, until she grabbed a longer coat “you can even wear this over it, and if you want to leave after an hour then we can leave.”

After a few more minutes of a similar back and forth you gave in and opted to put the jacket lumine had suggested you wear over the outfit you were sure wouldn't feel out of place in a burlesque show. A small part of you hoped that the taxi Lumine had ordered never made it to the street outside of your dorm building but alas you were never really that lucky and around 5 minutes later Lumine received a call notifying you all that the car was outside and ready to take you to the party.

At least you could say with certainty that Hu Tao hadn't been lying when she told you that it ‘was standard dress code’, in fact it seemed like the entire party was a contest to see who could wear the least clothing. The warmth inside, probably the product of the sheer amount of people packed into the two story house, was enough to prompt you to remove your jacket, opting instead to sling it over your forearm. As soon as you stepped in the main room Hu Tao had wandered off in search of someone willing to indulge her for the evening and Lumine gave you a glance before announcing that she was going to look for her boyfriend, Ajax (or Childe as he was titled by his frat brothers). Before leaving she told you to come see her if you wanted to head back after about an hour like she had said back in your dorm but by that point it was obvious that she would be too busy with whatever it was couples did at these parties. So that left you standing alone in the middle of a cramped room without anyone you knew praying that a cup of something strong enough for you to forget the experience would somehow materialise in your hand. 

Slurred voices and overpowering loud, terrible music was all that could be heard as you pushed your way through the crowd of people to try and find wherever the alcohol was being kept, mumbling apologies and curses as you navigated to what you assumed was the kitchen. As soon as you spotted a surface covered in assorted bottles and red plastic cups you poured yourself a random drink, already knowing after the first sip that without a doubt you would’ve rather been home. You placed the cup down on the side, not caring much about what happened to the remains of your drink, too overwhelmed by your surroundings to entertain the idea of drinking anymore alcohol.

“Why did I let them convince me into coming?” you mumbled under your breath as you wondered around attempting to find an area of the house that would be less populated by people. Drunken party goers brushed up against your arms as they danced out of rhythm with whatever blaring song was on or dragged each other to a more secluded area for activities you didn't want to stick around to witness. Honestly the whole situation was becoming too much and the only thought in your head at that moment was getting air that hadn’t come out of the mouth of some intoxicated 20 year old. Now on the second floor you opted to hide away in one of the bedrooms upstairs, careful to check for giggling behind any of the doors to avoid any awkward situations you weren't sure you'd be able to explain your presence at. 

Finally finding a room absent of anyone you opened the door rushing inside and closing it quickly behind you, luckily the room you found yourself in had a balcony so you rushed towards it excited to get the fresh air you craved after successfully escaping the packed first floor. At last taking a second to check your phone, 1 missed call and a message from lumine showing up in your notifications as you swipe to unlock it.

'Sorry yn but Childe wants me to stay the night so you’ll have to call a cab home when you wanna go :)'

It wasn't that you hadn't expected it, but the smiley face she had added to the end of the message didn't lessen the blow that you had basically been left for the promises of sex and fun. Ultimately turning off the screen, you leant on the railings of the balcony looking at the view but the rows of houses occupying the outskirts of the college campus did not offer much in the way of entertainment. The streets were basically barren with the exception of a handful of cars that sped down the road periodically, occasionally lighting the road enough that you could see the details of the pavements and road markings. Even studying the origins of psychology would be around 100x more interesting than anything outside had to offer.

You were ready to give up on the whole night and call for a ride home, reaching for your phone when a hand wrapped itself around your wrist pulling you back inside the bedroom. You turned immediately in a panicked frenzy to see the image of a boy, adorned with hair of a red wine colour, with his index finger placed over his lips shushing your distressed sounds. He tilted his head in the direction of the bathroom, the door to which was now wide open and in clear view was the body of a young woman lifelessly strewn across the tiled floor. His eyes darting back and forth between you and the newly exposed body you were staring at with an aghast expression spreading across your face.

SHIT.

Summary: When a murder occurs at a college party you're both at, you and genius detective prodigy Heizou race to solve the crime faster than the other without arousing suspicion from the other guests

A/N: This is a reupload of the prologue, praying to god that tumblr puts it in the tags this time. I hope you enjoy the prologue, i put a lot of work into it!!

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

It's always hard to find people nice like you are, even online.

But yeah, I was just wanting to see anyone you wanna write for in Jujutsu Kaisen, Obey Me! or My Hero Academia, it dpesn't matter to me. But the reader is trans man and is usually used to getting missgendered and rude comments but he just kinda had a shit day and it hurt him more than usual.

Just a little comfort and protective boyos if you don't mind~

And do remember to drink some water and take care of yourself!!

I really didn't know who to start with here, but in the end I went with Kirishima from My Hero, seeing as I couldn't think of anyone more comforting than him.

I hope it's okay, let me know what you think!

It's like a sixth sense of his, when he knows enough is enough.

One look is all it took for him to know that (Y/N)'s overloading at the barked slurs from a few ignorant pricks.

Kirishima knows his boyfriend's strong as anyone can get, he knows (Y/N)'s dealt with shit he can't even think of, and it breaks his heart to imagine his partner in those situations.

Back then, Kiri hadn't been there, and damned if he'd let it happen now, when he's right across the street.

(Y/N)'s never been ashamed of his identity, and his fans love him the way he is. For many, he's an inspiration, relatable and fearless.

Red Riot doesn't hear the exact words being thrown at (H/N) by a bunch of ignorant teens, he doesn't care, because (Y/N)'s had the week from Hell, and he's not about to let it get any worse.

'Hey! Nobody asked your opinion. Take yourselves the hell outta my boyfriend's personal space.'

(Y/N) looked up at him, releasing a sigh of relief as Red Riot's out of character frown had people running. His entire demeanor is usually so sunny, it must have looked like quite a sight to see him so serious.

To (Y/N), it's a comfort, broad shoulders set and strong in his defence. Kirishima would never, ever hurt him, all of that strength is purely for cuddles.

Oh, and, you know, fighting crime.

'Hey, you okay baby?'

Kirishima turned his back on the world, guarding (Y/N) from prying eyes as he fights back emotions, forcing himself to breathe deep as he nodded slowly.

The redhead opened his arms, quietly letting his lover settle his forehead against his collarbone.

(Y/N) didn't need to say a word, he never has, not with Kiri. Ever since UA, he's gone out of his way to understand (Y/N), respecting boundaries and being so damn perfect there was no way not to fall for him.

'M fine, just...tired.'

Tired of so many things, tired of it all at once, tired of not being tired.

Eijirou glared off anyone who even looked at him, quietly stroking (Y/N)'s hair as he gathered himself. 'We'll head home when you're ready.'

'But patrol's not over for another hour!' (Y/N) suddenly shot straight, the weight of responsibility piled on to anxiety until he was ready to snap.

'Hey, easy. The rest of the world will be fine without us. They've got Deku, and Dynamight, and Shoto and all the other awesome heroes you and I graduated with. Right now, you need home, and I need to see that handsome smile of yours, so we're heading home, kay?'

He always knows what to say, smiling as he cups (Y/N)'s cheeks, stroking them tenderly with his thumbs.

(Y/N) relaxed, lost in soulful eyes as the rest of the world just melted.

'Yeah, okay. Thank you, Eiji.'

He laughed, lighting the world as he threw his arm around his lover, eagerly guiding them home. 'You don't have to thank me baby, I've always got your back, against anything.'

[menlove]

wait hi i’m so confused i thought only lesbians can reclaim d*ke and only gay men can reclaim faggot? so how can you use both esp if you’re masc? IM CONFUSED IM SORRY this isn’t a hate anon or some shit i’m just so behind on the fuckin. ‘rules’ of tumblr and what the general consensus on slurs are i barely know what i can reclaim my damn self

hi you're all good! and honestly that's part of why I made the post and why the modern lgbt community frustrates me so much bc there is a huge prioritization of "rules" over community, solidarity, lived experience, and just. loving each other. not a diss at you obvs just that it makes us all so nervous about what we can and cannot reclaim and makes others really hostile about it

anyway!

several different answers...

by current lgbt tumblr/tiktok/twitter "rules" a lot of ppl have expanded those to include wlw and mlm, not just gay men and lesbians. I mean say two women are walking down the street holding hands, someone that would call them dykes isn't going to pause and ask if one or more of them is bisexual before using it. as I'm both a wlw and a mlm I'd fit into both. however I don't really jive w this explanation bc it hinges again on "rules" of conduct that I find reductive

another one I've seen that I find a little more nuanced is that if you have had slurs thrown at you and used against you, you can reclaim them. I've been called a dyke and a faggot more times than I can count. but again, I don't jive with this one as much bc does that mean a gay man fortunate enough to never get called a faggot cannot say that word?

the one I find to be the most resonating To Me- for decades and decades of the queer movement, queer women have been saying faggot and queer men have been saying dyke. it's only like really extremely relatively recently that it has been made taboo/wrong/crucifiable for the other group to say it. but if you look it up, there's a lot of early pictures and even well into the 90s pics of men holding up signs along the lines of faggots supporting dykes. and vice versa. this fear of saying these words in our community v much comes from the critically online crowd who doesn't actually go out and interact with their community (not saying you or everyone obviously just the people that push this shit really hard). they would rather squabble over words and slurs and labels than actually doing anything worthwhile.

and just on a personal note, like I said, I'm both a "wlw" and "mlm" although I find those words a little hallow. masculinity =/= sexuality and while I may be butch, that doesn't equate to manhood. even if it did, that's not entirely precluding me from finding community with others I relate to. but I grew up experiencing love for other women as a queer woman. I still do, even though I'm transmasc and use he/him pronouns in every day life (not on here and it's not misgendering to call me she or they, but for my safety I don't advertise any of that irl) but I don't mind being seen as a queer woman, that's deeply a part of how I learned to love in this world. and it got me called dyke. a lot. both when I was identifying as a lesbian, and when I wasn't. on the flipside, however, I am transmasc and butch. I present to the world with a masculine name and most strangers call me "sir" and use he/him for me. my boyfriend is a gay trans man (loosely, they also identify as nonbinary and his relationship to gayness is complicated but that's not my post to make). we are both on hrt and he's had top surgery. when we go out in the world together as a couple, most people see two gay men. we've been called faggots over it (shoutout to the bartender in Detroit for that one). is my experience materially any different than that of a 100% binary trans man getting called a faggot? is the way I present precluding me from being able to say I identify as a queer woman (and man) that loves women in a very queer way? if you look at me, a masculine individual with a beard that gets called a man by strangers and you say I cannot be a woman, what does that say about trans women? if you look at me and say the way that I present to the world doesn't count and doesn't matter, and the way me and my boyfriend conceptualize our relationship isn't right, why is that your business? again, not personal you but general You.

tldr gender is super fucking complicated and messy and so is sexuality and boiling it down to who can say what slurs is honestly really detrimental to our community and all of this is kind of The Point of my post.... and that is not an attack on you at all you're very lovely and I appreciate the message and how sincere it is! and you do not have to agree with me in fact I suspect many people won't. but that's okay. at the end of the day, this community isn't about agreeing with everyone. it's about protecting ourselves and our siblings from harm and loving each other.

[nescamonster]

If you're ever looking for a random prompt how about something along the lines of "I'm a night owl but I've never felt more alone." If you don't get to it that's okay too.

When you are a serial killer, the night is your playground. Liam stalked through the backstreets, enjoying the quiet without the clutter of humanity around. No one crowds on the sidewalks, the buzz of conversation in the air. No cars honking and whirring and putting out fumes that stank.

It was just him, and the night.

Liam moved towards a darkened alley, behind a bar, a prime area to find someone who didn't matter. He wanted the thrill of the kill, the soothing blood that would wash away the clatter of emotions that was roaring awake inside of him.

As if gifted from the devil himself, the backdoor opened and a drunk was thrown out onto the ground by the dumpster. Other's would like to justify themselves, say he was a bad man, groping women or a drunk dad who would have gone home to beat his family.

Liam didn't care who they were. It wasn't about the who, or their sins, whatever they might be. It was about him, about his own sins.

The sin of falling in love.

He pulled his victim to their feet, ignoring their drunken thanks and their slurred objections as Liam dragged them further into the dark. they gave a resistance but it was token against him.

This was Liam his nature, his true nature. The Monster who stalked the night, reigned in by the Misfit crew as their muscle and hitman but never fully contained. Not by his master, the Overboss of the misfits, and certainly not by a certain prostitute with the laughing mouth and the sparkling eyes.

The victim couldn't stop him from breaking their wrists, nor could they fight back as Liam cornered them against the wall, knife to their throat. He gazed into their eye's desperate for the thrill, the light of life, the spark of divine he could only see when he was about to snuff it out.

Even as he drew his blade across throat, the blood splashing across his face, he couldn't bring that light to mind. The eye's, desperate, large and fearful, were as empty as Liam himself.

He let the boy drop, wiping away the wet from his face with a sleeve, then looked up at the Moon. The moon was nearly full, a companion to him from the days when he walked the night along, before he had been tamed by his crew and inducted into the most messed up family on the planet.

His crew, The moon, the night, the kill. All things that he had loved, things that had comforted him time and time again.

Why then, as he stood in that alley, in his element, did he feel all alone?

Why did the absence of one man matter?

Why couldn't Liam cleanse himself of his cursed human desire to love and be loved?

He wiped his knife on the victim, sheathing it again as he moved away from his fresh kill. As he slid his hands into his pockets and moved back out into empty streets he wondered where he was going.

Home, to crew and the violence that came with it?

Or to Him. To the only Man in this city that stirred the beast within with care and delight?

Either way, Liam knew his choice would end in blood.

it always did.

[paris-geller-was-straightwashed]

so I don’t even live in ottawa but the shit is fucking bonkers. like it’s absurd.

the horrific event that is the protest convoy aside, the thing that boggles me is that no one in charge is doing anything. ppl of ottawa, of canada, are literally being chased off their own streets and everyone from the police chief to the fucking premier is like ‘well shit if we can do anything 🤷‍♂️’

as ppl get chased down, as businesses get destroyed, as honking keeps everyone up and fries their nerves, as ppl get harassed, they try to go to the police chief to do something - and he literally won’t do jack. the most he can be asked to do is give out traffic tickets that’re just going to get thrown away & draw up some hotline, but when it comes to actually moving these assholes along, oh no, they can’t do that. they’re funded and trained police force apparently isn’t up to the task and the protesters apparently have so much power, that this has become ‘bigger then a police issue’ or something akin. his hands are tied, don’t you know.

alright, so the chief won’t do anything. what about the mayor? oh, no, mayor won’t do anything either, agrees this situation is too volitale to do anything. what about the premier then? nope, nothing from him.

well if the big heads in charge won’t do something, should we try the RCMP then? well despite those big heads calling on them, the RCMP says they also have no plans to combat this issue either. meanwhile, protestors barge on, yelling racial slurs and throwing rocks at an ambulance trying to get someone to the hospital through the protest.

so the chief, the mayor, the premier and the RCMP won’t help, who’s left then??? trudeau??? but no!! trudeau won’t do shit either!! he’ll fucking condemn the protesters all live long day, but when it comes to forming any plans to help, he can’t be asked either (I can kind of understand why he won’t meet with them bc he doesn’t want to give their stupid demands merritt, but a tiny part of me is amused that as they throw a hissy fit demanding to have audience with him, trudeau is literally flat out like ‘lol no. fuck y’all’)

this is fucking ridiculous. this shit these ppl are playing, refusing to step in to help the people and instead just tossing the problem onto the next institution or person in charge hoping they’ll deal with it instead. they’ll condemn the protest with such vigour, but apparently they’re not upset enough to actually DO anything (‘do you condemn these protest events?’ ‘absolutely! what these protestors are doing is harmful and has no place in canada!’ ‘so what are your plans then to put an end to it?’ ‘oh no, we’re not going to ask them to leave are you crazy? they might have WEAPONS on them, it’s far too scary!’)

they act as if the longer they wait, the protesters will just move on. I can tell you right fucking now, by the looks of how it’s going, there’s no way on hell that’s happening - those ppl will fucking burn down the city before they leave. they keep repeating the same thing that they won’t leave and have shown signs of how serious they are, and STILL the police and gov are just acting like they’re simply throwing a big tantrum and will eventually tucker themselves out.

how many more bystanders have to get hurt in order for someone to take this seriously? how long will they let this go on bc they’re too scared to actually stand up to these assholes? the police chief saying how carefully they have to tread so it doesn’t erupt in violence - mf, you let this go in too long and it WILL evolve into violence!! and I’ll tell you who will suffer from it, it will be any and all POC, minorities and other vulnerable ppl in the vicinity. I get they’re tying to keep it from becoming a riot, but this lack of action is exactly what these assholes want. they want to feel like the institutions and ppl on the outside are afraid of them, that they have the power - then they can just do whatever they want. it seems like they’re already doing that.

and it seems like our leaders are just going to let them.

re-edit: this post appears to have brought out numerous right-wing assholes from their holes and they’re all shitting themselves and crying hypocrisy. trying to explain myself to each one would be a colossal waste of time, so lets just go over this in basics, and then I can make a better defence after:

any of you throwing a fit over ppl like myself condemning the convoy but supporting the blm protests - one (the blm) is about systematic injustice. the other is about a bunch of adults kicking up a fuss over following health rules. they are not the same. and two, I can be against the police as a racist establishment, while calling on the people in charge of public defence to do their damn jobs by protecting the public when they’re others harassing and harming ppl. when people are at stake, those who signed up to defend and work for them should help. this is not a complicated subject

clearly, for anyone who is concerned, this is not a pro-police post; this is a call for the city, and frankly our country, to put an end to unlawful harassment and violence. those in charge shouldn’t skirt their responsibilities, no matter how I or anyone else feels about them.

and finally, since this post has now found an unexpected audience, I was wondering what to do about that - and I decided, why not turn this monetary? so, I’ve put a money cap on every note on this post, and am going to donate it - one half of the money, will go to an ontario-based charity which is helping out via covid-relief; donating PPE equipment to health care/hospital workers, handing out meals to those in need like seniors, providing tests, and, a favourite for you fellow trucker supporters out there, organizing a site for the public to get their COVID shots! figured you’d love that one :) the second charity is one that’s also doing covid-relief, but is focused on indigenous communities; y’all right-wingers can sleep well knowing with your support, the money is helping indigenous people ideally have a healthier and happier quality of life. the last, is for you TERFS who followed the white supremacist bread-crumb trail and liked this post, I have a special one for you! I’m donating extra, towards a trans-based charity - they not only have supports for trans people like housing and gender support, but do lobbying as well for trans rights in all sectors, so they have access to health care and are allotted the same right as anyone else. enjoy! ‘lol you’re just wasting your money!’ I’m sure that’s coming to me, but regardless of if you think it’s wasteful or not, it will be going to help vulnerable people and those impacted by your convoy’s actions/rhetoric.

get fucked.

okay, deeper edit defending my reasoning below:

1) again, anyone comparing this ‘freedom convoy’ to BLM protests - you have a deep, deep misunderstanding of what that was about and how different these things are. blm protests were about the fundamental racism and violence inherent in the policing system and how it overwhelmingly affects african-americans and other fellow poc; it was about the lives of poc lost to police violence, and the outcry of not letting it happen anymore. this convoy, is about a group of people not wanting to wear a piece of cloth across their face and get a simple shot to help protect the public.

I see you all in my notes, finding my previous blm support posts and salivating over what you think is an amazing ‘gotcha!!!” bc here I am, saying the innocent people forced to interact with this volatile convoy need support from the police and gov, whereas a couple months ago I was agreeing how the police were abusing their power to harm protesters - y’all are fucking denser then bricks. I will say again, these things are not the same!! and the fact that you think this is me being hypocritical, again, shows you do not get what the blm protests were really about and how they differ from this, bc the context in that could not be any more fucking obvious.

this is not a ‘gotcha!’ this is you not being able to tell the fucking difference between minorities actually being disenfranchised to a bunch of assholes harassing innocents bc they don’t want to follow rules and unable to use critical thought.

the reason police are needed now, is bc of how dangerous the convoy is becoming. people can’t get to their homes or workplaces or schools, and police at this point need to step in bc it’s literally in their fucking job description to protect the public. what the police didn’t need to do, was shoot fucking gas canisters at peaceful protesters and hit them with night sticks like during the blm movement.

2) yes, people have a right to protest - and those that originally showed up in ottawa, said what they may, and left, are all fine. they did exactly what is done for a protest - said what they needed, showed support, and then fucking moved on. the ones who instead are illegally parking themselves in a city street with no intentions to move and are ‘protesting’ by making constant noise, harassing people walking by for wearing masks, breaking windows of businesses, yelling slurs, and other horrible things, are the fucking problem. this isn’t protesting - it’s bordering on assault, at this point. I’m sure there’s one or two people in this convoy who’re minding their own, but the fact that the majority of them all are being cruel and violent, should REALLY concern you ppl following this in a way it’s not. 2a. ‘all I’ve been hearing is that this is the most peaceful protest so far!’ big fucking talk for you to tell me I’m the one brainwashed by the media when literally NOT A SINGLE MAINSTREAM MEDIA HAS SAID THAT. who the hell is saying this is peaceful??? your news comes exactly from the people like you and exactly how you want to hear it, that this protest is great and everyone else crying violence is lying. just turn on fucking global news and you’ll get a different picture.

that’s really the biggest points. let it be known, I’m not interested in any debates and all of you are getting blocked on sight. bc I have a good feeling, that none of you are interested in having a conversation - instead, you want to accuse me of playing or being suckered into a narrative, to say I’m stupid for falling for it and call me slurs, and downright harrass. you’re stuck in your mindset, and without understanding a protest against a rasict system is NOT the same as making a huge stunt bc you don’t want to follow health rules, this will go no where. eat shit.

ps. one more thing - in my hours of blocking names, I’ve managed to lose this person, and now miraculously can’t find them on tumblr’s search (the first time I actually opened their blog it wouldn’t show me anything, almost as if someone set the setting like that so they could hide..) there was an asshat amungst the groups under a punk name handle claiming I was kissing the feet of the establishment by asking for police to step in and that I was betraying being punk by doing so - kiss my fucking ass you cunt. it’s absolutely disgusting that you’re claiming the punk title and allowing, even encouraging, these racist and harmful acts that’re happening just bc some pricks are ‘sticking it to the establishment!’ being punk is about being anti-establishment, but it’s against the establishment bc the establishment is inherently discriminatory. being punk is about being against those practices and acts and thoughts, and the fact that you can’t tell the goddamn difference between poc protesting not to get shot in the street by the establishment that was built to see them as less than, vs some (mostly white) ppl getting up n’ arms at the gov for asking them to simply follow health rules so people DON’T DIE, well enough to condemn what is happening, is abhorrent. even being anti-police, doesn’t mean I don’t think that the everyday person trying to make it through the convoy and getting harassed shouldn’t be protected and has a right to be; these ppl in charge, regardless of how I feel about them, DO have a duty to ensure public safety as that’s their goddamn job, and my point is that currently they’re failing. these people in the convoy, aren’t being infringed upon - they’re being asked to help their fellow man, and they can’t even do that. you’re doing nothing by defending them, and you’re soiling the name. what you’re looking at here, is being punk (as are the blm protests/groups), and if you can’t handle that then you can suck a big fat one.

[anyoneseenadam]

Healing

pairing: Azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: TW - sexual assault, rape, objectification and implications of abuse, smut, consensual sex, azriel is a sweetie and rhys is a good bestie

a/n: first of all PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!! i’m really proud of this fic but I don’t want to trigger or upset anyone, that being said it isn’t too graphic but still. Anyway I hope u enjoy, this took me three days lmao <333

based on: this and this

—————————————————————————-

You had your first less than savoury encounter with men when you had barely turned nine. Your body still hadn’t finished forming, but you were growing, and your body was gaining some semblance of shape as you did. It wasn’t much – just a whistle from across the street – but for a second your heart seized up with fear, and in the next you almost felt giddy. A man thought you were beautiful.

You felt like a princess that day – felt the way you had when the boy from your class had kissed your cheek, still too young to process the intentions behind that single whistle. But you didn’t care – someone wanted you.

When you got your first period at twelve – even more changed. Your body felt new, and you didn’t feel comfortable in the changes. Your old clothes didn’t fit and now your mother forced you into tighter corsets for those long, long dinners you had to attend. Your parents were respected Fae in the Hewn City – nobles who liked to drink and smoke and throw extravagant balls. And with your new body you could no longer simply hide in the corner or climb through secret passages with your friends – muddying your dresses.

Now you had to smile when men hugged you slightly too long, laugh when they commented on how much you had grown up, sit pretty and pristine with an old mans hand loitering to close to your rear for hours as you watched your parents drink away their troubles.

By the time you were fifteen you were used to the constant attention, your beauty not uncommon where you lived but still doted on often. Unaware of their desire for your youth, your naivety. The women never offering a helping hand but instead glaring down high skewed noses as their husbands slurred into your ears – still in shock that a pretty, young thing like you was all alone at this party.

When you were sixteen you decided to change that – kissing an alright looking boy at a party and telling him exactly what he wanted to hear so he would kiss you back. He stayed when you didn’t protest as he pulled you to the bathroom and pushed you to your knees. And for this small request, the greasy hands on your body at balls and dinners or any other social gathering halved – now only the truly self-righteous felt they could touch you still.

The only problem was you truly did love the boy you had chosen. He had faults yes, but he was kind – he brought you flowers and kissed your cheek. But he also spoke over you, forced you into silence and took what he wanted. And he always wanted the same thing.

If anything it was his father’s fault. The military commander never leaving room for debate when he argues with his wife – and sons only become what they see in their fathers.

Your father had left with a younger woman a few months after your fourteenth birthday, and you hadn’t seen him since – only heard stories of him galivanting around the autumn court from your classmates. You could see the distaste your mum held you in as she realised she would have to stick around to look after you, not yet old enough to be married. Then Amarantha had taken hold of the country and that possibility had been thrown out the window anyway.

Weirdly enough not that much changed in your life when she took power, the only major difference was that now you had to block out screams before going to sleep and even they had become like white noise. You still drank with your friends on Friday nights, went out with your boyfriend on Saturdays and slept the pain away on Sundays. Your weekdays consisted of school, dinners, balls and whatever more your mother could throw together to appease the high queen.

That and the high lord of the night court had started making appearances at the events your mother threw. He was a cruel man standing so proudly at the queen’s side – but you saw something flickering in his eyes whenever people spoke, complimenting his power and rule. You saw what you felt as you laughed at compliments and lingering touches – you saw pain, but more importantly you saw anger. And right now you could use anger.

During one ball you watched him leave, taking an odd route – not the one that would help him escape the loud music but instead a long winding corridor leading to a series of smaller rooms. Without thought you peeled away from your company, muttering excuses and went after him – grabbing a bottle of wine as you did.

You found him reclining in an empty room and knocked on the door gently. He cracked open an eye – slow like a cat – and beckoned you in. You moved to perch next to him, leaning back with a straight back and letting your head loll slightly as you took a swig of the dark red wine, before passing him the bottle.

“You looked like you could use a drink,” you smiled, eyes focused on his sharp jaw as he held the bottle to his mouth with a laugh.

“One way of putting it,” he smiled. The two of you sat in silence for several minutes as you took in his beauty, his looks plus mannerisms all made him seem like a wild cat - a panther trapped underground.

“Why are you here?” he finally asked, and you raised a hand to trace that sharp jaw. But instead of devouring you as any lesser man would’ve, he brushed your hand away and held it tightly in his larger one. “That’s not gonna happen, you’re what sixteen?”

“Almost seventeen,” you said, cheekily. He laughed but shook his head, squeezing your hand before releasing it.

“You’re still a child,” he said matter-of-factly, and you scoffed, stealing your wine back to drink again.

“Yeah well that’s usually a selling point,” your voice was sad, but you didn’t dare let your eyes stray from his – refusing to show fear, “And you’re so nice to me, I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

He laughed as you pouted, “You practice this in the mirror or something?”

“Usually works in three seconds,” you confess, and he whistles under his breath, “Men are rather easy to manipulate when they’ve been trying to get into your skirts since your first bleed.”

“And you wonder why I’m not about to take advantage of you,” he laughed, and you smiled – a real smile, or real enough. “Plus I don’t think your little boyfriend would be pleased.”

“Eh, he’s never pleased - I don’t think this could make him worse.” Rhysand took the wine back and frowned.

“Does he hurt you?” his voice was sincere but the laugh you let out was not.

“Don’t all men,” he swore, and you laughed again, “Yet you foil my plan to make you fall in love with me and whisk me away to the moon.”

He laughed, but his eyes darkened with deep sadness you were sure you would never understand, “I think we both no that even I could not do that, but I might be able to crush your fly.���

“Little boyfriend? Fly? You really don’t like him do you?” you laughed, head lighter already.

“I don’t like any man who thinks they can hurt women,” he said, frowning when he realised through your passing back and forth there was no wine left.

“Shit that took us like five minutes,” you complained, and he laughed, waving his hand lightly as several more bottles appeared before you – you grinned as you grabbed another.

“So any friends with weaker moral backbones that I could marry?” you asked with a laugh, and he smiled at you.

“I’m sure I could find someone,” he leaned back again. You smiled – finally happy that one night might pass in the company of a decent man.

Soon, you’d find it would be more than one night, a close friendship quickly blossoming between you and the high lord. All your friends were convinced you were sleeping together but true to his word he didn’t touch you, and by the time you surpassed the age of eighteen you didn’t want him to. But that didn’t stop other men.

After a particularly bad argument with your boyfriend that had left you with a handprint on your left cheek you had broken up with him – sending away his apologies and flowers, smart enough to see he didn’t hold the mental capacity to change.

Plus you were beautiful and young, you could certainly do better. And you soon did – rich men who liked to buy you jewellery, and fine clothes, men who enjoyed literature and art and spending time with you.

And at the start of each relationship, for a few blissful seconds you would believe in their pure intentions. But then a hand would drift from your lower back to your ass, or the gentle kiss that followed a necklace would shift from your mouth to your breasts. Not one of them wanted to wait until you were comfortable, so you made yourself comfortable.

You pictured pretty, strong men were holding you down and making you feel something, slipping your own hand between your legs and they penetrated you to try and replicate what you were sure a lover’s touch must feel like. And as always – after the first time- they stopped asking for permission, you were their toy, so you no longer had choice over that part of yourself.

But through nice guys and bad boys, for fifty years you had Rhysand who was a friend – who treated you with respect and finally let you talk, let you breathe.

In the end he was the one who found you, in the backroom of a party – drunk and undressed. You were weeping, curled in a ball with your attackers’ seed dripping out of you, bruises decorating your bare skin. When he turned you over with his comforting hands he found your nose dripping red and the vibrant lipstick you wore smudged.

He helped you sit up and redress, took you home and stood outside the bathroom while you scrubbed yourself clean in scalding water – still unsteady on your feet. You changed into a nightgown silently and neither of you said a word when you crawled into bed next to each other, crying in your best friends’ arms as he tried to console you.

When you woke up, he was gone with just a scribbled message about Amarantha and the name of a healer he trusted. But you just placed it back down, turning onto your back and staring at the ceiling as hot tears ran into your hairline.

You barely ate anything for the days following your assault – fighting with your mother more when you rarely saw her and subsequently breaking it off with your current boyfriend. You had thrown his hands off you when he tried to touch you and the screaming match that followed ended your relationship.

Your bond with Rhysand grew only closer however as you spent nights drinking in candlelight, talking about anything and everything until you were sure he knew every inch of your soul and you his.

“You know what I’m going to do as soon as she’s gone,” you whispered one night as you stared at the twinkling lights you had hung on your bedroom roof to imitate stars.

“What?” Rhys had asked, never letting his eyes leave the ‘stars’ which he had laughed at and then proceeded to rearrange to make them more accurate. To which you threw a pillow at his head.

“Find a hill, or a pier, or a large pit or anything and scream into it until my throat bleeds.” You said and he laughed, the bed beneath you rumbling.

“Consider me on board.” He joked as you sat up to perch at your vanity – smudging the sharp eyeliner you wore with a small brush and applying some red lipstick.

“Wanna go out?” you asked him, and he sat up to with a small, sad smile.

“Can’t.” you understood his implication and frowned.

“I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t gutted me yet,” you tried to lighten the mood, but his face darkened slightly when he joked back.

“Oh she wants to, I’m telling her any information you give me about citizens, so she doesn’t.” He said, ruffling your hair as he stood to leave.

“That’s fair, I’ll keep an ear out,” you smiled, squeezing his hand gently before he left.

Things changed when Feyre Archeron appeared, you saw the way your friend watched her and realised you might be competing for his attention soon, but you were happy for him. Until he brought her to that first party – drugged and barely dressed. You felt the bile rise in your throat as you pushed down memories of yourself in such a similar position, and while you knew he would never hurt her – he was still a man. And you were foolish to believe for all those years that he was a man who would realise this was wrong.

Making polite excuses you left the party, picking up the tails of your dress as you all but raced home – ditching the dress and closing the blinds tightly as you made yourself food in your underwear. The sick feeling in your throat spreading through your chest and stomach as you ate, abandoning your meal halfway for a book and large sweater. And when he knocked on your door that night, desperate to tell you all about her – all about the human girl who he was sure could be his mate, you pretended to be asleep.

You barely spoke to him the whole time she was there, unable to look him in the eyes when she was so clearly out of it – and the feeling only grew when the next morning she would have all eyes on her. You understood that feeling. You instead spent parties flirting with Tarquin, the young high lord who was only a few years your senior or warding off marriage invitations with laughs and carefully placed words.

Rhys would sometimes catch your eyes – furrowing his eyebrows at you when you avoided his gaze, the sick feeling never really leaving. But it wasn’t until you watched Tamlin slay Amarantha with a smile that he tried to speak to you again. Feyre was Fae and leaving with her betrothed and Rhysand had just confirmed they were mates – and never had he needed his best friend quiet like he did now.

You were sitting when he found you, head in your palms and blood dusting the skirts of your dress. You had been sitting near Amarantha when it happened. You looked up when he neared, smiling sadly as he sat next to you.

“Want to go home?” he asked you quietly and you scoffed, standing, and moving to leave quickly. He followed after you, grabbing your arm as you wrenched it out of his grip with more ferocity than he had ever seen from you.  

“Don’t touch me,” he held his hands up, backing away to give you space as you got your breathing under control.

“What did I do?” he asked – smart enough to not presume anything.

“How could you think it was okay, after what happened?” your voice was quiet again, and so sad.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he implored, stepping slightly closer again. You raised your eyes to meet his and he understood, the darkness you carried in your eyes shining through – the memories that resurfaced in those dark moments. “I’m sorry, let me explain please.”

You let him hold your arm softly as he winnowed the two of you to your house where you sat down heavy and tired.

“I did it because she needed out of that cell, but I saw what they did to you and you’re a fae woman, she’s… she was human. So it meant that no one else would touch her.” He tried to explain, “And she wouldn’t want to remember.”

“That’s a horrible thing to do Rhys.” You stated and he hung his head low, “How in anyway was that helping her, to get her out you could’ve snuck her here or just take her to a ball and let her dress normally.”

“I’m sorry, I just knew this would’ve been the safest option,” he grabbed your hand again and squeezed it like he did all those years ago, “It’s over, we can go home.”

“I am home,” you laughed bitterly, gesturing to your house.

“No, you’re coming out of this city – we’re putting it behind us.” He stood and held out a hand.

“I know you’re trying to be dramatic and all, but I have to pack – and think.” You said and he laughed.

“Take your time,” he said, sitting back to wait for you, “And I know it might take you a while to forgive me, but I’ll wait.”

You had left soon after, as he revealed his city to you. Winnowing to a house where two beautiful women stood at the door, strong winged men appearing next to them almost instantly – all sharing the same tear-eyed look. Well, all asides from a short, dark-haired woman who simply smiled.

The men you presumed were Azriel and Cassian barrelled towards Rhysand, attacking him in the most violent hug you had ever witnessed. Mor followed soon after and Amren simply offered him a curt nod, to which he bowed slightly with a cheeky smile.

Cassian turned to look at you and everyone followed suit, you straightened up – not wanting to cower under their gazes.

“And this, this is (y/n).” Rhysand said, placing a hand on your elbow, “She’s the only reason I survived under the mountain.”

You smiled at him, annoyed still – but you still held so much love for him in your heart. You looked away when Cassian approached and wrapped you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground slightly.

When he released you he looked you dead in the eye, “I am forever in your service.”

“Cassian let go of the poor girl,” Mor exclaimed behind him, and you giggled, looking to Rhys for support.

“Forgot to tell you he’s a hugger,” he shrugged, and you shoved his shoulder.

“Oh did you!”  you laughed.

“Gotta get used to it, you’re part of the team now,” Cassian slung an arm around your shoulder as he guided you inside, “which means lots of hugs and long talks about emotions.”

“Don’t steal my best friend Cassian,” Rhys jabbed at his brother as you all moved to sit inside around a long table.

“He already had I’m afraid, can’t reverse love like ours,” you joined in, patting Cassian’s hand as he punched the air in victory, Rhysand feigning pain as he dramatically collapsed into his chair – a hand over his heart.

When you were finally seated you caught Azriel’s gaze, his eyes locked on you – having watched you interact with his family for less than five minutes and already completely enamoured. You smiled softly when you caught his gaze and he grinned at you, no words passing.

Later that evening – after too many drinks, you found yourself alone on a balcony you found, drinking in the fresh air greedily after all those years underground. You didn’t realise he was there until he was next to you – silent on his feet, his shadows a cool chill passing over your shoulders.

You tilted your head to look at him, in awe of his beauty. Not even Rhysand had awed you as much as this man was, his beauty unparalleled by anyone you had met before. He turned his gaze down to you as well, fighting the urge to reach out and touch you as he watched you move with such elegant curiosity.

“We haven’t had the pleasure of being formally introduced,” you smiled, lifting your hand delicately, “I’m (y/n).”

He met your hand halfway, lifting it to his mouth with perfectly poised and trained grace. “Azriel,” his voice was deep, gruff – and sent chills through you quickly. But when he moved your hand from his mouth you held on, the sparks flowing through you telling you all you needed to know. He similarly made no move to let go.

“Are we? I don’t really know how any of this works,” you laughed nervously but he smiled so warmly and tugged you slightly closer to him with the hand you were still clutching.

“You’re my mate princess,” he said, voice rough from disuse. You smiled widely, eyes forming tears as your gaze never strayed from him – finally getting one person who would truly love you, not your body – but you. He tugged your hand gently and you followed him inside, smiling and love drunk.

“We should probably go to the house of wind,” his voice was quiet as you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“Me and Cassian have to share a room here, the bed are singles.” You smiled and laughed – irrevocably happy.

“Yeah maybe not,” you said, and he held your hand softly as he walked you to the front door, passed his past out friends, Rhys cracking an eye open when you walked past him, and you turned when he tugged your skirt gently.

You okay? He asked in your mind, and you smiled at him.

I’m perfect, why? You replied as he closed his eyes again, clearly too tired to hold them open - Azriel moving to retrieve your coats.

Just don’t feel pressured into doing anything you’re not ready for, Azriel is understanding he won’t get angry. A sort of cold feeling settled on your shoulders when you realised why Azriel wanted that extra privacy.

Shit forgot I had to do that you joked but Rhysand felt the stress growing, however before he could reply Azriel was by your side again and you were waving him goodbye, your smile tight lipped.

Honestly, you trusted Rhysand when he said that Azriel would understand – but so far you had yet to meet a man who truly respected the boundaries you set, a man who would truly wait. Azriel met your eyes in silent questions before scooping you into his arms, flying high above the house as you squealed in his arms, clinging tightly to his neck, and shutting your eyes tightly as you soared above the vibrant city.

He felt you tense as you neared the house, swooping lower in order to land on the large balcony attached to his room. He placed you on shaky legs gently and looked down to smile at you again – heart so full of love and peace.

Not only was his brother returned to him in one piece, but along beside him came you. His mate. His mate.

You caught his gaze and gave him a tight-lipped smile, terrified for history to repeat itself. You wanted to talk to him and know him – you didn’t want him to learn to love your body instead of you. And you were truly afraid to be touched again, you hadn’t been with a man since you were raped – fear stopping you before they could get close and walls slamming up if they tried.

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice was dripping with concern – genuine concern, and the way he said it made tears well up in your eyes. His own instantly widened as he sensed the sadness and fear rolling of you in waves, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you sobbed into his chest. “Oh sweetheart we don’t have to do anything, c’mon lets go sit down.”

He guided you through the glass doors and sat you down gently on the bed, holding you gently and coaxing you through your breakdown. Once your breathing had calmed slightly and you had pulled out of his embrace, wiping your tears harshly with the butt of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered quietly, terrified to anger your mate when you’ve only just found him.

“It’s okay darling, what’s wrong – did I do something? You’re not terrified of heights are you?” he asked, and you laughed softly, a smile growing on his face as his worries eased slightly.

“No, that was fun,” he grabbed your hand in his scarred ones and you gripped it tightly.

“Then what was it?” you looked into those beautiful, worried eyes and let out an exhale – bottom lip quivering.

“I just don’t think I can – I can’t do that tonight.” You whispered the words lowly, afraid of his reaction as you clung like a child to his hand.

“Hey, that’s okay – we don’t have to do anything until you’re ready,” he smiled, worries easing. You still wanted to be with him, just not in that way yet – and he could wait. He would wait a million years if you asked.

“Even if I’m not ready for a while?” You asked, and he held your face in his hands gently – looking into your tear-filled, defeated eyes.

“I would wait forever and then some – I have already waited so long to meet you, I’m sure I can last longer, especially if you’re next to me.” Your smile was so sad when you met his eyes.

“I’ve been told that before,” Azriel just pulled you closer to him with a cheeky grin.

“And were any of them your mate?”

“No,” you smiled at him again and he thought his heart was going to combust.

“Well then, I love to prove people wrong.” You buried your head into his chest as his arms came around you once more, “Would you like to sleep here, or would you like your own room?”

“Here is fine, I like the way you make me feel,” you said quietly, tugging on the bond experimentally. Azriel just smiled and tugged back.

“That works for me, I’ll get you a change of clothes.” He moved to stand but you stopped him – tugging on the dress shirt he wore.

“I want this,” you grinned cheekily up at him, and he laughed, but undid the buttons and pulled it off anyway – turning around to let you change in peace. When he turned back around you were looking up at him with wide eyes – looking impossibly cute in his shirt.

“It has holes in the back,” you complained, and he laughed, sitting down to tug off his trousers before sliding under the covers as you scrambled to lay in his arms.

“Well I do have wings,” he cemented his point by letting one drape over your shoulders as you sighed in content.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” you deadpanned quietly, burrowed deep under his arms and the covers. His chest rumbled with the silent laugh as he pressed a kiss into your hairline.

The next morning he awoke to you laying on his chest, tracing the scars on the backs of his hands with a delicately pointed finger. He stared in wonder, and you must have felt his gaze because you turned your head to meet his eyes, face still puffy from sleep. As you whispered to him that morning, your chin resting on his chest as you gazed up at him until he rose to get your morning drinks. Barely daring to leave for more than a few seconds. And when he returned he was so glad he did – welcoming the sight of you curled up under his sheets with a shy smile and tired eyes.

“Do we have to do anything today?” you asked as you sipped your drink slowly, Azriel’s’ arm tight and secure around your waist.

“Nope,” he said, delighted at the prospect, “I just want to be with you and my family.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

True to his word, for the next few weeks that past, you and Azriel didn’t progress past slow, occasional kisses and lingering touches. But before either of those he was always searching your eyes – asking permission. And you truly fell in love with him during those weeks.

He was caring and consistent – never promising anything he couldn’t bring. And he cared for you, he cared for you past your body and looks. He wanted to be with you for an eternity.

One night, while you lay together, speaking lowly and listening to the rain fall outside your room – a glass door cracked open, you decided you were ready. You pressed closer to him, your lips meeting his own in a kiss more passionate than you had previously shared.

He followed your lead with just as much passion, but when you crawled into his lap he pulled away slightly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you,” he asked quietly, hands coming to rest on your hips.

“I’m sure, I love you and I want to be with you.” You told him sincerely, “But I haven’t been with anyone in a few years so I’m a little out of practice.”

You giggled nervously but he furrowed his eyebrows, “But you told me about your boyfriends?”

“Yeah but I – stopped dating about five years ago.” You tried to explain quickly, old nerves being brought up, but Azriel pulled you closer and as always his touch calmed you.

“Can I ask why?” he watched you drop your head a little as you breathed slowly – determined to not let your fear rise, you would probably end up telling him anyway so you might as well get it over with.

“I was raped.” You stated and his grip on your hips tightened slightly as he swore.

“Darling, I’m so sorry,” he started but you stopped him with a sharp glaze.

“You don’t need to apologise, it happened and it’s over now.” He could practically feel you pull away, so he loosened his grip on your hips and instead brought his arms up to hold you against his chest.

“Who did it?” he asked, voice dark and dangerous. You muttered a name lowly – under your breath – and he pocketed in the darkest corners of his mind for later. His shadows itching to tear the man apart.

“Look (y/n), if you’re ready I am more than happy to oblige but I need to know you’re really ready, I will wait as long as you need.” You pulled away from his chest and kissed him gently.

“I’m ready, I trust you,” he smiled up at you from where you perched on his lap and you giggled and he flipped you over, laying between your legs with a feral grin.

He made you cum three times with his mouth and those beautiful, beautiful hands alone – more than you had ever experienced with a man and he hadn’t even received any pleasure yet. Except from the pleasure of watching his perfect mate fall apart on his sheets, over and over.

And when he lay over you, your legs pushed up and wrapped around his waist, and his forearms on either side of your head – he would later swear he had never felt more complete.

“I’m here with you remember, will be the whole time.” He assured you, voice soft as he lined himself up and you smiled.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, and he pushed in slowly, filling every part of you and pushing against every spot you didn’t know you had. You swore under your breath when he bottomed out, the slight pain quickly being reduced to please as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” you felt shivers run through your body at his gruff voice and smiled, moaning when he began to move.

He pulled his head from where it hid in your neck and watched as you closed your eyes – head thrown back with a smile – and his hips bucked, desperately trying to control himself as he watched you arch your back.

“Shit Az, you’re so big,” you moaned loudly, unaware of the trance you had pulled your mate into.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered with a harsh thrust, a hand coming to stroke down your face as you opened your eyes to meet his, “So perfect.”

You felt as if your heart was going to burst from the love that filled it as you reached up to kiss him softly – conveying every word, every thought, through that kiss. When you pulled away you were nearing your end, the sensations building in you without the need of a fantasy or your own hand.

You moaned his name, gripping his shoulders tightly as one hand instinctively moved to stroke down his wing. He shuddered above you with a loud groan – his thrusts speeding up as he to neared release, yours hips surely bruising from the force of his own.

“C’mon baby, need to feel you, need to know you’re mine.” His words ignited something in your stomach, and you clung tighter to him, kissing his sharp jaw as you smiled.

“I’m yours Azriel, now and forever.” Your gentle words pushed him over the edge and his skilful fingers dipping between your thighs brought you down with him. The two of you crying out at the sensations you shared as a growing need to never let him go consumed you.

He collapsed on top of you soon after and he intertwined your fingers with his own as your breathing evened out. He slipped out of you, and you smiled up at him as he sat up, rolling off your body and laying to the side while you came to rest your head on his firm chest. He brought his spare hand upwards – twirling strands of your hair slightly as you rested in silence. After a few minutes, you clambered into his lap and kissed him firmly as he pulled you impossibly close.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips, and he felt his heart swell with gratitude to the world for giving him an angel that would willingly hold his hand and guide him out of the darkness.

“I am so in love with you,” he whispered back, and you giggled, a hand moving slowly to stroke him as you felt him harden beneath you again.

“Hmm, is that so?” you whispered.

Azriel, who had started pressing light kisses into your neck, nipped you gently, making you squeal, “What were you saying darling?”

“That I am also deeply, and unequivocally in love with you.” You replied and he rolled his eyes.

“Just putting me to shame with your big words.” He muttered and you giggled – crawling down his body.

“I’m sure I could make it up to you.”

[helliontherapscallion]

sibling hybrid!creeper reader headcannons/one-shot for SBI ( + ranboo? 🧍‍♀️ ) hurt/comfort. like maybe the reader struggles with emotions and doesn't know how to deal w/ them healthily, so they end up bottling them up and kinda explode at times.

sorry if this is too specific, i just really like your writing :) congrats on 1k!! <3

and one last thing,.. can i be 🫂 anon?

(A/N): I had a lot of fun with this one, and thank you : ) I hope you don’t mind that I added Tubbo. Also one more thing, I imagine the explosion is kinda like a Bakugou situation but uncontrollable

Warnings: anti-hybrid rhetoric/slurs (speciesism???), swearing, blood (not much, just mentions of a nose bleed)

It was completely an accident this time, it all just came so fast. You were standing in front of a store window when you felt something rub against your leg. When you looked down, panic engulfed your entire being when you saw an orange cat rubbing and nuzzling against your leg, letting out deep purrs. You had no clue why this cat wasn’t chasing you like all other cats usually did, but you didn’t want to ponder. You felt the familiar pressure building up inside of you as a startled hiss left your mouth and you jumped away from the creature. Your skin was sparking and popping as your freckles lit up in a glowing green light. 

Finally, explosions left your skin as the glass shattered next to you and gravel was turned up and thrown about. You fell to your knees and rubbed at your burning eyes and wiped the blood from your nose. Exploding like that had always taken a lot out of you and made your nose bleed. You suspected that it was because of the sudden build up and release of pressure and energy. 

The back of your shirt was grabbed and you were yanked off from the ground. There staring at you was the owner of the shop that you accidentally blew up. His green eyes were ablaze as he gritted his teeth and looked into your eyes.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?! You blew up my window!”

Small hisses left your mouth, “I-I’m sorry sir I swear I didn’t mean t-”

“Like hell you didn’t! Your kind always destroys everything!”

You stopped struggling and narrowed your eyes at him, “my kind?”

“Yes, hybrids! Filthy mutts, all you do is destroy! You’re a bunch of freaks.”

You could feel another explosion coming about and this time you did not even attempt to hold this one back. You stared him dead in the eyes with the harshest glare you could muster. As soon as the hisses started to leave your mouth and the freckles once again glowed green, the man’s eyes widened before he threw you into the street away from the building. Another explosion left you and disassembled the neat cobblestone of the road. A single stone flew and shattered what was left of the store window. Another flew and hit the store owner in the head knocking him out. 

And here you were now; hisses left your mouth as you ran down the beaten path of the village towards the exit. The iron golem following you was hot on your tail, it’s booming footsteps picking up dust clouds from the gravel. Villagers around you scattered and started to whisper fearfully amongst themselves. You could feel their fearful and angry stares burning holes through you. After you got out of the village and the iron golem was still chasing you, you ducked into the forest where you knew it wouldn’t follow you. You climbed up a tree and watched as the golem angrily smacked the foliage out of the way before it gave up and hobbled back into the village. 

You dragged your feet tiredly back home, wanting nothing more than to collapse in your bed. Your senses were on overdrive as you were hyper aware of everything around you. You’ve never exploded twice within the span of ten minutes before, and it wore you out. Small exhausted hisses left your mouth as you trudged along the path. 

After getting home you walked past a confused and concerned Wilbur, dodging his hands that were trying to grab you so he could get a better look at you. You walked up the stairs ignoring his questions and walked past Tommy.

“Hey sparky, what’s got you lookin like shit?” He asked you before he started to laugh to himself at the nickname he knew you hated. You winced at the volume of his voice before you hissed angrily and stomped off into your room before you passed out immediately in your bed the second you threw yourself onto it. 

You didn’t wake up until a hand shook you awake firmly. You peeled open your eyes to see Tommy hovering over you looking slightly scared. When you fully opened your eyes, he sighed in relief.

“Oh my fucking Ender, I thought you died for a second.”

You only groaned and covered your head with the covers trying to block out the morning light streaming into your room and Tommy’s voice. He shook you more, your entire bed shaking with it. “Get up. Dad wants you downstairs for breakfast cuz you skipped lunch and dinner.”

You said nothing as he ripped the covers off from you eventually and pulled you out of your bed. You landed on the floor with a thump and hissed a little in frustration. You stood up and pushed him out of your room and slammed the door behind him. The locked door handle jimmied before it stopped and everything was silent. You prayed that he went away, but alas he didn’t. You rubbed your forehead when he started to knock at your door in multiples of two.

Knock knock, “(y/n)?” Knock knock, “(y/n)?” Knock knock, “(y/n)?” Knock kno-

“I’ll be down in a minute fuckface. I’m gonna get dressed.”

“If you aren’t down in five minutes I’m getting Techno. He’ll carry your ass down.”

Downstairs, you shambled into the kitchen past the table and poured yourself a cup of coffee. Your family silently watched you before the conversation started back up again. You plopped down next to Wilbur and sipped at your coffee deliriously. He eyed you in concern, “you okay?” You hummed and poked at your eggs. You didn’t feel hungry at all. “You su-”

“Yes, I’m sure Wilbur.” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and returned to your coffee. After your fourth cup of coffee you were cut off by a concerned Philza. Even after four cups of coffee, you still felt slightly physically drained and it showed in your sluggish movements. Your day went by with you holding in your frustration and anger from everybody constantly asking if you were okay. Days of holding in explosions passed with them finally leaving you alone. However, that did nothing to alleviate your bottled up frustrations.

Techno was sitting on the couch reading a book while Wilbur was sitting in the chair across the room trying to find the lyrics of his next song. Philza was in the kitchen doing who knows what. You were currently walking up to Tommy’s room to say hi to your old friends Tubbo and Ranboo after getting home from a trip to another village. 

That trip was rough for you but not as rough as the one a few days prior; you could only stand so much fear filled and hateful staring after all. Your creeper features consisting of pitch black irises and dark gray sclera, a mop of dark green hair, and green freckles sprayed randomly across your skin was definitely an attention grabber for anyone. A few of the kids even threw rotten tomatoes and stones at you, it was so hard holding in explosions by the time you left that you just felt very overwhelmed. Hanging out around the self proclaimed ‘bench trio’ always enough to calm you down from a rough day. Mellohi’s muffled relaxed beat makes the corners of your lips twitch into a small smile. 

However just as you opened the door to Tommy’s room, you could hear their conversation end. “Hey guys, how’re-”

A yelp left your throat as something very cold drenched your body. An iron bucket came tumbling down and hit your head before falling to the floor with a clank. The pressure that has been building up in your chest increased tenfold, but you closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to walk to your room for a change of clothes. Behind you, you heard Tommy laughing hysterically while Tubbo tried to apologize between his own laughter. You didn’t even have to look at Ranboo to know that he was guiltily fiddling with his sleeves as his tail flicked back and forth sharply. 

After you went into your room, you grabbed your pillow and screamed as loud as you could into it to blow off some steam. After that didn’t work, you tried punching the pillow relentlessly but that didn’t work. You could still feel pressure and energy inside your chest lingering and threatening to burst. 

You sighed and made your way downstairs walking past Tommy’s door. You could now hear Ranboo laughing with them, and that just made you even more angry than you were before. 

Everything around you was pissing you off. Philza’s wings fluttering behind him subconsciously, Technoblade’s little ‘heh’’s as he read something that caught him off guard in his book, Wilbur’s humming and mumbling to himself as he composed his next song, Tommy’s, Ranboo’s, and Tubbo’s loud laughter echoing from Tommy’s room. Every little sound was enough to send you over the edge. Just as you were about to leave the house to calm down again, a knock sounded at the door.

Philza gently pushed you behind him with furrowed brows and a hand on the sword hung around his hip. Techno’s book snapped shut as he stood up to grab his axe while Wilbur walked over to you and put a protective hand on your shoulder. You understood why they were cautious; you didn’t normally get visitors and the last time the house did, it was someone that decided to try and attack Technoblade on sight when he opened the door screaming about how hybrids aren’t natural. Keyword: tried. Techno absolutely would’ve killed him if it wasn’t for Philza holding him back. 

You felt anxiety creep up inside you as you fought against the small hisses trying to escape your mouth. The door opened slowly to reveal the store owner from a few days ago. His eyes hardened when he saw the wings sprouting from Philza’s back before his eyes flicked to you. He did not look happy to see you behind your dad’s massive wings. Without another word, you turned and ran up to your room when you felt the pressure become almost unbearable. 

You ran past Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo who were leaving Tommy’s room with hesitance. You didn’t respond when they tried to stop you. Slamming your door closed, you sat on your bed with your head clutched in your hands desperately trying to fight against the pressure building up. Small pops sounded on your skin as you grit your teeth in concentration. You could hear knocking at your door, thank god you locked it behind you. You had no idea how long you were sitting there trying to hold it back.

When the pressure became too much and you felt yourself losing grip on your control, you knew you needed to get out of the house as soon as possible. This was going to be a huge explosion, probably the biggest one you were going to do. The loud continuous hiss that left your throat was something you weren’t actively doing, another telltale sign that you were about to explode. You ripped open the door, pulled yourself from Tommy’s grasp, and ran as fast as you could downstairs. Philza followed you with a furious expression when he saw you, the store owner seemingly having left. 

“(Y/n), what in the hell did you do?” He grabbed your arm and pulled you to the living room. You tried your hardest to pull out of his grasp, but he was holding on too tight. The hissing had gotten slightly louder, but you moved a hand up to your mouth to try and muffle it. He sat you down on the couch and started pacing in front of you, his feathers puffed up angrily. Wilbur and Techno were eyeing you warily from across the room. 

“What were you thinking, blowing up his store like that? Were you even thinking? Cuz that was stupid (y/n). Hybrids get enough bad rap, and you go and pull this?!”

“Dad-”

“Not now Wilbur. As I was saying, you could’ve killed someone! What would you do then-”

“Dad,” Techno’s assertive tone stopped Philza in his tracks as he ran a hand down his face. “What could you possibly want right now, boys?”

“(Y/n)’s gonna explode soon.” Wilbur hurried over to you and helped you up. You could hear the three younger boys’ steps thundering down the stairs. By now, you were visibly shaking and sweating with the effort of holding explosions back. You could see the glowing of your freckles through the reflection of Wilbur’s glasses. 

“Shit,” Philza sounded panicked in that moment as Wilbur ushered you out of the house and into the forest. You pushed him away and stumbled your way deeper into the forest. You heard them attempting to follow you, but you gestured for them to get back. You had no idea how big this one was going to be, but it was definitely going to be large. 

You ran deeper into the forest until you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Leaning against a tree, you finally let yourself explode. This one was painful; your skin burned with every pop that emanated from your freckles, the burning making your free nerve endings scream at you. The last thing you saw was a wave of dirt splashing up before you blacked out. 

You were in and out of consciousness for the next week or so. Whenever you would wake up slightly, it would only be for a couple moments before you would pass out again. It was in those moments that the pain and the lack of energy hit you at full force. You supposed being unconscious was better than the mental and physical fog and the pain. 

By the time you fully woke up, your senses were slightly hyperactive, but nowhere near how you felt when you blew up that store. You reached up with a heavy hand to wipe at your crusty eyes before you heard rustling next to you. You looked over to see Philza standing at the door with a glass of water in his hand. When he saw that you were awake, he rushed to your side and helped you sit up. You took the water gratefully and drank it, the liquid refreshed your dry throat. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

“Tired and a little sore. How long was I out for?”

“About a week, you really worried us. That was a really big one. Do you know why it was so big?”

You nodded and looked down at the water in your hands, swirling it around the glass. You didn’t want to tell him about feeling angry and overwhelmed at every little thing around you the past few days. You felt guilty at that, they were just trying to live their lives while you were cursing them for merely existing. A finger under your chin made you look up at Philza. His eyes were full of gentleness and empathy, “c’mon, you can tell me. I want to help you.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Start wherever you feel comfortable. Take as much time as you need.” He sat on the edge of your bed and looked around your room while he waited. You took a second to gather your thoughts before you took a deep breath. Philza perked up and diverted his full attention to you. 

“It started when I first blew up that guy’s store. I swear it was an accident that time, a cat snuck up on me and rubbed on me,” you shuddered, small hisses leaving your mouth. “The guy came out and picked me up by my shirt. He called us some names so I kinda got mad and blew up on purpose.”

“‘Us’?”

You nodded, “hybrids. He said that ‘our kind’ destroys everything.” You glared at the glass in your hands, hissing in contempt and watching the freckles dully glow green. “He called us ‘filthy mutts’ and freaks, Dad.” Philza looked slightly peeved at the name calling, “still, you shouldn’t’ve blown up on him. You could’ve killed him, (y/n).”

“So you’re saying that it’s okay for him to call us slurs? Should we just let people slander us?” You narrowed your eyes at him. He shook his head, his medium length blond hair swaying with the movement. “Hell no, I’m not saying that at all. You should never let someone call you things, but violence is never the answer.”

You huffed, crossing your arms, “frankly, he deserved what was coming to him. I just wish he didn’t throw me before I could blow up.” 

“Hold on, he fucking threw you?” You nodded and watched his eyes darken and anger flash across his face, “violence is sometimes the answer then. Did he hurt you?” 

“No, but I just felt so… so drained. But so overwhelmed at the same time. I’ve never exploded twice in the same day before.”

He hummed in realization, “so that’s why you slept through most of the day. Sorry, go on.”

“After Tommy woke me up everything just felt worse. It was like everything around me was amplified. It was hell, the last few days I was just hyper aware of everything and it was pissing me off. Every little thing drove me crazy, I could feel myself getting closer and closer to exploding but I held it back until I couldn’t anymore.” 

“(Y/n), you know that’s not healthy… I talked to Sam, you remember right?” You shook your head, “well, he was an old friend of Wilbur’s. He used to come here all the time before he had to move away. He’s a creeper hybrid like you,” he chuckled when you perked up, “he gave me some advice on your anatomy when you were growing up. Anyways, he told me that sensory overload is common when you explode. He said that it’s normal to feel drained afterwards and to definitely get plenty of sleep. The sensory issues apparently get worse if your rest is interrupted, so that was probably why you felt overwhelmed in the past few days… He also told me that it really isn’t healthy to explode more than once a day or to hold it in for longer than necessary. Please just come to me if you’re feeling overwhelmed again or if you need to rest after exploding. I can even build you an obsidian building where you could go and not blow up anything.”

“...I’d like that. What- what else did he tell you?” Philza chuckled and started to tell you more about what Sam told him about his anatomy. He even gave you Sam’s comms contact so you could contact him if you had any questions or wanted some advice. He was a nice man when you talked to him, always having an answer for your questions. You even found old pictures of you as a baby following him around. Apparently you could tell that he was part creeper; wherever he was in the house, you were bound to be near him.

The rest of the day, you hung out with the rest of your family and the bench trio. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Techno wasn’t one for open affection, being the type to give you little trinkets and giving you suggestions on what to read next. Every time you woke up, you would find small objects ranging from gold to emeralds and books on your nightstand. He would vehemently deny being the one that gave you the items, but you and the rest of the family knew better. Sometimes, he would drop into your room to ask you what you thought of the book and have a thorough discussion about it with you while you were recovering. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You leaned against Wilbur’s side with his arm wrapped around you. The hand that was around you was rubbing circles into your shoulder. After he scolded you for bottling up your emotions, he climbed into your bed and pulled you to his side. Small hums left his throat. 

“(Y/n)?” You hummed, your eyes half lidded and almost about to fall asleep. “Would you mind if I wrote a song about you? It would fit with the next album’s theme.” 

“Knock yourself out.” Your words were slightly slurred as you nuzzled closer to him. He laughed a bit, the sound being muffled and reverberating his chest. “Get some sleep. I’ll brainstorm some ideas to run by you before you wake up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hanging out with the self proclaimed ‘bench trio’ was always fun, even if you were on strict orders to stay in bed by Dadza. Nobody argues with a concerned Dadza, but they found other ways to hang out with you. Tommy had moved his jukebox into your room and was playing cat, the music soothing you immensely and putting an end to your worries. However, what didn’t soothe you was the card game in front of you. 

You were watching in horror as everybody put down a plus two card stacking the amount the victim would have to draw. So far, the plus two streak had already gone around the circle once and is now going around once more. It was nearing your turn and it was with great horror that you realized you didn’t have a color changing card or a plus two card. The two cards in your hand felt heavy as you watched Ranboo pull out another card.

“Please Ranboo, I’ll do anything. Don’t put that card down.” You watched as his ears twitched before he smiled innocently at you, putting the card down and laughing at you when you started the long process of drawing fourteen cards and sorting them. 

“Sorry, my hand slipped.”

“Get fucked (y/n)!” Tommy cackled at you. You flipped him off before you went back to sorting the cards. Tubbo put down a plus four color changing card and smiled at Tommy. 

“Sorry Tommy, but uno and the color is now red!”

“Goddamnit Tubbo! That’s the one color I don’t have,” he grumbled and drew four cards. Ranboo smiled triumphantly and put down his last card before showing you his empty hands. “What?! You didn’t even say uno!” You eyed his smug smile with disbelief. 

“You guys didn’t call me on it though.”

“That’s not the rules, Ranboo! You have to say uno!” Tommy argued. Long story short, the rules had to be looked up and the family had to be consulted before your group came to the conclusion that you in fact do not have to call out uno and the other players could call them out on it. Eventually after a few tense games, the three were sitting on your bed. Ranboo had some difficulty with it due to his height, but he managed with his legs crossed. 

“(Y/n) do you reckon you could become charged if you were hit by lightning?”

“Tubbo, you’re a genius,” Tommy breathed out, “let’s go see!” 

“No, you will not go see. Sit back down.” Wilbur called out as he passed your room. The group slumped slightly. “We’ll see when I get better. Mark my words, the next thunderstorm that happens I will see if I can be charged.” You whispered to them, your eyes glinting with mischief. 

“I don’t really think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course it is, Ranboo. It probably won’t kill them.”

“Probably?” Ranboo raised an eyebrow at Tommy’s nonchalant answer. “Yes, probably.”

“I still have three lives left. If I die, I die.” You wove a hand in the air as you spoke and watched as Tubbo nodded in agreement. “Do it for science, (y/n).”

“Oh I will. For science!” You raised your water glass in the air and Tommy and Tubbo followed suit with wide smiles. “For science!”

You three turned to stare at a deadpanning Ranboo. He sighed before he raised his glass of milk and let out a monotone “for science.” You, Tommy, and Tubbo cheered as you clanked your glasses together. You could see a hint of a fond smile on Ranboo’s face as he watched you three chug your waters before he downed his milk in one swallow. 

You smirked at them and leaned close, talking lowly so that anyone passing by wouldn’t overhear you. “So, what’s our plan?”

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[lovetorn]

pick me up! [roommate!dream au]

Roommate!Dream x Reader

summary: dream asks you to pick him up after a party

w/c: 1.2k

warnings: swearing!!

a/n: i love this one sm. enjoy <33 may have some errors :/

roommate!dream masterlist

—

“Dream?” You ask, rubbing your eye with your knuckle. Being startled awake by the high-pitched sound of your ringtone is not ideal.

“Y/n~!” He yells so loud you have to take the phone away from your ear. You can barely hear him though, the deafening crowd he is in drowns him out.

“Dream, where are you?” You quickly check the time and your eyes widen when you see it’s 3:27am. “I’m coming to get you.”

Dream wheezes loudly through the phone before he speaks—shouts. “Y/n’s coming to pick us up! Wooooooo!” Around him, you hear a collective cheer.

“Dream, who’s us?” You ask, already throwing your hoodie on over your pyjamas and sliding your feet into your birkenstocks. You really hope it’s his friends and not a hook-up.

“Uhhh, me, obviously, and George, uhhh,” He pauses. “Sapnap, Karl and Quackity.”

Thank god. You sigh, knowing you can’t fit all 5 of them in your car. “Okay. Where are you?” You ask again.

Dream doesn’t respond right away. “Dream?”

“Sorry!” He laughs. “Ummm, Noah Gardener’s house.”

You stop your movement for a second. “I don’t know where that is.”

Dream shrugs, forgetting that you can’t see him. “I’ll send you my location.”

“Okay, you better,” You reply, grabbing your keys off the key hook next to the front door. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

The call abruptly ends. You pull your phone away from your ear and shake your head. After locking the front door, you make your way down to your car. A ding from your phone indicates a new message and you see Dream has sent you his location along with ‘be there or be square’.

Pulling up to the curb outside of Noah Gardener’s house, you see a crowd of college kids on the front lawn. You pull your phone from the cup holder and text Dream, ‘here’.

Lifting your head at the sound of obnoxious laughter, you’re met with the group of 5 boys stumbling towards your car.

You roll down the window. “Hi, boys.”

“Y/n!” They collective yell.

Quackity throws his arms up at the sight of you and yells. “Hola, Mi Amor!”

You roll your eyes, a smile playing on your lips, and throw your gaze towards Dream, who grins at you brightly.

“Hi,” He mumbles as he leans down on the passenger door’s open window.

“Get in,” You say, unlocking the back doors for the others to climb in.

“Y/n, there’s not enough seats,” Karl mentions, pointing through the car door.

You nod. “I know, squeeze in!”

The boys groan and curse at Dream who giggles at them. “Sucks to suck.”

“Fuck off, Dream,” Sapnap slurs, his foot almost catching on the door as he gets in the car.

Once everyone is inside, all still complaining, Karl speaks up over the other boys.

“Thank you, Y/n!” Your heart feels like it’s going to burst and you look at him through the rearview mirror. Quackity, George, Sapnap, Karl.

“It’s no problem, Karl,” You say, warmly. He nods and grins back before looking out the window, the smile still on his mouth—no matter how squashed his shoulder is into Sapnap’s peck.

“When are we home?” George asks, stiffly. His leg is thrown over Quackity’s and his elbow is digging into Sapnap’s opposite side.

“Move the fuck over, George,” Sapnap curses, groaning loudly. “Yeah, when are we home?”

You glance over at Dream, who gives you a wink. Your body grows hot and you face the road again. “Uh, like 5 minutes.”

The boys groan and start bickering with each other. “I’m fine guys, I don’t know about you, but I’m fine.”

“Fuck off, Quackity.”

As you flick down the indicator, you feel a hand on your thigh. “Thanks for doing this.” Dream mumbles.

Your almost heart jumps out of your chest. You try your hardest to keep your eyes on the road and turn the corner without crashing. The street lights pass in golden flashes and it feels like a movie.

Against your rational mind, you look away from the road for a moment to see Dream’s smirk and teasing eyes. He pats your thigh lightly and then returns his hand back to his lap, his gaze flicking to the passing trees.

You glance in the rearview mirror to see the rest of the boys staring at you. Your cheeks grow hot and you hope they can’t see how flustered you are. Dream, on the other hand, is proud of himself for making you like this. Even in his drunken state, he knows what he’s doing and, for once, he isn’t scared.

You could scream out in sheer joy as you pull into your parking spot at the apartment block. The boys in the back cheer, but soon groan as they get out of their uncomfortable positions. “Thank honk.”

“Piss off, Karl, you didn’t have George elbowing you the whole time!” Sapnap spits, slapping George on his arm once they are out of the car.

“No, but I had your knee digging into my thigh!”

“Goodnight, guys!” Quackity calls, waving as he walks away from the rest of the group. “And thanks, Y/n!”

“You’re welcome, Q!” You smile. Dream yawns loudly, throwing his arm around your shoulders. You wrap your arm around his waist and try not to think about his abdomen muscles tensing under your touch.

“Okay, bedtime,” He mutters, dragging you towards the elevator.

“Bye!” You turn and shout to George, Karl and Sapnap. The trio bid their goodbyes and wave before stumbling towards the staircase rather quickly. You don’t blame them for wanting to get to bed.

“How much did you drink?” You side-eye Dream as he lazily presses the 5th floor button.

“Secret,” He giggles. You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. His arm is still resting on your shoulders so you feel his chin brush the top of your head.

“Okay, but don’t cry to me tomorrow when you find out we have no Advil because you didn’t go grocery shopping yesterday,” You shrug, not missing the way his hand forms a knuckle against you.

“That’s okay, we can cuddle instead,” Dream knocks his fist against your arm softly, his attention peaking when the elevator dings.

You shake your head, mostly in dismissal, but some in disappointment when you know that he’s joking.

Once at your apartment door, you dig around in your hoodie pocket to fish your keys out, unlock the door, and stumble inside. The only light on is in your bedroom, just how you left it half an hour ago. You hear Dream mumbling above you but take it as drunken thoughts, so you pay no mind.

Opening his bedroom, you practically toss him towards his bed, watching as he staggers. He points finger guns at you and laughs. “Good throw.”

You giggle lightly and then fall silent. You hate to admit it, but it’s awkward. Dream doesn’t seem to notice while he’s trying to untie his laces, and for that, you’re grateful.

So, in a moment of panic, you turn and mumble, “goodnight,” before rushing out and closing the door as Dream strips himself of his t-shirt.

[basiccortez]

A Song Unknown- JTK: CH 1

note: I changed this back to my original idea because I had such writers block and wanted to give those of you who like this story something to keep building on. I hope you still like it!! It's still roughly the same story line.

Warnings: mentions of sex/virginity, drinking

The last time any of the boys had seen Y/N Parker was 4 years ago. She had thrown them all for a wild card when she decided to go to NYU. They always thought that she would go with them, Y/N had always said she wasn't one for college. But, she had packed up all her things and headed for the big apple. The boys were happy for her, they truly were. Josh was over the moon that she was going to study at his dream school. Danny and Sam were a little bummed out to lose their 3rd musketeer, but were just as happy to see her follow her dream. It was the long haired guitar player that didn't want to see her go.

Jake couldn't explain it, he had fallen in love with Y/N. He couldn't bring himself to tell her, terrified of what it actually meant to him, and that she didn't feel the same way. After that night of prom, the night she had given herself to him, they had started sneaking around. It was the subtle glances and head nods at bonfires and parties that had them running and giggling inside to the closest bedroom or backseat of each other's cars to fumble around in the dark.

Jake had said it one night, the night before she left, those 3 silly, simple words. It had fallen from his plump lips so easily to Y/N's sleeping frame. Her mouth was slightly open and she was sleeping in a blissful drunken haze. Sam had over served her, and Jake was right there, front and center to the show that was Drunk Y/N. Jake had helped her stumble her way into his room and lay down. She giggled every time Jake would tell her to remove a piece of clothing so she could sleep comfortably. When he tucked her in and went to go sleep on the couch, she reached her hand out and asked him softly,

"Stay,"

Jake nodded and climbed into bed with her. He pulled her into his body and she rested her head on his chest, hearing his thumping heart, "You excited to go?"

"So excited," Y/N slurred, "But I'm scared. I won't have you there, or Sam or Danny, or even little Joshy. What am I going to do? Who will I drink with? Who will I go to bed with?"

Jake smiled at her drunken ramble, "You will be just fine, Y/N. You're a superstar, a bright light, You will be okay." Jake said and could feel her relax as she drifted off to sleep. Jake looked own at her, and kissed her forehead, "I love you,"

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

Y/N had only come back a couple times a year to Frankenmuth, she had made a life for herself in Nashville, working as a music engineer. But today, was one of those days she had to go home, swallow her courage and smile to her neighbors as she got out of her jeep. She kept her black sunglasses on as she drove down the all too familiar streets. She eyed the child in her backseat, who's head was leaned to the side, at an awkward angle as he slept. Y/N did that classic tightly lipped, two finger midwest greeting wave as she passed by familiar faces on the way to her parents.

Y/N wasn't sure how long she sat in the driveway, waiting for a good time to duck out and move quickly into the house. The coast was clear, so she opened the backseat of her car, smiling at the sleeping boy in her backseat. She unbuckled his seatbelt and picked him up, letting his arms and legs wrap around her waist. Before Y/N could knock on the door, the front door swung open and Julie smiled at her daughter.

"Well, how long were you going to sit in your car this time?" Julie asked rolling her eyes at her daughter, "I thought he would be asleep," Julie said, opening the door wide enough for her daughter and grandson to walk through the door, "You always fell asleep in the car."

Y/N smiled and rubbed the boys back, "Where can I put him?"

"In his room. I traded in that crib for a bed," Julie said starting up the stairs.

"Mom, you didn't have to clean out your quilt room for us. He could've just slept in my bed." Y/N said following up the stairs.

"I needed to get rid of some stuff, I am fine with it. Hopefully it'll be more of a draw to get you to come home. . ." Julie said watching as her daughter laid her grandson down on the bed. Y/N stood up and sighed, "They're playing downtown tonight, you should go. And before you protest, I already told Mackenzi AND Josh that you are going,"

"I haven't seen them since I went and failed out of NYU."

"You didn't fail, you are just as successful, if not more successful than you would've been if you graduated with a stupid piece of paper or not."

"Gee, thanks, mom." Y/N said.

"Mackenzie said she'd pick you up." Julie said and kissed her daughters cheek before leaving the room.

"What about TJ?" Y/N said following after her.

"I don't get as much grandma time as I deserve. I've got cookies to bake and scrap books to make." Julie said and Y/N giggled. Julie was that grandmother, who was always ready to lend a helping hand. She loved her grandma time that she got with TJ, and took every minute she got to make it the best.

Mackenzie came to pick up Y/N around 7. Julie invited the girl in as Y/N was digging around in her childhood closet and her suitcase, trying to find something that wasn't too posh and too childish for her to wear. Y/N's fingers landed on the red prom dress from that night back in high school. She sighed and shook her head, before going to put on the first outfit she had picked.

"Alright, I think I'm ready." Y/N said walking down the stairs, wearing a black leather mini skirt and a loose baby pink button up, but the top 3 buttons were undone, showing a little bit of her cleavage, she had red sock boots on her feet and her hair loosely curled, "Do I look okay, is it too much?"

"You look hot," Mackenzie said and stood up to hug the girl, "I missed you so much. And TJ, he's a gem."

Y/N looked at her son who was coloring a Mickey Mouse picture, "He's been a blessing that's for sure. TJ, mommy's leaving." The little boy ran over to her and she kissed his cheek before telling him goodbye.

"You ready?" Mackenzie smiled as they walked to her car, "You're going to be blown away. They really aren't the same high school boys playing in their basement. They're really something. Have you listened to their latest EP?"

"I couple songs here and there. What's the one called, Highway Tune?" Y/N asked.

"That'd be one!" Mackenzi smiled and Y/N nodded, "They really missed you. It was like pulling teeth to keep Josh from telling them. It was even harder for me not the blab to Danny. They'll be excited to have their 3rd member of the Troublesome Trio back."

"Jesus, I haven't heard anyone refer to us like that in years," Y/N shook her head laughing, memories of the high school antics filling her mind, "I'm happy to say that we haven't been locked up for arson yet."

The venue was small, but was perfect for a more intimate show. Y/N had always liked smaller venues better. She could remember dragging the boys along with her to many uncut, acoustic shows at a local coffee house. She was amazed by the amount of equipment that was set up on the stage. She noticed the very familiar cherry red Gibson Les Paul. It was his baby, and she could still see the black duct tape that was holding a part of it together.

Mackenzi dragged Y/N upstairs, so they could have a clear shot of the stage and out of direct sight of the boys. Y/N could see and feel the venue getting packed. An overwhelming sense of pride filled her body, and a smile was plastered on her face. These people were here to see the boys, the boys she had known since toddler years. The boys she listened to during the early stages when Josh was wearing vests found in his grandmother's closet and Sam was wearing shoes on stage.

"Full house?" Y/N asked and Mackenzie nodded.

"Always. Want a drink?" Mackenzie said eyeing the bar, "Or do they not drink in New York?"

Y/N nodded and the two walked over to the bar, "Vodka soda, with a lime," Y/N ordered, "And actually Mack, I uh. . . I dropped out,"

"What!?" Mackenzie said, "When? Why? What have you been doing?"

"It just wasn't for me. I've been working in Nashville with Lava Records. I'm a music engineer." Y/N answered.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Was I supposed to post a Facebook update?"

"Yes, because it still says you're single and go to NYU."

"I am still single."

"What about TJ's dad?"

Y/N looked down at the crowd and stage below them, "Complicated."

Before Mackenzi could question her anymore, the bartender handed them their drinks and they went back to their spot by the railing to get a great view of the stage. When the lights dimmed a sort of electricity filled Y/N's body. She loved concerts and always got the same giddy feeling when the lights dimmed no matter where she was or who she was watching.

"Safari Song! You'll love it!" Mackenzie said, as the powerful cords of the guitar blared out. Y/N could remember listening to the song on her stereo at home, and TJ saying it was his favorite song. Y/N was in absolute awe at the sounds that came out of Josh's mouth. He was mesmerizing, pulling the crowd in with his voice.

They all were truly mesmerizing. Each of the boys had their own flare, that Y/N could see what drew in their fans. Their sound was incredible, something that wasn't very common now a days. But their stage presence was unmatched. Jake used his full body to play the notes on his guitar, feeling every chord that was played. Sam's mouth hung open as he strummed his one of a kind bass, that he created himself. And Danny's strong arms kept them all together.

Y/N couldn't believe how far the boys have come. Hearing the crowd sing back every word that came out of Josh's mouth, having them in full control. They all looked so comfortable up there, eating getting totally lost in what they were doing. Y/N couldn't help put keep her eyes on Jake, watching the way his body moved, watching as his mouth fell open and his eyes closed getting lost in the music. She also couldn't help the jealousy that ran through her body as he winked at a girl in the front row and then caught her bra in his hand.

"Alright, alright," Josh said taking a breather in between songs, "This next one, was actually written by Jacob and he claims it was his original words, but we know who really wrote it." Josh giggled and Mackenzi looked over at Y/N with a smile, "Alright, you guys know the words, you know how it goes. Daniel?"

Josh looked over his shoulder at Danny, who counted the boys in, and Jake started the first chords of the song. Josh closed his eyes feeling the into before opening his mouth to sing:

"Sun shines brighter from above; and you're the woman that I love,

Climb the mountain even higher; to kiss the sun, fight the fire."

"Oh my god," Y/N whispered and looked over to Mackenzi, "Did you give them my diary?!"

"It wasn't me!" Mackenzi said lifting her hands in defense, "It might have fallen out of a box the day you moved and Jake picked it up,"

Y/N's face flashed bright red. She wasn't mad by any means, but couldn't believe that the words she had wrote was now being sung by the twin brother of the boy she had fallen in love with. The words that Josh sung were even better than the ones that a 16 year-old Y/N had scribbled down after smoking one too many joints in Sam's car.

"I'll make you mine; you're mine sunshine"

When the boys moved and took their final bow, Mackenzie took Y/N's hand and dragged her downstairs to meet the boys backstage. The girls stood off to the side as the boys clamored off stage, the full show buzz hot in their bodies. Mackenzie made eye contact with Danny and ran to him, hugging his sweaty body and kissing him. Y/N looked down at her shoes, now feeling awkward for being there.

"OH! Look who I dragged with me!" Mackenzie said gesturing to Y/N.

"Oh my god, Y/NBear!" Sam yelled and picked her up in his arms spinning her around. Y/N laughed and hugged him back.

"SammySnake," She smiled as he set her back down, only to be almost knocked over by Josh, "So now I understand about what they mean by 'little music elf'"

"You have to catch us up on all things NYU and your life. It's like you have fallen off the face of the planet." Sam said.

Y/N looked over at Mackenzie, who seemed to be filling Danny in on what she had actually been doing. Y/N sighed and looked down at her shoes, "I actually dropped out of NYU."

"What?" Jake said, finally looking up at the girl, "Why?"

"It wasn't for me," Y/N said, "I'm actually a music engineer. Signed to a record label and everything."

"Oh my god! That's crazy." Josh said, "How about we go change and go for drinks, my treat."

"Oh I-I can't, I have to get home," Y/N said.

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with the Y/N L/N, who got so drunk she fell asleep on my front steps," Josh said with his hands on his hips.

"She grew up," Y/N sighed running her hands through her hair, she looked down at her phone seeing if there were any messages from her mom, "I-"

"Y/N, I'm sure everything will be just fine," Mackenzie said, being able to read the girl like an open book, "You know everything will be fine. Let loose, have a drink."

Y/N bit her lip and nodded. It had been years since she had a night for herself. Her whole motive was different, she worked to live and take care of TJ. She wanted him to have as good of a childhood as she had growing up, even if it was just her as his parent.

Josh basically squealed, and grabbed the girl's hand pulling her to the dressing room. Y/N shook her head, memories of all the times the twins had tugged the younger 3 along with them to do God knows what. Karen always joked that she had twins and triplets; Sam, Danny and Y/N being basically inseparable.

"Let me guess," Josh said tapping his pointer finger to his chin, "Vodka. . . soda, with lime?"

"It's like I never left," Y/N smiled as Josh poured her a drink. The rest of the boys and Mackenzie fell into different spots around the small dressing room. Jake sat on the opposite side of the room, eyeing Y/N as she fell into comfortable conversation with Josh and Sam. He could see the small black ink lines of a tattoo on her shoulder, and on her wrist.

"So what else have you been hiding from us?" Sam said.

"Nothing really. Dropped out after one semester, decided to use my magical ears as Josh says and get a job at a recording studio. I moved to Nashville, got an apartment, got a jeep, got some tattoos." Y/N said sipping her drink.

"Tattoos? You?! The Virgin Mary!?" Sam said and Y/N blushed, "Oh my god. . . you're not a virgin."

"Why does every conversation we have always resort back to that topic," Y/N said running a hand through her hair.

"Well Y/N M/N, our little flower got deflowered. How was it? Magical? Sparks fly?" Josh said leaning over to look at the girl with wide eyes. Jake's eye fell to his lap and looked up at her shyly.

"Magical," Y/N said looking at Josh. Josh smiled and shook his head giving her an 'I told you so'.

As the night went on, they moved from the dressing room to a karaoke bar across the street. Sam and Y/N fell back into the same rhythm like Y/N had never left. She was both of their best friends, being in the middle of their ages. Sam, Y/N and Danny had reminded everyone why they were called the Troublesome Trio, starting a drinking game. By the end of the night, all 3 of them were drunk.

The time was 2 AM and last call was sounded through the bar. Josh, Mack and Jake found themselves trying to reign in three very drunk adults. Sam was known to run when he was drunk, dragging Y/N and Danny with him. The ring master would give them a look and silently countdown before all three would take off in different directions. Josh tried his best from stopping such action from taking placing.

"Let's wrap this night up like we used to," Sam said throwing his arm around Y/N, "Night swimming at the Parker house."

"I'm in!" Danny smiled, a light blush across his face from the alcohol making him warm, "What about it Jake?"

Jake, the only person who didn't seem happy that Y/N was back, shrugged his shoulders. He was painfully sober, not nearly as drunk as Danny, Y/N or Sam, who couldn't even walk in a straight line if they put all their power in to it. Jake had ordered the Uber, ushering in Sam and Y/N before climbing in himself. Mackenzi drove Danny's car with Josh back to the L/N house.

In the car, Y/N leaned her head against Jake's shoulder, causing him to stiffen slightly before relaxing. He sniffed her hair slightly, still smelling the same after all these years, like honey and fresh earth after it rains.

"Nashville seems to be treating you right," Jake said. Y/N nodded a drunken smile plastered on her face, "Josh and I moved out there not that long ago, can't believe we haven't seen you."

"Nashville is a big city, and I like to hide," Y/N giggled.

"I know you do," Jake said and picked up her hand, his eyes falling to the small anchor tattoo with the letters 'T.J' next to it "What does this one mean?"

"My anchor." She slurred as the car rolled up in front of the Parker house.

Y/N and Sam ran straight to the back yard, leaving a trail of clothes behind them as they opened the gate and jumped into the in-ground pool. Josh walked behind them, grabbing clothes and piling them together so they two weren't blindly stumbling for clothes. Danny and Mackenzie brought in the alcohol they had stopped to buy, and Jake looked around the familiar house. Everything was still the same from the chipped paint on the ceiling from the year that The boys got a Christmas tree that was too tall, to the deep scratch in the hardwood from where they pushed the coffee table away to play twister.

"What on earth is going. . . The Kiszka boys," Julie said coming downstairs to see the twins in her kitchen, "It's been too long," She said hugging them both.

"We could say the same Mrs. Parker," Josh said smiling.

"Danny, look at that hair!" Julie said and Danny blushed, "Where's Sam?"

The boys glanced towards the pool where Y/N was being thrown in by Sam into the water and her pulling him in with her. Julie couldn't help but smile, seeing her daughter let loose for once in a very long time. She knew that her coming back to Michigan would be good for her. Mother's always knew best.

"I'm sorry, but she's. . ." Josh went to speak.

"You think I didn't know about the after parties you guys would have here?" Julie said laughing, "You guys were never quiet. Between me and your mothers, we always knew," She said looking at Jake, who blushed and looked down at his feet, "Just keep it down,"

Josh nodded, promising to keep the 'youngins' out of trouble, but was clearly too late when Sam body slammed Y/N into the pool. The rest of them walked outside, Josh deciding to jump into the pool with the Sam and Y/N. Danny and Mackenzie didn't stay long, clearly having other ideas on their minds. Y/N called them fun haters as they left, and Mackenzie promised to come over the next day.

After an hour in the pool, Josh and Sam had enough, deciding to walk across the street back to the Kiszka home, Jake on the other hand, stayed, sitting in one of the pool chairs as Y/N floated on her back, looking up at the stars. She pulled herself up right and swam over to the side of the pool.

"Come swim with me," She said innocently.

"You know I don't like to get wet,"

"You like making girls wet," Y/N joked, the alcohol still clearly in her system, "Please, Jacob. For me?"

Jake could never say no to her and she knew it. He sighed and pushed himself off of his seat, kicking off his boots. Y/N giggled as she watched him strip down to his underwear and then come slip in the water next to the wall. His face contorted at the cold water.

"Jesus it's freezing!" He complained.

"Go under, you'll warm up," Jake did as he was told, soaking his brown locks and going under the water. She was right, it was warmer after he went under the water.

"Not so bad now," She said, swimming over to him. Jake's hands instinctively wrapped around her body, pulling her closer, "Jake. . ."

"Y/N. . ." He said, looking into her eyes.

"I'm cold now," She said, and Jake chuckled. He swam over to the side and pushed himself out of the pool, and Y/N followed behind. He handed her the towel that Josh left out for them to use. Jake placed it over her head, and helped dry her off. Y/N giggled at the feeling of his hands and the towel tickling her body.

"Alright, let's go get you dressed," Jake said, wrapping his own towel around his waist. He put his arm around her waist as they walked into the Parker house. He helped stabilize her as they walked up the stairs to the familiar bedroom.

"You still have some clothes here," Y/N said dropping her towel and starting to get undressed, "In that box labeled 'The Boys stuff'" She pointed to the box on the floor of her closet. Jake laughed as the box was nearly overflowing with stuff that clearly didn't belong to her. Jake managed to find a pair of sweatpants and Danny's pink leather vest that he swore he left somewhere on the road.

"You little thief," Jake laughed, holding the vest to her, "You know how long Danny looked for this? And all along you had it?"

"Oops?" Y/N shrugged. She now had on a t-shirt that actually belonged to Sam and a pair of boxer shorts that were once Jake's. "I can't remember the last time I had that much fun," Y/N said flopping down on her bed, the fairy lights on, emitting the warm glow.

"I haven't either." Jake said laying next to her.

Y/N sat up and looked at him, "I don't believe you. You're a real rockstar, Jacob. You're telling me you retreat to your room at the end of a show?"

"Not always, but I don't. . . do coke off of girl's boobs every night either." Jake said and Y/N laughed.

"I'm glad you don't." Y/N said laying back down. She sighed, letting The Beatles record fill the empty sound. Jake turned his head to drink in Y/N's features. Her face was thinner, having looked older. Her hair wasn't all jet black like it used to be, it now had streaks of dark red mixed into it.

"Do you remember that-"

"Mommy," A small voice said as Y/N's bedroom door opened up. Jake sat up quickly and watched as Y/N jumped up from her bed and walked over to the little boy in the doorway. His big coffee colored eyes, darting around the room to soak up every bit.

"What are you doing awake?" Y/N said kneeling down in front of him. His eyes looked at Jake, and clutched the long horn teddy bear in his hands tighter. Jake recognized the tattered ear on the stuffed animal and realized it was the one he had given Y/N when she graduated.

"I had a nightmare," TJ spoke in a whisper, his eyes on Jake.

"A nightmare?" Y/N said, "You want to sleep with mommy?" TJ nodded and Y/N picked him up. Jake scrambled from the bed and watched as she laid the little boy down. Jake moved to the doorway and couldn't help his heart from pounding in his chest, "I'll be right back okay."

"Okay," TJ whispered and wrapped his little arms around Y/N's neck before whispering in her ear, "I love you."

Y/N smiled and kissed his cheek, "I love you too. What do you want to listen to?"

"Ziggy?" TJ said quietly and Jake couldn't help but smile at the boys taste in music. Y/N found the record and placed it the needle down, and the opening chords of Starman started playing. Jake stepped out of the room and waited as she tucked the little boy in briefly, before coming out to talk to Jake.

"TJ?" Jake said motioning to the tattoo on her wrist.

"Yeah. . ." Y/N said.

"Is he. . . How old?" Jake asked and Y/N looked down at her feet.

"Three. His birthday is in March." Y/N spoke, "I'm sorry, but. . . I need to be with him. H-he doesn't do well at night."

Jake nodded and kissed Y/N's cheek before heading out the front door of the Parker house. As he started down the steps of the house, he paused and looked back at the red painted front door.

"Three. . ." Jake said, a puzzled look falling on his face, "Three. . . Oh my god." Jake ran up the stairs and held his fist to the door, wanting to pound on it until Y/N opened, but he stopped himself, realizing she was trying to get a three year old back to sleep at 3 AM.

[tootiredmotel]

a different lover is not a sin

or: 5 times Dean didn't go to Pride + 1 time he did

Happy @starrynightdeancas gift exchange posting day!!! This one's for the wonderful and talented @andzia267 !!! Sending you all the hugs and good vibes, and I hope you enjoy it! And thank you Sophie for hosting all this, you're a rock star! <3

Read on ao3 or below / 5.5k words

CW: homophobia, queer used as a slur, john winchester being an asshole

1 - 1994

Dean was fifteen years old when he found out that being gay was something people could be proud of. It was early in the morning, they'd left their motel about 20 minutes before, and Sammy had fallen asleep in the backseat. The sun was just starting to completely show over the horizon, and they were driving through– or rather, struggling to get out of– Phoenix on their way to a possible poltergeist in Tucson. Every street they tried to take was blocked for the big event, and dozens of people already lined the sidewalks with colorful outfits and signs.

"Fuckin' queers," John grumbled in the seat next to him. "Never should'a thrown that damn brick."

Big banners overhead displayed "Stonewall 25: A Global Celebration of Pride". Dean made a mental note to hit up a library once they got to Tucson to look that up, "Stonewall". In the meantime, he was mesmerized staring out the window. Guys held hands, women kissed, everyone was practically vibrating with excitement. A black man in heels and a wig caught his gaze through the window and waved. Dean started to wave back, but his hand was harshly swatted back down.

"Do not," John said. "Don’t talk to them, don’t even look at ‘em. These people are sick in the head."

Dean focused his gaze on his lap until they were out of the city, and his mind wandered back to the gas station they stopped at the day before. He thought of the guy at the cash register that called him "cutie" and winked at him as he bought a candy bar for Sammy and beers for Dad with his fake ID. By Dad’s logic– which Dean trusted, of course–, that cashier, that queer, must've been sick in the head.

Then Dean remembered how his heart sped up, how his ears got hot, and how for a second he let himself think the cashier was kinda cute too. He realized he must also be sick in the head, and the thought was making him feel actually, physically sick. He felt like throwing up. Dad could never know.

Dean was fifteen years old when he learned that being gay actually wasn't something to be proud of.

---

2 - 2000

Dean was 21 years old when he learned the word “bisexual”. Dad had caught word of a ghoul case in lower Manhattan and sent Dean to take care of it. It was starting to get too hot and the streets were too crowded, but Dean was mostly glad to get a break from the constant fighting between Dad and Sammy.

Except it was June, and every time he turned a corner, there they were. The Pride parade flyers.

The second he spotted a rainbow he averted his gaze. He turned another corner and spotted another one. He avoided reading them at all costs. He heard Dad’s voice. Sick. Sick in the head.

For years now Dean had pretended he wasn’t sick. He pretended to not stare at Patrick Swayze too much whenever Dirty Dancing played on TV. He pretended like he didn't imagine what it would be like to kiss a guy, what stubble would feel like against his lips if he ever did.

He liked women. He could stick to women. He could live his whole life like that. And that meant he wasn’t totally sick, right? He wasn’t gay -gay if he liked girls.

But then what the hell was he? Would he even belong at one of these Pride things if he wanted to? He was probably a freak of nature. Even sicker than the rest of the bunch.

Curiosity got the best of him. He spared a glance at one of the flyers as he waited to cross the street.

Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transexuals, ALL WELCOME

“Are you gonna go?” A voice next to him asked. ”It’s next weekend.” He was blond, pale, and a bit shorter than Dean.

“What? No! I don't swing that way,” Dean said, a bit too quickly and with too much bite.

The guy looked him up and down with a frown. “Geez, alright. Just askin’.”

He started to walk away, and Dean spoke up before he could stop himself.

“Hey man, wait.”

The guy stopped walking.

“Sorry, can I ask you something? Assuming you... know about this stuff?”

He seemed exasperated, but he turned anyway, willing to hear Dean out. Dean licked his lips, rubbed at the back of his neck, swallowed nervously. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, asking a stranger on the street about something so personal. At least the chances of meeting this person ever again were close to none.

“What’s bisexual?”

The guy’s features softened a bit. He seemed to understand something about Dean that so far Dean refused to acknowledge.

“It means you’re into more than one gender. And yes, you can do that,” the guy said. He flashed Dean a tight smile and then disappeared into the crowd.

Dean felt his hands go numb and balled them into fists, shoving them in his pockets. He took a deep breath through his nose. The guy said you. You are. You can.

The guy didn’t know what he was talking about. He knew nothing about Dean. He was wrong.

Or maybe he was right.

But he couldn’t be.

Dean couldn’t be… that.

Dean was 21 years old when he decided he wasn’t bisexual. He wasn’t anything. He was also 21 when he solved a case in record time (two days), just so he could book it out of New York before the next weekend arrived.

---

3 - 2004

By the time he was 25 years old, Dean knew he was bi. He hated it, he never spoke about it, and he ignored it as much as he could, but he was aware of it. And he knew he was bi because, at 25 years old, he’d already gone through two serious breakups, and they both equally sucked.

The first was Lee. He hunted with Dean and John for about a year, the second half of which Dean and Lee spent sneaking around and hooking up behind John’s back. It was fun, and hot, and exciting, and some of the best hookups he’d had up until that point in his life were with Lee.

But the thing is that it wasn’t just hooking up. They were close, and Dean liked him. A lot. They kissed for the first time after a particularly scary werewolf hunt in which Dean almost died, but John was more preoccupied with the mostly-unharmed victim than his own son. Dean and Lee rode in the backseat, bruised, bloody, and quiet. When John went to walk the victim up to her apartment, Lee reached over and placed a hand on Dean’s back, asking him if he was okay. Dean fell into Lee’s arms, and they kissed as they pulled away from the embrace, soft and comforting. It was Dean’s first kiss with a guy.

Lee was a lot of firsts for Dean over the next few months. But then John almost caught them once, drunk and making out in the Impala.

And then that case in Arizona went wrong, and Lee just couldn’t take it anymore. He packed up, swore off hunting, hugged Dean goodbye, and left him in the dust.

Dean needed to clear his head after that. He could barely look his dad in the eye after that close call, couldn't let him see the sorrow he was feeling. With every interaction, he imagined how John would yell at him, probably try to beat it out of him, if he noticed all he was feeling over Lee. Or worse, John could ignore him, practically disown him like he did Sam.

So he also packed up and left. Went hunting on his own for a while.

It was on one of those hunts that he met Cassie, and she was yet another handful of firsts for Dean over the course of a few months. She was amazing, and he fell hard and fast, but of course that went up in flames too.

Then again, he should've known better than to be honest. Honesty only ever got him in trouble.

He’d just left her back in Ohio and was working at a bar in Indianapolis for a few weeks to make some cash. He’d eventually meet back up with Dad. He just couldn’t right now. Not with Sam gone to college. Not after getting his heart broken twice over within a year.

He was hyper-aware of the end of June approaching. He knew it was coming, Indy had a pretty big celebration, and he made sure to be working all day that day so he wouldn't have to face it.

That was pointless, though. Toward the end of the day, a big group of about ten or twelve people who were clearly coming from the parade stumbled into the bar. One of them was apparently the owner’s little sister and they went there every year after the celebrations. They were loud, and obnoxious, and looked incredibly happy. Their happiness was contagious, and Dean loved serving them. He chatted them up, got to know them a bit, and heard all about the parade, all while staring down anyone at the bar who dared look their way with even the slightest stink eye.

But watching them that happy and comfortable, seeing not one, but two pairs of guys sloppily leaning against each other and sharing the occasional kiss while none of their friends seemed to bat an eye… something in Dean ached. Deeply.

Dean was 25 years old when he realized that a small part of him kind of, sort of, wanted to be part of this community. He couldn’t though. Not if he wanted to be on good terms with Dad. Not if he aimed to be the man Dad wanted him to be.

He left Indianapolis the next day.

---

4 - 2008

Dean was 29 years old and on his own personal highway to hell when he learned his brother went to a Pride parade before he ever did. They were driving through San José, the streets were lined with ads for Silicon Valley Pride, and Sam just casually decided to mention how fun it was the last time he went.

Thankfully they were at a red light, or else Dean probably would’ve slammed the breaks. He twisted to look at Sam head-on, his arm on the back of the seat.

“You what ?” he gawked.

Sam shrugged innocently. “What?”

“You went to one of these Pride things?”

“Yeah, dude.”

Dean’s brain was just trying and failing to load. “Why?” he finally asked.

“Jessica was in the GSA and some friends invited us. It was awesome.”

“She was in the what?”

“The G. S. A.,” Sam answered slowly. “Gay-Straight Alliance.”

“Oh.” Whatever that is, Dean thought. He kept eyeing the flyers. It was tomorrow.

“Green.”

“What?”

“Light’s green. Green means go.”

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

He kept driving and turned up the radio. Somebody To Love was playing, and as much as he liked Queen, he had to change the station. He tried to picture his little brother (his straight little brother) wearing rainbow face paint and having the time of his life at this thing. How come Sammy got to go when Dean could barely entertain the idea? Dean was the not-straight one. It wasn’t fair.

He channeled his jealousy into gripping the steering wheel.

“You okay, Dean?”

“Yeah.” No. “Yeah, m’fine.”

Dean was 29 years old when he died and went to hell without ever having gone to a Pride parade, knowing that his idiot ( straight! ) little brother already had.

---

5 - 2014

Dean was alive again and 35 years old (75, if you count hell) when he was formally invited to a Pride parade for the first time. It was a couple of days after that whole mess with Cas in Lucifer’s crypt, and he called Charlie. He just wanted to hear her voice, needed to know he was still on good terms with at least one of his best friends.

“So anyway,” Charlie said after a while of recounting what she’d been up to. "How single are you right now? My answer is: miserably."

Dean chuckled. Then he thought of Cas, and the smile disappeared. "Yeah, you and me both, sister."

“Would you mind coming with me to this thing next month? Going alone kinda sucks.”

Dean put the phone on speaker and placed it on the library table as he sat down with a beer. “What’s the thing?”

“Pride.”

Dean was glad no one was around to see him almost choke on his drink.

“You good?”

“Yeah, what was that?”

“Pride parade. Don’t have anyone to go with this year.”

“Why uh… Why? Why me?”

She knows.

“I dunno.”

She knows she knows she knows.

“You’re my friend, Dean. Thought maybe you might be interested. But never mind, I guess.”

And while all the alarms in Dean's head were blaring danger danger danger abort, he also hated to hear Charlie so disappointed.

“Hey, no, listen, Charlie, I… I would. Really. You know I support you, wholeheartedly." And that's obviously the only reason I would want to go. "But with Sam doing these trials, and Cas on the run with the angel tablet–”

“It’s okay Dean, I get it. Talk to you soon?”

“Yeah.”

And she hung up.

Dean knew, at this point, that there was nothing wrong with being queer. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, and it sure as hell didn’t mean you were wrong in the head or whatever.

But years of pretending to be a false version of yourself in an effort to please a man who was impossible to please wasn’t exactly an easy habit to break. As much as he wished it didn't, as much as he wished he could just exist, the thought of anyone finding out still made him sick to the stomach.

John’s voice still echoed in his ears. His words still drove Dean’s sense of self-worth and so many of his decisions. He tried to never stare at a good-looking guy for too long. He tried to not get too into it with Benny. He tried to keep his feelings for Cas at bay, tried to keep him at arm's length, tried to keep the fact that he was in love (deeply, stupidly in love) as close to his chest as he could.

Even that night at the crypt choking out the words to get through to Cas, he couldn’t bring himself to say what he meant. I love you, he’d wanted to say, because it was the truth. What came out, however, was I need you. And he did, he needed Cas more than air, but it wasn't quite everything.

It still got his heart split in two.

Was he so far gone over Cas that he couldn’t hide it? Had he been trying so hard and failing just as miserably this whole time? Was his attraction to dudes that obvious? Or did Charlie just have a sixth sense for this kinda thing?

It was probably the last one. He hoped it was.

Cas knew, for sure. Angels knew everything right? They could read minds, feel longing, or whatever. And if none of that ever tipped him off, well, Dean put it all on the line back in that crypt. He told Cas how he felt, told him he needed him, tried putting himself out there, and it got him left. Again. With Dean, it was always leave-or-get-left when it came to love. He was tired of it.

Dean was 35 years old, desperately in love with his best friend, and truly heartbroken for the third time in his life, when his other best friend– an out and proud lesbian– gave him a chance to go to Pride, to break through his shell, to finally embrace himself as he was; but because he was practically living in the closet, he couldn’t seem to find the handle after so many years of purposefully ignoring its existence, and he missed his chance. Besides, what was the point of going to a celebration of love without the love of his life by his side?

---

+1 - 2021

Dean is now 42 years old and the happiest he’s ever been. The love of his life? Cas? Turns out he’s felt the same way all along. They're kind of together now, and slowly but surely they’re working through a decade’s worth of shit.

They’ve been raising a kid together too, along with Sam and Eileen, and that kid is also God. After saving the world and whatnot, Jack decided to bring back some of their friends and family that died over the years: Mary, Kevin, Charlie. Yes, there are two Charlies now, but it’s not as confusing as you’d expect. (One is from another dimension, and the other one is Dean’s little sister. Simple.) Mary’s off hunting most of the time and Kevin’s applying to college.

They’ve got extended family now too, Jody and the girls. OG Charlie is staying with them for now, while she finds her footing. Most of that household is queer. Most of Dean's household is queer as well, actually. Turns out both Jack and Eileen are non-binary, Cas is gay in the broader sense of the word, and Dean…

Dean is bi. And everyone knows now.

Apparently, a lot of people had known for a long time. Sam has known since the siren back in ‘09 (even though Dean stands by the fact that it wasn’t like that, Sammy ), and everyone has slowly picked up on his and Cas’s thing over the years, so there’s that.

He still feels a bit weird about it. About calling Cas his boyfriend, about having the freedom to hold his hand in public, about the fact that they now have goddamn pride flags hung around the bunker. He feels even weirder about the fact that John’s voice in his head is now drowned out by the sounds of his home life, more lively and supportive than he ever expected to have.

He wasn’t expecting any of this, he didn’t think everything would change so fast. But when you spend the better part of your life pushing down such a huge part of you and then finally give yourself an out, a chance to show the people who love you who you really are, everything just... follows.

Love follows. Acceptance follows. Family follows. And he wasn’t really expecting any of it.

He certainly doesn’t expect it when Cas walks into the library after his weekly Thursday evening call with Claire and announces, matter-of-factly and with air quotes, “We’re going to "Pride" this weekend.”

Dean’s stomach drops. It’s the Sioux Falls Pride Parade and Festival, it’s in two days, and they’re leaving tomorrow to spend the night at Jody’s so they can all be there bright and early Saturday morning. Everyone immediately starts bustling about, packing and planning outfits and gathering flags to bring with them.

Dean just goes to his room– his and Cas’s now– to pack a small duffle.

Well, he means to. Instead, he takes out the duffle from the closet, puts it on the bed, and sits next to it for a while. An hour goes by. He thinks back to all those times he had brushes with one of these things and was just never in the right mindset. He’s not even sure he’s in the right mindset now, but he’s going. It’s happening.

“Jack’s all ready to go,” Cas says when he walks in. “We spent about half an hour putting together an outfit for Saturday. He wanted it to be as colorful as possible.”

Dean smiles, but it’s not all there. He looks at the empty duffle next to him.

“Yeah, I might need some help with that myself.”

Cas is in sweats and a hoodie. Yes it’s June, yes it’s hot, but he’s a quasi-angel, and the way he experiences the world Dean will never be able to wrap his head around. He walks over and stands in front of Dean, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face until he’s cupping Dean’s jaw. Dean takes Cas’s hand and leaves a few kisses on the inside of his wrist, closing his eyes as he does.

Cas regards the empty bag and hums quietly, as if in thought, before walking over to their closet. Dean chases his hand, holding onto it until he’s completely out of reach. Cas starts searching, and Dean’s stomach knots more and more with each clang of the hangers. Cas finally pulls out a flannel from its hanger– purple with hints of blue and pink– and tosses it over. Dean can’t believe he didn’t think of it first.

They continue to pack in comfortable silence before changing and getting into bed. Dean doesn’t flop onto his stomach or cuddle into Cas’s side as he usually does; instead, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling in a daze.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice snaps him out of it.

Dean turns his head and asks, automatically, “You okay?”

It’s a habit by now, asking each other that question. It’s part of the working-through-a-decade’s-worth-of-shit thing they’re doing. Turns out they share a whole lot of trauma. They share worries and insecurities. They share nightmares sometimes, mostly about the Empty.

“I’m okay,” Cas says, putting his hand on top of Dean’s heart for him to hold, and Dean can breathe a little easier.

“You nervous about this thing?” Dean asks, interlocking their fingers.

“The parade? No, not really.”

And then, because he's been working on communicating how he's feeling out loud or whatever, Dean looks back up at the ceiling and says, "I am. Kinda."

He feels Cas shifting and propping himself up on his elbow, and then he's in Dean's line of sight. Dean's gaze is drawn to him, like all of him has been since the moment they met, and Dean can't believe he just has this now. He has a boyfriend, and it's Cas, and he's looking down at Dean with stars in his eyes and a comforting smile that actually works because it's Cas.

And then Cas is leaning down and softly pressing their lips together, and that's also something Dean can’t believe he gets to do: kiss Cas good morning and good night and at any moment in between, kiss him I'm sorry, kiss him we're going to be okay, kiss him I love you.

"I love you too, Dean," Cas says once they've pulled away, and Dean didn't even realize he'd said it out loud, but it doesn't matter. "And you don't need to be nervous. I'll be there with you."

The thought should be a thousand times more nerve-wracking, not just going to Pride but going to Pride with Cas on his arm. It's not nerve-wracking at all, and he soon drifts off to sleep.

Friday goes by faster than it should. The six-hour drive to Sioux Falls, although packed in a car with five people, goes by in a blink. They stop for provisions before getting to Jody's, filling up on backpacks' worth of snacks.

They get to the house and are met with endless hugs and excitement to match. Patience, Alex, and Jody are already working on dinner for the bunch, while Charlie, Donna, and Kaia are running around prepping for the next day and dragging along a hesitant but nevertheless happy Claire. Dinner is chaotic and loud and there are way too many people at the table, and Dean has to step outside after a while.

He sits on the back porch steps. Claire joins him. She's holding a beer, he's not. He hasn't been drinking for a few months now. They don't talk, but she leans her head on his shoulder and they stay there a while, looking at the stars.

When they go back inside, Claire sits back down in her spot at Cas's left, across the table from Dean, and leans on his shoulder for a while too. It's her way of saying she cares, of saying I missed you without really saying it. Jack sits at Cas's right, talking excitedly with Patience about some tv show or other, and the image fills Dean with such fondness that he reaches over with his foot, presses it to Cas's ankle, and keeps it there for the rest of the night.

Dean, Cas, Jack, Sam, and Eileen spend the night spread out around in the living area while the girls sleep in their respective rooms, and Dean is only slightly less nervous as he falls asleep holding Cas’s hand.

---

The nerves all come flooding back as he’s parking the Impala the next morning.

They’re not able to get even remotely close to Phillips Avenue since the streets are so full. They park the three cars that all twelve of them came in as close as they can and then have to walk for another twenty minutes. From blocks and blocks away, people walk and holler and greet them excitedly, many of them trying to circle this swarm of flanneled individuals that are taking up a whole sidewalk. Granted, Dean and Claire are the only ones in their usual kind of outfit. The rest of the bunch is wearing as many colors as they could compile from their closets, half of them are wearing face paint, and the other half are carrying an assortment of pride flags.

They fit right in.

The walk toward the main avenue of the parade is kind of a blur for Dean. He knows he waved at a few people, some friends of Alex from high school joined the group at some point, and Jack already grabbed a snack from his backpack.

The actual parade is also kind of hazy. Getting out of the house that morning had been probably even more chaotic than the night before, so they’re a bit late and the parade has already been going for a good half hour. On top of that, they accidentally merge into it not quite at the starting point but a bit further down the road, in between a decked-out pickup truck and a group of people with dogs. Music is blaring, the dogs are all barking, a big float rides a few yards in front of them, and hundreds stand on the sidewalks recording on their phones and cheering them along.

Dean’s not sure they’re even supposed to be in the actual parade. Maybe they’re supposed to be on the sidewalks? Is this right? What is happening, what is he even doing here?

He doesn’t notice how heavy he’s breathing until Cas is squeezing his hand and beckoning him to meet his eyes. He does, and the blue in them, as imposing as the Atlantic, drowns out everything else around them. “You’re okay, my love,” Cas says. It’s a fact. As long as Dean is with him, he’s okay.

On his other side, Dean feels someone link their arm around his. It’s Charlie, and she’s beaming at them, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. It brings Dean back to reality, grounds him, but he’s okay now. He’s not alone, and he’s meant to be here.

He’s proud to be here.

The parade leads up to a sloping park, and at the lowest point of it, there’s a stage where Dean assumes someone will MC for the afternoon, or maybe perform. It’s grandiose in its simplicity, kind of like a Greek theater, with everyone settling down on the grass around it, expectantly.

“We’ll be right back,” Dean hears Sam say, and he turns to find they’re all set to spend the afternoon, towels laid and backpacks off (save for his). “Jack wants to go meet the drag queens,” Sam says with just a bit too much glee before he and Jack take off.

“It’s not just Jack,” Eileen smiles and follows.

Cas is already sitting, eating one of the PB&Js he packed as lunches for everyone. Jody and Donna are settling down as well and Charlie’s taking a dozen pictures, but the rest of the girls are all standing. “We’re gonna go check out the vendors,” Claire announces, and they start to take off as well.

“Be careful, please!” Dean calls after them, but they pay him no mind. He turns to Charlie. “Hey, your majesty, keep an eye on them will you?”

She smiles, bows gracefully, and heads in the same direction.

Jody stands and grabs Dean by the arm, beckoning him to talk in private for a second.

“What’s up?”

If Dean knows Jody at all, and he does, they’re on the brink of a mom talk.

“Look around, Dean.”

“What for?”

“Just look,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Please?”

So, at her request, Dean starts taking in the environment. Now that everyone is gathered, he can actually see all the people that came out (heh) for the event. There are church groups, pet shelters, skateboarders, and rollerskaters. Drag queens are already taking pictures by the stage, and at least two people are wearing unicorn heads. A few vendors’ tents and food trucks surround the park, and rainbows completely dominate the scenery. There are elders, and kids, and all kinds of families and couples, and everyone looks… happy. Free.

And Dean is here with them. He is one of them.

There’s no danger, no monsters of any kind. No one to judge him, hurt him, call him sick in the head.

He finds Claire’s blonde head amongst the sea of shoppers at the edge of the park. She’s holding hands with Kaia and has one of the biggest smiles Dean has ever seen on her face. There’s no shame in it, and she’s not in any danger either. Things are different now, and she has the freedom to be herself that he never had at her age.

He has it now too. He can be himself.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s about to cry until Jody pulls him down into a hug.

“Dean, I am so proud of you.”

And then he cries.

---

They spend the afternoon laying on the grass, eating, drinking, and enjoying the festivities. The girls come back from the vendors’ tents after a full hour, and most of the bags on their arms are Charlie’s. She gets Cas a mug that says bee yourself in rainbow colors with an image of a cartoon bee, and she gets Dean a button pin that says AC/DC in pink and blue. There’s a meaning behind that apparently, and Dean decides he’ll look it up later.

Jack memorizes all the drag queen’s names. Donna takes a million pictures. They trade numbers with a few people.

There’s a big fireworks show just after sundown. It starts to get windy and a bit chilly, so Dean grabs the nearest pride flag and wraps it around himself. Cas, the perpetual freak who just doesn’t feel temperature apparently, is wearing a t-shirt and shorts and smiling at him unabashedly.

“What?”

“That’s the bisexual flag.”

So it is. “Shut up,” Dean says, but he’s smiling too. “You want in on this?”

He doesn’t wait for Cas to respond before he wraps it around his shoulders as well. The fireworks continue.

“You know,” Cas says after a beat. “As beautiful as they are, pyrotechnics are extremely damaging to the environment.”

Dean can’t help but laugh because of course, Cas would say something like that in a moment like this. He laughs and laughs and regrets being the only one to have heard that; then again, he’s the only one who could’ve found that funny.

He laughs a bit more, wipes a tear, and sees that Cas is still just solemnly watching the show.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He replies and then turns his head.

Dean wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so bad. Then he remembers where he is, physically and in his life right now, realizes whom he’s surrounded by at this very second, and decides that he can.

So he does. It’s not unlike the way he kissed Cas when they rescued him from the Empty. Granted, there’s less sweat, blood, adrenaline. But just like that day, they’re both on the ground, and the gesture catches Cas by surprise. Just like that day, Dean pulls Cas in gently by the back of his neck and there’s no hesitance or fear. Just like that day, he just does it, presses their lips firmly together, and relishes in the taste of Castiel, in the feeling of the person he loves most in this world kissing him back.

The one big difference is this: that day marked the beginning of the rest of his life. Today? Today is just Dean’s first Pride.