#apparently the brothers have been causing trouble or being nuisances all day

[jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav]

Hello! if its ok how would the demon brothers react to a low self esteem/ self hating MC who excepts any insults with a sad smile?

Content Warnings: Self deprecation (naturally, given the nature of the prompt), verbal harassment/insults, spoilers for later chapters in Belphegor’s section

Just so you know it’s basically gonna be seven different versions of this:

Under a cut to prevent carpal tunnel!

Obey Me: The Brothers With an MC Who Has Low Self Esteem and Accepts Insults with a Smile

Lucifer

Lucifer kind of just... stops for a few seconds. Like, he freezes completely. Doesn’t move, doesn’t blink - MC’s not sure if he’s even breathing. They’re at one of Diavolo’s parties together, and a pretty important demon is coming for MC hard, albeit in a slimy, passive-aggressive kind of way. And they’re just... smiling and nodding along?

Lucifer’s single currently operating brain cell is dedicated to not just murdering this pathetic excuse for a demon. If he wasn’t already in his demon form, he would absolutely transform. With a deep breath, he stalks over in full Avatar of Pride mode: shoulders back, staring slightly down at everyone else, wings puffed up just so.

Anything the demon was saying to MC, he throws back at them tenfold, with just as much passive-aggression, though it starts slipping more and more as he continues on. Eventually it starts turning into one of those lectures of his about The Importance of The Exchange Program and Lord Diavolo’s Reputation and-  MC is gonna have to catch his attention to stop him from going full Dad-mode on this bastard.

Once they succeed in doing this, he pulls them aside and, still bristling with indignant rage, asks why MC was letting that wretch talk to them like that.

“Well, it wasn’t like they were saying anything that wasn’t true...”

Wrong. Answer. Lucifer is the Avatar of Pride, even though he has self-worth issues running deeper than the Marianas Trench he would never let anyone talk to him like that, and he wishes more than anything he could lend MC that ability. He’ll tilt their head to look him directly in the eyes and assure them that they absolutely do have value, both in the Devildom and in his family. He won’t tolerate anyone, including MC themself, put down a member of his family. Is that clear?

In the coming weeks, the younger brothers notice that Lucifer’s soft spot for MC is even more pronounced than usual. In fact, he frequently praises them for their accomplishments, flustering them to no end. None of them dare to bring it to his attention, because they’ve all noticed in one way or another that MC is carrying themself with more confidence now.

Whatever is going on between the two of them seems to be working quite well.

Mammon

Mammon... runs his mouth a lot. He says stupid things he doesn’t mean because admitting his actual feelings would be too difficult. Unfortunately, one of the feelings he’s vehemently avoiding addressing is his feelings for MC. This manifests as loud and insistent denial that The GREAT Mammon would never be interested in some stupid, weak human, how dare you suggest that?!

The brothers expect one of many responses from MC: outrage and offence, teasing at Mammon’s clear tsundere attitude, a roll of the eyes, anything other than their sad little smile whenever he insults them. One day, Mammon finally notices their staring and he actually stops and takes a minute to process the acceptance on MC’s face.

He just called them a burden and a waste of time and they’re SMILING?!

Like a horrid puzzle piece, everything clicks together in Mammon’s mind. He’s never heard MC protest any of the awful things he’s said about them. They don’t even tease him about it like his brothers do.

They think he’s being serious and they agree with him.

He changes his tune so fast it’s dizzying. He slips up sometimes, but now when he sees MC’s small smile that doesn’t reach their eyes, he adds, “H-Hey! Why’re you just letting me say all that, huh? Ya gotta stand up for yourself, MC! You better not go around letting lesser demons talk to you like this! If anyone ever gives you trouble, you come to the GREAT Mammon and I’ll shut ‘em up real quick!

“‘Cause... It’s not true, all of that about you being stupid or annoying. You’re my human and I know you really well and you’re- You’re not any of that, MC! So don’t go smiling at jerks dragging your name through the mud okay?”

Leviathan

MC and Leviathan are playing an online multiplayer game together, and MC still hasn’t quite gotten used to Devildom controls yet. They’re not exactly a great asset to their team... Not that Levi minds. He’s happy they’re showing interest in him his games at all.

Some of the demons they’re playing with, on the other hand...

Ugh, stay on the objective you stupid bitch!

Is [MC’s username] afk?

If you feed them any more kills I fucking swear-

Why is a noob even playing this game lmao just go die already

Levi scoffs. Their team wasn’t even losing, these scumbags just needed to find someone to pick on. Still, it wasn’t fair for MC to listen to their insults, he’ll just disconnect and find a better team - hey, why has MC been so quiet?

The Avatar of Envy turns to face MC only to see them staring down at their controller with a shaky smile. He calls their name and they look up, startled.

“I’m gonna find another team for us to play on,” Levi explains as the game warns him that he’s about to lose some in-game reputation points for abandoning his team. “Uh, unless you’d rather play something else?”

“No it’s fine, you pick,” MC says, still avoiding making direct eye contact. “I probably won’t do any better no matter what we play...”

Hey, insecurity is his thing!

“MC, you better not be thinking about what those losers said in the chat!”

“But-”

“NUH UH! You might be a normie, but you’re also my best friend!” MC feels an anime-inspired speech coming on. “Who cares about winning or losing one match? I’d rather lose every match I ever play from now on if it means I get to have you as my player 2!” Leviathan pauses as he realizes exactly what he just said and immediately turns beet red. “...you know... if you... wanted to, I guess...”

Satan

MC is in Devildom History with Satan, and as an exchange student, is having a rough time of it. They just don’t have the same background as the rest of the students, and can’t pick up on things as fast as they do.The teacher hands back the latest test and they cringe as they see their grade. Satan, sitting next to them, glances at the mark and gives them one of his small smiles.

“You know, if you need extra help, don’t be shy. I’d be happy to help you,” he says quietly.

Apparently not quietly enough, because a particularly rowdy pair of demons overhear him and choose that moment to make a nuisance of themselves. One of them snatches MC’s paper out of their hands, and upon seeing their grade starts laughing.

“How did you put the Abyssal Peace Treaty before the Abyssal War?! Everyone knows when that happened!” they continue chuckling at more silly mistakes MC made while very stressed during that test, while Satan’s blood starts boiling.

Much to his surprise, MC just smiles and joins in the demons’ laughter. “Yeah, that was pretty stupid...” they say with a falsely cheerful tone. Satan quickly catches on - they’re just fucking with these demons! He keeps his anger at bay with the anticipation of seeing MC really tear these lowlives a new-

“Wow, not even gonna defend yourself? Why do we even have human exchange students, they’re so boring.” The demon pair scoff and toss MC’s test back, before stalking off, annoyed that they didn’t get the reaction they wanted.

Hm. Frustrate them by not responding to their futile taunts. An interesting choice, but effective nonetheless. Satan expresses his appreciation of MC’s choice, much to their confusion. When they explain that they really were agreeing with what the demons had said, Satan doesn’t take it very well.

If MC doesn’t stop him, he’ll go over to the pair of demons that insulted them and drag their names through the dirt in front of the entire classroom, adding in some colourful suggestions about what would happen to them if they continued this behaviour. Either way, he’s furious enough that his demon form might start peeking out, tail thrashing behind him or horns growing out from his messy hair.

When class is over, Satan asks MC to stay behind.

“I want you to tell me why you feel this way about yourself,” he says. “Because I promise you, there isn’t a single explanation you can give that I won’t argue against. And I’m rarely wrong.”

Asmodeus

Asmo lives in a delightful bubble of flirtation, partying, and being the very best and prettiest being in all three realms. He works very hard to maintain this state, terrified of what he’d find on the other side of the haze.

But all it takes is one look at MC for it to come crashing down.

They’re at The Fall together, sipping on fruity drinks disguising unholy amounts of alcohol for a brief break before returning to the dance floor. Asmo knows MC struggles with confidence, and figured that if he could get them to have a good time, they would forget their insecurities for at least a little while.

And maybe he’s laying it on a bit thick with the flirting while they’re here. He can’t help it! He loves MC in a way he’s never really loved anyone else before. If he’s completely honest, the feeling scares him: he wants to put them before himself, and he’s not sure if he can, because he never has put someone else first before.

A demon notices Asmo’s lovesick staring at MC, and comments as they pass, “Oh my, has the Avatar of Lust sunken so low that he’s making eyes at some plain-jane human?” A long, scaled tail snakes around MC’s face, turning their head in the demon’s direction. “Or are you just a charity-fuck? You certainly won’t be able to hold his interest for long, darling.~”

The demon saunters off, and Asmodeus has half a mind to storm over to them and cause a scene, but the look on MC’s face stops him in his tracks.

They’re looking at him and they’re smiling.

“You don’t have to pretend to be upset about it,” they say, poking at their drink with their straw. “I know I’m not all that interesting. You just want me right now because I’m an ordinary human, right? And once the novelty wears off, well... I’m not powerful like a demon, or a wise magic user like Solomon, and I’m not exactly good-looking, so why keep me around? It’s been nice of you to pretend with me, though-”

He cuts them off with a passionate kiss, threading his fingers in their hair and pressing their bodies as close as possible. The gesture catches MC off guard and their drink spills on the two of them, but Asmo doesn’t even flinch. He only pulls away when MC starts panting from lack of oxygen.

“Please don’t say those awful things about yourself, MC,” Asmodeus says, eyes brimming with tears. “You’re...” One of the only people I don’t have to pretend around. “...You are so special to me. And you always will be.” Suddenly aware that they’ve both been soaked in a cocktail, Asmo smirks. “Oh dear, it seems our clothes are all dirty... I guess we’ll have to go back home and change, won’t we?”

Please let me prove to you how much I love you, he thinks as you tearfully smile and punch his arm before agreeing.

Beelzebub

Beel deals with survivor’s guilt, and if he’s not careful, it can lead to some pretty dark places. He’s also Belphie’s twin and is very familiar with what low self-esteem looks like. So whenever a demon tries to insult MC while he’s around, he doesn’t give them the chance to agree, calmly, but firmly jumping to their defence.

It doesn’t matter who it is or where they are, Beel always has MC’s back. Whenever they’re feeling especially down and that sad little smile is on their face, MC tends to find some of their favourite snacks tucked away into their bag or even their uniform pockets. The Avatar of Gluttony is also always ready to deploy some Emergency Cuddles, and is generally a steady, grounding presence in MC’s life. He starts to stick around them almost as much as Mammon does.

Unfortunately, this attracts the attention of some less than savoury people.

“Hey Beel! Coach wants you to know we’ve got an extra practice tomorrow! It’s semi-finals soon, and he wants to go over some new strategies,” a large, intimidating demon calls out, dressed in the RAD athletic uniform.

MC and Beel turn towards the demon’s voice, and Beel’s teammate makes a face upon seeing them. “You’re still hanging around them?” the demon asks. “Or are they clinging onto ya like a barnacle?” He laughs and MC lets go of Beel’s hand, blushing.

They have been around him an awful lot lately... Is he only doing it out of pity? Should they stop? Oh no, what if he thinks they’re annoying--

“I like MC,” Beel says plainly. “And I like spending time with them. So, tomorrow after classes is the next practice? I’ll be there.” He leaves no room for further debate. The demon stumbles over his words before confirming and abruptly running off.

MC doesn’t take Beel’s hand again.

“Hey,” Beelzebub takes MC’s much smaller hands into his own. “I mean it. I like you. Don’t listen to my teammate, he’s dumber than Mammon. Want to go have lunch together? I think they’re serving fried bats in the cafeteria...”

Belphegor

Sometimes, Belphegor peeks in on MC’s dreams. He never directly interacts with them, nor has he ever told them that he does this at all. Ever since he... ever since that happened, he’s made a conscious effort to avoid creeping them out even further, and he worries that this kind of behaviour would be frowned upon by a human.

But he can’t help it. Especially tonight.

After being woken up by a squirming MC, he decides to look into their dreams and see what is upsetting them so much. Much to his surprise, he finds himself inside one of RAD’s classrooms. MC is working on an assignment with a group of demons whose features keep shifting around. The writing on the books in front of them is illegible, and Belphegor only knows it’s writing at all because of his familiarity with dream physics.

“There they are,” whispers one of the demons. “What do they think they’re doing?”

MC asks a question about something in one of the books, pointing to a scribble that only looks like words when not focused on.

“Why do you care? It’s not like you can do anything useful for us anyway,” the demon snaps. “I’m not even sure why you’re here.” Belphegor frowns. Is this a memory?

MC meekly mentions the exchange program. “I don’t care!” The demon’s voice changes, and Belphegor suddenly feels the pitter-patter of raindrops on his skin, despite still being indoors. MC’s clothes are drenched in the invisible rain. “Fuck, can you not take a hint, MC? No one actually wants you here! You’re just a tag-along!”

“Why don’t you just pack up and leave then? Oh right, you have nowhere else to go!”

The figures of the demons become shadowy and elongated, hands sharpening into talons. MC jumps to their feet and backs away from the advancing figures, whose whispers become louder and interrupt each other.

“Just don’t mess it up again-”

“-never have trusted you! You ruin EVERYTHING-”

“Another disappointment, I see.”

“Don’t LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT-”

“Fucking whore!”

The voices continue, growing louder and louder until the figures melt into one familiar silhouette with violet eyes.

“You’re so stupid that I can’t help but laugh.” Belphegor’s blood runs cold. “You humans really are foolish, idiotic, weak creatures, aren’t you?”

The Avatar of Sloth watches helplessly as his dream-double wraps its hands around MC’s throat, cooing hideous insults at them all the while. Nonononono, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t know, I was just so- Ugh! That’s not an excuse, you idiot! 

The dream-Belphegor pauses, grip slackening.

“Get off of them,” Belphegor hisses. “Now.” 

The figure dissolves into the classroom, turning the surroundings completely black. Now Belphie finds himself standing in the creature’s place, in front of a confused MC.

“Are you okay?” he asks lamely.

“Why did you stop?” MC asks in return.

“I wasn’t... It was hurting you, and saying- I couldn’t keep letting it-”

MC smiles. “It’s just the truth. You said so yourself.”

MC and Belphegor wake up together, sweating, trapped in the other’s vice-like grip. MC’s pulse flutters under Belphie’s hands, way faster than it should be. It almost feels like when-

He twists out of their grasp, falling out of the bed in the process. He scrambles as far back as his room allows, nearly tripping over his own tail. MC stares at him through the darkness, torn between chasing after him and putting more distance between the two of them.

“...You saw that.” He doesn’t reply. “...Come here, Belphie.”

And slowly, he does.

For the next few weeks, Belphegor never leaves MC’s side unless absolutely necessary, even if he falls asleep next to them. He refuses to acknowledge this unusual behaviour, reacting with increasing hostility to anyone who mentions it. He also accompanies them to bed more often than not, much to Mammon’s chagrin.

“So long as I’m with you, no one else is going to talk to you like that ever again. I’m not going to let them, and I’m not going to let you just take it.”

#obey me: swd #obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me: shall we date #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor #headcanon #mine #long post #my writing

[blanknamed]

trial and error [senku x reader]

I wrote this on AO3 a few months ago and just wanted to link it on to my Tumblr. Part 2 is already out right now, but I just did this quickly during one of my lectures lol. Hope you guys like this.

SHIPPING: SENKU X READER

PREMISE: [Name] had always known Senku was a little bit of an oddball but that's what made him so interesting to her as children. Now in the Stone World, he's only even more interesting what with his claims about shooting up to a million years worth of technology back, but some things never change with him; specifically on the concept of love. As a way to get him to think about it as something other than "disgusting feelings" she proposes for him to think of it differently, though it seems to be going in a direction she never expected.

PART ONE - PART TWO - PART THREE

{--*--}

CHAPTER ONE: A SUGGESTION

Senku was completely lost at the moment. It wasn’t stuck with his most latest creation, no. It was those three sisters. They haven’t stopped staring at him for the past three hours and it was starting to get on his last nerves. Usually he was able to just ignore them and go on with his day, but what can he right now? He had spent the previous night working his ass off on planning for the next project so the working effort on his end was a little slow (well, slow in his terms at least; [Name] had already told him a few times to slow down for the sake of their non-modernized companions). At the moment, he was having a lunchbreak, sitting hunched over his blueprints trying to figure out what was happening.

Keyword: trying.

“Your head looks like its going explode.” [Name] said softly as she sat next to him, bowl of ramen in her hand. Her eyes scanned over to his spiky hair. “Well, it already looks that way, actually.”

“Shaddup.” Senku replied gruffly, but [Name] didn’t take his rudness to heart. She had known Senku since they were children. She had used to follow him around like some sort of duck. At first Senku had found her a bit of a nuisance, constantly teasing her and calling her names in hopes of making her go away, but it seemed it hadn’t worked on her. Apparently having an older brother meant immunity to any other insults being thrown at you.

Soon, Senku had started realizing she was better off as an asset for him, running errands for him like Taiju so he’d end up having to leave his little lab less. Most of the time, though, [Name] was cleaning up the messes that were created when Senku and Taiju were too exhausted to do it themselves. [Name] had also cooked food for all three of them so they wouldn’t starve when they were working on Senku’s space projects.

Byakuya liked to joke around about it, saying a then ten year old [Name] would already be one of Japan’s top chef from all the cooking she had done and Senku probably wouldn’t have survived as far as he did if it hadn’t been for [Name]’s constant reminders for him to eat.

Though, like most childhood friendships, it had seemed then it had come to an end. [Name] was two years younger than Senku so once he had entered middle school, it was a little harder visiting him. The hobbies they both took a liking to were completely different, Senku’s leaning more toward an academic side with science, while [Name] had started to develop a liking to painting. So even if they had gone to the same middle and high school, their chances of being in the same clubs were 0.

Who knew being petrified for over 3,700 years and a threat to our lives would bring us closer together? [Name] thought to herself mindlessly as she slurped on her ramen, internally cringing at how nasty it tasted.

She had been the de-petrified right after Yuzuriha by Senku’s miracle formula since they weren’t that far from one another, though she wasn’t exactly sure why she had been chosen, given that they hadn’t exactly spoken in so long. [Name] never bothered asking Senku either due Tsukasa’s unwavering need for him to have Senku killed. When he had been supposedly “killed” and then revived, it had dawned on her that she still had a feeling there were times he was going to get himself actually killed if one of them wasn’t going to be around, causing her to make the decision to stay with him while Taiju and Yuzuriha went back to Tsukasa,

From then on, it seemed Senku and [Name]’s old dynamic had started to come back. He would create trouble with Chrome and Kohaku while [Name] would sit back with Suika and remind them to not overexert themselves. Sometimes, [Name] would even try to cook the old food she used to make if the resources allowed her to. Most times, however, it was just her picking up the catastrophes he left behind late at night.

“You better clean that up or else you’re going to have a mustache drawn on you tonight.” [Name] stated, giving her friend a pointed look as if the emphasize that she was being serious. Senku didn’t answer, only staring at the same spot of the blueprint. A telltale sign that he was thinking about something else. Slapping his arm gently, she pulled him out of his rapid thoughts. “What are you thinking about this time, huh? Big brain finally distracted from his genius moments? Could it be love? Must be the end of the world.”

Senku’s mouth quirked into a tiny smirk at the mention of the last statement, causing some odd fluttery feeling in [Name]’s stomach. It immediately went away when Senku flicked her forehead, a habit he developed when [Name] was annoying him. “Love is just a construct of emotions I’m incapable of.” He stated smartly.

[Name] rolled her eyes. “Your big words don’t work on me, big brain. Now tell me what’s really bothering you.”

[Eye color] met crimsons ones, telling him to tell her in the manner only they knew how to work well with: silence. His eyes darted to the side, making [Name] glance over at the three girls staring intently at him. [Name] could only snort out a laugh.

“So it is about love. Well I’ll see you in the next life then Senku--ouch!” [Name] pressed her palms to her forehead, glaring at her friend. “What was that for?”

“You’re being a nuisance.” He said dismissively as he slurped some of his own ramen. “And so are those three with their staring.”

“Could you blame them, oh great village chief?” [Name] asked redundantly. “Good-looking stranger shows up out of the blue, pretty much causes a village to turn itself upside down and inside out in less than a year. That’s pretty exciting for some village girls; some might even say romantic.”

Senku’s face pinched in itself in revulsion. “Disgusting.”

“You say that like you have any experience at love.” [Name] replied with a laugh.

“And you do? You’re only 14.” Senku stated.

“I’m 15.”

“Whatever.” Senku replied. “The point is, neither of us have experienced it and we shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Why not?” [Name] challenged. “Think of it like a science experiment; love is a construct of emotions right? You said it was something you couldn’t attain, but I beg to differ. Test it out on someone. Take one of those three out on a date; or you can do all three if you’re so bold.”

Senku, who had been squinting at her the entire time she was talking, suddenly changed had some type of look on his face. He never really thought of love like that; most likely because he never really thought of love at all. Maybe he should put it to the test, but the only problem was--

“I don’t really wanna use those three as my test subject.” Senku stated simply.

“What?” [Name] asked, followed by three other voices. Both of them looked up to see that the three sisters had ended up inching closer to listen in on their conversation.

In hindsight, we shouldn’t have kepy glancing their way or at least talked quieter. [Name] thought, embarrassment seeping through her.

“Why not, though?” Ruby asked, eyes bulging wide, clearly not caring that she was going to be a possible test subject. From the looks of it, her sisters didn’t care either. They really want to go on a date with him, no matter what situation it is. What a bunch of si--

“Because I want to go on a date with [Name].” Senku replied simply, pinky in his ear.

HUH?!

NEXT PART

#dr stone senku #dr. stone #ishigami senku x reader #ishigami senku #senku #senku fanfiction #dr. stone fanfic #ishigami senku fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 work #arielle's fics #senku ishigami x reader #senku x reader

[wormstacheangel]

"Samstiel? Sastiel?" "Shut up, Sam!"

Word count: 2639

Sam drinks a little love potion that makes him fall for Cas. Dean is not really happy about it when him and Cas are still so new. A little jealous Dean and Cas being a cute boyfriend.

--

“Over there!” Dean whispered out as he pointed with his gun to the room he saw the witch disappear into. 

Following the witch into a big factory that might as well be a maze to them was probably not the brightest idea they had. They have been tracking the damn witch for a week now though and they weren’t going to lose her when they were so damn close. He only had two witch killing bullets left though but he was sure Cas and Sam had more. 

Cas went into the room first with his gun drawn but the angel blade easily accessible just in case. Dean followed in right behind him, almost shoulder to shoulder, while Sam followed a few steps behind to watch their backs. 

“Wonderful.” Dean heard the voice behind him and then quickly turned when he heard a gunshot go off. 

He watched the witch throw something at them and they all froze with groans, fingers ready on the trigger. She whispered something under her breath before she walked around them, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders as she grinned up at them.

“Winchester’s and their pet angel or I should say formal angel.” She hummed happily as she reached over to touch Cas’s face with her fingers. Dean could only see from the corner of his eyes as he tried to get control of his finger at least so he could pull the trigger when needed. “So famous but I don’t want any trouble. My business here is done so I’ll be leaving. Just to make sure you don’t get any funny ideas I’ll give you a small distraction. More for my entertainment and I’m sure a little nuisance for all of you. Still,” She walked over to Sam and carefully opened his mouth to pour something down his throat while Dean struggled to move, a low groan struggled to get out in his throat. “Don’t worry. Nothing deadly, just some fun. Can’t have the queen be too angry at me.”

She winked at them as he turned Sam around to face Cas. “There! Now the fun can start!”

She started walking out of the room and with a snap of her fingers they all got their control back. Dean pulled the trigger but missed and lost his last two bullets. He started chasing after her but then heard Cas call out to him.

He turned around to see Sam hugging Cas- no...no hugging would at least be a little more normal. Sam was full-on snuggling the ex-angel of the lord. 

“Sam, please,” Cas struggled to push Sam off of him. “The witch, Sam.”

“Let Dean take care of it. I can’t have you getting hurt, Cas.” Sam nuzzled his nose against their best friend's cheek. “Let’s go wait in the car. Do you want to go and eat something after this? I know you like ice cream. Do you want to go get some ice cream?”

Dean could only stare at the odd picture before him. He would have laughed if it didn’t bring a heat at the pit of his stomach. Jealousy taking over as he stomped over to push Sam off Cas. 

“Dude, what are you doing?” Sam shoved at Dean before reaching for Cas again but he moved to stand between them. Sam did that annoyed twitch of the mouth, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek, as he stared down at him. “Dean, move.”

“I think the witch may have given him some sort of spell,” Cas told Dean as they both watched Sam slowly turning red-faced. 

“Yeah, genius, I got that,” Dean muttered at him and then nearly misses a fist from Sam. “Sammy!”

“Don’t talk to Cas like that!” Sam yelled at Dean as he took that chance to grab Cas’s wrist to shield him behind his overgrow body. “You’re always such an asshole to him!”

“Am not!” Dean argues back and then groans in annoyance. “Why am I arguing with you? Cas, control your new boyfriend.”

Cas poked his head from behind Sam to glare down at Dean, eyebrow raised. “New?”

Dean’s face flushed as he looked away from Cas to mumbled, “You know what I mean.”

Dean and Cas were still sorts of new. No labels just yet because they still had a lot to work through but they shared the occasional kiss. Enjoying each other’s company whenever the opportunity came around and just held one another for comfort. A nice nap snuggled up in one of the recliners in the Dean Cave.

So watching his brother reach to take his almost-boyfriend hand was weird, especially when he definitely had a girlfriend. 

“How about we go get that ice cream, Sam?” Cas asked as he twined their fingers together and smiled up at his little brother. 

Dean’s jealousy rose but he tried to fight it back. Knowing it wasn’t Sam’s fault but hating how he grinned down at Cas. Hating more when he lifted Cas’s hand to press against his lips before he led Cas out of the damn room. Not missing the blush on Cas’s cheeks as he smiled shyly back at Sam. 

“Fuck me.” Dean muttered to himself as he kicked the air and then quickly went to catch up with them. 

At the diner, Dean was on the phone with Rowena as Jack had flown down to watch Sam fall all over Cas. 

“They’re so cute.” Jack cooed at them as Sam wrapped an arm around Cas’s shoulder to pull him close while trying to feed him a fry. 

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean rolled his eyes as he kept waiting for Rowena who was flipping through some sort of book as she once again asked for a picture. “Jack has enough pictures to remember this nightmare.”

“Dean, why don’t you at least try to eat something.” Cas pushed his plate over to him but Dean shook his head as he pushed the plate back.

“I’m not hungry.” He got up to walk outside but Sam grabbed his arm. Dean shook it off as he glared back at his brother. 

“Talk nicely to him, Dean. I’m warning you.”

Dean rolled his eyes and continued walking back outside. Hearing Jack ask for them to pose for another picture to send to Claire who didn’t believe him apparently. 

While Dean leaned against his car Rowena told him that the spell was harmless and will pass through his system in a couple of days. “Nothing really you can do but wait it out.”

Dean shut his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Sighing in defeat as he nodded, “Okay, well thanks anyway. I’ll have Jack send you those pictures.”

“Oh, he has! They do look quite adorable don’t they.” She teased and Dean said his quick goodbye before hanging up.

“Bad news?” He looked up to see Cas walking over to him with a sheepish smile on his face. He stopped in front of him and then reached to kiss Dean’s cheek, instantly relaxing him. “It’s okay, Dean.”

“How is this okay?” Dean hesitantly reached to wrap his arms around Cas’s waist to pull him close. Hugging him to his chest as he hides his face into Cas’s neck, relaxing as the calm scent of Cas surrounds him. “I haven’t even taken you on a damn date yet and here is Sam buying you ice cream already.”

He feels Cas wrap his arms around him, one of his hands going up and down his back while the other plays with his hair. He smiled against Cas’s skin as he relaxed into the familiar touch. So new and yet familiar all at once. 

“It’s okay cause I’m yours. Not Sam’s.” Cas tells him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus, I am pretty sure Sam is in love with Eileen.”

Dean pulls away to let their noses touch before he pressed his forehead to Cas’s own. Then teasingly he asked, “So you’re mine now?”

Cas hummed in agreement as he smiled back at Dean, nuzzling their noses together as they both grinned. “Haven’t I always been?”

They both chuckled softly as they tilted their head just enough to press their lips together for a soft kiss. One that never failed to bring a shiver down Dean’s spine and his toes curl up. Kisses were still new to them and Dean cherished each one he did get. 

“Cas!” They heard Sam call out and Cas pulled away too soon, always too soon. 

“Don’t be so jealous of your brother and let’s take him home. Maybe seeing Eileen will snap him out of it.” Cas tells him before he completely escaped Dean’s grasp and walked to where Sam was still calling out to him. 

Dean stayed there for a few seconds, his lips still tingling from the kiss before he took a deep breath to follow them back to the diner. Watching as Sam wrapped an arm around Cas’s shoulders and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“Fine,” Dean rolled his shoulders back. “I’m fine.”

The drive back was just a pain as Sam sat in the back seat with Cas, sleeping with his head on Cas’s shoulder while Cas read the book he brought. Jack sat shotgun as he had his headphones on while he played some dumb game on his phone. Cas met his stare every once in a while on the rearview mirror and shared a soft smile with him. Reassuring him that everything was fine. That they were fine. 

Eileen met them in the garage and when Sam saw her he pulled her into a hug. Dean thought that she may have broken the spell-like a cute sleeping beauty story but it only gave Sam a headache as he fought to be with both Eileen and Cas. Dean reached over to check on him but Sam just pushed him away as he told him he was fine before he fell back into Cas arms. 

Eileen smiled, probably the same one Dean has had the whole time. A little awkward and hurt but there was no reasonable reason to be mad when this situation was not normal. Even for them. This was something they couldn’t really control. Even with Cas trying to set boundaries between him and Sam.

“I’ll sleep in my room. You go to bed, Sam, and I’ll see you in the morning.” Cas told him and Dean had to fight that lump in his throat, the bubbling jealousy in his stomach because Cas hasn’t even slept over in his room before. Now Sam is gonna steal that first too?

“Are you going to go with...him?” Sam motioned at Dean with his chin. “Dean, how about you leave us alone for five minutes?”

“How about you shut up and do what you’re told for once?” Dean says back to him. “Go to bed, Samuel.”

“Fuck off, Dean.” Sam tells him as he takes Cas’s arm to lead him inside his room. Dean motions to stop him but Cas holds his hand out. 

“It’s okay, Dean.” He smiled reassuringly at him. “I’ll just stay until Sam falls asleep and then head over to my room. Is that okay?”

“Why are you asking him for permission, Cas?” Sam says as he wraps his arms around Cas’s shoulders from behind him. “He’s not in charge of you.”

Dean locked his jaw to hold back his words before he turned away to walk back to his room. “Whatever. Goodnight.”

“Dean.” Cas called out to him but he kept walking until he made it back to his room and closed the door behind him. 

It was only a few minutes later when Cas was walking into the room, knocking be damned because Cas was annoyed with him. 

“Dean,” He starts again but Dean was already walking over to him to bring him into a kiss. The action surprised Cas as it was one they never really done before. The kiss was not the usual slow or sweet ones they give each other. No Dean was feeling too much to restrain himself. 

He didn’t mean to be so possessive, people can flirt all they want with Cas and Dean wouldn’t bat an eye because they were strangers, but this was Sam. His best friend so Cas was being nice to him. Humoring him because Cas was a rational person and knew this was only a spell. Knowing Sam didn’t actually want him in his bed but the spell did. Dean was having a hard time watching. 

He already couldn’t believe Cas wanted him at all. Always thinking Cas deserved to live the rest of his human life with someone more deserving of his love and seeing him with Sam made him wonder if Cas was rethinking his choice. Maybe he picked the wrong brother. 

Cas pulled away from the kiss breathing heavily as he looked back at Dean with a ditzy smile. “Wow. You’ve been holding back on me.”

“I-I love you, Cas.” Dean says as he pulls Cas into a tight hug. His chin resting on top of Cas’s shoulder as he gripped at his still not official boyfriend. 

He could feel Cas suck in a sharp breath as he stood still in Dean’s arms, “You...you do? I mean,” Cas pulls away just enough to make Dean look at him. “I know you do but you’ve never said it before. Out loud at least. Are you that jealous of Sam?”

“I just want to make sure you know where I stand,” Dean explains to him as he runs his hand down Cas’s jaw until he lets it rest at Cas’s neck. “I know I’m not really good at expressing myself but I’ll try harder, Cas. I promise.”

A gentle smile spread on Cas’s lips as he reached to kiss Dean one more time. So tender and warm that it instantly filled Dean with reassurance. 

“I love you, Dean. I’m in love with you.” Cas said against his lips as he slowly started to pepper him with kisses. Dean stood still with a slow-building grin as Cas kissed his jaw, his nose, his eyelids, his cheeks, and then ended on his forehead before he pulled away. “Please don’t worry so much.”

“Stay?” Dean asked as he nuzzled his nose into Cas’s throat. “I always sleep better in your arms.”

“Of course, Dean.”

The spell ended up lasting three long and slow days. One moment Dean and Sam were arguing about who gets to sit next to Cas during movie night and the next Sam blinks himself out of it. His shoulders falling forward as he holds his head in his free hand.

“Wow. What...what happened?” Sam rubbed his temple and then looked down at his other hand to see his fingers were still twined with Cas’s. “Dude, why are you holding my hand?”

“Fucking finally. Let go of my boyfriend, bitch!” Dean reached over and pretty much karate chopped their hands apart.

“Ow! Jerk!” Sam rubbed his hand as he held it close to his chest. Eileen then took the chance to bring Sam down for a hug. He rubbed her back as he softly asked her, “You okay, sweetheart?”

Jack ended up being the one explaining what had happened as Sam sat down looking through the slideshow of photos on their kid’s phone. His face getting redder as he kept on swiping but now that it’s over, and Cas was curled up beside him on the couch,  Dean could laugh at the situation. 

That is until Cas said, “We can still go on that date you planned, Sam. It would be fun.”

“No.” Dean said slowly before quickly adding, “No. No. No. No more dates.”

“Sure, Cas. It’ll be nice to catch up.”

“No!”

--

Tag List: @galaxycastiel

#I have a lot of witch ficlets lol #witches are a fun excuse to fuck with them #Destiel #Deancas #Supernatural #SPN #A More Profound OTP #My Writing #a little bit of #saileen #and i guess a little bit of #sastiel #with special apparences from #jack #lol and mentioned Claire haha #destiel ficlet #destiel fanfic #do you think the title will throw people off? #WormstacheWrites

[piningfor-pinestwins]

Natural Attraction - Bruised Egos (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

Your group makes it partway through the dense forest before you lose daylight, grateful for the four flashlights that Fiddleford had stowed away for this. You’re stepping unsteadily in the midst of thorny brushes and thick vines, grateful for your sturdy boots as you step on less-than-solid ground and sink into some mud. Grunting with effort as you make your way up the slippery hill, you hear Ford swear from behind you as he does the same.

“Where do you think the thing would even be at night? What kinda birds are active in the dark?” Stan’s voice comes from behind you a little loudly, leaning heavily on a stick he’d found somewhere during the trek, using it to support his weight as he goes. Ford’s head whips around to find his brother’s form in the dark, giving a harsh “Shh!” as he continues onward. Stan murmurs a quick, “Sheesh, just askin’,” as he continues onward. You follow Fiddleford’s steady light from ahead of you, trusting the man as he continues his walk, and turn to quietly answer the man anyway.

Owls, mostly. I think you have nighthawks in this part of the country, too, You inform him, shivering. You nearly run your nose into Fidd’s back, finding the lanky man had come to a stop ahead of you to hold up a branch for you, after apparently being hit in the face with it. Taking it in hand, you murmur a thank you, pointing your flashlight to the ground for the twins behind you to duck under the thing when they get closer.

Ford ducks easily beneath the thing, murmuring a thanks to you as he does. Stan isn’t far behind, though the man nearly stabs into your foot with his makeshift walking stick. “Sorry, hon,” he quickly apologizes, lifting the thing out of the soft dirt by the toe of your boot. You smile fondly despite yourself, motioning him ahead with the beam coming from your flashlight.

Get moving, slowpoke. I don’t want you to get lost behind the pack, you tease in a whisper. He catches your smile despite the dim light of the moon and chuckles himself, shifting his walking stick beneath his arm, and flashlight into the other hand. His fingers land at your elbow as he tugs you along, the warmth of the digits seeping through the teeny-tiny holes of your sweater.

“Yeah, you neither. With your luck, our superbird’ll think you’re some sorta prey.” Stan’s voice is playful, and this close you’re able to make out the features of his smile despite the darkness surrounding you. You chuckle, walking beside him with your twin flashlights and his hold leading the way. Me? What about you? You argue back, You’re the one with more meat on your bones.

He snorts at that (only to be shushed by his brother once more), careful to watch his step and not be too loud again as he moves alongside you. “What, me? Honey, I’m all muscle--the thing wouldn’t want something as chewy as me.” You laugh louder then, shaking your head, only to have the light of Ford’s flashlight pointed at you. You can make out his frown and--jeez, what is he, your older brother? Sheepishly, you give him a little wave, biting into your bottom lip.

When his light goes away from your face, Stan snickers, having found getting you in trouble amusing. You move to elbow him despite his hold on your arm, and he chuckles as he jostles you in response.

Still giggling, you take one step in the wrong direction, yelling out in fear as your heel slides the wrong way against the soft ground. The joint twists as your weight starts to fall backward, and you drop your flashlight, the sharp pain in your ankle now an afterthought to the fear of a fall down to an unseen point below.

Ford and Fiddleford turn at your cry, but Stan’s already there, the hand at your elbow quickly landing at your forearm instead. In one swift movement, he tugs you to his chest, grunting quietly at the impact of your face against his sternum, budging half a step backward with his own force.

“Fuck--are you alright?!” Stan asks breathlessly, looking down at you with worry as he pushes hair from your face. You pant as you wince, your weight coming back to your twisted ankle. Heart beating in your ears, you don’t hear him very well. Looking up at him wide-eyed, his worry only deepens. “Hon, you okay?” He repeats, and enough of your brain is back to you that you’re able to nod in response, shifting your weight against him to ease off your hurt ankle.

Stan says something to the duo coming closer, but you miss the bulk of it as you try to slow your breathing, glancing back to where you would have landed--and, as it turns out, where your flashlight has landed. The plastic thing lies muddied and flickering, left useless on some rocks nearly ten feet below. Shivering from the cool wind that blows through, and from the realization of just how lucky you’d been with Stan’s touch, you clutch a little tighter to the leather arm of the man’s jacket.

“Alright, that’s it. With me gettin’ my face smacked with a branch, and her nearly dyin’, we’re wrappin’ this walk up for the night. Soon as we get past this line o’trees, we’re hunkering down for the night.” Fiddleford insists, looking to you apologetically. “I’m sorry, I should’a said something about the drop. I saw it, but only just ‘cause my light was pointed just right.”

I-It’s fine, you stammer, ignoring your white-knuckle hold to Stan’s sleeve and shaky knees. Ford huffs a sigh, scrubbing lightly at his face, “I’m glad you’re okay. We’ll...need to make up the majority of our movement during the day, then. It’s safer that way, anyway. God forbid one of us had found that fall while chasing our creature.” Your colleague turns, murmuring something to Fidds as he points toward a clearing past the trees, the both of them pointing their flashlights to make their way.

Stan’s hand lands carefully at your lower back, guiding you as he points his flashlight to the ground. “C’mon, I’ve got you. Take a deep breath, okay?” He murmurs the words quietly, and you feel the warmth of his hand sliding up and down the fabric of your sweater. You do as he says, exhaling a shaky breath. S-Sorry, about all of this, you whisper, taking another breath as you carefully step away from him, wincing at the feeling in your twisted ankle.

To your surprise, however, the hand on your back slides down your arm, catching your wrist with a light, but firm touch. Stanley looks at you uncertainly, and your slowing heart rate decides to uptick once more at the way his cheeks darken in the moonlight. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like...W-Well, I wouldn’t mind holding onto you until we’re out of these trees. If something happens again, I can...be here. Plus, y-you’re hurt. Can’t risk a fall on a bum ankle.”

You chew into your bottom lip, grateful for the warmth of his hand enveloping your own cold digits. He’s looking to you as if asking permission, a softness in his gaze that you’ve now seen multiple times from the stubborn man, yet you can never quite get enough of. Nodding, you give him what you think he’d been waiting for, and he shifts your hand in his, his thumb and forefinger becoming snug bookends to the knuckles on your own hand.

Clearing his throat, Stan glances over his shoulder to spot the steadily moving lights of his brother and F. Shifting his weight to move toward them, he squeezes your hand to get your attention too (as though your attention wasn’t already on your joined hands).

“C’mon, we shouldn’t get too far from those two. Is your foot good enough to walk on?” Stan’s gaze searches your face for pain, the beam of his flashlight pointed to your boots before you wave his concern away with your free hand. I can walk, just...maybe a little slower than I was, you look at him apologetically and he nods, moving to reflect the change.

Now on your hurt side, Stan switches the flashlight into his other hand, quickly wiping his palm against the thigh of his jeans before he takes your hand once more. He sticks his elbow out just slightly, allowing a makeshift armrest for your forearm as he leads you to take one step, then another.

Being sure to point his flashlight to the ground, he avoids your eye, casting you a quick glance as he pulls you alongside him. You follow along easily, still trying to catch your breath from the excitement of the near-miss and the...current connection. You almost want to thank him, but from the way his eyes stay turned down from yours, he’s definitely both focusing on the ground and not looking at you.

“Easy here, honey. Lean on me while we step over this root,” Stan murmurs, and when you do as you’re told, he easily takes on your weight as you both continue walking. Legs still shaky from adrenaline, you limp at his side as he guides you toward your research partners, further into the trees.

As you step over a log, leaning into his broad shoulders to do so, you take an extra moment to adjust your hand in his by entwining your fingers. He stills the moment you do it, looking at you with an unreadable tint in his moonlit gaze, but he says nothing as you continue walking. Nerves flutter in your belly, wondering if you’ve pushed this too far--maybe this handholding really was only supposed to be out of convenience, or to make sure you aren’t any more of a klutzy nuisance during this trip…

You’re certain that you imagine it when his thumb brushes against the back of your hand. You flush when you feel him do it a second time, more pronounced than the first.

When you look at him from the corner of your eye, his profile is illuminated by the moon. His jaw is set tight, and you can make out the dark flush of his cheeks as he pulls you close once more. He notices you’re distracted, the smallest lift of a smile at the corner of his mouth, but Stan clears his throat to will it away as he murmurs something about watching your step. You hobble your way over another pair of tangled-up roots before you find yourself stepping out from the dense woods, finally finding the small clearing that Fiddleford and Ford are already preparing.

Fidds is working on a makeshift ‘campfire’ for light (made of one of the flashlights pointed at one of the large jugs of water), making the light shift like the bottom of a pool on a sunny summer day. Ford is sitting on his knees, grumbling in frustration as he wrestles with the plastic rods of the portable tent.

Despite the light (which you’re grateful for, don’t get you wrong), you wish it was closer to a real campfire. You’re cold, and the dew on the long grass around your ankles is soaking into your skin, making the chilled breezes even cooler.

“Gimme your tent and I’ll get’cha set up.” Stan mumbles, releasing your hand from his and holding it out to you expectantly. You aren’t focused on his words, looking down at his hand, meeting his eye, and then coming to the realization with a quick, Oh! as you reach to unclip the tent bag from the duffel bag on your shoulder.

He smiles a little as he takes it from you, looking at you with something like amusement in his gaze as he looms over you, just a little. “Are you going to hold up alright while I do this, honey?”

You aren’t sure if it’s the tone of his voice, or his close proximity, or the way his brow quirks as he smiles at you, but heat floods your cheeks as you nod, trying to keep your cool despite your fluster. I-I’ll be just fine, thank you.

The brunet wiggles his brows at you as he turns away, stomping down some taller grass in order to flatten the area he’s planning to prep your tent. You push your hair behind your ear, shaking your head as he drops to his knees to unzip the bag holding the tent.

Damn him. Sincerely, honestly, damn him. You’d come here to work, to focus on the astounding artifacts and creatures waiting for you in Gravity Falls. But no, instead you’re enamored by him. You rub at your face, feeling the way your mouth screws up as you try not to think too hard about it...especially when the target of your misplaced focus is just feet away, effortlessly putting together your tent for the night.

You fidget with your hands as you watch him for a moment, one thumb brushing over the palm. If you concentrate hard enough, you think as you look down at your hand, you can forget the lingering warmth of his palm against yours, or the way your fingers entwined into his, or how you’d imagine his touch would feel somewhere other than your hand...

“How’s your foot?” Ford’s voice startles you from where you’d stared off at your palm, and you nearly jolt from the tree you’d been leaning back against. A pair of polydactyl hands catch your elbows before you can lose your balance too much more, pulling you gently to rest more soundly against the bark at your back. The brunet ahead of you quirks a brow with a short chuckle, “Now, was that because of your foot, or because I scared you?

You can’t just sneak up on me! You half-laugh in response, feeling heat in your face. You hadn’t meant to be so distracted, really. Ford smiles a little wider at your words, and you can see that all-too-quiet analyzing gaze pointed your way. Despite the low light, you think he can see your flushed cheeks, and you bring your hands up to cover the warm patches on your face. He nods as if confirming something, cheeky grin only widening, “What has you so distracted, hm?” Ford asks, and you suspect he’s teasing you. The ass.

L-Looking for our mystery monster, obviously. Since the rest of you are so busy, I thought I’d keep lookout, you give one solid nod, feeling the heat only spread beneath your fingers as you lie. Nothing to report yet.

“Well, glad someone worries,” Fiddleford’s voice comes from the direction of where Ford had been not long ago, and you look over the brunet’s shoulder to see the lanky man and Stanley both hard at work to put together the unfinished tent Ford had left in poor shape.

Your tent, however, is perfectly set up and ready for what additions you have to bring into it. Ford sees the two working and gives you a secret sort of smile, offering you an arm to help you toward your shelter. “I do worry,” He argues back, careful to support your weight as you lean against your friend, “But I trust her to be our lookout. Are you saying you don’t?” He winks at you as you make your way across the clearing toward your shelter for the night, and you smile as you turn the teasing toward someone else, for once.

You really should be more upfront with your feelings, Fiddleford. Just be honest, do you trust me? You grin as you ask the playful question, turning to look as the honey-blond man sputters and flusters, “O-O’course I do! I’m not one’a those backwards thinkin’ hillbillies who--who..!”

“Easy, easy!” Stan laughs, reaching to pat the man’s shoulder, “She’s just givin’ you hell, buddy. You’re right though--it’s good to know someone cares, seeing as Ford’s too busy getting handsy with his new assistant.” Stan grins cockily toward both you and his brother, which only makes both of you fluster.

“M-Me?!” Ford sputters a little loudly, and you’d almost laugh if you didn’t know where he was going with this, “I’m not the one who’s asking about how she was in college, or--oof!” He quiets himself with a grunt, and you move to pat his back as though you hadn’t just elbowed him in the ribs.

W-Well, uh, good to know you all respect me, and...enjoy my company, you laugh a little, acting innocent even as Stan catches your eye. He’s very much fighting a laugh, having watched you silence his brother. Ford quirks a brow at you, grumbling as he rubs at a rib with his free hand, “And to think, I came over here to help you to your tent.”

And I thank you, you grin, giving the arm you’re holding onto a little pat as the man rolls his eyes. He’s smiling a little when you make it to your tent, and you take a moment to shift and hand him your duffle bag, thanking him quietly as he ducks alongside you to help you into the tent. You thank him again as he lowers you to the floor of the shelter, finally smiling your way even as he rubs at his side while dropping the duffle bag to you. “Get settled, I’ll see if Fidds’ first aid kit has one of those ammonium chloride ice pack things.”

Thank you, you repeat, fiddling with the zipper of your carryon to open the thing. As the man steps from the unzipped flap of your tent, you call a soft, Sorry for the elbow, which only makes him snort a laugh.

“I didn’t know it was a sore subject, jeez.” He teases over his shoulder.

It’s more of, uh...not a subject at all, you correct with a wave of your hand and a little laugh, quickly turning your attention to getting your folded quilt from the duffle bag. The brunet quirks a brow, but doesn’t say anything as he purses his lips and makes his way from your tent.

You hear the three chatting amongst themselves as you set up your space. It’s definitely darker in the tent than outside of it, but you manage well enough to situate your quilt and pillow in a corner of the tent, patting the blanket down to be sure it lays flat. You pat around in the duffle bag next, searching for your pj pants. When you’ve found them, you make quick work of your boots and pants, wincing as you try to keep standing with your aching ankle.

You hear a quiet swear and the sound of fumbling feet as a flashlight beam shines against the flap of your tent. “Y’decent?” Stan’s voice asks, and you yank more frantically onto your pajama pants to get them up. Y-Yeah, one sec--! You call out, tripping over your own pant leg and falling over with an ungraceful grunt.

“Shit, did you fall again, toots..?” Stan murmurs, taking the liberty to open the flap and make his way in despite the fact that there’s still fabric resting low on your thighs. By some miracle, the flashlight beam points at the back of the tent first, allowing you just enough time to yank the pants up to your hips just as the light points down to where you are on the floor. The light makes you squint up at Stan, your nose wrinkled a little as you give him a little smile. He’s smiling down at you, clearing his throat as he kneels down to meet you.

“Honey, you can’t go tripping in front of me every chance you get.” He teases lightly, putting down the flashlight near you while his gentle hands help you sit back up. You shake your head as you sit up, stretching your legs out in front of you with a bashful smile, I promise, it’s not on purpose.

“So you aren’t fallin’ for me?” Stan asks, his voice low as he searches your face, gaze meeting your own. Despite the playful smile on his face and the quirk of his brow, there’s something that makes your stomach flip. You frown despite your fluster, feeling almost like the butt of a joke. Be nice to me, I almost died, you grumble, pushing lightly against his shoulder. He leans with the push, chuckling as he moves to sit beside you. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I thought of the joke all the way back there, and...well, I couldn’t let it go.” Stan’s smile goes a little more tender, reaching over to pat your knee gently.

Stan perks up a little as he seems to remember something, patting behind him to find the plastic packet he’d brought in. “I brought you an ice pack for your ankle, if you think it’ll help. I think Fidds has some pain killers too, but you’ve gotta get some food in ya first.” You nod at his words, taking the thing from him and shaking it to activate the chemical reaction inside. I packed some snacks, actually, you look at him then, and his brows quirk as he reaches for the flashlight again to find the goodies.

In my bag, in a little tupperware with a green lid. It’s just peanut butter sandwiches, but food is food, you smile, stretching to put the finally-getting-cooler pack on your foot with a wince.

“Hopefully you packed enough,” he chuckles, tucking the flashlight beneath his chin to hold it as he digs into your duffle bag with both hands, “ ‘specially since I was your savior and all, back there, it’d be an honor for you t’share your dinner with me. So I don’t have to eat whatever F and Ford are inventing out there.” Stan teases with a glance to you and a grin. His hands stop their motion in the duffle bag, and you can see his cheeks darken in the low light of the tent.

You worry even without the confirmation of what he’s seen, sure that...well, something in that bag must have caught his attention. Y-You find the sandwiches? You question, moving slightly to check what’s in his hands before he quickly shuffles them into the duffle bag once more, “Shit--ah...Yeah!” Stan pulls the little plastic container from your bag, eyes widening at the neatly-folded pair of lacy underthings atop the box.

Your face heats as you quickly reach out to snatch the fabric away, crumpling it in hand and shoving it beneath your thigh, effectively sitting on it as you look at him wide-eyed. He fights a smile and loses, the grin on his face accompanied by its endearing dimple, both visible and tugging at your heartstrings even in the low light. “See, that’s what I was tryin’ not to do--sorry, honey,” Stan laughs, now passing the offending tupperware over for you to fidget with as he moves the flashlight to stand upright, pointing the light above the both of you to better light the tent.

Snooper, you scold him for the second time today, but this time it comes out in a mumble as you turn your attention to open the thing, a little smile on your face. You can’t be upset, you know it was an accident, but...well, despite the little embarrassment within you, there’s something else you can’t quite place.

He snorts a laugh, moving his hand up to cover his eyes, crooked smile still wide across his cheeks, “Here. Can’t snoop if I can’t see, happy now?” You glance up at him and smirk, picking up a cut half of the peanut butter sandwich and putting your hand out in his direction, waiting for him to uncover his eyes and take the makeshift meal.

“Y’know I can’t hear your head nodding, right? I need words, babe!” Teasing, Stan peeks at you from between his fingers, amber gaze falling to the sandwich half held out to him. “Oh, thanks--” He uncovers his eyes then, smiling still as he reaches for it and bites in greedily. You almost laugh, If you were so hungry, why didn’t you say anything before?

“‘Cause then one of those two would’ve told me to go hunt or somethin’,” He scoffs between bites, looking at you with humor, “Ford would’a picked me some sort of weird-looking thing to eat and said it’s ‘high in protein, just right for you Stanley’, an’ Fidds probably would’ve invented something for me to kill the thing with, like….I dunno, magic slingshot or somethin’,” Stan murmurs into his sandwich. You snort a laugh as you munch on your own half, kicking him lightly against one of his knees, They help in the best ways they can.

“Oh, sure--every way except actually hunting dinner themselves,” he laughs, moving his foot to nudge your leg back. You laugh too, shaking your head as the both of you eat. You eye him subtly, watching how he leans back against his palm, idly crossing his ankles as he looks around your (his) tent. “Y’know, ‘m glad this thing holds up good. I’d hate to think of you getting stuck with a bum tent, or just a little quilt on the ground, like you wanted,” Stan teases lightly, looking over to you with amusement as you both eat.

You shrug as you finish up, smiling as you wipe lightly at the corners of your mouth, I would have ended up fine, probably, you catch the way his gaze moves with your fingers at your lips, and you quickly glance away to warrant him the blessing of thinking he hadn’t been caught, Else fails, we’d all have just ended up cheek-to-cheek in one tent.

Stan scoffs a laugh, licking a stripe of leftover peanut butter from his thumb and sucking the remainder from the digit casually, releasing it with a quiet pop, “Like we were in the truck? I don’t think our cheeks could handle anymore squishin’ like that.” He glances over to you, catching your gaze as it drifts from his lips. Amber eyes crinkle in the corners when smirks, returning his thumb to his lips once more (you’re sure there’s no more peanut butter, and that he’s just torturing you). “Thanks for the snack, sugar, but I think I’m gonna turn in for th’night. Knowing those two, we’ll be awake way too early, and one of them will bitch all day because no one brought coffee--”

Already a step ahead of you, you grin, pointing toward your duffle bag. He casts a glance over and shakes his head, pointing that crooked smile your way, “Geez, you think of everything, don’tcha?” Stan winks at you as he moves to get up, standing hunched in the not-quite-tall-enough frame of the tent. He looks down at you, and you catch him look over your pajamas, smile giving himself away as he points down to your ankle, “Do you need any more help tonight, or are you alright?��

You shake your head, I think I’ll keep myself in for the rest of the night, thanks. As long as I don’t have to pee at some ungodly time, I’ll be fine. Stan snorts at that, taking the few steps toward the flap of the tent, “Just don’t cry to me if you end up dreaming of waterfalls,” He teases. You wrinkle your nose at the implication, but can’t hold back the laugh as you scold him for being gross, Stanley.

“Sorry, babe! You’re stuck with this gross man this whole trip.” Stan winks over his shoulder at you, grinning wider as he turns to leave, “Actually, reminds me--I should make a pitstop before I hit the boys’ tent for the night.”

Gross! You insist with a laugh, hearing him join in with a chuckle of his own. If you had a shoe nearby, you’d throw it at him. Goodnight, Stan. I’ll see you in the morning.

“See you then, babe. G’night.” He smiles in your direction, a genuine tenderness in his gaze as he ducks out from your tent. You shuffle your way to the flap to zip it closed, hearing the trio of boys giving each other hell as Stan returns to their shared sleeping space, but not being able to pick out individual words to hear what hell is being given.

Not that you mind, really; you are sleepy. A near-death experience and some….moderately embarrassing flirting will do that to a person. Using the flashlight Stan had left, you make your way to settling into your makeshift bed, remembering something from the general health class you had to take in college and using your duffle bag at the foot of your comforter as a way to raise your ankle. You fold yourself into the quilt easily, settling in for the night with a soft sigh that turns into a yawn on its way out.

Reaching behind your pillow, you pull out your journal, cracking the cover open and holding the flashlight beneath your chin as you write out some accounts of the day (and, when you remember it exists, adding the polaroid of the creature’s tracks over the terribly-drawn version you’d made). When you finish up with your entry for the day, you start to close the journal, instead seeing the pages open up to the one previous-- Stanley’s pages.

You glance to the flap in your tent, almost as if afraid he’d be standing there to catch you. You don’t know why it worries you--especially since you’ve added both a Fiddleford and Stanford page, to keep track of those two as well, but… There’s something akin to indulgence, you think, that stirs in your chest when you make an addition to this page. Today, it’s an addition to the ‘Likes’ list, (peanut butter, which truthfully doesn’t surprise you because the only food listed in the ‘Dislikes’ list is canned Spam), and today’s date with the simple, albeit shaky addition of Stanley caught me from falling into a ravine on our hike today.

Not wanting to go too into detail this late at night for fear of nightmares, you shut up the journal and return it to its place beneath the pillow, setting the flashlight beside the cushion as you turn the thing off. You settle in for real this time, tugging the blanket to your chin and exhaling a soft, slow breath to try and relax yourself into sleep. As your eyes start to drift closed, you have the inkling that you’ve forgotten something--though what it is, you’re unsure. It must not matter much anyway, as you’re pulled easily into the warm darkness of sleep.

--

It mattered.

A lot, actually.

You swear, Stan was either a medium without knowing it, or some sort of magical asshole who bestowed curses on you without you noticing. You’re swearing at him under your breath the whole way as you hobble into the woods to find a suitable spot to pee.

Much more relieved, you’re now making your way back to your tent, flashlight held tightly in one hand, a roll of toilet paper tucked beneath your arm, and your other hand outstretched to help you make your way through the trees and back toward the campgrounds. You shudder at the cool breeze that’s blown in, indicative of the upcoming cold front you’d overheard about on the television a night or two back. Finally seeing the campsite coming into view, you sigh, knowing you probably went further out into the greenery than you needed to, but….

Well, god forbid any of your research partners find you with your pants down.

Making your way closer to the campsite, you sigh, rubbing at your face sleepily. To say it had been a long day was a gross understatement; you were exhausted.

Which is why you worried that you were still in your tent dreaming, as you hear the fluttery sound of air moving somewhere near you. You look up just as quickly as you heard the noise, pointing the flashlight up to see better in the dim night light.

There’s nothing..?

Despite your rising nerves, you keep moving ahead, maybe a little quicker now as you point the flashlight to the campsite. You’re more aware of the life in Gravity Falls now; you know of the gnomes, the eyebats, the creatures who move in the dead of night who are, you think, moving with you even now. The familiar prickling feeling of being watched begins to scratch at the back of your neck, but when you glance behind your shoulder, only the darkness of the woods greets you.

A fluttering again, this time directly above you. You’re almost more hopeful than certain that you’re just hearing things, and instead of pointing the light to the sound, you motion toward your goal as best as you’re able to. You limp quickly, hearing the sound once more--closer, maybe just past your ear? You yelp in fear as your battered ankle gives way, falling into the plush grass mere feet from where you’re supposed to be sleeping. Pointing the flashlight up, you try to catch a glimpse of the thing that’s been chasing you, hoping to at least see the thing before it gets you.

Stan’s voice saying your name makes you jump from where you’re lying on the ground, whipping around to point the flashlight beam at him. He winces, blocking the light from his eyes as he moves closer to you. He must have been at least somewhat asleep, only in loose sweatpants, his hair mussed as it falls into his face. “Honey, what happened?” He asks, hurrying with his arms outstretched down to you. You’re trembling, but you hadn’t noticed, clutching close to the flashlight as you shake your head, Something was after me--i-it flies. I don’t know, you stammer, unable to get out one set sentence as his arms wrap around you. Stan lifts you easily, holding you to his chest as he looks up, trying to find the flying thing despite the dark.

“What’s going on--oh shit!” Ford’s voice calls, eyes following Stan’s gaze up just as your flashlight beam lands at the topmost branch of a tree. You feel the chest against you puff up, feeling Stan’s arms bracing around you as you hold your breath, too, looking up to try and find the source of the fluttering against your ears.

You spy the yellow eyes first, following them down to the large, feathery body of probably the biggest owl you’ve ever seen. Fuck, you whisper, all at once feeling foolish at the realization that it’s just… a common creature. Tears prick in your eyes, embarrassment and exhaustion melding into the response before you can stop yourself.

“Jesus, that damn thing--I thought I heard hootin’ somewhere in the woods, but...I dunno, I thought it’d be smaller,” Stan says, still holding you as he makes his way up the rest of the little hill that the campsite is situated on. “Even as big as this specimen may be, I don’t think it’s our offending creature at the Shack. Do you?” Ford’s voice asks you, and you shake your head, avoiding his gaze.

N-No, not at all. The tracks may be similar, but the ones back home are much bigger, you confirm, pointing the flashlight back down to watch the grass ahead. You realize that you haven’t put any weight back down onto your bad ankle, feeling the gentle brush of Stanley’s chest hair against your arm as he continues to hold you. You fight the urge to push out of his arms, especially when you feel your bottom lip wobble in protest to you trying not to cry.

You feel Stan shift his arms, the clearing of his throat echoing in his chest as he turns to face Ford. They seem to have some unspoken conversation about you while you’re pretending to ignore it altogether, and instead of listening, you hear the tree leaves rustle heavily overhead. The owl must have taken off.

“You poor dear,” Ford says, coming closer to where Stan stands with you in his arms. You’re not looking at either of them, waving Ford off with a little huff, I’m okay, it just scared me. I just need to crawl back into bed, today has b-been awful.

You bite into your trembling bottom lip, willing it still between your teeth as you give Stan a pat on his arm, signaling that you’d like to be put down. The brunet seems to understand, but hesitates, instead only slightly relaxing his grip of you. “Let’s get you back to your tent, then. You need the rest.” He soothes, taking a few steps in that direction. You give in, letting yourself be carried as you glance to see Ford (and now Fidds, who’d woken up sometime in the commotion) ducking into his own tent, rubbing at sleepy eyes and yawning all the same.

You don’t have to carry me, but thank you, you mumble quietly, stifling a sniffle as you rub your nose with the back of your hand. He shrugs, the motion shifting you as he pushes open the flaps of your tent, “No skin off my back, babe. Jus’ can’t risk you falling again. If you bust your head open, then I’ll only have these two assholes to deal with again, and I can’t let that happen.” Stan jokes, and despite your exhaustion it makes you smile, even if only a little bit. Still, the hot sting of tears wins out, and you’re only just able to wipe at your eye when the first one falls, just as Stan steps into the little tent with you. You feel him shift again to set you down, but he stops at the sound of a sniffle. “Hon, you alright?” He asks, and you can now hear the gravel that comes with sleep in his voice. You swear, you’ve never heard him be this tender, but it still sounds so familiar all the same.

Y-Yeah, you say, voice shakier than you want it to be, I just feel, uh...dumb, you laugh a little, and he frowns down at you, tilting his head to get a better look at you. You turn your head down slightly, still trying to hide under his attention, Thanks again for helping me. Again. The full situation washes over you in a wave, and you flush with your tears at the realization that he’s holding you to his chest--which would be embarrassing on its own, maybe, but he’s shirtless and you’re crying and, really, this isn’t a good look for you--

“Honey, y’gotta get outta that head sometimes,” He scolds gently, and you look up at him in confused surprise at his words. That almost makes him laugh, a little smile quirking at his lips as he guides you to your feet. “Careful,” He whispers, hands on your waist to keep you from putting too much weight on your bum ankle as you lower yourself to sit on your knees atop the blanket. You glance down, remembering the roll of toilet paper firmly tucked beneath your arm, and you toss the thing to the duffle bag, watching as it bounces off, and then lands haphazardly next to the thing.

“You had an iron grip on that thing, didn’t ya?” Stan asks, and you sniffle as you smile, After losing the flashlight the first time, I had to be sure to hold on tight.

It’s his turn to look at you with surprise, his little smile growing more genuine as he sits in the middle of the tent. He’s closer than he was when you ate together, but he isn’t imposing. He’s just...here. And that’s nice, you think.

“I’m not really the killjoy of this group, but you really should’ve said something before you left, toots. What if I wasn’t up, and you had to fight that thing all your own?” He asks, sleepy voice surprisingly a little stern. You glance over to him as you reach for your pillow, fluffing it idly before wiping a stray tear at your cheek. It’s your fault I had to go out, anyway, you argue lightly, sure his brow is quirked as soon as you say it, You’re the one who mentioned waterfalls.

“Aw, sorry, but you should know by now that I’m right about a lott’a things. It’s annoying as hell, I hear.” It is, you laugh with him, finally glancing up to meet his eye. You feel a little pitiful; foot and ego injured as you watch the kind man who both helped and hurt that cause.

Stan has this unreadable look in his eye, one you’re sure you’ve seen before, but it worries you all the same each time it happens. You glance down at your hands to avoid the shift in his gaze, but find yourself looking up again when he says your name like a quiet question, his brow furrowed at you with a tilt of his head.

“Are you doin’ okay? Today’s been...hell and a half for you, and I know you had t’be scared to death.” He reaches out, palm lying flat on the edge of the quilt beneath you, and though he leans to go with it, he doesn’t make any further move to touch you. You rub at your face with a sigh, pushing hair from your face as you start to nod.

I mean, the day wasn’t all bad, but...nearly falling however-many-feet down, and then being stalked by an owl weren’t the most fun parts, either, you admit, feeling the way your voice wavers when you do so. You shrug, smiling a little when you look at him now, and you try to ignore the way your heart pulls at his worried face, you do, but...with those amber eyes looking at you with such tender concern, you have to admit that it absolutely pulls, tugs, and twists at your heart. Damn him.

“I’d offer to take you back home, but I don’t think you’d like that. Plus, those two would get lost without you.” The brunet is careful in his word choice, something you appreciate. You reach to comfort him in the same way, reaching your hand out to lay atop his with a little rub of your thumb across the back of his hand, and his face softens a little when you reply, Absolutely they would, they don’t even know what kind of critter they’re going to face. Truthfully, neither did you, but you had theories. Though...somehow, you think, this isn’t the time to bring them up.

You can feel the energy between you shift before you see it, his palm turning upward to meet your own. The warmth of his fingers glides against your hand, fingertips curling just under yours to cup your hand with his own. He’s watching down at your joined hands, thumb brushing lightly against your four knuckles when he speaks again. “Are you, uhm...unhappy, that I keep trying to help you?” Stanley’s voice is soft as he asks the question, and you almost need him to repeat himself with the way your heart is hammering in your ears. When you don’t answer immediately, he continues, “I-I know that you’re strong. You’re very smart--well, no shit you’re smart, you’ve done all this for gods’ sakes--anyway,” He breathes, and you swear there’s a deeper color to his cheeks even in the dark here.

“I like helpin’ you. I’m not nearly as smart as you ‘n Fidds and Sixer, but I gotta be useful somehow. And you’re just, uh...easier to help, than the other two. You’re marginally less annoying, and...prettier, too.” Stan glances up then, his gaze searching through yours with an air of desperation. You can tell, there’s maybe more to be said, but his adam’s apple gives a decisive bob when he closes his mouth into a thin line. Whatever else there is to be said, it isn’t for tonight.

I don’t mind, you finally say, looking down at the way your fingers have folded nicely over his own. Your heart thuds against your chest, so loud in your own ears that you’re afraid you might shout these next words. You take extra care, then, to whisper them. I...may not like being helped, or I may get embarrassed or frustrated and run off sometimes, but...I do like you. And I don’t mind when you’re the one helping me.

You turn your wrist at an almost-uncomfortable angle to put the back of his hand upright without breaking his hold of your fingers, leaning forward just so to press a little peck to the back of his hand. Turning your hands back the right way, you look up to him, almost afraid of what his reaction may be. What if he laughs at you? Or finds you stupid, to think you could resist his charm? What if he stands now and leaves into the darkness of the wood to leave you alone and embarrassed and in need to explain the situation to your colleagues?

“Hey,” he whispers, and you realize that you’re so afraid of the what-ifs that you’ve almost missed his reaction entirely, though that’s the whole reason you looked. Stan’s face is certainly flushed, vibrant eyes forgoing their sleepiness as he looks at you with such entranced sincerity. For a moment, you think he’s forgotten what he wanted to say, but he interrupts that thought with a firm tug at your arm. Before you know it, you’re pulled off-kilter, leaning toward him, then closer, before you reach to catch yourself with your other palm against his chest.

His lips land on yours then, the gentle scratch of stubble against your face as you lean into him. This close, with your hand on his chest, you can feel the way his pulse mimics yours. You have half the mind to tease him, but the idea stutters out when the palm of his free hand slides up to cup your jaw. Stan holds you there as you kiss him, tasting just slightly of peanut butter and feeling so warm, your noses bumping together gently before he pulls back for a breath. You open your eyes to find him already looking at you, his gaze still sliding up from where he’d been looking at your mouth.

“Y-You’ve gotta get some rest, sweetheart,” He whispers, the newest petname settling itself very terrifically into the space carved into your heart by the last one, “We both should, uh...sleep.” You feel yourself nod, though you still lean into his touch against your face until he pulls it away. Stan bites into his bottom lip, clearing his throat as he pats your hand on his chest, and for once, you realize, the jokester is near speechless.

Moving your hand away from his body, he pulls your joined hands close to his face, pressing one last kiss there before his fingers release your own. Watching as he stands, Stanley pushes his hair from his face, rubbing gingerly at the back of his neck as he turns away from you and toward the exit. He stands there a moment, almost like he’s forgotten what he’d gotten up for in the first place. Though you aren’t exactly itching to kick him out, you smile as you give him the reminder.

Goodnight, Stanley, you whisper, and your heart does turns when he looks at you from over his shoulder. He’s brushing his fingertips against his lip subconsciously, the movement stalling when he meets your gaze. His dimple reappears for an instant, his smile at you wide and inviting.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see ya, first thing in the morning.”

I’ll see you then, loverboy, you tease, giving him your first pet name. It doesn’t go unnoticed (for as not-smart as he claims he is, nothing goes unnoticed with this man), and he looks absolutely giddy when he leaves out the front flap of your tent. You think that you hear him trip and swear to himself, but he doesn’t return. The boys in the tent next door begin to murmur, and you suppose he’s found his way back in there when you hear his tell-tale laugh amongst the other voices.

You touch your own lips, reminding yourself of the feeling of his own there, and your heart goes racing again. You huff a little laugh of your own, shaking your head, and realizing you haven’t stopped smiling since that man left your tent. You settle into your quilt again, still exhausted, but much less tired than the last time you’d been here. Reaching under your pillow, you find your hardback journal once again, turning easily to the pages about Stanley once more. In one swift curl of cursive, you make an addition, just under your large declaration of Stan’s name at the top of the page.

AKA: Loverboy.

#nic's fics #stan pines x reader #grunkle stan x reader #gravity falls x reader #stanley pines #[mr. mystery] #last update of the day! expect one more post announcing some stuff!

[jtrokujo]

𝕵𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕿𝖜𝖔 𝕺𝖋 𝖀𝖘

✩｡: * • .───── ❁ ❁ ─────. • * :｡ ✩

❝𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀 𝐊𝐄𝐈❞

word count: 1.6k

3RD PERSON POV

Like every morning, the big line of glasses is waiting for his girlfriend, but the two youngsters have no plans to go to school because it's the weekend, no, they enjoy their togetherness for all times.

Even if the two have known each other for a long time, that doesn't mean they've been together that long.

For the two of them, it was unimaginable to be in a relationship with the other, but things always happen and change.

Anyone who has asked the respective person about this relationship has long since forgotten because they apparently did not / do not care.

Back to the present.

Tsukishima looked annoyed at the clock on his cell phone and sighed in annoyance, he can't be delayed, even if it's 3 minutes.

It is not rare or common for his girlfriend to be late.

He actually prefers to pick her up instead of waiting for her, not only so that she can hurry up, but also so that she can meet her boyfriend carefree without any bad ulterior motives or any nuisance.

Well that's one of the reasons he hates being late, but he didn't tell his girlfriend about that fact himself.

Because of this particular incident with his brother, he has a strong weakness to trust someone or to trust someone, there are moments when he trusts his girlfriend, sometimes not, it mainly just depends.

But as a good friend, she shows understanding for him, she is too fond of him.

She knows his problems, his fears and the insecurities that almost eat him up, but she still knows the good side that she doesn't see every day, but better than never.

Like, for example, his love for her, his interests in the dinosaurs or his good tutoring when the two do their homework together.

Trapped in thought, someone took him out of it, or rather, something.

The boy's cell phone rang loudly, his heart pounding and he answered the call "Tsuki, where are you?" his girlfriend asked in amazement and tried to ignore the anger.

"In front of our favorite bakery, the question is more where are you, (Y / N) I've been waiting for more than 10 minutes and the weather is not very pleasant at the moment."

"Tsuki, we had agreed that we would meet in front of the museum, that you were present for our last conversation, I knew, but if you went straight into your own world, you have been really so bad in the last few days."

"(Y / N)?" Tsukishima said in a normal tone, "Yes?" she said, however, surprised that he speaks so calmly.

"Didn't we agree that if we'd only go to the museum right after we ate a piece of cake and went for a walk, because it only opens at 2 p.m. and now it's only 10:27 a.m."

"I'll be there in 5 minutes." was the only thing his girlfriend could say hung up as quickly as possible.

Yes, this behavior of his girlfriend wasn't seen every day, but he gets along reasonably well with it.

Of course there are moments or even days when he can lose his last nerve and there have been moments when he insults his girlfriend even though it is not his intention.

Fortunately, however, she knows him too well that she sometimes understands him, but only sometimes.

The one time she showed no understanding was when he was training again with his team and since Hinata was again better than usual, it annoyed him so much that he took all his anger and frustration out on his girlfriend, which caused her ignored him for almost a week.

Back to the present, holding hands, the couple are on their way to coffee.

The fingers are folded together, the wind blows stronger and stronger every second, but if you think that such weather could ruin their mood, you are one-sidedly wrong.

Once there, the two ordered a hot cocoa and a small cake, (Y / N) should already choose a place while Tsukishima delivers the delicacies with a tray.

They talked about their interests and what movie to watch tonight.

While walking around town, Tsukishima looked at his wristwatch that his girlfriend gave him and said, "The museum will open in about 20 minutes."

The friends who make (Y / N) s face shine cannot be overlooked.

Of course, she doesn't really like the museum because she's not really interested, but she knows too well that he likes the dinosaurs that she talked him into going on a date at the museum without any problems.

But he wanted the two to spend more time together, that is to say;

The coffee, the walk and the night at his house had been all his idea.

In the museum, the friend looked at a dinosaur, or rather a Gallimimus.

"What is it, Tsuki?" she asked him and shows it on the Gallimimus. "

From A to Z, her friend explained every information he knows about the Gallimimus.

"They were also a kind of group like wolves, but from the dinosaur genus of the Ornithomimosauria during the Theropoda. They lived for the most part in East Asia. Furthermore, as you can see, they were not small, they were 4 and 6 meters high and weighed up to to an example of 200 kg. "

"You seem to know your way around this, don't you?"

"Because I can." he said roughly, but grabbed his girlfriend's hand and said like a little boy, "Come on, you have to see the others first." and pulled her right after you with you.

TIME SKIP / 3RD PERSON POV

Back at home, the couple meets Tsukishima's brother.

He sighed annoyed and skilfully ignored him, but greeted him out of sheer politeness.

They have known each other for a long time, which is why they have an appropriate relationship.

In other words, a friendship.

You talk now and then.

However, their friendship does not belong in the level where you occasionally write to each other, make phone calls or go to town together.

But that's probably a good thing before Tsukishima gets the last nerve.

Tsukishima is not the kind of friend you ask if you can go out with this person or if he is having trouble going out with this person, knowing other people's passwords or reading through chats.

They know each other too well and also trust what is important in a relationship and therefore find this behavior strange from other couples, because, as I said, trust is part of a relationship.

When he got to his room, Tsukishima took his pajamas and said to his girlfriend "I'm going to get changed in the bathroom, okay?"

She nodded and answered him and also took her pajamas out of her pocket and changed a little faster than usual.

Finished dressed, she stuffed the clothes she was still wearing into her pocket and then put it down.

"Are you ready?" it came out the door.

"Yes I am, can come in."

The door opened and you not only saw Tsukishima in his pajamas, but he also held a small tray with (Y / N) 's favorite sweets.

But not only that, but also a small box.

The friend quickly got up to help her friend "Let me help you." and wanted to grab the tray right away, but Tsukishima pointed to his clothes, which is between his forearm and waist.

"Do you already know which film to watch and how." Tsukishima asked his girlfriend.

"No, I thought you would decide because I was 'allowed' to do it last time." she said and put his clothes where they belong.

"I would prefer if my dwarf would choose a movie." replied Tsukishima and set the tray down on his bed.

"Aww, since when was such a tsuki?" provoked (Y / N) Tsukishima and came a few steps towards him, while at the same time she looked at him gourmet.

Annoyed, he sobbed with his tongue - held a hand on her face and gently pushed her away from him.

He then gave his remote control to his girlfriend and finally said, "Come sit down and choose a movie."

And thus also knocked on the bed.

About half an hour has passed.

While (Y / N) stares obsessively at the screen and slowly eats the candy, Tsukishima secretly observed his girlfriend and the small box.

Breathing deeply, he said her name, while she turned and looked at him, "Is something?" she asked worriedly.

"No, it works. You remember when we were in town about a week ago, there was this shop. It had this chain that impressed you, so I made up my mind yesterday ..." without finishing his sentence he made it to his girlfriend.

She opened the box nervously.

The necklace that (Y / N) wanted, she got from her boyfriend as a present.

She just stared at it with no comments like, 'I want this.' 'Can you get it for me?' or something else, maybe he knows (Y / N) just too well.

He took the chain and asked "May I?"

"(Y / N) turned so he could tie the necklace together," What for, Tsuki? Have you ever seen the price? "She asked him and from now on ignored the film being played.

"When I saw the price, I wasn't too thrilled, but I just had to remember you being pretty amazed as a dwarf, so it wasn't too bad to spend my money."

The tray put away, the television switched off and the blanket over the couple's bodies, they slept cuddled up.

The two of them will not get rid of this event so quickly.

#hakiyuu #haikyu!! #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima kei #haikyuu terushima #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #hinta shouyou #x reader #x you #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x reader #wattpad #fluff #haikyuu fluff #female #kageyama #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu!! #haikyu x reader

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Earth is Space Australia “The Invasion Continues

You all seemed to really enjoy the burg invasion, so here is some more. I hope you like it and I hope you have a great Monday.

“This planet…. Is a death trap. All our men are dead or…. Or dying…. Please we cannot survive any longer.”

The transmission ended rather abruptly, and the newly instated burg commander slammed his fist into the control panel, “What is happening!”

Around the room his counterparts scurried to avoid his anger.

“There have been reports of animal attacks, poisonings and…. Industrial accidents…. It seems that the human planet is far more dangerous than we originally anticipated. The entire thing is a deathtrap.”

Crew members cowered back against their station as a pincer slammed into the console, “They are squishy flesh-bags you should have no trouble taking them out!”

“The humans are not the problem, it is their planet. It is covered in boiling water, poisonous plants, angry wildlife, and apparently non-military have banded into pack-hunting structures in order to kill us, and it is working very effectively. We assumed that their civilian population would be largely inferior to their military counterparts, but it turns out that the non military humans are just more creative.”

The burg commander’s carapace chattered with his anger, “Then if we cannot win this war, we will hit them where it hurts.”

“Your glory?”

“Bring me the GPS coordinates.”

“The ones that we took from the destroyed human ship.”

The burg rubbed two of his upper legs together, “Exactly those.”

The burg second in command looked very confused, “But, your glory. These….. Are just locations on the planet related to specific human soldiers. Why would we need these?”

The burg commander tapped his leg against the console,

“Cut off the head, and the body will die.”

***

“This morning both local and worldwide governments have reported isolated pockets of alien ivation from all over the world, Let’s head to Jeff who has been traveling the eastern seaboard this morning with details.”

“Thank you Tom, and yes worldwide and local governments have issued a state of emergency. UNSC forces are being deployed as we speak to all locations around the globe where the Burg have been sited. However, this is no independence day Steve, this is something entirely different. While there have been reports about burg sightings, teams of them up to five or six strong in some cases, so far no one has been killed or injured, at least not by a burg anyway.”

“What do you mean Jeff?”

“Well isolated reports have reached us from all across the world of people who have accidentally run into burg remains rather than live soldiers.. Evidence suggests that Crocodiles, bears, wolves, poison ivy, army ants, hippos, kangaroos, and poisonous snakes have all taken up the cause of mother earth, who doesn’t seem particularly pleased about being invaded. And when the burg have made their way into populated city centers, well things haven’t gotten much better. Groups of drunken football fans in eastern Europe and the British isles have been seen roaming the streets of Berlin, Paris, London, Dublin, and Rome in packs . Vatican security forces were even dispatching a number of burg troops in the early hours of the morning.”

The TV screen cut to a grainy video of a dark street which showed a pack of riotous humans with bats, clubs, and broken chairs racing down the street after alien forms shouting insults to the fleeing backs.

The video cut.

“Reports in from Chicago have the local gangs, police forces, and a high school chess club teaming up and beating the invasion back with gunfire, improvised explosives, dogs,  and molotov cocktails of all things.”

“A truly shocking turn of events Jeff, but what are the UNSC saying about protecting us and our families during this time.”

“The UNSC is cautiously optimistic about the outcome of this event, Tom, but even so, they are advising that all Burg sightings be directed to the UNSC invasion hotline, with the number posted on screen right here, and available on all major mobile devices. Civilians are encouraged to avoid the burg if at all possible, though if those are not an option for either you or your family, the CDC has issued reports that human saliva can be fatal to the burg due to a certain enzyme which known to break down burg slime, and the potent cocktail of germs which follow. Your best weapon is to spit at them, barring that, than go right ahead and beat them to death with any available blunt object within reach, or sharp object. Shaolin warriors in china, Samurai enthusiasts in japan on Renaissance goers from america to europe are finding uses for swords and bladed weapons they have not been used for in the history of man. Attack dog saliva is just as useful as human saliva in this case so if Fido wants to get in on the action, your best bet is to let your pooch go ham and serve himself up a plate of space crab.”

“Thank you Jeff, and stay tuned where we will be receiving real time updates on the state of the invasion. But for now will your homeowners insurance cover alien invasions, what you need to know.” Martha, Jim, and Sunny sat on the couch staring at the TV.

Jim scratched his chin thoughtfully, “Better stay inside, Sunny. I’m sure after that there might be some people to gungho to notice you’re a bit too pretty to be a burg.”

“Alien invasion.” Martha muttered, “Do you think we should get the guns ready, just in case.”

The man shrugged, “Couldn’t hurt. Come on Sunny, you know how to use a gun don’t you.”

“I am Chief weapons specialist.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Martha stood, “Grab my shotgun will you, dear, I’m going to go check on Adam.”

He nodded, letting her go. Sunny glanced over her shoulder catching a glimpse into the room through the door where Adam was lying out cold. She was pleased to see he was still asleep, and had slept through most of the night.

Hopefully this alien invasion thing would be over by the time he woke up.

***

Martha appeared at the top of the stairs into the basement, just as Jim and Sunny were coming up the stairs, a gun in each hand.

Martha took one from Sunny and walked into the kitchen, where the three of them sat at the table loading weapons. The doorbell going off nearly startled them out of their seats, but Jim went to go get it.

Sunny listened intently.

“Hey dad, did you see the news this morning?”

“Oh hey David, why don’t you come on inside, good morning to you Jordan, ah and my nephew.” Sunny lifted her head as David, Adam’s older brother, walked into the kitchen with his partner Jordan and their little boy bouncing happily in Jim’s arms.

Martha got up to hug her sun, and the other members of his family.

“Yes we heard about that.”

“Oh, hi sunny. Is Adam here?”

Martha had the group of them take their seats, “he’s resting. Apparently he went and saved the universe just recently, and we are trying to get him to rest. So don’t talk about the whole alien invasion thing too loudly.” 

“Oh, sorry.”

It was just at that moment that the absolutely deafening sound of engines rocked the house rumbling through the floors and shaking the very foundation.

“What in blue blazes.”

Outside the front window a chain of bikers and rednecks doubled up on old rickety dirt bikes raced past the window screaming and brandishing guns. The line seemed to go on forever until they vanished down the road.

“What in the hell.”

A groggy voice just behind them, “What’s going on?”

They all turned to find Adam leaning against the hallway wall rubbing his eyes and looking rather bleery. He was still very pale.

“Just the neighbor kids being louds, now, Go back to bed!”

Adam appeared too groggy to be skeptical and just staggered back to his room.

The group of them looked at each other nervously.

“Sunny and I will stay here and guard the house, you three mind going outside and checking out what is going on.”

***

They had come to cut off the head. All remaining burg forces had been rerouted from the rest of earth, and were now making their way towards the GPS coordinates. They knew they could not overtake earth, but if they couldn’t do that then they had vowed  to destroy the morale of humanity and take away it’s greatest nuisance.

Commander Adam vir would be dead before the sun sak below the horizon.

They entirely expected to show up in surprise, unannounced, but earth had different plans for them. In the space of ten minutes, two of their troops was hit by a minivan, and a third was attacked by a very angry small dog.

Walking along the fence line another burg ran into a very strange creature. It was very small, and sat atop a fence post, its golden eyes fixed on the burg as it lazily flicked it’s tail back and forth. Its ears were drawn back flat against it’s skull. He approached, and the creature hissed. He went to shoo it away with a hand.

And was immediately set upon by a very angry cat intent on ripping his eyes out of his face.

Their luck only worsened as engines rolled up the street, and a group of hungry looking bikers, teamed up with a very gleeful group of rednecks came charging down the street guns blazing. Motorcycles spun out, humans went flying.

Nearby, in the residential houses, families hid in their basements, while others made it to rooftops taking pot shots from their balconies, upper windows, or sometimes form the peak of their rooftops. 

One young man had been very industrious, unbeknownst to his parents, and began chucking lit molotov cocktails out the window of his bedroom. 

His older brother, also a chemistry geek upgraded that to homemade napalm.

From the other end of the street, the highschool girls softball team, and the girl scouts rolled up on hover boards and the backs of bicycles. The  softball team had a mounted automated pitching machine on the back of a wagon, and each girl was equipped with a bat, and a bucket full of balls.

The girl scouts had apparently been preparing since last night, and had water guns full of spit, which was pretty gross but rather effective.

The softball captain took up a mounted position at the back of the wagon, and began pouring the balls into the machine which fired out at about ninety miles an hour give or take five. One burg had his face collapsed in an unlucky turn of events.

Their invitation to the high school baseball team had not gone un-headed, but they had brought with them the chemistry club, and the robotics team, who had downgraded to potato guns for the moment.

The police rocked up a few moments later to create a blockade down the next street and coordinate so now humans got caught in the crossfire .

An unsupervised cheerleader, had made herself rather industrious  pulling up with a vest full of hair products, which people seemed skeptical about until she sprayed a burg right in the eyes, and turned another can into a flamethrower. A group of firemen showed up behind the police, blasting lines of Drev with high powered fire hose 

I took the burg longer than it should have to determine that being lumped into a group wasn’t the best idea and so broke off into smaller units managing to sneak in through the mele and into the neighborhood.

Their luck didn’t get much better.

One of them was nailed in the head by a dirty diaper dropped from an upper window.

Another found himself hounded by the cross country team, who were gleefully using mankind's god-given talent of distance running to run their prey into the ground, hunting like pack humans should before beating them to death with tire irons and crowbars.

Someone’s dad stood on his front porch armed with a fire extinguisher and his tool belt, while another mom had packed her kids neatly into their car seats and was roaming the streets with ACDC blaring through her open windows, mowing over any unsuspecting burg that happened to end up in the street while her teenage daughter offered free ammunition and snacks from the back window.

The UNSC showed up late to the party rolling into scene in jeeps with proper military equipment and drones

By this time the invasion force was dwindling, and only a single group had managed to make it through to their target.

A little house in the center of the suburbs unsuspecting in the warm overhead sun.

They crept forward a few of them moving around back while the others inched around front.

One slid up to the front door, reached out a hand and opened inward.

They were met by the barrel of a shotgun and a very angry blond woman, and her face twisted into a snarl, was the last thing he ever saw.

***

Adam was woken a second time by gunshots. Bolting upright in bed and nearly passing out from the vertigo. He blinked blearily past his fuzzy vision and out the door as his mother backed into the hallway. There was another loud blast and blue icor painted the wall before her.

She backed down the hallway, and he could hear the repeated pump of the shotgun as she backed down the hall.

The burg chasing after.

He tried getting to his feet, but ended up on the floor gripping the bedside table for support.

His mother’s hair flew wildly about her head

“YOU STAY AWAY FROM MY SUN.” Another mob of them was rounding the corner.. It looked like she was going to be over-run.

But a sudden swirl of blue overtook them, and Sunny charged into them dispatching at least four less than as many seconds. A whimper came from the corner, and he turned his head to find Jordan, wide-eyed standing in the corner blocking his son shakily holding a rifle in one hand.

Martha backed up until she was kneeling right before Adam blocking him with her body.

Sunny was backing down the hall now too as the Burg followed.

Jordan took a deep breath and peered around the doorframe, taking one or two shots as sunny flattened herself against the wall, before he ducked back into cover.

It wasn’t looking good.

Not at least until Jim, and David came bursting in one through the front and one through the back mowing down the remaining burg.

Adam found himself flat on his stomach pinned to the floor as his mother through herself over him blocking his body with hers despite how much smaller she was.

And then the gunfire stopped.

“Martha! Martha!”

“We’re ok Jim.”

“Jordan.”

“Right here.” The two of them ran into the room David scooping up Jordan and his son, while Jim ran to make sure his wife was ok.

Outside, boots clattered on the porch, and a group of UNSC soldiers burst into the house sweeping their guns over the blood painted walls. They stopped when they saw Adam sitting at the foot of his bed very much alive, 

“Delta to Alpha one the package is secure.”

Adam was thinking about asking his mother why no one had told him about the alien invasion.

But then he saw her cradling a shotgun covered in burg blood hair in a wild mess and decided that.

Maybe that was a topic for another time. 

#earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are space oddities

[pascalls]

Gazebo of Horrors

Charlie enjoys a Halloween night with the regulars from the bar, solidifying the holiday as his favorite for a number of reasons.

Feat. Lisa, Lenny, Carl, Moe, Barney, Sam, and Larry

Author’s Note: This one’s gay.

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

Charlie couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent night’s sleep. Twisting and turning in his sleeping spot, he was uncomfortably warm. Trapped in the middle of a nightmare, Charlie felt sweat bead at his forehead and the sound of someone giving chase. He ran, unable to outpace whatever it was that was at his heels, sharp, pointed ends of something metallic scraping the concrete as it jabbed at his tail. Only when he turned did he realize that whatever it was looked a lot like Ned Flanders…

He awoke with a start as a clang on the metal outside of his impromptu napping place broke him from his fitful slumber. He sat up, only just pausing before hitting his head on the plastic ‘roof’. Reaching up, he pushed it up and away, peering out and ready to shoot a glare at whoever happened to interrupt his rest when he noticed that it was already evening. Blinking away the remainder of his sleep, he weighed his options. Go back to sleep until morning? Slink out and back to Lovejoy’s before his absence was noticed? 

“Nurse Walker?”

The voice startled him slightly as he turned, spying the familiar face of Lisa Simpson who seemed to be staring at him quizzically. As if he’d grown another head. 

“Were you… sleeping in there?” She asked, pointing at the metal dumpster that Charlie had  emerged from. Astute as ever, he thought. 

“...I might’ve been,” he replied, about to come up with some sort of excuse for why he’d chosen such a place to hide away and nap, but she provided a fantastic distraction as he took in what she was wearing. Definitely not her usual outfit. “...What are you wearing?” 

“Oh!” Lisa grinned with enthusiasm, spreading her arms out and doing a little twirl to show off her clothes; a purple dress with yellow flowers in her hair and a small veil-like addition trailing behind her. “I’m Ada Lovelace! The first ever computer programmer. She was an English mathematician who totally blew Charles Babbage away by utilizing his Analytical Engine in ways he never even thought of.” 

The information sailed right over Charlie’s head, but as he leaned out of his dumpster bed, he watched her with a little smile. Ah, she would go places. Hopefully not into a dumpster like him. But as she spoke, his brain began to putter back to life. Wait. Costume? He glanced down to her hands which held a bag that had to have been half full by then. Full of candy?

His attention drifted to the nearby street as he noted that Lisa was not the only one in unusual garb. Nearby, he heard the telltale voices of Bart, Milhouse, and yes, even Nelson as they presumably trailed along ahead of Lisa. And it was about then that he realized - Oh. 

“...It’s Halloween,” he said, interrupting Lisa’s drawn out explanation of said ‘analytical engine’ and how tragic it was that Lovelace had died at such a young age. Though she was a little frustrated at having been cut off, she responded with a nod. 

“Yeah. Are you gonna dress up as anything?”

Charlie blinked down at her once or twice. Thinking that over. Well. No. Because he hadn’t even remembered that Halloween was a thing. Until just now. But thinking that through even further, Charlie recognized that he dressed up like it was Halloween every damn day. Which meant that… Maybe… Just maybe…

“...No!” He proclaimed, taking a moment to get his legs under him to spring himself out of the dumpster, landing with a rather pleased expression on his face next to Lisa. “For once, I am not dressing up as a damn thing!” 

“Huh. I guess you don’t have to!” Lisa said as she looked him over with a little smile. “It’s like you have a built in costume.” 

“For once, being a terrible, horrible abomination to society is going to pay off, my intelligent little friend.” Reaching down, he gave her a gentle pat on the head and then nudged her in the direction of her brother’s fading voice. “Go on! I’m gonna find some trouble to get up to while I have the damn chance, for once.” 

Lisa didn’t argue. And she made a mental note to herself to not tell anyone that she’d found the normally downtrodden nurse holed up in the trash. He… probably didn’t need that floating around about him. So she gave him a little wave before running after the others, calling for them to wait for her.

Charlie, meanwhile, was rooted to the spot as his mind raced with possibilities. He could do… SO MUCH now. He could go to the store. He could see a movie. He could just WALK AROUND. And nobody would give a second thought about it! For the briefest of moments, he felt… powerful. He could do anything he wanted-

A nearby screech of tires nearly made him jump back and away from the street as the ugly pink sedan that Charlie instantly recognized as Homer’s came to a stop in front of him. The man himself leaned out from the driver’s seat, grinning widely at Charlie as he called out. 

“Hey NURSE! Nice rabbit costume!” Homer yelled. It was clear he’d already had a drink or two, but so had the other six men that were crammed both inside and on the roof of the car. The bar must have been closed, as Charlie noted that the regulars were accompanying Homer on his Halloween joy ride. Lenny, Carl, and Moe sat on the car’s roof, hastily hanging on - presumably, for dear life whenever Homer started driving again - while Barney, Sam, and Larry were crammed inside. Each of them had their own drink in hand and Charlie could hear the clatter of more cans along the car’s floor. They had gotten an early start on the drinking, apparently. 

“Hey Charlie! We’re drivin’ down to Flanders’ to egg his house and knock over his mailbox,” Moe called down to the hybrid. 

“Remind me why we’re doin’ that?” Carl asked, shaking the can in its hand to check its content level. He would need another one soon.

“Be-CAUSE, it’s FLANDERS,” Homer grunted from the front seat. “What more reason do you need???”

“Can’t argue with that!” Lenny had no objections, apparently. And neither did anyone else. Least of all, Charlie.

“Hell yes, I do. Open one of those things for me, will you?” Charlie said with delight as he hopped over, pleased that none of the men seemed to give two shits as to what he looked like as he clambered up and onto the roof of the sedan. In fact, he wasn’t the only one in the festive mood. Homer had made an attempt at being some kind of vampire, but had apparently given up halfway, tying a black shirt around his neck as a cape and smearing what looked like red jelly around his mouth. Lenny and Carl had swapped outfits, Moe would later on describe his usual attire as being ‘the scariest thing you could see in 2020’, and Barney had simply taken a shower and put on a different shirt. A frightening prospect. Larry did not seem to get the costume memo and Sam had mostly his usual attire, except his overshirt shirt was a red checkered plaid pattern instead in a relatively lazy impromptu lumberjack look. 

Charlie felt as though he fit right in, tipping back his head as he downed his first beer and digging his claws into the roof of the car as Homer drove off towards Ned’s. 

As the night went on and Homer’s merry gang of troublemakers stirred up more than enough chaos to fill several Halloween nights with, Charlie found himself laughing, yelling, and being raucous right along with them. There was no shortage of eggs thrown, toilet paper left in the branches of overhanging trees, nor did he turn down the candy they’d nabbed from some of the neighborhood bullies. Charlie considered it teaching them a lesson. They’d live. And while he didn’t normally imagine that he’d pal around with Moe’s regulars to this extent, he had a hard time convincing himself that he wasn’t having more fun than he’d had in ages. At one point, he could have sworn that they passed both the reverend and his wife. What he wouldn’t give to see if Tim had noticed that he was not interested in coming home on time that night...

By the time they’d finished their route around Springfield - and Homer was too drunk to keep driving and not smash into something along the way - the men abandoned the pink carriage in favor of staggering into the nearest park gazebo to lounge around, finish as many of their remaining cans of beer as they could, and generally be a public nuisance. Luckily, they weren’t the only ones out and about, which meant that Chief Wiggum was not likely to break up their after party. Which was just as well. Charlie didn’t need any reason for him to have to return to Lovejoy’s tonight. Nah. He was having way too much fun, even in the sleepy drunken haze that threatened to overtake him as the clock neared midnight. 

“I didn’t expect you to actually loosen up like that.” 

Charlie glanced up from his tenth - or eleventh? - beer, locking eyes with Sam who had staggered over to sit on the steps of the gazebo next to Charlie. Inhibitions gone, Charlie didn’t mind the company. Lenny and Carl were not far away, but seemed to be discussing whether or not a uranium rod would float if placed delicately in a vat of beer. Homer had passed out about ten minutes prior, and Moe, Barney, and Larry were arguing over who had rights to the last few beers in the cooler. 

“I’d forgotten about Halloween,” Charlie replied with a little smile. “The one night where I don’t have to dress up like some kinda… freak.” He sipped at his beer, not bothered by the terminology at the moment. Might be if he were at all sober. But with his head floating pleasantly, he didn’t mind being a little brazen and honest.

“I bet if you just decided t’say screw it one day, nobody would even notice,” Sam continued, pointing at Charlie with the hand that still held his own beer which was nearing empty. 

“Uh-huh. Then I get thrown into the zoo with the crocodiles and you gotta visit me and bring me booze before I go fuckin’ crazy, right?” Charlie shook his head, but he was amused at the thought. 

“I got plenty to spare.” Sam smirked, shaking his can a little and listening to the liquid slosh back and forth. 

“Aw. You’re sweet.” Charlie brought a hand up to his chest in a fake swoon. “Didn’t know you liked me that much.”

Sam laughed, a low, somewhat gravely sound that made Charlie’s ears twitch with interest. They were one step ahead of his brain which was only just registering that… they might have been flirting. And, now that he recalled… it probably wasn’t the first time. The hybrid had been coming to Moe’s on several nights of the week now, staying out late and risking the reverend’s ire while keeping company with the regulars. And more often than not, Sam was included. While he was moderately amused by Homer, Lenny, and Carl’s general conversations that they had, the three jokers hardly caught his attention. Larry still didn’t speak much, and he wasn’t even going to pretend that Barney was ever good for more than a belch or two before he was sufficiently out for the count. 

But on more than one occasion, Charlie lingered behind with Sam. Sometimes not saying much. Just staring absently at the television above the bar. Maybe swapping stories here and there about Sam’s time on the road or Charlie’s general complaints about both Skinner and Chalmers or the Wiggum boy’s predisposition to sticking sharp objects where he shouldn’t. 

On any other night, Charlie might not have given it much thought. It was dangerous to get too wrapped up in a person. Like he had with Lovejoy. Like he’d stumbled into with Chalmers. Neither of which seemed to give him the feedback he was looking for. And on any other night, that fear might have kept him from going down that same path. But as he listened to Sam’s laugh which made his own mouth tilt upwards into a smile… Well… he couldn’t help it. They were already sitting so close and… Charlie’s head was already spinning and he swore he probably smelled like beer, cigarettes, and maybe eggs, but…

The liquid courage was not one to be ignored. He held his breath and leaned forward, catching Sam’s lips with his own in a soft, but purposeful kiss. He willed himself to not pay attention to anything - except maybe the faint sound of blaring music somewhere off in the distance - hoping against hope that he was not going to be pushed away. 

And he wasn’t.

But he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing either. 

He broke the kiss after a moment or two, pulling back as his ears pinned themselves against his hair and he let out a little nervous laugh. Sam’s expression was unreadable. Clearly, he’d been caught off guard, staring at Charlie in surprise and… the hybrid didn’t know what else. But even in his drunken state, his heart pounded with fear and he glanced away.

“Sorry. Uh. Forget that happened. I have had… woof. One too many… hah…” 

His feet wanted him to run, but with so much alcohol in his system, he doubted he would get very far before tripping over his own tail. So there he sat, pointedly looking away and off into the distance, rubbing at his face in exasperation at his own stupid, desperate antics. His chest felt like it was about to burst with anxiety and embarrassment. Christ. He could only hope that Sam was drunk enough to write it off as a figment of his imagination in the morning when they both woke up in their respective beds and pretended that nothing ever happened.

“WELL! I should… go,” Charlie began, finishing off his beer and crushing the can in his claws before tossing it aside. About to get to his feet when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Freezing, he felt the color drain from his face. Oh no. This was the part, wasn’t it. Where his other secret was going to be touted in front of the other men like some kind of hard-won prize. Where he realized that Sam was just another moron in Springfield deadset on making him feel like an absolute freak. Where he was reminded that his decision-making was so incredibly poor that only he could have made the wrong choice three times in a row.

Anger bubbled up somewhere in the back of his throat, but before he could bristle and snap in defense, he was spun back to face Sam, caught by surprise as the man’s mouth met his own once again, this time of his own volition. Confusion replaced the anger that threatened to rise, a little sound of alarm only just being squelched by his steady realization that… He had been wrong.

They were both drunk, but Charlie shoved the thought to the side as he closed his eyes, suddenly drifting along a sea of contentment as he allowed himself to be pulled into that second kiss. He forgot that Lenny and Carl were sitting just on the other side of the gazebo. He forgot that Moe and the others were not far either. He forgot that he was kissing another man. He forgot… everything. Everything but the feeling of Sam’s lips on his own. They were warm and tasted like Duff, but so did his own. Charlie almost laughed as their glasses clacked gently against each other, but he didn’t care about that either. It was Halloween night and he felt like a giddy teenager, his claws brushing along the steps of the gazebo until they found Sam’s fingers, intertwining their pinkies together as they’d done to seal their promise to not dampen Moe’s spirits. 

Sam didn’t seem to mind, too wrapped up in the kiss just the same. Until they parted and Charlie let himself breath. He was red in the face, he was sure. But he would try to play it off like it was just the beer. Yeah. That’s all it was.

“...You don’t gotta go if you don’t want to,” Sam finally said, his own beer all but forgotten to the side. He was a bit flushed himself, but he seemed to manage it a lot better than Charlie did.

“...You don’t think we’ve gotten up to enough troublemaking tonight, huh?” The hybrid replied in kind, unable to disguise the little grin on his face. 

“Nah. It ain’t even that late yet.”

Sam got to his feet, offering his hand to pull Charlie up along with him. His tail helped him maintain his balance, even as the world tilted and shifted beneath his feet. Wow. He really was drunk. Or… maybe it had just been the kiss. Either way, he was feeling ridiculously topsy turvy just then. And the welcoming smile on Sam’s face certainly didn’t help. Wow. 

Maybe he hadn’t really been fake swooning after all.

“Lead the way,” Charlie prompted, keep himself at the other man’s side with a delighted little rumble of a purr that he did his best to keep to himself. It was difficult. And as they drifted away from the park and back into the street, he absently wished that Halloween was not a once-a-year deal.

When they’d left, Lenny and Carl found themselves staring after the two, still nursing their own beers and watching in a bit of a drunken stupor.

“Did we really just see that?” Carl asked, glancing up at his companion, baffled.

“I think so. Why don’t you ever do that with me?” Lenny replied as he sat atop the railing of the gazebo, his words slurred in his mild outrage.

“Aw shut up,” Carl said, focusing back on his beer. 

He made a mental note to shove Lenny off of the railing before the night was over with.

#tj writes #simpsona #oc #I did not proof read this #I also didn't know what to title it so you get that

[awhitehead17]

Universal Signs

Chapter Eight / Previous Chapter

Also on AO3

A/N: The rating has changed! It was general but is now teen. There is a bit violence and hints of blood towards the end of this chapter. Its nothing too graphic but just in case here's the warning if that makes you uncomfortable. 

Enjoy! :D

Tim wasn’t sulking. He wasn’t! He was just pouting in the common room on his own as he thinks through recent events. That’s all. No sulking involved whatsoever.

Okay so maybe he was sulking.  

His arm was irritating him. Underneath the bandage his skin itches and he has to forcibly stop himself from scratching at the wound. He scowls at the ceiling as he slumps back into the plush couch he was sat on. He can’t believe a cat spat at him and burnt his arm. Out of everything he’s encountered so far, that cat-like creature is probably the strangest things he’s yet to see. 

The aliens did tell him to not get too close, but in his defence they neglected to mention that the creature could spit over seven feet away! How was Tim supposed to know that? He saw the creature, it looked cute and fluffy and he wanted to pet it, then Kon-el found him and dragged him away. The alien’s reaction to the creature just made Tim more curious about it.

After grabbing food Tim found the cat again but kept his distance. It looked harmless and it even resembled his brother’s cat back home. However things went wrong when something spooked the creature and caused it to get nasty. In a matter of seconds it went from cute and cuddly to vicious and evil. It hissed and then spat at Tim before darting away and disappearing into the trees.

Thankfully he had quick reflexes and was able to cover his face with his arm before getting hit with the creature’s acid-like spit. His arm instantly flared up with pain which caused him to cry out. That’s when Kon-el appeared.

At least it was his arm that got burnt and not his face. Who knows what kind of damaged that would have caused if that was the outcome. Curiosity killed the cat. Tim snorts. Yeah, his curiosity did almost kill him this time.

“Are you okay?”

Tim jumps at the sudden voice. He turns around to look at them and follows them with his eyes as they walk over to the couch and sit opposite him.

“What’s funny?”

Cassie looks at him with slightly narrowed eyes, as if she’s suspicious of his behaviour. Tim eyes her up momentarily, even now after he’s been with them for a few weeks he still gets the odd feeling around Cassie. She’s warmed up to him a little in that time, as if she’s getting used to his presence now but there was still that underlying mistrust of him hanging around in the air.

Tim shrugs it off. There wasn’t a lot he could do about it in that moment. He averts his gaze from her and waves a dismissive hand. “Oh nothing, just some human crap.”

That was another thing Tim had learnt. Half of the time they have no idea what he’s saying, common phrases and sayings go right over their heads. Any abbreviations he makes gets him blanks stares. Movie and TV show references get him a raised eyebrow in question.

Of course this was to be expected considering where he is, but every time it happens the ache inside his chest of where he’s missing home just grows that bit heavier at the reminder.

Tim’s missing his friends and family. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he was taken from earth as he was unable to track time while he was captured and he only has a vague idea of how long he’s been with these guys on this ship.

It sucks and Tim absolutely hates it. Unfortunately he doesn’t have much of a choice but to suck it up and get on with it.

“Sure...” Cassie drawls giving him that look that says you humans are strange. “I wanted to update you on some stuff. First off, our next stop will be in a few days’ time to collect the next item we need. There isn’t much to do between now and then, so basically get comfy and relax. Second thing, how would you like your own room on the ship? We were speaking and it’s only fair that you get your own space like the rest of us have.”

Tim nods taking in the information before pausing and shooting her a surprised look. He had been expecting the next stop details, however the room news did surprise him.

“Really? I didn’t think there would be any room for me to have my own space?” He questions her. “I don’t want to put any of you out or make any trouble.”

“We can clear out one of the storage rooms and place a bed in there. It wouldn’t be much but it’s somewhere other than in the common room for you.”

Tim smiles gratefully, “Yeah, that would be great. Thank you.”

Having his own space would be nice. As comfy as the couch in the common room was, having his own space would definitely be preferred.

She nods. “Okay, I can let the others know and we can get started on that. Third thing, how’s your arm?”

Tim lets out a breath and shrugs. “Irritating. The wound is still fresh so it’s going to be annoying for a little while yet. If I keep it clean and stuff it should hopefully heal up within a week or two. Thankfully it’s not anywhere where it would really be a nuisance.”

She stays quiet as he watches him. Tim glances at her but looks away again. He has no clue to what she’s thinking, he probably doesn’t want to know either.

When the silence drags on, Tim decides to fill it. “So what’s the plan until the next stop? Got any ideas or no?”

She shakes her head. “No. As I said there’s not much we can do now until we reach the next destination. Try to keep yourself occupied until then. I’m sure one of the others can help entertain you if you get bored.”

After that apparently Cassie was done with the conversation because she stands up and leaves the room without another word. Tim blinks at her vacated spot, wrapping his head around the conversation. Right, so now he has to entertain himself for the time being.

He sighs and starts deciding what he’s going to do with himself. As he looks around the room for inspiration, his eyes land on the Rubik’s cube on the table in front of him.

Figuring that’ll do for the time being, Tim reaches over and grabs it. Two of the sides were already solved and Tim’s going to assume that Bart was the one to do it. He wonders how many more he can complete until their next destination.

 In the time it took to travel to the next planet, Tim simply plotted around the ship looking for things to do. One of the main things to be achieved within that time was that his room Cassie had mentioned has now been set up. It’s a storage room turned into a bedroom so it’s pretty small but they manage to get a bed in there along with a small wardrobe and a small chest of draws. It wasn’t a lot but it’s not like Tim had a lot of belongings anyway.

While it was nice to have his own private space sometimes it felt wrong. At times the room felt too small and it made him feel claustrophobic, especially since there were no windows. The bed sometimes felt to hard and he would just be tossing and turning on it. It made him miss his own bedroom back home. Like his pillow, god he misses his pillow, and his own blanket. Just the little things that he once took for granted.

He gets by though. It’s nice that they’ve created the room for him and he appreciates it.

To pass the time, they would occasionally play a few games, have the entertainment night that Bart got to decide what they do, work and chat.

Tim’s arm was still healing and from what he could tell it was healing nicely. Another couple of days and it should hopefully be back to normal. He’s been keeping an eye on it and treating it to the best of his abilities.

Eventually they enter the next planet’s atmosphere and Tim observes the descent from the window in the common room. The planet was filled with what looked like trees, well, at least if trees had dark blue leaves and purple trunks. By this point he wasn’t even surprised any more. The amount of crazy, beyond imaginable, things he’s seen and discovered while in space, things like this just don’t really shock him anymore. Though the idea of telling his family about all of this is rather amusing. They wouldn’t believe a single thing of it.

The ship descends down to the ground and lands with a thump. Once everything was stable Tim leaves the common room and heads for the cockpit where the others were gathered. He enters the room to find Cassie at the dashboard and Kon and Bart together at the table. He walks overs and claims one of the free seats for himself.

They both look at him as he settles.

“Tim, just to get you up to speed. We’re on the planet Tordar and we’re here because we need to gather up 50 pieces of Pingon,” Kon tells him.

Tim nods his understanding and straightens up when Kon slides a piece of paper across the table to him. He picks the page up and scans it. There was an image of what Tim is assuming they need to collect. It was a golden cylinder shape with what looked like pink coloured spikes sprouting out from the main body and there were large dark blue leaves appearing from one end of it.

It reminded Tim of a pineapple. At least if they were skinner, pink and had blue leaves.

Kon continues speaking, glancing at his team as well as Tim as he does so. “The picture is what we need to collect from this planet. Pingon’s are found hanging low off the trees. So hopefully we can simply grab and go.”

Tim puts the paper down and rubs a hand over his forehead. He sighs and looks up at the alien. “There’s more to it than that isn’t there? It’s never a simple grab and go. So what is it?”

The alien looks uneasy, shifting from foot to foot as he glances at Tim before sharing a look with the other two like he’s reluctant to tell Tim the information.

“Kon.” He presses.

In the end it wasn’t Kon who shares the information with him, it was Bart. Tim whips his head around to look at the speedster.

“A species called Galavent live on this planet and they are dangerous. They’re ferociously territorial, will maim and kill in an instant. They are not fun to be around at all.” He was staring at Tim with an intense expression, this alone was telling Tim Bart wasn’t joking around and this was the truth.

“Right,” Tim drawls, “Avoid killer… Galavents? No problem.”

He starts getting up from the table only to be stopped by Kon speaking up. “Tim, maybe you should stay on the ship for the time being.”

Tim grits his teeth and tries to hide his annoyance. “Why? Because I’m human? Because I don’t have powers like the rest of you?”

Kon open his mouth to say something but seems to reconsider his words. “No. Not because you’re human Tim but because your hurt. It’ll be safe for you on here than out there.”

Tim snorts in disbelief. It was only a matter of time before they would start treating him like he was a delicate piece of glass unable to do anything. He continues standing and pins Kon with a look.

“I’m fine. I have a minor injury, nothing that’ll stop me from doing regular things. I’m going to help you whether you like it or not.” When the alien stays silent, Tim takes that as a win. “I’ll meet you by the door.”

He leaves the room in a tense silent and heads for his own bedroom. If the planet did have dangerous creatures on it, it may be best that he has some sort of weapon. He grabs the metal pole from his room before heading down to the main door of the ship.

About a minute later the three others show up. As he approaches, Kon scowls at him, clearly not happy with this arrangement of Tim joining them out on the planet. Tim fakes a sweet smile, like he was completely innocent in the ordeal. He smiles for real when the only reaction he gets is Kon’s scowl deepening on his face.

As they walk, Tim notices that each of them was carrying something that resembled a large picnic basket. He doesn’t question them about it, figuring that they must be for carrying the pingon’s back to the ship.

The four of them soon leave the ship and step foot onto the planet. Tim was surprised to find it warmer than he expected. With all the trees around them (even though they’re purple) it reminds him of a jungle or forest back home. It was surprisingly light on the planet too, despite all of the leaves blocking the sky, everything was still visible to Tim’s human eyes.

Moving away from the ship, which was parked in the middle of a large clearing, they all enter the tree line and start hunting for the pingon’s they need to collect.

Thankfully the hunt doesn’t take too long for them to find the first bunch of pingon’s. They were indeed hanging low off the branches towards the ground, basically in perfect height for picking.

Tim walks over to one of the trees and studies the fruit. The colours were more vibrant in real life than what they were on paper. It looked like an exotic fruit someone would find in the Caribbean or something. He reaches out and gingerly touches the spikes of the fruit, not knowing what to expect. They were sharp but didn’t feel like they would pierce his skin, once again reminding him of a pineapple.

He grabs the fruit with a hand, pulls it off the branch in one swift movement and weighs the thing in his hands. It didn’t feel heavy like a pineapple does, in fact it was fairly light which was surprising. He wonders over to where Bart was picking a few from off another tree and puts his in Bart’s basket.

Between the four of them they clear that area of fruit fairly quickly and decide to move onto the next area. As he picks the fruit, Tim was half tempted to eat it. Maybe split one open to see what it looked like on the inside and try some of it.

He fiddles with the one in his hands as he glances around to where the others are. They were all too busy with their jobs to pay attention to him. Tim turns back to the fruit and positions his hands where the leaves were and braces himself to pull them off when –

“Tim what are you doing?”

When Cassie’s voice makes him pause. Annoyed he’s been caught, he sighs and turns around. He puts on his best innocent looking expression and shakes his head. “Nothing. Why what’s up?”

Cassie narrows her eyes at him in disbelief. “I’m going to say this now, but don’t eat the pingon’s. If consumed like this,” she holds up the pingon in her hand as demonstration, “unprepped, they can burn your insides. So listen to me and don’t eat the pingon’s. Understand?”

Tim blinks in horror at the fruit. Okay, apparently this is fruit that can burn your insides. This is just another thing to add to the mental ‘what the fuck?’ list Tim has currently running inside his head.

“Right, not eating the pingon raw. Got ya.”

He was still tempted to try the fruit of course but Tim’s going to listen because he likes his insides functioning and wants to keep it that way. Shaking the thoughts of burning insides out of his head, Tim continues with the task at hand. The quicker they finish the better.

They spend a little over an hour collecting all the fruit they need and gather a few more for themselves to have a treat at a later date. Once finished they begin to head back to the ship. The aliens were carrying the baskets while Tim walked behind them, lazily swinging his pole around with each step.

He doesn’t know when it started, but he knows when he first recognised the feeling. All the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stands up and goose bumps appear on his skin as he shivers. An uneasy feeling washes over him as he travels behind the aliens. It went on for a little while and the feeling wouldn’t go away.

Tim was sure something was watching him.

He stops walking to observe his surroundings, looking for anything unusual (or something that looked out of place at least) however all he could see were the thick trunks of the trees, hanging fruit and the dark blue leaves.

Tim takes a deep breath and lets it out before shaking his head. He’s just being paranoid, that’s all. Overthinking things and letting his imagination get the better of him.

Turning back around, Tim continues walking now picking up his speed to catch up with the others who were further up ahead and hadn’t noticed he stopped. Tim only travelled several meters when the growling started. It was a low sound that shook him right through his core, something that made him freeze on the spot.

He tries to control his breathing in order to stop himself from panicking, his heart starts pounding inside of his chest and all of his muscles in his body were frozen and tense.

The growling’s coming from behind him and it felt like it was getting louder by the second. His brain was screaming two different things at him. One was to run. Run and don’t look back. The second, was to turn around to see what was there.

Ever the curious human, Tim goes with the second option and stupidly turns around. He keeps his movements slow and steady so he doesn’t startle whatever is behind him.

Tim’s breath catches inside of his throat when he finally faces what was behind him. Hanging from a tree there was a huge monkey-like creature. It was staring at Tim with two black orbs for eyes, its long razer teeth were borne in a snarl as it growls at him.

For a moment Tim thought it was a baboon. The colour of the fur was the same and its body was similar. The main differences however was the size and the fact this thing was eyeing Tim up like he was candy.

Tim didn’t know what to do. He’s sure if he makes a move the monkey will pounce and after getting a glimpse of its claws Tim would rather not chance it.

Swallowing thickly Tim decides to take a cautious step back away from the animal. His eyes never leave the thing as he starts slowly backing away. If he doesn’t startle or aggravate it, fingers crossed, he’ll come out of this alive.

Tim’s method appeared to be working. The monkey doesn’t make a move against him as he backs away.

“Tim? Where are you?”

The sudden shout makes him jump and he holds his breath as the monkey seems to stiffen up in front of him and the growling increases in volume. Tim doesn’t dare look behind him though. He feels like if he moves his attention away from the creature then the animal will make a move. Almost like a spider you’re trying to capture, you keep watching it so you don’t lose it.

“I’m here.” Tim calls back carefully. Not too loud so he doesn’t startle the thing. “Um, something’s come up.”

“What do you me -oh.”

Now Tim could feel another presence behind him. However unlike before this one doesn’t feel threatening or put him on edge.

“Tim remember what we said on the ship. That’s a Galavent.”

Tim huffs, because of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?

“What do we do?” He asks the alien. He can make a few guesses himself but he’s out of his element here and does not want to do anything wrong.

Before Kon could reply even more growling echoes around them. From above, the leaves all rustle and a glance up shows more monkeys – Galavents – appearing. Tim’s eyes widen at the realisation that they’re surrounded.

The animal in front of Tim finally moves. It drops down to the ground with a thump, and starts stalking towards Tim. It snarls and growls at him as it gets closer. With fear Tim starts backing up, no longer caring about careful movements. The animal in front just takes that as an invitation to move quicker, letting out a roar as it starts speeding towards him.

After that, it was like hell all broke loose.

As the Galavent charged towards him, Tim let out a yell and turned tail and ran, almost falling over as he does so. Kon, who was standing behind him, shouted and also ran with him. From behind, the monkeys all followed, letting out their roars, snarls and growls as they chased them.

“Get to the ship!” He hears Kon scream at him but Tim wasn’t really paying attention.

Sprinting through the trees, they scramble to get away from the animals pursuing them. Together they somehow make it to the clearing where the ship was but only to be stopped short. Next to him, Kon goes flying as a Galavent lands on his back and tackles him to the ground.

“Kon!”

Tim doesn’t get a chance to dwell on Kon being attacked because suddenly he was thrown to the side. When he hits the ground he rolls a few times before landing on his back, he barely gets the chance to react before a monkey was coming at him from above. Letting out a scream Tim uses the pole he still had to block the monkey’s attack as it lands on him.

Large fangs were snapping at him and sharp claws trying to rip him to shreds. Tim uses all of his might to keep it away from him.

Just as his arms were about to give out, the weight of the monkey disappears. Tim blinks in surprise at the sudden change of events and again as Bart materializes out of nowhere above him. He smirks down at Tim before darting off again.

Swallowing Tim scrambles up onto his feet and swings with the metal pole as one of the monkeys jump up at him. The pole hits it clean in the head and knocks it down. Tim swings a second time to knock another down which comes from above. He knocks it down to the ground and hits it again to try and knock it out. When it no longer moves Tim stops his motions and straightens back up looking for the next immediate threat.

A yell from his right gets his attention. It was Cassie wrestling one of the creatures on the floor. Her hands were locked around it’s jaw in attempts to keep it from biting her head off. Without even thinking about it, Tim’s moving. He sprints over to Cassie and bodily tackles the animal off her.

Because of his momentum, the two of them go sprawling over the ground. Tim loses track of the animal as he rolls several times before coming to a stop on his front. He shakes his head and tries to get past the dizziness that’s currently taken over.

His luck seems to run out there because unfortunately something lands on his back before he could get his head together. The impact winds him, leaving him breathless and then there’s the piercing pain that erupts in his shoulder. He lets out a curdling scream and thrashes wildly in an attempt to buck the thing off his back.

The pain somehow worsens as it seems to travel down from his shoulder to the middle of his back. Tim lets out another sound as he feels his skin split open and warmth spread across his back. Tears were forming in his eyes and there nothing else but pain.

From there it becomes a blur. Things just all mould into one. At some point the weight disappears off his back, there were shouts of what he thinks was his name but all that registered in Tim’s mind was the pain coming from his shoulder and back.

When something else touches him, he weakly fights it off, however that something was persistent and easily bats away Tim’s sluggish strikes. He screams again when more pain explodes inside of him.

He must have blacked out or something because the next thing he knows it that his face was being pushed into something soft underneath him. Unknown things were still touching him, there was a noise which sounded like a voice surrounding him but he couldn’t make it out and the main thing was there was still overwhelming pain coming from his back.

He yells again when something touches his back, causing another jolt to go through him. He tries to get away, tries to escape from what was hurting but he’s forced to stay still by a force. With his pain-fogged mind, Tim couldn’t work out what it was, but he didn’t actually care, he just wanted to get away from it.

After futile attempts to wiggle free, he whimpers. The whimper turns into a hoarse scream when it somehow gets worse. Tim’s never felt anything like this before. It must have been too much for him to handle because the last thing he remembers is letting out that scream and then nothing.

#Universal Signs #Tim Drake #Kon-El #cassie sandsmark #bart allen #core four #Young Justice #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #fanfiction #weird fruit #curious tim #bit of violence #mentions of blood #monkeys #t rated #sorry for the long wait for this chapter

[celestialholz]

The continuum is not entirely sure, what to think about this relationship until one of them, probably Amanda , points out how much the overall chaos and tormenting in the universe (caused by Q) has decreased since the beginning of the relationship. The Continuum therefore had to begrudgingly classify Picard as a positive influence.

Ah bloody hell, my apologies for taking forever with this, mon anon - I think we all know I’m fairly useless by now, right? Hope this makes up for it! ^_^

Got any fun, fluffy or just Soft™ headcanons you’d like as fics for our positivity event, friends? My inbox is open!

So, then, one Q comments to another one particularly droll morning, searching the universal airwaves for worthwhile gossip, Q’s sleeping with a mortal.

Her sister opens a single, disinterested eye from the depths of her silk hammock, drawn from her own idle contemplation of time and space via the magenta sky high above; contemplation, naturally, that requires nothing in the way of vision.

He was always was weird, she replies carelessly. 

Seriously though, their brother chimes in from an adjacent sun lounger, shades draped over each set of six eyes, that is a level above your standard ‘weird’, Q.

Well, if anyone was going to -

Oh, it’d have to be him, of course, fussily adds another sister several linear fathoms hence, telepathy perking up from her contrivance of the cosmos’ most fiendish crossword. He was only telling me several centuries ago what an absolute abomination mortal dalliances are, the hypocrite!

He never wasn’t, pipes up yet another brother, riveted by the idea of moving a Iota quadrant sun six inches to the left. What in the universe’s name is supposed to be so fascinating about this human?

… Well, Frenchmen are supposed to be ‘sexy’, apparently -

You’re kidding, right? Chip in two siblings simultaneously, air hockey with a flattened asteroid in full swing, table kilometres wide. Have you seen that guy?

And why in creation would he want to sleep with him anyway?! It’s disgusting!

Eurgh, can you imagine? An elder adds with notable distaste, mid-domino tower of the Great Isleppan Cathedral; knocking it down is going to be spectacular, he knows. It’ll fall as comprehensively as the hopes and dreams of their third empire. All those liquids - 

Good galaxies, stop! His sister shrieks. We can’t allow this, it’s unnatural -

Mm, not to mention messy, Crossword concurs. Imagine when he dies, what an absolute hassle it’s going to be -

Oh, he’s a wild child at the best of times - we ought to bring this before the council, really, Star-Shifter agrees pompously. 

Probably best we just execute this human now, be done with it -

ENOUGH! 

They all start at the bellow that ripples through the very fabric of the Continuum, red fracturing the stagnant air for a split second. They pause, finally curious for the first time in millennia, awaiting the follow-up with bated breath none of them require.

A question for you all, the Q formerly known as Amanda Rogers begins coldly, when was the last time Q proved a nuisance?

Last Tuesday, Six-Eyes replies immediately, petulant.

I don’t think beating you four times in a row at Tamarian chess really counts, she snaps back. Anyone else?

Collective thought bubbles away for a moment, all of them trying to grasp answers from any available form of cosmic ether.

… It has been a while, Dominoes admits darkly.

Seventeen months and a day, to be exact, Air Hockey One mutters.

And the last time we divined anyone being notably annoyed at him? Amanda prompts.

About the same, Air Hockey Two says bitterly.

… Perhaps it’s best we leave them be, Crossword proposes. If I have to deal with that idiot misplacing one more damned asteroid belt -

Oh, that was me! Calls another Q, new to the discussion, blonde hair fopping in a sea breeze further down a unreal coastline as he puts the finishing touches to a to-scale sand tank with a dry sigh. 

Idiot, Crossword spits at him, returning her attention to three thousand and seventy-eight across in palpable disinterest. Forget it, folks. More trouble than it’s worth.

I was enjoying that, dammit, Air Hockey One laments to his sister. Round five hundred and sixteen, then?

The Continuum falls quickly back into a comfortable, non-gossipy lull, and Amanda’s irritated attention snaps to her companion, who holds up half-hearted hands in careless defence.

“I was right behind you,” Junior assures sarcastically, and she throws stardust at him in petty retaliation. “Hey!”

“Just don’t tell him, okay?”

———

“Q,” Picard insists, “are you alright?”

The god’s focus snaps back to the correct realm, lips pursed at the Continuum’s comparative silence.

“Mm,” he mutters, grin in full force as he’s passed a glass of the Picard family wine. “Apologies, darling - Kinetic Gardens of Utirion, allons-y!”

The captain takes a seat beside him, eyes creased by concern.

“You’re welcome to discuss it, mon dieu, here or there.”

Q reaches forward, clasps a hand tenderly, burns delightfully in the depth of granite resolve that shines at him.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head, dearest,” he promises softly. “I’m certainly not going to. Ready?”

Picard smiles quietly, somewhat mollified, excitement barely contained. “Permanently.”

He snaps, beaming; it’s a dreadful evening to be remotely worried when there’s a triple sunset beside the human he loves to enjoy, a fine vintage, and croissants - oh, so many croissants.

… He’ll find out their secrets though, later. They can all count on it.

#qcard #the qcard positivity event #the continuum are assholes™ #is that suggestive angst in my positivity event? #I think it might be you know #can't keep it caged even in fluff town xD

[rantreader]

That Bloody Potter Boy

Look. I wrote part one of that fanfiction.

Summary: The Dursley’s never should have taken in Harry. He had been a nuisance from the start. His life with the magical world slowly started affecting the Dursleys, and now they have to flee for their life. As they are forced to encounter magic, they also have to confront their own relationships with each other and with the bloody Potter boy. 

It took Vernon Dursley Weasley twenty years to pay off his home. Petunia was delighted as they made their way through the freshly painted doors. It marked a beginning to their life together, and at first, it was perfect. Dudley made the family home complete, as he grew from a little tyke to a brave man who had encountered far more than any other person his age. That pristine home slowly morphed into a family home, but as they drove away, Vernon was not sure when they would see it again. If they would see it again.

He glanced into the mirror one more time before turning right. He suddenly became aware of the uneven atmosphere that filled the car. Petunia sat next to him, keeping her legs and arms closed to her. Dudley sat in the back, between the two magic police or whatever they were called. Vernon kept an eye on them. Every time Dudley was caught up with magic, he would get in trouble. That Potter brat must have put a curse on him. Vernon was not sure if the scar he gained from when that brutish giant cave Dudley a pig tail would ever recover.

“So, what was it like growing up with the Harry Potter? It must have been an amazing experience,” said the female. “It’s such a shame that he was not able to teach you anything, but it still would have been nice.”

Vernon tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“It was alright. I guess. He kept to himself,” Dudley mumbled. Dudley had only just astonished Vernon by being friendly to Harry. Even though that boy was nothing but trouble since the day he arrived on the doorstep, he was still the closest thing Dudley ever had to a brother. As annoying as they were, you can never really hate your sibling.

“Yes. He always had this little attitude that he was better than all of us,” Vernon added. “He always spoke back and never did what he was told.”

The female chuckled.

“Sounds like a typical teenager.”

If he wasn’t driving, Vernon would storm away from the woman. It was not just typical teenage blues, but there had always been something deeply disturbing about that boy. That was the one good part about the whole fiasco: they never had to see him again. For the first time in 17 years, Vernon could be able to breathe without worrying over what that boy had done.

Vernon continued to drive down through the neighbourhood he had grown accustomed to; arrogant drivers swerved in front of him while others thought it was perfectly acceptable to drive at a snail’s pace.

“Where exactly am I meant to be going anyway?”  he grunted. So far, this little rescue was a complete disaster.

“Oh, sorry. That’s why I never quite understood driving. You can’t just go in one direction. You have to do all these twists and turns. We need to go to the British Post. You have to –“ Vernon could just make out the man rubbing his temple via the mirror – “Well, I’m sure you know how to get there this way.”

They were bloody useless. Potter might as well have left them with a spork for defense. At least then they could have stabbed someone with it. It didn’t matter; it was all nonsense. No one was going to come after them. It was all just a rouse to get the house. Yet, Vernon had to play along. Maybe they would get tired of the foolishness and just move on.

The car ride remained as Vernon made his way into the city. Pedestrians ran through the street as if it were a zoo. Vernon nearly ran over a few teenagers. Did no teenager have any respect for those around them?

He parked the car outside the British Post. Everyone stayed in the car, unsure of what to do. Eventually, Petunia shook her head and stepped out. The wizards followed, and Dudley stumbled out after them. Vernon got out and looked between them.

“Now what?” he grunted. The wizard smiled at Vernon.

“Have you ever used a portkey before?” he asked, making his way to the building. The Dursleys followed them. Vernon kept his eye on the man and scrambled after him. Occasionally, he glanced at the other pedestrians. He had not seen anyone that he knew – that was always a good sign.

“Yeah. We’re not complete idiots. We use keys all the time,” replied Dudley.

“No. no. A portkey,” the woman said.

“Oh. Then no.”

“It’s fine. Well, it is going to be a strange feeling, but also completely harmless,” the woman told him with a soft smile. “It’s the easiest way for us to travel. At least, for now.” The smile disappeared and deep wrinkles of concern appeared on her forehead. The man sighed.

“Yes, we may have to reconsider more in the future, but until that happens, let’s enjoy what we have for now.”

“Why? What’s going to happen to it?” Dudley asked. He was becoming strange. All of the changes that were happening around him intrigued Dudley, but he was also hesitant. Occasionally he glanced over at Vernon.

“I’m sure a chat would be lovely once we get to whatever hellhole you take us too,” he growled in a low voice. There were still people walking by. Petunia’s eyes fluttered between her family and the other strangers. She clutched her cardigan and tugged on it slightly in an attempt to hide her already thin body. “But until then, it’s probably best to keep quiet about the whole

The woman sighed and nodded.

“Fine.” She reached the building and pulled out her wand. Vernon swore and shook his head. These people must have no idea how to act around normal people. It’s what he expected from them, but it was still infuriating. She moved closer to the door until she was basically pressed against it. Vernon heard her mutter something before pushing the door open. “Quickly,” she whispered.

Vernon stood back, feeling his anger rise up his body.

Stop. Take a deep breath

Vernon closed his eyes and exhaled. Apparently, it was supposed to let all the frustration out of his body in a socially acceptable way. It was a stupid idea and as soon as Vernon did it, he felt like an idiot. At least he didn’t yell.

He followed the freaks into the building. Fortunately, it had closed. No one could see them and try to make conversation, but it also led to another problem.

“This is ridiculous. We’re going to get arrested for breaking and entering,” Petunia growled. The wizard smiled at her.

“Don’t worry. We won’t be here for much longer.”

He made his way to the front desk and looked up at the wall. 6:20.

“Ok. We have to close up,” he told them. Vernon raised an eyebrow but felt the witch push him forward.  

“Now what? You took us all the way here just to see what the time is? We could have done that at home,” Vernon said. The woman rolled her eyes.

“No. We told you; it’s a portkey. On the count of three, we’re all going to have to touch it at the same time. And as I said, be careful, and try not to puke. On the count of -”

“Now, hang on,” Vernon interrupted. He glared at the witch. “We’re not going to do anything unless you tell us what the bloody hell is going on. What if that clock turns us into ants or cockroaches?”

Every time one of Potter’s ‘friends’ were involved, it caused chaos. That was the issue with them – they didn’t care how they hurt the normal people. They just went about their day and not care about collateral damage.

“Oh, no, we wouldn’t do that,” the man quickly replied while shaking his head. The woman tilted her head.

“Well, it might make everything a lot easier. I don’t think the Death Eaters would be looking around for a group of ants.”

“Hestia,” the man remarked and shook his head. “Don’t worry. She’s just kidding. The portkey is basically a transporting device. When you touch it, it takes you somewhere else immediately.”

“So where will we be going?” Dudley asked.

“We figured it is best to go as far as way as possible immediately. That way, they won’t know where to start. Don’t worry,” he added to Petunia with an attempted comforting smile, “nothing can go wrong as long as you hold the clock.”

He stared at the Dursley’s. Vernon felt everyone’s eyes fall upon him: Petunia and Dudley had to know that Vernon approved the decision.

“Fine. But if I get killed, I am going to sue you for all your worth,” he grunted. The man laughed and shook his head.

“I don’t think you should waste your time doing that. I’m really not worth that much. Ok. On the count of three. One. Two.”

The Dursley’s hesitated but brought their hands out and placed them against the clock.

#Harry Potter #Vernon Dursley #Petunia Dursley #fanfiction #writblr

[annemariewrites]

Who Am I?

The first panic attack that I ever had was in the second grade. I remember that we had an assignment to do a book report and that the assignment was to be done online. This was 2003 when the internet was still in its early form and often didn’t work quite right. Why my elementary school entrusted eight year olds on the internet, I’ll never now. Anyway, something went wrong with the internet and I could not find the book that I needed and was then unable to do the assignment. I have this picture in my head of my eight-year-old self in the classroom, sitting on the floor with my back to the wall, and crying almost hysterically. I can remember feeling very sick like I was going to throw up. It was not a pleasant experience and it certainly troubled my teacher and the other students. I had regular panic attacks throughout third and fourth grade, to the point where I can hardly look back on those years without feeling some shame and embarrassment.

The third grade was honestly not so bad. My teacher often had to call my parents whenever I had a panic attack during class but she never made me feel like I was being disruptive or being a nuisance. The other students, whom I had known my entire life by that point, had treated me as if it were no big deal that I had this problem. Whenever I would cry and shake in class, they would bring me tissues and help me finish my work. No one made fun of me or even talked about my panic attacks, at least not that I can remember. Then in the summer of 2005, we moved away.

The new elementary school that I had to go to was awful. I knew no one at all and no one knew me, or the problems that I faced. I remember once when I had a panic attack and started crying during class, the teacher took me out into the hallway and told me to go to the bathroom and not come back until I had cleaned myself up. I know she was just trying her best but it made me feel humiliated. I remember the other students looking at me strangely and not letting me play with them on the playground or sit with them at lunch. This caused me to have major self-esteem issues, so not only was I battling an anxiety disorder, I was fighting the early stages of depression as well. All at the tender age of ten. I remember forcing myself to be “normal” and to hold all the stress inside. This worked because I don’t remember having any anxiety attacks during the fifth grade. Though there were no outward signs of my problem, I still felt panicked all the time.

I was put on medication that was supposed to help, though personally I think it made things worse. I don't remember the name but it was a little yellow pill that I had to take every morning but I was afraid to swallow it because I was irrationally afraid that it would make me choke. The doctor told my parents to open the pill and put the contents in my food. Inside the yellow pill was small white pellets that looked like sprinkles. They sure didn’t taste like sprinkles. The flavor of the white pellets was the most horrible blend of bitter and sour that it always felt like I was kissing the grim reaper. I had to take it with food and the bitter taste ruined all food that it touched. To this day, I cannot eat Honeycomb cereal without tasting the ghost of the white sprinkles on my tongue. The medication also had the bad side effect of making me not want to eat. I ate rather little during this time and I weighed around fifty pounds for a good three to four years. I don’t know if it helped with my anxiety problem or not, for I still had panic attacks for about three years straight though I can’t recall the frequency of them. It was in the fourth grade that I was finally able to swallow the pill but, ironically, it was soon after that I was taken off the medication.

In the sixth grade, I was prescribed the patch version of the medication. The patch was about five inches in length and two inches in width. It was to be put on my lower back, a rather unfortunate placement. Having the patch on my back was very embarrassing especially because we had to start dressing out for P. E. You are made fun of quite a lot when you have what appears to be a very large piece of tape stuck to your back. I began to remove the patch before I left for school in the mornings. I felt, and still feel, very guilty about this because the patches weren’t cheap and I was wasting this medication and money. The shame of this has never really gone away and it still bothers me now, all these years later.

When my mother found out that I was removing the patches, she confronted me on it. This was during the sixth grade and my grades were slipping. I remember that it was a Monday around dinnertime and she came into my room telling me that I was too smart to be acting the way that I was. She was angry with me for wasting the patches and for not making good grades. She removed the television that was in my room and grounded me. Months later, it was the last day of sixth grade when my mom picked me up from school, which was odd because I had always rode the bus. She took me to this place and at the time I didn’t know what it was but know, looking back, it was therapy. During these therapy sessions was the first time that I had ever heard the word anxiety, though I was too afraid to ask what it meant. The therapist was a woman and she was very nice but I was reluctant to tell her anything because I knew that whatever I told her, she would then tell my mom. The therapist always asked me about school but I hated talking about school. I wanted to talk about my favorite TV show and the music that I liked at the time. I don’t think that she liked me talking about that stuff because she would always steer the conversation back to school. I did not want to talk about school. School made me sad and angry. I want to talk about my favorite shows and music because those things made me happy. I hardly ever got the chance to talk about the things that made me happy because hardly anyone wanted to talk to me at all. I remember specifically one day, the therapist asked me, “On a scale from one to ten, one being the lowest and ten being the highest, how happy do you feel?” I wanted to say four or five but my mom was in the room and I didn’t want her to know how I really felt so I said that I felt like a seven.

Hiding how I really feel about things has become an art form that I excel at now. Very few people actually know that I have an anxiety disorder. I actively try to hide it because I don’t like people knowing too many things about me. It stresses me out for some reason when someone knows things about me, so I hide these things to the point where many people who I am even close to don’t know much about me. My brother sometimes describes me as “chill” and “laid back” which I would find somewhat funny if not for the fact that it is so difficult for me to relax that someone saying that I am laid back just feels like they are taunting me with a mindset that I am unable to experience. I also find it highly ironic that he would think this of me since he is the one who makes me more agitated than any other person that I know. My brother has not always been so supportive of my differences so I get irrationally afraid when he finds out even trivial things about me. I can’t tell him what music I like or what my favorite books or movies are because I am so afraid that there will be backlash. Which I know is ridiculous since we are both adults now but there is still a voice in the back of my head saying, “he will make fun of you like everyone else did all those years ago.”

I don’t know how to live without an anxiety disorder. It has been a constant problem in my life for the past ten years, which is half of my entire life. I don’t know who I am without an anxiety disorder. It has shaped my life since I was a child and has so affected me that I don’t even know who I am anymore. Whenever I do or think something in retaliation of stress, I often wonder if it is because of my personality and who I am as a person or if it is because of my mental illness. I cannot differentiate between the two. I don’t know what parts of me are my personality and what parts of me are my disorder. I often dwell on things of the past that don’t need to be revisited. I try to forget things and move on but my mind will say, “Hey, remember that stressful thing that happened seven years ago? You should think about that for no apparent reason and dwell on it for the rest of the day and let it keep you up tonight.” This is practically a daily occurrence.

I will live with this problem for the rest of my life. Sure, I could start taking medication and therapy again but I’m not sure if I would want to. Because I don’t know who I am without anxiety and depression, if I tried to fix these things, I would not be the same. I would not be me. And that scares me.

#annemariewrites #my writing #who am I #mental illness #anxiety disorder #personal #I wrote this about three years ago in my sophomore year of college

[rheawindsor]

⌜   DEMIGIRL, SHE / HER / THEY / THEM   |   home by x ambassadors & machine gun kelly & bebe rexha, ravenclaw, intp   ⌟    ⏤   meet RHEA LYNN WINDSOR ; a TWENTY year old who kind of resembles CHLOE BENNET, don’t you think? they originally hailed from LONDON where they lived with their parent, PRINCE JOHN (   ROBIN HOOD   ), but word is that they’ve been continuing their pursuit of their veterinary surgery degree at WDA for the past year. they’ve always been pretty ENTHUSIASTIC & ALTRUISTIC, but have gotten way more HEADSTRONG & LOQUACIOUS since they woke up. maybe their power of SOUND MANIPULATION can help in taking down the dome. you can check out her stat page HERE & her pinterest board HERE.

q.   does your body ever ache with all the PEOPLE you will never be?                           a.   always, always.

part one of two : the backstory.    (   trigger warnings for death during childbirth, abuse / mental & physical, death... in general.   )  

born imelda innes on the 28th of august, 1998, in a liverpudlian maternity ward. her birth mother, esme, had always planned on placing her into the system ; and at just a few months old, prince john and his wife, duchess elizabeth, chose her for their family.

she was the third of three, at that point in time, with two older siblings - jackson, and meghan.

john = a terrible father. elizabeth = a wonderful mother. neither had thought it possible for them to have biological children after being told as much by the castle doctors, so adoption had seemed the natural route to secure an heir. rhea was two when this changed, and her mother fell pregnant.

complications led to the worst. baby stephanie, the fourth and youngest, was happy and healthy ; but as she had entered the world, elizabeth had exited. their young lives were forever shaped by this event.

john resented them all, and by god, did they know it. jackson, by grace of being the eldest and HEIR APPARENT, only had it mildly better than the rest. and rhea suffered. 

for much of her young years, it stopped at words. john had a way with them. rhea was nothing but a nuisance ; a reminder of the goodness of his late wife’s heart. he reminded her, almost daily. she would have been nothing without him, just a poor little orphan girl, forgotten to the system - and he could take it all away, if he wanted. 

whoever said that words would never harm them was wrong. rhea’s whole being was formed upon them, and who could wonder why she ended up the way she did - when your worth is called into question every single day, it would have been amazing if she had come out the other side fine.

she had only some reprieve. her siblings were everything to her - her only peers, her only friends. she looked up to jackson and meghan, and she cared for stephanie ; sharing a room with the youngest from the time she was born until such a time as john decided that it wasn’t suitable, anymore. and then there was her uncle ; her darling, dearest uncle. king richard had only grown more humble in his old age, and KIND - and rhea took a particular shine to the man who was more a father to her than john ever was. when john lost his head and ordered rhea away, it was richard who overturned it. when he took her favorite things as misguided punishment, it was richard who replaced or found them. 

and then she got older. and things complicated, when john began raising his hand to her. there was just one thing that richard couldn’t step in and save her from - and john soon learned what that was. 

each of the windsors being sent to walt disney academy was a richard idea, and it was one proposed many a time that john would promptly shut down. he liked to be in control of their lives, you see, and had no guarantee of the same if they were gone. it took years to break him down - and one very solemn reminder that richard outranked him at every turn, so long as he lived beneath his roof - for john to relent.

wda was the first taste of freedom that rhea had ever had. catholic all girls schools had made way for homeschooling after a certain point, so she had to adjust to the way things worked in america before all else. but she took to it - more than she had anything, and it helped that she was out from beneath her fathers thumb.

with her freedom, she set her sights on her dream - becoming a veterinary surgeon. and she adopted pets. too many of them, really - but each one of them dear to her heart. she’d tried to have them before, only for john to do what he did ; taking them away.

things were going WELL. of course, she almost died in the earthquake - but she took it, much as she could, within her stride. things only took a true turn for the worst when rhea’s uncle died. it happened while jack was visiting home ; and not one of the windsor siblings believes it was natural causes. the kings death placed his brother on the throne, and john wasted little time in exerting his power over his family - the only ways he knew how.

part two of two : what u missed on glee.

a whole lot more happened but frankly . i don’t care. ANYWAY ! 

after what happened with calder - them being together, him leaving - rhea went through an obligatory sad girl patch. he was the first, and honestly, only person to make her feel like she was worth something, or pretty. she really liked him, and it hurt a great deal when he left. but she powered through. it was the first real heartbreak of her life, and it’ll always be the one that hurts the most, really - but at least she wasn’t dead, right? small victories.

fueled by everything that was happening at home, and now, what had happened at school, rhea began the long search for her birth family - convinced that with them she would find something she had been missing for her entire life. a dna kit led her to the realization that a chunk of her own dna isn’t even human ; leading her down another rabbithole that paused, momentarily, as the rest of her life took precedence. 

almost immediately after, however, rhea caused a scene at a dinner that john was throwing for her siblings and the families of each of their betrothed. it had been boiling up for a long time - ever since she had found out about cain’s existence, really, but mostly since they’d hung out some on their supervised walks in the gardens and whatnot and he’d started to annoy her. one thing led to another during the course of the evening, and after one wrong word from john, she had snapped. she said some things she didn’t mean - and mostly things she DID, and the next day, word came back to john that cian’s family were unhappy with the betrothal and were calling it off. he was furious, but rhea was already on her way back to school ; she hasn’t seen him NOR her ex-betrothed since.

she made out with felicia schreck at a party, which in turn led to her becoming comfortable in labelling herself as pansexual - something she’d never entirely been sure on, and hadn’t been given the space to think about. this self discovery has led to a lot more, and rhea is really becoming... a lot more comfortable within her own skin, as late. miles to go and all that, but progress isn’t measured the same as anything else.

dated kaven murdock for a while, and what a MISTAKE that was. she kind of... fell into that relationship, really, on the tailend of all her troubles. in a lot of ways we could say that the stoic hero type reminded her of a certain someone - not the best way to begin a relationship, for sure. they worked together at the shelter, and both of them wanted it to work. the trouble was, kaven has, perhaps always will, be more focused on saving the world than he is his partner at home ; and after dozens of arguments related to him forgetting their dates and her not being able to understand why ( they never reached the ‘i love you’ stage - probably good for both of them - and he never told her about being a vigilante ) they broke up. it wasn’t meant to be, but it certainly helped her on her journey of discovering self love.

she had been distracted by most everything ; a rebound relationship, etc - and she had let herself think of other things than her search, but since she called it quits, she’s been back on that road. she wants to know who she is - and what, but that’s neither here nor there - and we’re picking up at a point where that is really something that takes up ... a lot of her free time and thoughts. 

#wda: intro #rhea l. windsor #this bitch

[hoe-imaginess]

Part 2

Hashirama is well aware that he should settle as a bystander in these sort of situations, but it’s bothering him. 

He first notices his brother’s mood while they’re sorting through paperwork. Tobirama is quiet. Too quiet. He’s not a talkative man by nature, but Hashirama would have expected him to at least take up discussion of their daily duties, or ask for updates on recent negotiations, maybe even lecture him about something—he expected something. It’s almost shameful how badly Hashirama wanted to be assured that all was well. But no, his brother remains silent. 

It continues for days, until Hashirama can no longer bottle his concerns. “What’s wrong with you, Tobirama?” he asks one afternoon. 

“Nothing.” He leaves it at that.

Hashirama pouts. “There must be something.”

“There is nothing, brother. Finish reading those documents.”

“Are you sure? These past few days you’ve been—”

“Enough. We don’t have time for this.”

And there’s the familiar bite in his voice, sharp as a blade. That familiarity would comfort Hashirama, in a base, uncanny sort of way that only he as Tobirama’s brother would understand, but it still doesn’t satisfy his anxiety.

There’s something different about the frustration radiating off of his brother. He can’t remember the last time Tobirama looked so restless. It worries him. Hashirama knows his brother assumes responsibility as he sees fit, but there’s only so much one man can handle. He needs Tobirama to slow down. 

“I really have no problem relieving you of some of your responsibilities, Tobirama. Just let me finalize mediations with a clan or two, lend me some of the work. I can take care of it. You can’t keep up with everything.”

“And neither can you. Which is the reason I have so much to deal with.”

Hashirama frowns, feeling a flash of guilt, but it’s quickly replaced by attentive curiosity. “So it is the negotiations?”

Tobirama huffs but doesn’t respond. If he can’t deter Hashirama with force, he can just hope his interest will eventually die off. But Hashirama comes to stand right at his side, and the younger Senju puts down the paper he’s reading to scowl up at him. “Brother—”

“If it is all this village work, then it wouldn’t hurt to simmer down. If only a little.”

“Yes. It would. We’re hanging by a thread as is.”

“You make it sound so serious!”

Tobirama is about to snap again and explain that it is serious, but he doesn’t want to waste another breath. Which is odd, since he never passes up the opportunity to reprimand Hashirama’s naivety. But he doesn’t have the energy.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama speaks when the silence is unsettling. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll be forced to temporarily deprive you of negotiation duties, as clan leader, and as your brother.”

Tobirama gives him a cold glare, one that would stop any other man in his tracks, but Hashirama is not deterred.

“Tell me,” he repeats.

Tobirama is furious. He doesn’t like how Hashirama is suddenly so intrusive, and jeopardizing village momentum with his trivialities in the process. Even if the delay is instigated by brotherly sentiment, Tobirama can’t forgive it so easily.

He shrugs off the swelling anger by returning his attention to paperwork. “We’re scrambling to get the village in order. It’s exhausting. That’s it.”

Well that’s a start, Hashirama thinks, even if he’s still convinced there’s much more hounding his brother’s disposition.

“We’re doing well, Tobirama. It’s just a few clans that haven’t found their place yet.” But now that Hashirama considers it, as he inspects his younger brother and the tension written all over his face, something clicks. “Unless that’s what you’re concerned about. Maybe one clan in particular…”

“What are you getting at?” Tobirama snaps, not caring for whatever meandering Hashirama is attempting.

"Hopefully when she comes to discuss the new treaty with me today, she will find it agreeable. I’m sure she will appreciate the changes you’ve made.”

And as if he hadn’t expected Hashirama to catch on so quickly, Tobirama scowls. “Brother—”

“If you want, you can speak to her too—”

“No.”

He wants to. He definitely does. But he shouldn’t. He doesn’t trust himself to be civil. He’ll stay out of it this time, even at the cost of damaging his strong pride. 

“She wants to speak with you,” he says. “Not me.”

“Well, she didn’t specifically say that,” Hashirama suggests. “Maybe you should be the one to review—”

“No.”

That’s much sharper. Hashirama is skeptical. “That’s not like you to settle with being excluded, Tobirama.”

“If it’s going to appease her and make this easier, then I’ll deal with it.”

And Hashirama is suddenly smiling, breaking past suspicion and welcoming intrigue. “Is this what’s been upsetting you, Tobirama? That _______-san is getting the better of you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he counters, somehow not so confident in his anger. “I’m still infuriated by the way she’s been treating us. She’s been nothing but difficult and disrespectful.”

The elder Senju laughs. “Tobirama, if anything, you’re the one who’s been—” 

Madara announces himself outside of the room, and walks in.

Tobirama stiffens, and prays that Hashirama doesn’t open his mouth again. He can’t mention anything about her with the Uchiha around. The dilemma shouldn’t even be warranting his brother’s suspicions, but Tobirama will not have Madara involved. He doesn’t miss the delayed glances that the Uchiha sends her across the room whenever they’re together. He’s not blind. Which makes the confidentiality of his problem all the more imperative. To have Madara involved in his business would be opening the flood gates of disaster.

"Madara!” It’s as if Hashirama is completely absolved of the tension so heavy just a moment ago. “Did you speak to the Akimichi?”

“Yes.” He closes the door on his way in and notes immediately that Tobirama is on edge, more so than usual. But he chooses to ignore it. “Did you speak to ______?”

“Ah, no… She’s meant to come later and speak to me about the final draft of the treaty, along with her clan heads, I think. Apparently, they would like a face-to-face meeting this time.”

Tobirama boils over with renewed frustration, regretting his volitional exclusion. The reality of a final draft being rendered weighs heavily on his mind. Apparently, her clan came to a final decision about the treaty he had presented to them, and Tobirama anticipates that they’ll finally find a compromise. If not, her clan heads wouldn’t have agreed to something so personal as a face-to-face conference. Not when they could have sent her to convey their disagreement, again.

“When she does come, give her these.” Madara passes over a bundle of scrolls. "She forgot them the other night.”

The other night, Tobirama thinks. But he immediately puts the unpleasant thought out of his mind, wondering why it came at all.

"Of course.” Hashirama takes them and smiles warmly. “It’s nice of you to assist her with all the work she has, Madara.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” He takes a seat on the opposite end of the table from Tobirama. “I just offer my company.”

Hashirama pouts. “But when I ask for company, you both chastise me.”

Madara rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment, just fingers through a stack of paperwork Hashirama has miraculously finished.

Tobirama would berate his brother for even complaining, but he’s suddenly distressed. He doesn’t like the situation. He doesn’t want to be there, regardless of how much it will damage his pride to leave. The last thing he wants is to give Madara the impression that his company is what drives him away, true as it may be.

Nevertheless, he gathers his papers and stands. "Look over what I gave you and bring them to me when you’re finished, brother.”

Hashirama perks up. “Oh, you’re leaving? Where are you going?”

“To the academy. I need to inspect the newly built classrooms.”

Hashirama is about to protest, but he can see the determination written on his brother’s face. Madara too sees the underlying cause of his departure. He would have to be a fool not to.

Tobirama is hardly scathed by any unrest created from his negotiations, from his own mistakes. Madara knows very well how little regret Tobirama carries when others suffer from his actions. But he’s obviously troubled this time. Troubled by the tension he’s caused with her clan. Madara keeps that in mind.

                                                 ~~~~~~~ 

Tobirama fends off turbulent thoughts by training his team. It’s a nuisance at times, usually when they’re behaving like brats or attempting to persuade him into leniency, knowing full well he has no intentions of letting them off that easily. But it’s a sufficient distraction away from the tension revolving around village matters. At least, that’s what he had hoped for.

He’s halfway through a lesson on shuriken when he senses her chakra. She’s only beyond the tree line of the field where they train, about to come into view. But he won’t turn over his shoulder to look.

He tells his team to go run laps before the inevitability of their intrusiveness becomes a problem. They complain, but he doesn’t tell them again. He’s too focused on her coming closer and closer.

He’s spent a fair amount of time memorizing chakra in his lifetime, but hers is particular. He doesn’t know if it’s good or bad, pleasant or displeasing, but it undoubtedly does something to put him on edge. He can’t focus whenever he feels it.

When he finally turns and prepares to meet the critical, cold stare he’s come to expect, it’s not there. If anything, she seems rather hesitant and misguided herself.

“Tobirama,” she says, stopping a considerable distance away from him.

He considers not replying, but his brother’s spiel over courtesy and manners is playing in loops in his head, along with a throbbing unease that he hates.

“______,” he replies.

She looks away from him then and inhales deeply, forcefully. Without even trying to read her agitated chakra, he can already tell she’s conflicted about her approach. “I just wanted to come speak to you about the treaty.”

He curses to himself. It wasn’t what he needed at the moment.  

“I suspect that your brother will tell you later, but we did accept your terms.”

Oh. So he had been right, after all. Still, it’s a surprise that she reports it so congenially. He knows for a fact that there were stipulations in the final agreement that didn’t exactly comply to what her clan wanted, stipulations he had sanctioned. Tobirama assumed she would be marginally irritated. But this? An almost amiable encounter? He would be suspicious if he wasn’t so relieved.

“I see,” he says. 

“It took some consideration, and… bickering among some of the elites in my clan, but the treaty is finally enacted and we plan to make arrangements to fit your terms.”

Hashirama probably had a great deal to do with that, Tobirama thinks. He hates to admit it, but congenial negotiating did have its advantages. His brother was right about that. But Hashirama is also more than capable of adding the right amount of authority when necessary, so it’s not entirely surprising that his elder brother was able to pull it off. Tobirama is at least relieved for that. He’ll have to thank him later.

“Also… I wanted to express my gratitude.”

That shakes him from his train of thought. He blinks in confusion. “For?”

“Your brother told me what you did. Speaking to the Shimura and Sarutobi, asking that they accommodate space for our clan momentarily until we’re settled. That must have been... taxing. I hear neither of their clan heads are very compliant. Yet you convinced them, somehow. So, thank you.”

Nevermind. He’s going to have a few words with his brother when he sees him. 

That fact was meant to be completely off the record, not just to save other clans from hearing of it, but to save him from this embarrassment. It was one thing to actually go out of his way and haggle for her clan’s benefit, but for her to know that he had done it…

But maybe the genuine, rare semblance of a smile she’s giving him is worth it.

Regardless, he evades the sentimental thought as much as possible. “Are you satisfied?”

She notices his hesitance, and decides the question isn’t spiteful, so she nods. “The clan heads are satisfied. Not completely, though, given that it is a temporary reprise. But I would say satisfied, nonetheless.”

"Are you satisfied?”

He doesn’t realize how sharp it sounds until he says it. It’s meant as a serious question. He truly wants to know, in case he needs to prepare for any more discourse. So maybe it had been spoken in aggression. Yet it’s quite clear she doesn’t detect that.

Now her smile twists into a smirk, and the heat of frustration flares through him. "I would have been happier if it never happened in the first place.” 

He just glares.

“But I understand the circumstances that the village is facing now,” she amends. “We’ll work with what we have.”

He’s having trouble concentrating. He’s half convinced it’s just her chakra irritating him, but that’s not it. Chakra rarely does that to him. It’s not strong like Hashirama’s, not forceful. Not threatening and bitter like Madara’s. Her chakra is serene. Comfortable, even. 

The following silence is difficult, though something about it is mildly pleasant. But she doesn’t let it last.

“Are those your students?” she asks, eyes focused somewhere beyond him.

He glances over his shoulder to see the three of them, barely running, staring back at him, blatantly abandoning their task in an attempt to eavesdrop from a distance. How nosy.

He grunts. “Yes.”

“I had heard you were taking up students. And none were Senju. All from different clans. A very diverse group. I was impressed.”

He doesn’t even have to ask to know the connotation behind those mocking words. But they’re spoken without malice, so he supposes there’s no need to defend himself.

"I would like to meet them,” she says.

“No, you wouldn’t.”

She frowns a little, but it hardly does anything to ruin her unusually content mood. “Refusing my requests, as usual.”

She’s teasing him again. Not something most people would dare attempt. A strange feeling of ease runs through him, which he immediately casts out. “They don’t deserve any breaks from their training today. They’re too unruly for their own good.”

“As most kids are at that age. They should be enjoying themselves, not worrying about war. Like we were. It’s refreshing, if you ask me.”

That’s true, and part of the reason he was so determined to form his team in the first place. They’re in his peripheral now, still jogging more than running. He has half the mind to yell at them, but she cuts his concentration.

“But I’ll leave you to it,” she says. “They look like they could use some work.”

He actually smirks to that, and for once, doesn’t feel bothered to wipe it off of his face. The atmosphere is comforting, even though odd and rather unconventional.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she reiterates. Then the smirk is replaced by a thin line of his lips. The dreaded cordiality returns. “I know this has been difficult.”

He eyes her curiously. Genuine sincerity? Or sarcasm? He can’t tell. And he normally can.

“Whatever benefits the village,” he says, and leaves it at that.

It looks like she was expecting more. The momentary silence proves that much. Nevertheless, she nods, and without another word, turns the way she came.

As she’s departing, Tobirama hears the scurry of hasty footsteps coming his way.

“Who was that?” Koharu pries almost immediately.

“I didn’t know you had friends that were girls,” Hiruzen thinks out loud, and Koharu gives him pointed look.

Tobirama doesn’t look at them, though he’s entertained by their enthusiasm. The smirk returns once again.

“I didn’t tell you to stop running,” he says, as he watches her figure finally fade into the woods and back toward the village.

And the trio are back at it a moment later.

                                                   ~~~~~~~~ 

She addresses herself outside of the door, and isn’t surprised by Hashirama’s delighted reply of permission. 

He’s smiling when she enters his office. “_____-san!” It’s almost humorous how fast he pushes away his paperwork and gives her his full attention. “How can I help you?”

“Hashirama-dono, I came to ask if you would sign this.” She slides the scroll over to him and he takes it in his hands. It’s meant to finalize the last of their treaty, a simple scribal notice, just for the record. It seems redundant, and she feels bothersome having to come so often and seek out Senju affirmation. But for the first time, she arrives without anxieties. She had actually been happy to come retrieve his signature. 

“Ah, I see.” He reaches for a brush and dips it into ink, then offers her a light smile. “And please, I told you to do away with the formalities. There’s no need.”

She’s close to protesting, considering that he refuses to revoke her own honorifics, but she’s comforted by the cordiality. She thinks she might even be blushing.

“Also, I’m sure I’ve expressed this numerous times…” Probably too many times, Hashirama thinks. “But I’m grateful that this worked out. You really don’t know how these misunderstandings have troubled me. I’m sorry that it took so long—”

“Don’t worry about that,” she says, understanding that he’s dancing around the mention of his brother. “If anything, I’m the one who needs to apologize. Tobirama and I sorted out our differences, I think. Though I admit, he seemed flustered when I mentioned his deal with the Sarutobi and Shimura.”

Hashirama laughs nervously. “Now that I think about it, I was supposed to keep that a secret. Tobirama wasn’t very happy that I opened my mouth.”

She chuckles, and settles for a small smile when he returns the scroll to her.

“Well, regardless, I am happy that it worked out,” he says. “Thank you for your cooperation and patience.”

Out of instinct, she wonders if that’s sarcasm. But she forgets Hashirama isn’t his brother. “No, thank you,” she says as she bows. And she plans to promptly depart, not wanting to delay her other duties, or Hashirama’s, even if it doesn’t seem to be a particularly pressing matter for him.

“Oh, by the way,” he says just as she turns to walk out, “have you seen Madara today?”

That unsettles her in a way she didn’t expect. She hadn’t spoken to Madara since their little altercation the other night in the library. She had done a marvelous job of putting it out of her mind thus far. It was only due to the ambiguity of their relationship now that she found herself in this position, subtly avoiding him until she could organize her thoughts.

“No, I haven’t,” she says.

“Ah, I see… No worries, then.”

Hashirama is an awful lair. She can tell there’s something meaningful pinning his normally complacent demeanor. She probably shouldn’t pry, but she can’t help it. And Hashirama isn’t tenacious or insulting enough to leave her in the dark, hopefully.

“Is there something wrong?” she asks.

He scratches his head and frowns. “He didn’t come by this morning to talk about the Akimichi negotiations like he was supposed to. The last I spoke to him was… well, after the meeting with your clan heads, actually. One of his attendants came to report that he was busy, but it’s unlike him to not inform me beforehand. I was only wondering.”

“No, I haven’t seen him. But I plan to later.” Given this new predicament, it’s as good a time as ever to break her anxiety and go see him. Besides, that day was one of their routine library days. But is it even worth going if Madara claims to be busy? Surely, he would have sent an attendant, or at least a message, to her as well? “I’ll let you know.”

“I appreciate it,” he says. But when she turns again to leave, he chuckles sheepishly. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a while?” He sounds so hopeful, so silly. “At least until Tobirama comes and tells me to get back to work.”

She would almost feel bad, if she hadn’t just imagined Tobirama storming in and laying into his brother. It somehow makes her want to laugh.

“I would, but I have to go. Excuse me.” She bows and he pouts, but the smile finds its way back to his face with ease. Although, it’s still marred by that anxiety she heard in his voice when he spoke of Madara. And as she walks out, she feels it too.

                                                       ~~~~~~~~ 

She tries hard to put down apprehension and replace it with determination, but she fears that Madara’s disposition is her fault. Maybe their conversation—argument—tried his patience more than he could handle. In which case, aside from her fears being confirmed, she had a bone to pick with him. She hadn’t instigated the aggression, that had been his doing. If anything, she has more probable cause to hold onto the offense. He was in the wrong as well.

Madara is already there when she arrives at the library, signing and reviewing documents. She hadn’t expected that. It’s obvious his demeanor is dampened, however. There’s a dispirited gloom clinging to him, making the silence even more unsettling.

Every stroke of his brush is punctuated by a small delay. She can see that he’s thinking, staring down at the paper for far too long until it’s annoyingly noticeable. Then, as though remembering reality, he resolves and continues his work. This cycle repeats until he stills completely, a tense brooding overtaking his features. It’s extensive even for a grim man like himself.

It has to be her fault. She thinks back to her earlier dedication to question his behavior, and not in a civil manner, either. But seeing him like this now, it’s impossible. She feels odd. She feels guilty.

“Madara?” she asks finally, unable to shake the apprehension of silence.

That firm voice momentarily pulls him from whatever dark thoughts occupied his mind, and he looks at her.

“Are you alright?”

An innocent, delicate question—so unlike what he’s used to. He hears that, and acknowledges how his demeanor must be affecting her.

“I’m fine.” He smooths more ink onto the scroll, with a rushed pace to compensate for his previous delays. But the strokes aren’t fluid, and he’s obviously still entranced with something beyond her knowledge.

“No,” she refutes. “You’re not.”

He looks at her, but says nothing. He could of course lie, convince her nothing was wrong and tell her to stop inquiring if she remained so persistent. Though he knows if she ever treated him with the same evasion, if she kept anything from him, he would be infuriated. 

He’s not particularly merciful, or sympathetic. But for her, he has to be.

Still, he looks away as the words pass his mouth. It doesn’t make the pain any less harrowing, or the reality any less crushing, but he’ll endure it. 

“Today was my brother’s birthday.”

It takes a moment to understand, but when she does, her heart hurts.

She was but a moment away from opening her mouth and addressing their dilemma the other night, the source which she assumed was causing his behavior. But this is worse. So much worse. 

Before she fully accepts her own resolve, her hand reaches out and folds over his, inviting, but cautious.

It’s out of sensitive and compassionate instinct, nothing more. But that sentiment changes drastically when he intertwines his fingers with hers.

It startles her, almost instantly rouses something precarious inside of her, but she remains silent. He seems lost in his own world again, staring at their joined hands, brows pulled together deep in thought. His thumb runs softly against her skin just once, making warmth run through her.

She definitely wants to say something, maybe just his name. Something to restore the innocent comfort she had initially suggested with the gesture. But it’s all gone a moment later.

He tears his eyes away and comes back to reality, slipping away from her and standing. “I have more work to do with the Uchiha. I promised some of my advisors I would be there in person to discuss certain matters.”

The sudden withdrawal flusters her, but she allows it, because he probably needs it. “I understand.”

He notes the despondency in her voice, the confusion etched into her expression as she tries to acclimate to what just occurred. Guilt rises in him, but he ignores it, gathers his scrolls, and walks out.

                                                       ~~~~~~~~

The next day, all she thinks about is Izuna. 

She fleetingly remembers him from warring times. She can’t even conjure a face to put with the name, but he’s somehow familiar to her through Madara.

War was war. They all killed. Uchiha killed Senju. Senju killed Uchiha. It was natural. But it still must be painful for Madara, day by day sitting across from the man who murdered his younger brother. It must be agony.

In the evening as she’s returning to her clan’s neighborhood, she finds Tobirama walking out of their conference hall. He looks surprised, as though he hadn’t expected to see her there.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asks, not adversarial, but not as welcoming as she could be.

He notices, but chooses not to address it. “They said you weren’t here, so I had to speak to someone else. I came last night, too, but you were again absent.”

“I was with Madara.” As soon as she says it, she feels like she’s made a mistake. But she pretends to ignore it. “What’s going on?”

“One of your attendants will explain.”

He walks past her, ignoring her completely, but she doesn’t let him get away with that.

“What? Am I suddenly undeserving of your time?”

He’s irritated by the comment, and visibly annoyed, but he relents for the time being. “We’re gathering clan heads to discuss the academy.”

“What for?”

“It’s built, but stocking it and establishing a scholastic system is a whole other ordeal. We need instructors and supplies, among other things.”

“Oh. I see.”

He says nothing, and she stares uncomfortably. She can’t stop thinking about Izuna, and the warmth of Madara’s hand on hers.

Tobirama notices there’s something amiss, but can’t put his finger on it. "We’re trying for tomorrow,” he says as he turns to leave. “You’re an advisor. But my brother thinks you deserve to be there as much as any clan head, if you wish.”

Only your brother? she wonders. Or do you agree as well? She wants to tease him and ask, but she can’t find the good will to do so. Not then. The ease between them not so long ago seems compromised once again. 

She just nods. But as he’s walking away, she speaks her thoughts out loud, cursing herself as soon as she does.

“Will Madara be there?”

Tobirama tries to ignore the confusing, irritating thoughts suddenly put into his mind. “I suspect he will be.”

He glances over his shoulder and watches her closely for only a moment, watches her face twist into something he can’t decipher, then leaves.

                                                  ~~~~~~~~~

As she regards the clan heads at the table quarreling with one another, she comes to truly sympathize with the effort it takes to determine compromise between so many people.

It was no more than an unhinged mess of unproductive arguing. Hashirama leaves no stone unturned in an effort to meet an agreeable consensus, but there’s never a pause without one clan head stirring a controversial point that riles all the others all over again. 

Madara sits quietly for the most part. She watches the Uchiha closely, seeking any remnants of the despair she had seen before, but he’s too difficult to read. His brows knit every time there’s a disagreement at the table. Or maybe it’s because Tobirama is the one who leads the general discussion, and is usually on the receiving end of dissent. Madara probably enjoys that, she thinks.

Her clan heads are engaged in the discord as well. They’re normally quiet, and hesitant to contribute. Hence why she’s always left to negotiate. But now they’re arguing with the Shimura—likely solicited, given they only recently had to concede part of their borders for her clan’s sake—and doing a less than commendable job of defending themselves.

She cuts in a moment later, only to explain what her clan heads can’t, for lack of deliberation. They’re still one of the smaller clans in the village, if not the smallest. It’s only rational that the Shimura would insist her clan contribute the standard amount of supplies for the academy that all clans are being asked to, regardless of their size. But they just can’t afford it. Not right now. 

Then one of the Shimura is snapping at her. “We’re still recovering from the warring period. Not that you would understand that. But we’ll still scrape together what we can to provide, as is only right. There should be no excuses from your end.”

"You think I don’t understand?” she returns swiftly, albeit lacking the confidence she would have liked. She hadn’t expected to be directly slighted. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

“Of course you don’t.” He says it so flippantly, like it’s natural, expected.

Frustration runs through her, but Madara opens his mouth before she can.

“Why do you say that?”

The Shimura is instantly wary. The lines of his elderly, hard face tighten under Madara’s gaze. “I only meant to say that it’s imprudent that anyone but a leader speak for their clan.”

"Tobirama isn’t the leader of the Senju,” Madara returns. “He is an advisor. But he facilitated this, and you came to listen.” Everything about him demands authority. The way he sits, the way he crosses his arms. She’s so distracted that she doesn’t even look for Tobirama to gauge his reaction.

The Shimura is disturbed, on the verge of an anxious sweat that he tries hard to withhold. “That isn’t the same—”

“Because she’s a woman,” Madara finishes for him.

She’s startled. That isn’t like Madara. And he doesn’t even understand the impulse himself. 

There are men at that very table who retain traditional perspectives when it comes to a kunoichi’s place in war, Madara knows that. His father had been one of those men. And he suspects that the same mindset has been ingrained in him over the years. For that reason, he knows that if she were any other woman, he would likely treat her with the same cynicism. But he can’t. It’s her. It’s different. He can’t explain why, but it is.

The Shimura retracts his statement. Madara has half the mind to make him apologize directly, but he fights to calm the combative passion within him. The Uchiha can’t even look at her for the remainder of the discussion.

And she’s anxious. Proud, shocked, slightly humiliated to have left her defense to someone else—though she supposes that’s hardly a reason to complain when it’s the leader of the Uchiha—but anxious, nonetheless.

Tobirama watches both of them, carefully and slightly distraught. The tie between them is something he can’t place, and something he’s always refused to acknowledge. But now it’s clear as day. 

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

She goes to Madara once it’s over, unable to tolerate the fact that he won’t even look at her.

It’s only after the other attendees have dispersed that she chooses to approach him. Maybe it’s to preserve whatever sense of private relations they once had, which is not likely to persist now with the way he spoke for her. 

“Madara,” she calls to him outside of the building. He turns and examines her under a dark mane of hair. “Are you alright?”

That’s stupid of her to ask, she knows. But she truly wants to know. His brief moment of vulnerability that day in the library shook her. Their relationship doesn’t feel the same, like the ability to relax around him is sundered.

“I’m fine,” he says. And truthfully, he is. Besides still pondering the way he came to her defense, of course. He can’t wrap his head around the sentiment behind his interjection. It was almost shameful, and uncharacteristic. But looking at her now, a refreshing sight after feeling like he hadn’t seen her in days, it seems like no question why he did what he did.

“And you?” he asks. “You seem out of sorts.”

She almost wants to laugh. The smooth normality of his voice is a relief, but she’s still lacking the ease that was once between them. There’s still so much left unsaid. From the time they argued, to his grief over Izuna. But she supposes it can be overlooked, for now.

"It’s been a long day,” is all she says.

He hums in agreement, and they walk in tandem without much thought.

He had meant to return to his home for the day, but he’s comfortable. He hardly walks through the village these days unless Hashirama drags him out. But with her at his side, it’s different. He can enjoy it in full.

They tour the streets, and Madara explains Hashirama’s current initiatives for the village. New buildings. New housing. New shops. Frivolous work, mostly. Especially when he’s supposed to be focusing on the academy, which is why Hashirama has chosen to keep his side-projects a secret from his brother, Madara says. The pair both find an odd humor in that. 

It’s surreal being with him like this, she thinks. Someone once so feared, still feared, by many, strolling at her side and giving her warm looks rarely offered to anyone else. It’s even more odd that they’ve seemingly washed away any tension that was so stifling just days before. She’s relieved for it, but somewhat uncertain.

They’re at the outskirts of the village now, at a path that leads to the surrounding lush, green woods. They chose an ideal region to build the village, she always thought. Most clans had battled through the shifty terrain of dense forests for decades now, yet finding herself landlocked around such a setting did not discomfort her or solicit turbulent memories of war. It was her home now. It was a place she would come to love, she knows.

The fresh wind that runs through the trees is only masked by the bakery settled near the edge of the village, sweet spices and warm dough making her smile. The rich smell of pastries leaves her nose the farther they venture from the village, and she’s about to suggest that they turn back, but something is nagging at her, a nuisance that her mind won’t let die. It’s a thought that needs to be voiced, even at the cost of shattering their serenity.

He’s paying no attention to her curbed demeanor, however. He’s glancing around inspecting the forest and the sky, grey clouds creeping over the faint sun to forebode rain.

“You stood up for me,” she says, breaking his lofty reflections.

He remains silent. She doesn’t know whether to take that as acknowledgement, or skepticism, so she continues.

“Thank you. But you didn’t have to, Madara.“

Finally, he glances at her, examines her like he’s searching for something.

"Do you really think that the Shimura would have taken you seriously had you defended yourself? Besides, if I hadn’t, I suspect Hashirama would have. And he would have meandered around the point, trying to be civil. You have to be concise with those type of men.”

Men like me, Madara thinks. Cold, stubborn, and as he had come to accept, traditional. She is a woman. And her presence among the elites in the village was, admittedly, peculiar at times.

What makes him any different from the Shimura man that snapped at her, besides the decency to keep his thoughts to himself? Was it any less insulting if he inwardly harbored the same bias? It confused him. Frustrated him, even. 

“You needed someone to defend you,” he speaks without thinking.

They had trekked past the brink of the village, even past the dense line of trees. Now, they stand in a large meadow that Madara has never seen before. He’s too busy examining the area to realize that she’s no longer at his side.

He looks back at her. She had paused a few paces behind him, an affronted frown on her face.

“Meaning what? That I couldn’t have defended myself?”

He should feel guilty about the comment. That low tone of hers surprises him, but he enjoys the threatening look in her eyes. It’s amusing. So he really should feel guiltier about wanting to keep agitating her.

“That is not what I meant,” he says. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

He walks around to admire the rich greenery surrounding them, and she trails after him, putting significant distance between them in some internalized sanction that he doesn’t seem to notice, or mind.

"It’s as I said,” he continues. “He wouldn’t have taken you seriously.”

It’s obvious by his relaxed tone that he’s purposely provoking her now, she knows that, but the sting of insult is all the same.

“Why?” she asks. “Because I’m a woman?” 

She’s mocking him, he can tell. He shrugs. “He doesn’t seem to think women should partake in diplomatic matters.” He picks a flower from the nearest patch, pretends to admire it. “Likely doesn’t think women had any place in war, either.”

She comes to stop at his side. “And what do you think?” she asks, fighting a smirk, but glowering up at him all the same. “Should I be partaking in diplomatic matters? Did I have a right to fight in war?”

“A right, certainly. But the important question is whether or not you were even useful to the cause.” He’s still not looking at her. He hopes she can’t hear the goading humor in his voice. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have the chance to see firsthand. I was too busy fighting the men of your clan.”

She scowls, though it’s harmless, just as he expected. He doesn’t even bother hiding his playful smile anymore.

“Is that really what you think?” she asks.

“What if it is?”

When he looks back she’s only a step away from him, her lips a thin line, betrayed by the smirk she tries so hard to suppress. He almost doesn’t spot the kunai until he sees the shimmer of something metallic up her sleeve. He scoffs.

“What, did I upset you that much?”

She doesn’t say anything. Just keeps looking at him with puckish but stern eyes. 

It makes him want to laugh. “Where do you even keep a kunai hidden in that dress?”

“I’m always prepared.” Yet the way his eyes wander over her body makes her skin prickle, maybe even enough to regret what she had started.

"Apparently so,” he murmurs.

Her eyes sharpen with caution. “No sharingan.”

“I wouldn’t waste that on you, no need to worry.” 

She scoffs, letting the humor run freely now. Still, he can practically feel her growing apprehension. 

“I’m not fighting you,” he tells her flatly, moving his attention from her back to the bushes and flowers. 

“And why not?”

“There’s no point.”

“So you do think less of me because of what I am. And here I thought you were so chivalrous, defending me back there.”

He almost rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to fight you because I don’t want to fight you. I don’t have to. I have nothing to prove. However, if it’s going to repair your damaged pride—”

He hears the whisk of the kunai’s blade slice through the air as she thrusts and aims for him. He sees it before it hits its mark. He almost wants to laugh at how ridiculously slow the movement appears, even without sharingan.

To her, the next second is a whirlwind of motion. He’s kneeling over her, she’s flat on the ground, trapped beneath him, wrists pinned underneath his strong grip. He dangles her stolen kunai above her head, the tip pointing right down between her eyes. She struggles for less than a second and then stills, passive and vigilant, accepting her defeat.

Nerves of steel. He likes it, likes the way she looks like this. Underneath him, at his mercy, so contradicted by the fire in her eyes.

He doesn’t even realize he’s activated his sharingan until the pulse in her wrists quickens beneath his fingers, and she snaps her eyes closed.

Maybe he did it just to capture the triumphant memory. Or maybe it had been a completely subconscious decision. Eager thoughts stir within him, but he returns to reality a second later and shuts his eyes, casting away the visual jutsu.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s partially genuine, partially a formality. It was meant to be a recreational endeavor, he imagines. Something fun to pass the time, to soothe her ego. Something innocent. But he’s not capable of that. Not with her. He would blame her for the naivety, but she had no idea of knowing what dangerous urges her game would yield.

She’s completely silent besides subdued, taut breaths. He’s about to move off of her and help her to her feet, when she turns him over with a speed and strength he would have never anticipated.

She’s on top of him now, pins him by straddling his waist, with the kunai pressed so brazenly against his throat that he would strangle her if she were anyone else.

“I said no sharingan.”

He can’t tell if she’s infuriated, enthused, or both. If he had to guess, he would say infuriated. He can see it in her eyes. Those fiery, gleaming eyes.

“So you did.”

He’s not responding in the way she had hoped. He lies beneath her, unaffected, unshaken. She’s nearly out of breath just from adrenaline alone, but his chest is rising and falling in calm, fluid motions.

She wants to move away once she realizes how wrong it is. So very, unforgivingly wrong. Attacking the head of the Uchiha? How foolhardy she must look. Yet, her thoughts drift into something instinctive. She wonders what she could have accomplished in this position during the warring period. How easy it would have been to kill him like this. It should be a triumph to have bested him. But that’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t be doing this if he hadn’t permitted it. If he wanted, she would still be the one on the ground, still pinned underneath him, at his mercy. She knows that well enough. 

Then his hands slide up her thighs, slow and meaningful. She stiffens. She catches her balance and plants a palm on his hard chest. He thoroughly enjoys the way her mouth falls open in an unspoken protest.

He slowly pushes off the ground to sit up, legs bending as he brings them up toward his chest, caging her between his strong thighs and his body. He’s much too close, face mere inches away from hers. In his eyes she recognizes a familiar, dark humor, suggesting that though it was an impromptu decision, he had every intention of testing her composure like this at some point.

“Madara—” She had hoped to sound serious, like she was giving warning. But she only sounds lost and apprehensive. Her grip on the kunai falters, and the weapon slowly inches away from his neck.

His expression doesn’t change. There’s nothing to suggest he’s anywhere near as flustered as she is. The palm still pressed flat against his chest confirms that even his heart rate is barely a fraction above normal. The pace only hastens when she accidentally shifts against him and presses down against his lap. He digs his fingers into her side at the sensation, and she can’t handle it any longer.

She manages to climb off of him, flustered, sweat dampening her clothes, and barely able to think past the momentary hysteria.

He lets her go. Mostly because he knows holding her there would have welcomed a vehement altercation that he had no intention of stirring. He knows better than to test her more than he already has. He simply remains where he is and watches her hastily rise to her feet.

“I have to go. I have to speak with Hashirama about the negotiations. About the treaty.” The garbled words pose an even greater threat to her shame. But she can’t look back at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He commends her for composure, but he catches a glimpse of those apprehensive eyes just a moment later, just before she hurries off back toward the village.

He smirks.

#madaramadrama #madara is a feminist but then again not really #i felt like this was so cliche sorry madara is so complicated i don't even know what he's doing in this chapter #i wanted to make it spicy but was this too ooc spicy #oh well #you should have seen my first draft madara had no concept of decency

[akechi-kikyou]

Long Goodbye: Chapter 3

AN: I meant to update this earlier, and in fact, I have a solid chunk of Chapter 4 done, so another update maybe soonish?  Also, I got a message about long text posts, but it was cut off and I never did find out what the sender was saying.  If that was you, I’m sorry for whatever I did.  I  always put these posts under a read more to avoid taking up a lot of room on the dash.  Unfortunately, that doesn’t show on mobile.  Sadly, there’s not much I can do about that.  I do post this on AO3 as well, so perhaps if my posts are horribly inconvenient, it’s better to follow me there?

The steakhouse that they were being treated to turned out to be in walking distance of their hotel. McCree took them in a back entrance, one arm slung around Genji as though they had been friends forever.  In the meantime, Hanzo felt like a third wheel who had been driven through salt.  He lagged behind the duo with Shuichi and the others following.  None of the Deadlock Gang came with the damn cowboy because, according to McCree, he was in good company and could “take cara myself”.  

In the restaurant, McCree took them up a set of stairs and into a closed off room with wide windows overlooking the patio.  Upon seeing it, Hanzo wondered why they couldn’t have met here instead of on a train, but decided to keep it to himself.  Genji sat next to the other young man, and Hanzo sat across from them while Shuichi decided to stay outside with the other men.

As soon as the other two boys sat down, their phones were pulled out while they babbled over whatever it was that they were mutually interested in.  Hanzo barely listened, and he kept his eyes on the menu in front of him instead of watching them exchange phone numbers.  When they were done, he overheard McCree saying, “I’ll get it to you before you leave, ‘specially if you call me so I don’t forget.”

Feeling done with this entire situation, Hanzo became so ready to get back to the hotel that by the time the waiter came in to fill their water glasses and take drink orders, he was already set to order his entree.  McCree was just rolling in the dough tonight, wasn’t he?  And so Hanzo had no qualms about ordering a $200 Kobe steak.  Hearing this order, the punk cowboy in fact remarked, “Well, that does sound mighty good.  Make mine medium-rare.”

“Oh yes.  Mine as well,” Genji chimed in.  

Once the menus had left those two’s hands, they were back at it again, with McCree describing some gory scene that had apparently happened in some trash that he had been reading.  At least Hanzo was sure that it was trash.  He didn’t take the cowboy to be any kind of connoisseur of fine literature.  

After a long sigh, Hanzo stared down into his water glass and began to daydream of places that weren’t here.  Home immediately came to mind.  He wished that he was back there with the cherry blossoms instead of seated across from two children who were playing gangster for fun.  Lost in his own thoughts, he barely heard McCree talking to him.  He would have gone right on ignoring him if he hadn’t heard his own name.

“My apologies.  What was the question?”

McCree’s smile was full of patience and amusement, “Said how bout you, Hanzo?  You like doin’ anything fun?”

Why was McCree asking him this?  Furthermore, why did Hanzo care that he couldn’t think of anything that the other two would call fun?  He shrugged as he picked up his water glass,  “I like to read.”

“It’s true,” Genji chimed in.  “He reads all of the time.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” McCree was still smiling at him, and there was something about it that couldn’t go ignored.  

It was perhaps too long that they sat there looking at each other, but the moment was interrupted by the waiter bringing in a bottle of honey colored liquor and three shot-glasses.  Once it was sat on the table, their host’s face lit up as he started to pour out three shots.  “Here we are!  Do a shot with me, fellas!  Let’s call it sealin’ the deal.  Ain’t a man you can trust like a man you had a drink with.  Someone or another said that before, I think.”

Hanzo started to say no, but of course Genji had already grabbed a glass, and McCree had one of his own.  He was too old for peer pressure, wasn’t he?  So why did he find himself picking up a glass and half heartedly joining in the toast?  

Hanzo downed the liquor quickly, grimacing at the way it burned his mouth and throat.  “It’s horrible,” he complained bitterly when he could speak.

“It’s an acquired taste,” McCree shrugged as he tossed the water out over his shoulder and then poured some of the liquor into the now empty glass.  “Been at it since I was 15, so it goes down like Koolaid.”

“What is Koolaid?”  Genji questioned.

Hanzo zoned out before he could hear the answer because he had a more important question.  Would their father approve of them drinking if it was for the sake of a business partnership?  He didn’t have to know did he?  Just like he didn’t have to know about the burger meal that Hanzo was still slightly full from eating.  Sojiro also didn’t have to know that his eldest son was about to waste a $200 steak because he had thought ordering it would take McCree down a peg.  That damn boy was just too confident and cocky.  He was just throwing around money like he did with that water on the floor, and he kept smiling...

When Hanzo looked up, the cowboy was looking right at him and had the audacity to wink.  Who did he think he was?  If it was Genji behaving this way, a lecture about behaving properly would surely happen.  But Hanzo couldn’t do that with McCree, could he?  And so he had to endure those little smiles, and he had to wonder what they were about.

One good thing did come of the night, and that was Hanzo learning of an American concept known as the “To Go Box”.  He only managed to finish a quarter of his steak and couldn’t even touch the accompanying vegetables.  American restaurants gave out entirely too much food, he had learned.  And now he was amazed to learn that the waiter would pack up the leftovers in a box that could be popped into a microwave to be reheated and eaten at a more convenient time.  Unfortunately, the only reason he learned this was because McCree saw his struggle to finish his meal and requested it from the waiter on his behalf.  Once the food was packed up, McCree scooted his chair over and used the handle of his fork to scratch letters into the lid of the styrofoam box.

“See?  Wrote your name so you can tell it from Genji’s,” he smiled again, and Hanzo felt his face turning red.  He also felt like stabbing McCree in the nose with a fork.  Instead of acting on either of those, he stood abruptly and headed for the door with his box.

“Genji, we are going.  It’s late.”

“Aww,” his younger brother complained.  But he stood obediently with his own box and started to follow the eldest out.  “Thanks for everything, McCree.  I will see you before we leave, right?”

“Promise,” McCree nodded.  “Cross my heart and hope to die and all that.  I’d walk you fellas back, but I think I’mma help myself to mor’a this…”

Hanzo rolled his eyes at the sight of the young cowboy pouring himself another drink.  It was proper to say goodnight, but at this point, all his tongue held were bitter words.  Only when they were in their car for the short drive back did he allow some of them freedom.

“A fucking kid,” he grumbled as he glared out of the window. “I should have known father wouldn’t trust me to handle anything serious.”

“Did you say something?”  When Hanzo turned to Genji, he found his brother using his finger to trace the letters that formed his name in the styrofoam box on the boy’s lap.  When had that happened?  Why did he even care?  The younger brother started to frown as he fidgeted with the box lid.  “Hanzo?  Brother?  Are you… angry with me?”

Was he?  Or was he angry with McCree?  Or was it their father?  Or was it himself?  Their car came to a stop, and Hanzo got out quickly before storming into the hotel to avoid giving his brother an answer that he didn’t have.

Once he was in their room, Hanzo immediately dropped his box in the trash.  Then he went into the bathroom to shower away some of the salt.  The water running all down his body from head to toe was soothing enough to wash away his anger, leaving him with guilt caused by how he had acted tonight, especially towards Genji.  His little brother was a nuisance, true, but the boy’s heart was mostly good.  Mostly.  Genji had his wicked ways every now and then, but he was much slower to anger and quicker to show love than his older brother.  With this in mind, by the time Hanzo stepped out of the shower an hour later, he had decided he would make it up to Genji.

By the time he returned from the bathroom, all of the lights were off and the TV was being watched by no one.  Genji was lying on his side in the second bed with both arms dangling off.  The clothes the younger brother had been wearing were thrown all over one of the chairs so that the former wearer was now clad only in his green boxers.  Smiling a little, Hanzo gently pulled the TV remote from one of his brother’s hands.  Then he covered him with a blanket and gave the other’s head a pat.  

Once he was sure that Genji was ok, Hanzo got into bed.  Tomorrow, he would make things up to him by having an entire brothers only day with him.  It would be a long time in the making and probably a lot of trouble.  Hanzo couldn’t wait.

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

Traveling and all of the excitement of yesterday must have taken its toll on Genji because the youngest Shimada brother didn’t wake up until a bit after noon.  Once he was awake, the first thing he did was start whining that he was hungry.  Hanzo had already gone down for the free continental breakfast, but he felt like he could eat again, and so he suggested that they go to the hotel restaurant.  This allowed him to take more pictures not only to fool his father, but also because he really loved the scenery and he did want to remember this time with his brother.  As Genji put it, “It’s rare that we get to spend time together that isn’t you watching over me while I’m being punished.”

Hanzo looked down, at first not knowing what to say.  He didn’t want to come across as overly sentimental, but his opinion on his brother coming along for this trip had changed.  How he felt about his sibling was also changing.

“You did well yesterday,” he spoke at length. Looking up, he found his brother’s smile to be as bright as the sunlight that lit the patio area.  This should have been encouragement to follow through with more kind words, but instead, he added, “But I was angry with you for not telling me beforehand that you knew McCree.”

Genji’s face fell, and he immediately protested, “But Hanzo, I didn’t know it was him!  At the arcade, he didn’t look like some cowboy.  Not really.”

“But he said that he knew he would be seeing you…”  Hanzo trailed off, and Genji picked up immediately.

“I haven’t seen many Japanese people around.  He must have known that way.  It was McCree to approach me first.  We didn’t talk about the meeting at all.  Just played Area 51 together.  He’s really good at it.  That makes sense now, knowing he’s the gunslinger…”

“Hm,” Hanzo steepled his fingers.  There was a lot going on in his head, but seeing that his brother was no longer smiling, he made the decision to try to put those things aside in favor of having a good day with his only sibling.  Getting the dessert card that was still left on the table, he pointed out the sundae that he’d had yesterday.  “Look at this dessert, Genji.  The chocolate isn’t like anything you’ve ever had before.”

“You ate this?”  Genji asked with slight disbelief showing on his face.

Hanzo nodded, “I did.  Today, I’ll eat it again.  You should try it.”

“I think I will,” the younger agreed.

Hanzo would wish that he was able to say that they had a lunch that was full of sharing and getting to know each other, but the truth was that he often found himself struggling to relate to this younger brother.  Though they had the same parents, they were raised differently.  As a result, Genji was outgoing and friendly while Hanzo was introverted and could seem abrasive.  Other than the trip they were currently on, what could they talk about?

He might have thought that the day was a waste, but going to the clothing store and a pair of black and white plaid shorts in particular saved it.  It was Genji’s idea for Hanzo to try them on.  The older brother protested at first, but then the youngest showed practicality by reminding him of the Santa Fe heat.  Besides, Hanzo rather liked the pattern and decided to pair the shorts with a black t-shirt with a white dragon on the front.  

“Wow,” he remarked upon looking at himself in the fitting room mirror.  He did like the casual clothing, particularly how they made him look like the teen that he sometimes forgot he was.  It was his legs that made him question if this was a good look.  “I didn’t realize that I am so pale…”

“Just your legs.  They don’t match the rest of your body,” Genji was cracking up at the moment, and this helped Hanzo to find the humor.

“What are you saying?”  He pointed as his brother’s own exposed legs, which were not quite as pale as Hanzo’s but they were definitely scrawny.  “Honestly, it appears we are both victims of skipping leg day.”

“My legs are well toned,” Genji crossed his arms, but continued to be amused.  “I’m shocked that you would confess to skipping leg day.”

Hanzo shook his head as he started to study his pale limbs, “It must be some Shimada curse to have pale bird legs.  Suddenly, father’s pet name for you makes sense.”

“That isn’t why,” Genji stuck out his tongue and then stood so that his legs could be easily compared to his brother’s in the mirror.  “And look at this.  How are you older, but your legs are even thinner than mine?”

“I’ve skipped more leg days than you,” Hanzo smirked as he started to look at his whole outfit.  Aside from the pale bird legs, he thought he looked pretty cool.

“So you DO skip it too,” his brother gasped.  

“No, I don’t, but now I know that you do.”  Though he was teasing his brother, he became suddenly worried that Genji would think the eldest was going to go tattling to their father.  To dispel this, he gathered up the clothes that they were wanting to buy and started out of the fitting room.  “I’m going to wear this today.  We have today and tomorrow for our legs to get some sun, don’t we?”

“That’s true,” Genji agreed as he grabbed what was left over and followed his brother.

“Good!  What do you want to do now?”

Genji replied without missing a beat, “Let’s go to the arcade.  I can show you Area 51!”

The younger brother worked in mysterious ways.  Hanzo didn’t know why Genji wanted him to play this game, but since he had vowed to make this day for his sibling, he didn’t protest.  Once they were finished shopping, their purchases were put into a car to be taken back to the hotel by some of their men.  Then they went to the arcade.

Hanzo wasn’t a complete stranger to fun.  As small children, he and Genji had a lot of it together; stepping into the arcade made him remember this.  The younger brother wanted to go right for Area 51 once they had two cups filled with tokens, but Hanzo grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Hold on.  Look.”

The game he was taking his brother to was skee ball, and it certainly brought back memories.  Hanzo stuck his token in and Genji immediately hit the button.  Then he grabbed a ball and held it out to his brother.

“Like when we were small.”

Hanzo felt all of the warmth in the world as he replied, “I was thinking about that too.”

Taking the ball, he turned and then bowled it up the lane, aiming for the 100 point cup, but just missing it narrowly.  When he turned, Genji had another ball for him.  Blushing slightly, he admitted, “I’m out of practice.”

“I know you can do it, Hanzo,” his brother looked at him in a way that was too much like when they were kids.  It made the eldest Shimada sibling both happy and sad.  After all the things said between them, the brotherly love was still there and they could have this moment of fun the way they used to as children.  It was bittersweet because Hanzo didn’t know when they might have another chance like this.

But for now, Genji was smiling and encouraging, “Maybe a few games to warm up.”

“No,” Hanzo shook his head as he rotated his arm.  “This time.”

So he promised and so he delivered.  

Earlier, he had worried that there was nothing for them to talk about, but this simple arcade game had taught him two things.  One, they didn’t need to talk for the sake of talking.  Just being together while doing things that they both loved was enough.  Two, they did have things they needed to talk about.  Hanzo just didn’t know when to start those conversations or how to begin.  

But the time passed quickly, seemingly measured by the increasing amount of tickets that Genji held onto while Hanzo continued to earn them.  Eventually, the younger suggested that they go cash in what they had, and Hanzo agreed with a nod, “My arm is a bit tired, anyway.  Use them to get something you like.”

“Hm, I don’t know,” Genji replied rubbing at his stomach with a slight frown.  “I don’t really like stuffed things anymore.”

“Well then, get something cute to give to your girlfriend.  The ramen shop owner’s granddaughter, isn’t it?”

“No, I don’t really…” Genji started and then grimaced more.

This made the elder brother frown, “Are you feeling alright?  Your face is starting to look like my legs…”

“I feel strange,” the younger admitted.  “My stomach…”

“I’ll take you back,” Hanzo felt panic threatening to rise in him.  Sadly, the first thing he thought was that his father was going to blame him for letting his beloved Sparrow get sick.  Pushing that thought away, he put an arm around his brother and started to move him towards the door.  

“But the tickets,” Genji protested.  “And we have so many tokens left.  And I didn’t show you Area 51.”

“We’ll come back,” Hanzo promised him.  “For now, you should get in bed and I’ll...I’ll call father and find out what to do.”

Because he sadly didn’t know what to do when his brother got sick.  Hanzo was used to taking care of himself, which mostly meant powering through whatever was ailing him with the help of herbal remedies and over the counter medications as needed.  

It was just a short walk back to the hotel, but it felt so long with him worrying about Genji.  As soon as they were in their room, he laid his brother down and then moved the trash can within reach right on time.  The younger brother immediately grabbed it and emptied his stomach into it.  

Now Hanzo was feeling the panic.  Going to the bathroom, he wet a towel and brought it back to clean his brother’s face with.  While he did so, he used his freehand to pull up his father’s number.

“I think I’ll be alright now,” Genji spoke from bed.  “Don’t call him.”

“I have to tell him something,” now panic stricken, Hanzo closed his phone again and looked at his brother.  “We haven’t even checked in with him.”

Hanzo was only realizing this now, and it was not helping him to stay calm at all.  Covering his face with both hands, he slid them up and towards his hairline, pulling up his features and then letting them drop.  Sadly, he muttered, “I am the worst.”

“You are not the worst,” Genji argued.  “You do everything that he tells you exactly the way he tells you to do it.  You can’t even have fun because you worry about what he will think.”

“But you have plenty fun,” Hanzo shot at his brother.  “You are always doing things you aren’t supposed to do.  If anyone is punished for the things that you do, it is ME!”

“I’m sorry,” the younger brother looked down.  “I ruined today.  This was your chance to have fun, and I… ruined it.”

Sighing, Hanzo got onto the bed next to his brother and put an arm around him.  There were a lot of things that he could have and should have said, but he was at a loss for words.  At length, he sighed, “I have no right to complain about my responsibilities.  Try to rest now.”

Genji seemed as though he was going to protest, but Hanzo grabbed the remote and turned on the television, effectively ending their conversation.  

He knew very little of American TV, and so he flipped through, hoping to find something interesting.  After about fifteen minutes of this, he heard his brother’s breathing pattern change, and looked over to find that he was sleeping.  Good, he thought.  A little nap would be good for the both of them.

Just as he started to nod off, he heard his phone’s message chime and snapped awake.  His father!  That was the only person he could think of that would be messaging him.  Sojiro was probably demanding a phone call to find out how everything was going.  This meant that Hanzo would have to tell him what happened with his brother; he couldn’t bring himself to lie.  

Swallowing against a lump in his throat, he opened the phone, but then blinked at the unfamiliar number.  Confused, he read the message twice.  Then he looked at the face of his sleeping brother.  After a bit, he sighed and slipped away from him.  He covered Genji with a blanket and tucked his phone into his pocket.  Then he quietly left the room.

#Overwatch AU #McHanzo #Young McHanzo #Hanzo Shimada #Jesse McCree #genji shimada #mitsu's fics

[queenzufufu]

Youngsters (8/?)

Summary: For the kids at The Rooster teeth care home, life hasn’t always been easy. They’ve come from broken homes, broken families. They’ve escaped with broken bones and broken spirits. But at least now they have a second chance to be happy with a real family.

Well…that’s easier said than done when your family includes a hyperactive midget, an over eager wrestling fanatic and a boy who just can’t go a day without punching something…or someone.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 AO3

“You never act out. You positively explode.” - Burnie

“What about going to the movies?”

“No.”

“What about paintball?”

“No.

“What about a pool party?”

“Do I look six years old?”

Burnie shrugged and pulled a pleading face at Ryan. Alright, alright, no, he did not look six years old.

In fact, Ryan would be turning sixteen in four days. Burnie would say that time had flown by but honestly at times he felt as if he’d known the boy his whole life. It wasn’t unusual to feel that way for a lot of the kids. He put so much of his own time and energy into giving them the best care possible, they had taken over almost every aspect of his existence. Ryan may have only been with them for little under two years but in that short time Burnie had seen him grow and change into the young man he was today.

Even so, the first day, as they always were, was still a perfectly clear memory in his mind. There had been nothing remarkable about Ryan at first glance. Nothing to say he was different from any other child. And unlike most of the others, he had been lean rather than thin when he’d arrived. Rooster Teeth had been his first placement - minus the emergency one he had been placed in for three weeks while social services scrambled to find a long term placement for yet another teenager.

Sullen, as most newcomers were, but Burnie had seen intelligence in his sky blue eyes. Angry too, but that was more than expected and understandable. The boy’s older brother and only living relative had recently died after all.

Once the social worker had introduced him and left the two alone, Burnie asked him the same question he always asked new children.

“What would you like to happen now?”

Usually, the kids would say something harsh in response, something to tell Burnie that they didn’t want to be there and resented being sent.

Ryan had thought about the question.

He skipped the usual instant responses - “I want to go home,” some would plea, or “Whatever, I don’t have a choice,” from the more hardened veterans of the system. And a few times, Burnie had simply been told to “Go fuck yourself.”

Ryan had answered slowly, and he answered the question he knew was intended to test their limits, not settling for the easy, defiant answer. “My old life ended. So I suppose I need to start a new one here.”

Burnie was both delighted and saddened by the answer, though he didn’t let it show. It was great that Ryan seemed so settled with the idea of coming into care, but the wise, incredibly jaded response was not necessarily what he wanted to hear from a fourteen-year-old who’d lost so much. Ryan’s apparent chilled out attitude was a breath of fresh air, but it was tinged with something putrid.

Nevertheless, he had taken Ryan by the shoulder and lead him into the main living room to meet some of the other kids Gus had already assembled there to allow more introductions to be made.

No sparks had lit the air when Geoff and Ryan met. The older boy was easy going and full of mischief, while Ryan was solemn and thoughtful, and they gave each other a searching look that the kids always gave when meeting a newcomer of a similar age, and Geoff stuck out his hand.

Ryan had regarded the open palm with a slight air of suspicion, like he could already see the inner workings of Geoff’s mind and the ways the older boy would continuously find new and inventive ways to annoy him.

At the time though, he had nothing to back up these theories, and the two politely shook for the first - and last - time.

Burnie knew, with all the chaos that came with looking after the kids, and all the trouble they could both intentionally and unintentionally cause, that he sometimes took Ryan’s laidback attitude for granted. Because Ryan, prone to moments of anger as he was, had always given the carers the impression that he could raise himself - that he was grateful for the roof over his head and the clothes, food and other basic amenities he was provided with, but ultimately if he had no other choice, he could do it all on his own.

Maybe, if he’d been less experienced in his line of work, Burnie might’ve mistaken that matureness as a sign he could always leave Ryan to his own devices. But, despite sometimes being a little too thankful Ryan was off minding his own business and not causing any trouble, he kept tabs on the kid as much as any of the others.

There were three main worries that always came to mind with Ryan. One: sleep - the boy didn’t get nearly enough thanks to his insomnia, which was an ongoing battle triggered by the most traumatic moment of the boy’s life. Two: his angry outbursts - while less frequent and considerably less violent than they used to be, he still seemed to be triggered by the most minor of things, petty arguments and nuisances. And three: sometimes Burnie just felt the kid was too much of a loner - that he understood everybody had different levels of tolerance for other human beings but, with Ryan, he could happily hole himself up in his own room for days on end if food and drink were supplied directly to him… which they weren’t. Food and drink were often Burnie’s only leverage to get Ryan to come out and join the living world if he was in one of his really antisocial moods.

So, yes, in comparison to some of the other kids, these worries could be deemed minor in comparison. Burnie, however, had learned no kid was the same. That if Ryan went without enough sleep for too long he was prone to be disruptive in class. That his angry outbursts, while seemingly pointless and occurring for no reason to some people, most likely came for a real place or hurt or frustration. And his antisocial tendencies… Ryan could get scared. Getting close to people could hurt, Ryan knew that very well. Having people you thought you could always rely on to be there for you was dangerous when one bar fight gone wrong could wrench them painfully out of your life.

So he kept an eye on Ryan, like he did with all his kids, although sometimes he felt as if he needed to be some all-seeing, all-knowing God to be able to keep tracks on all of them at all times. He supposed that’s why he hired the most competent staff he could find. And Gus.

“C’mon, you must have some ideas,” he pestered Ryan, hoping to at least get some inkling about what Ryan would like to do.

Ryan threw back his head, groaning too. He was really getting fed up with Burnie’s questions.

“Not really. I’ll just go round Jake’s like normal and we’ll chill. I don’t want to do anything special.”

“Well, it is up to you but let me know if you change your mind,” Burnie insisted, not so quick to give up. “And we’re gonna have to do something at the house even if it’s for the benefit of the youngsters.”

Ryan bit his lip, fighting back a grimace. “Only if you don’t turn out all the lights and sing Happy Birthday to me.”

“Sorry Ryan, I’m afraid no promises can be made on that front,” Burnie said. It was part of his duty as head carer that he makes sure all birthdays were celebrated properly, including the embarrassing family sing-a-long part that most teenagers detested.

Turning a corner into an even more crowded street, Burnie felt his heart leap as he realized he hadn’t done his routine check recently. He spun around quickly, eyes darting around the area, trying to locate one face in particular. “Lawrence? Where’ve you gone?” he called out, perhaps slightly more panicked than he would have liked - I’m a constant presence of calm and composure, I’m a constant presence of calm and composure, I’m a -

The boy abruptly walked into him a few seconds after his shouts, glaring up at Burnie’s suddenly stopped figure. “I’m here, idiot.”

Relief washed over Burnie as he smiled ruefully down at the boy and the utterly unimpressed expression he was giving him. He’d gotten so used to Lawrence dawdling behind or wandering off into random crowds or stores, that he had failed to notice that the boy was literally right behind him. “Oh, sorry, didn’t see you down there.”

Lawrence craned his neck back to glare up at him, putting up his hood again as it fell off his head. “Calling me short?” he challenged.

Burnie regarded him. Judging the pale green eyes to see if it was anger or mischief that filled them more. “Yes. Yes, I am,” he said when he decided that Lawrence was in the latter mood. He could tell his blatant answer surprised the boy, but a few seconds later Lawrence was actually smirking wryly up at him, hopping forward so he was stood at Burnie’s side. The kid appreciated people being straight with him, that was another thing Burnie was learning. He always wanted whatever was in your mind, be it good or bad; he wanted to know what you were really thinking and threw a fit if he thought someone was being coy with him.

“Easier to take people down - can go for the legs. I done it loads before,” Lawrence grinned, and Burnie laughed a little, regaining his composure.

“I’ve no doubt you have,” he agreed. Burnie often thought the boy would benefit from hanging out with James and Adam more. Not only were they of similar age but it would do everyone a favor if Lawrence could burn off some of his pent-up rage in, let’s say, a little backyard wrestling, rather than on, what was more common, household items or household residents.

Burnie was hugely grateful though, that Lawrence was in one of his rare chirpier moods that day, in that he wasn’t being a complete menace. They had a rota for the kids to help with the shopping every other weekend. To be honest, it wasn’t so much their help that was needed, although Burnie did appreciate it, but more of a chance to spend time with them more as individuals or pairs in a very normal, everyday setting. Michael especially loved coming with Burnie on his own. It was the only time the kid would call him ‘Dad’, just so other people would think they were related. Burnie didn’t discourage it, if Michael wanted to call him Dad for a few hours, he was hardly one to say no.

And that day, the most complaint Burnie had when asking Lawrence to go into town with him and Ryan was a long exaggerated sigh and an eye roll. In the car, he had even been quite talkative and, contrary to most kids his age, had been the one asking Burnie questions about himself. “What was your first job?”, “What’s your family like?”, “What’s the worst Christmas gift you ever got?”. Burnie didn’t know if the boy was actually interested in the answers - he doubted it - or if he was just doing it to keep any talk about his own life and feelings away - much more likely.

Still, Burnie welcomed the conversation all the same. When he wasn’t shouting or fighting or in one of his foul, sulking moods when he wanted nothing to do with anyone, the kid actually provided enjoyable company. He was intelligent with a dark sense of humor, and he apparently had a strong view of anything and everyone. With those characteristics, it was easy to think he and Ryan might have gotten along well. But maybe they were too similar on that front, repelling against each other like identical magnets, with Lawrence always being overly competitive to get one up on the older boy.

Anyway, Lawrence had remained in a good mood after Burnie let him choose where they got food. They’d been to a homewares store, and he’d been more than happy to play lapdog, running off to go and fetch items Burnie listed off. For a while, he was like any normal, happy kid out in the town, if a little extra wild, and it had given Burnie a greater sense of hope that they were making groundwork with the boy. Perhaps he had wished for that desired breakthrough too soon.

“Why do I have to go with him?”

“You don’t have to but I’m going to be waiting in line for at least half an hour at this time, so if you’d rather do that…”

Lawrence’s eyes widened in horror at the idea of standing still for so long. “Hell no.”

Burnie smirked. “Thought as much.”

“No one likes a know-it-all,” the boy sang, imitating a voice Burnie knew had been aimed at Lawrence a lot.

Burnie grinned wider still, shaking his head while Lawrence pulled faces. He glanced over at Ryan, who had stayed quiet during the mini argument, head turned away, daydreaming. A passive attitude was what Ryan usually adopted if any argument not involving him broke out, so persistent about not giving a damn it could sometimes rile up the others more. It wasn’t easy though, Burnie knew. He knew in nearly all of those instances, Ryan was using every bit of self-control to hold his tongue, if only in fear of what might happen should he get involved.

He walked over to the teen, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He’s in a good mood. You’ll be fine, but give me a call if you need me,” he assured.

Ryan gave a short nod, in his military disciplined mode, a tactic he engaged when he really didn’t want to do something. But this would be a good thing, Burnie was convinced. If they were going to live together all the kids had to learn to get along at some point. And being the second eldest, he knew and trusted Ryan’s abilities to handle one unruly child for an hour or so.

Burnie also knew that sometimes, he could get things disastrously wrong.

––––

Their task was simple, and it needed no overcomplicating.

Walk to the store, get the food, pick up Ryan’s laptop that had gone in for repairs, meet up with Burnie. Easy, nothing hard about that.

Or at least it would be if Ryan had been on his own, with his own capable self.

“This is boring,” Lawrence moaned for the umpteenth time, as they walked along through the crowds. It was walking, it wasn’t meant to be overly interesting or stimulating, and Ryan knew Lawrence knew that, and he was simply repeating the same phrase over and over to get on Ryan’s nerves. Whatever. Ryan could deal with that. Hell, he’d had to sit next to Jeremy on a forty minute drives while the little boy just sang “bored, bored, bored, bored,” the whole drive.

Anyhow, he wanted to get the shit done as fast as possible.

“Watch where you're walking, you’re gonna end up in the middle of the road if you’re not careful.”

“So? It’ll be quicker,” Lawrence said, pointing to the congested traffic, all the cars having come to a stand-still.

Ryan sighed and quickened his pace, dodging around the slowly moving shoppers.

“Hey!” The small boy bounded after him, having to switch between walking and jogging to keep up with Ryan’s long-legged strides. Dark hair poked out from underneath the hood he’d kept up, even though it was relatively warm and not raining, the dark grey hooded jacket the perfect color to match the effect he was having on Ryan’s mood.

As something to do, Ryan checked the money Burnie had given him, counting out the cash under his breath. He could see in the corner of his eye, Lawrence watching him with interest. “You using all that on food?” he asked after a beat, eagerly eyeing the money.

Ryan paused, not forgetting his money that had gone missing a month or so ago, and he tightened his fingers around the cash. “Yep.”

“Cause y’know, you could like–”

“No, I couldn’t,” Ryan interrupted, predicting where Lawrence was going. “They have strict rules on what is purchased with the budget money and check all the receipts. And anyway,” he sent down a chiding glare. “I would never do that.”

He found himself met with a fierce look. “Cause you’re a pussy?”

Jesus Christ. Ryan swallowed hard. “No, because I don’t want to.”

“I would.”

Ryan carried on meeting hard gaze with equal firmness. “Good thing I have the money and not you then, isn’t it?”

Lawrence considered this and slowly nodded. “I could take it from you if I wanted to. Aim for the legs,” he retorted, making a few fake darts towards Ryan. He threw up his arms when his antics were met with yet another hard glare. “Lighten up Ryan, I’m only kidding.”

He wasn’t, but Ryan didn’t mention anything that could prolong the conversation. They walked on in silence. Ryan shivered as a cold blast of wind suddenly hit them, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets for shelter. Inevitably, Lawrence soon grew further bored and, to Ryan’s horror and embarrassment, invented a game called ‘Let’s see how many people I can walk into’ as they were entering the ginormous food store.

He tried grabbing him but Lawrence only darted away. He tried glaring at him but it had absolutely no effect, the younger boy only grinning in return. Then he tried ignoring him until he heard someone curse very loudly and turned to see a large gentleman struggling to pick up his fallen shopping and a very shifty young boy hurrying away.

“Lawrence, c’mon,” Ryan said, defeated, and it was his sound of defeat that eventually had Lawrence returning to his side, smug in his victory.

Stay calm, Ryan fought to remind himself. No need to get mad at this little shit.

They headed for the small electronics repair station, located near the back of the store first, Ryan eager to see his faithful old laptop again.

“Did you know that sausages are older than the Bible?” Lawrence asked at one point.

Ryan frowned so Lawrence explained. “Sausages. They came before the Bible. So Jesus and his buddies probably chilled out with barbeque, shooting the shit.”

Ryan’s frown only deepened. “Oh.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

Ryan growled under his breath as the younger boy suddenly danced across in front of him, almost tripping him up. “Did you know that most bananas are clones?” Lawrence asked as he passed.

“No.”

“It’s true.” Lawrence nodded sagely. “Did you know Hawaiian pizza was invented in Canada?”

“Okay, whatever. I don’t care.”

The boy looked up at Ryan in satisfaction. “You’re just mad that I’m smarter than you.”

“No. I’m not. I just really don’t care.”

“So you admit I’m smarter than you?”

Ryan let out a huff of frustration. “I’m just not gonna listen to you anymore.”

“Aww,” Lawrence grinned, putting on a fake tone of disappointment, and it was such a different attitude to how he normally was that Ryan actually felt a tinge of guilt. It was easy to hate Lawrence when he was acting like a little brat - aka the whole time Ryan had known him - not so much when he was bouncing alongside Ryan like an oversized puppy. If it had been one of the other youngsters asking him questions like that he would have taken it in his stride. Heck, Gavin was famed for his random ass queries and Ryan took them as they came with fondness and humor.

So Ryan decided to brush aside his built up annoyance at the kid and throw the dog a bone. Now that he thought about it, there was one thing about the young boy that had been intriguing him for a while. “Seeing as you’re in such a talkative mood, I’ve gotta question for you.”

Lawrence looked up at him again, green eyes narrowing, silent as he waited for Ryan to expand.

“Your accent. You’re from the south?”

The surprise was evident on Lawrence’s face, a rare moment of open emotion. “You can tell?” he asked, a tone Ryan hadn’t heard before in his voice. Cautious or worried maybe, but also excitement?

“I can hear you’ve lost most of it, but I’m a Georgia boy, got a finer ear for those dialects than most others up here.”

“I’m from Texas,” Lawrence replied, chin high, the statement sounding proud. The moment didn’t last long as he quickly lowered his head, slowing his walk down as he mumbled: “But I ain’t lived there for a while. My first foster dicks only spoke Spanish too, so that was a mindfuck. Kinda mixed me all up, I think.”

Ryan slowed down too, regarding the hood that covered the bent head. “You ever think about going back there one day?”

A sharp intake of breath, as if Lawrence were going to reply with one thing but changed his mind last second. “I dunno. Probably not. There’s nothin’ there for me,” he said instead. He looked up at Ryan again, expression once more unreadable. “Why? You wantin’ to go back to pretty old Georgia?”

“I’ve thought about it… but it’s for the best that I don’t,” Ryan mumbled, voice tight. It was always there, whenever the topic was brought up, and he supposed he only had himself to blame, mentioning it this time.

“Why?” Lawrence regarded him curiously.

Ryan didn’t reply. Couldn’t. It wasn’t that there was nothing in Georgia for him. But none of it was good, none of it was happy.

Jason…

He tried to avoid thinking about it altogether but Lawrence had unintentionally flipped it onto him from Ryan’s own question. The tensions that always crept into his muscles and nerves were a clear sign that he was far from over it, that the wound had barely begun to heal. He just buried it under layers and layers of carefully constructed walls and new memories with his new ‘family’, like an artist starting a new sketch, creating something new and beautiful, but only ever covering that initial hurt.

“Jason? You here?”

If Ryan ever went back home again… he didn’t know what he would do. He liked to think he would stay in control but he’d thought that before, although back then all the hurt and anger had been so much rawer. But Ryan knew, at least for now, he couldn’t trust himself.

“Hey Ty, you seen my brother?”

Really, who could? You come face to face with your brothers killer, it’s bound to make you see red. It had happened once it would probably happen again, and now with the guy out on bail after only two years… Ryan’s fist clenched. Accident or no, that drunken fight had taken away his only living family member. Was two years justice enough in his mind? Fuck no.

“No! You have to let me in! I’m family!”

A light poke on his arm brought him rushing back to the present, and he turned to see Lawrence continuing to gaze up at him, little face still unreadable. “S’alright. You don’t need to tell me nothin’,” he said, glancing up at him, corner of his mouth tilting up. “All got our secrets, don’t we?”

“It’s not like that,” Ryan began, but Lawrence’s words had him halt.

Yeah, we do all have our secrets, and as much as Geoff got on his nerves, Ryan always found himself reluctantly admitting that the guy had a certain skill for being the voice of reason. What Geoff had said, back near the start of term; he didn’t know anything about this kid and the shit he’d probably been through. Just like Lawrence didn’t know about the shit Ryan had been through.

Huh, been living with him for nearly three months and still know next to nothing.

Honestly, all he did know was from what he could see right there in front of him. The things Lawrence couldn’t keep hidden away under layers and layers of his own carefully contracted walls.

And all he saw was a small kid. Just that. A small, slightly rough around the edges, kid.

Ryan knew if Jason had still been around he would have told Ryan to be the bigger man and let bygones be bygones. Or at least take the Geoff approach and not allow anything Lawrence had said or done to affect him personally. To brush it off with a good-natured hand –

“Tell me who did it.”

But he wasn’t his brother and it had never come as naturally to him. And he definitely didn’t want the kid around at the moment, not when Ryan was suddenly feeling so very vulnerable with his emotions. Right now he needed some space, and he searched for the quickest exit he could find - desperately leaping at it when he figured he could kill two birds with one stone.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!”

His body shook hard, like he was physically trying to brush the memories away.

“Lawrence, take this list and get me the items on there, okay?” he fumbled in his pocket for the list Burnie had given him. At the boy’s insolent expression, he even resorted to placing his palms together and leaning over so they were somewhat eye level. “Pretty please?” he begged, batting his eyelids for good measure.

Lawrence grunted out a laugh, giving Ryan a weird look, but he slowly took the paper from him.

Ryan saw the green eyes narrow as they scanned the list for an abnormally long time. He wasn’t sure if the boy had just zoned out or was intentionally wasting time, and he tapped his foot impatiently. “Normal food, huh?” Lawrence asked eventually, peering up at Ryan speculatively.

“Yeah…” Ryan drawled out, suspicious. “What else did you think it’d be?” Too late for a reply, Lawrence was already walking off. Ryan stared after him, torn between leaving him like planned or running after him to make sure nothing went wrong. About to call after him, he thought better of it. Ryan needed his space right now, privacy to wallow in his own thoughts and memories - a solo companionship he welcomed.

It worked - as he knew it would - going about his business, waiting quietly in line to be reunited with his laptop. He was often unsure if thinking about Jason and what had happened to him was healthy. In one sense it wasn’t good to dwell on the dark facts, but surely avoiding the topic altogether was just as bad. Ryan tried to allow his mind to wander there in moderation, and not in large public places.

Afterwards, realizing he hadn’t set up any meetup point, and failing to find the younger boy by just walking aimlessly around, Ryan decided to just wait by the checkouts, relaxing as Lawrence finally appeared, returning with a full cart that was almost as tall as he was.

Ryan smiled, pleased that everything seemed in order - that they could pay and meet back up with Burnie and then head home, where Ryan could go straight to his room and check himself out of reality for a while –

“What’s all this? What –”

“Food.” Lawrence cut in. He was staring at the very point just above Ryan’s eyes, as if he thought the older boy couldn’t tell the difference. His voice was quiet, deceptively calm.

“But more than half of this isn’t what was wrote down,” Ryan snapped, observing the array of food that he knew wasn’t normally on the list.

“I lost it.”

“What?”

“I lost it,” Lawrence repeated, softly.

Ryan glared. “You lost the food?”

“No, you dumbass. The list.” Lawrence sighed, leaning forward on the cart, bored again.

Ryan scowled, one hundred percent not convinced. He loomed over the smaller boy, who looked up at him with dull, inexpressive eyes, not at all intimidated or regretful. No apologies here. “Great. Well, that’s a whole lot of time wasted. Burnie’s gonna be happy when he returns and we’ve done nothing! You think he’s gonna fall for this dumb act?”

The briefest flash of something glinted in the green eyes. “You got your laptop didn’t you? I got food. We’re good,” Lawrence said, a slight more forceful this time.

“No. I did what I needed to do. You’ve just messed me around - as usual,” Ryan couldn’t help adding.

Lawrence laughed then - a harsh, cruel sound. It was far from the laughter Ryan had heard earlier. Then he’d seemed more normal - as cheeky and excitable as any kid his age. But when he stood, hood still up, glaring up at Ryan dangerously - he couldn’t reconcile the two.

Ryan flipped.

“Why are you like this? Do you want me to not like you - is that it?” he demanded to know. “Because you’re succeeding, so congratulations –”

Lawrence tipped the cart over.

It created a thunderous, jarring crash, the produce spilling everywhere, sliding around Ryan’s feet. The older boy jolted backward - for a moment he couldn’t comprehend what was happening, and could only stare at Lawrence with wide eyes, breathing so fast he almost felt dizzy. The look on Lawrence’s face disturbed him more than the action did - his green eyes had darkened so much they nearly looked black, his lips pulled taught into a furious sneer.

“Whatever!” The boy shouted at him, enraged voice echoing around the whole store. By now quite a crowd had gathered from the commotion, onlookers warily watching the scene unfold. “¡Me vale madre!” Lawrence yelled again, meeting Ryan dead in the eye - no averted gazes now.

And Ryan didn’t need to be fluent in Spanish to get the gist of that particular phrase. He tightened his fists hard, pointing a demanding finger at the mess. “Get here. We’re cleaning this up.” The tremors in his body were growing more violent by the second as he felt the control slipping away.

Lawrence stayed where he was, glaring defiantly. Then instead of coming closer, he took a step backward, kicking one of the fallen apples at Ryan, and then another, laughing as he did so.

“Lawrence! Stop it!”

There was no point trying to rectify anything at this point, deep down Ryan knew that. They were both too angry. There was a little voice in the back of his mind telling him to back off, that nothing could be done. Be smart, leave it be. Whatever’s going on is out of your control now. You can’t fix this on your own.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!”

“I’m going to fucking kill you!”

“I’m going to fucking kill you!”

Stay… in… control.

Lawrence kicked another apple at him.

“Get here you little fuck!” Ryan launched like a wild predator, making a grab for the boy with both arms, fully uncaring about what happened to either of them, but Lawrence nimbly dodged, backing himself into a corner. He bared his teeth, sadistically, as Ryan once again lunged at him. Another dodge, a duck, and then a swift and ferocious kick to Ryan’s shin, and he was away, disappearing around an aisle before Ryan even had a chance to catch a breath.

The crowd of onlookers was even larger now and some were saying stuff to him… maybe, he wasn’t really listening. Unwelcome tears of embarrassment and anger pooled in the corner of Ryan’s eyes as he clutched at his throbbing leg. “You - you little shit!” he raged, uncaring of all the prying stares.

It was like his own eyes had blinders on them, narrowing his eyesight to the mess around him, all sounds muffled except for his own pounding heartbeat and heavy breathing. His cheeks and his lungs burned.

Slowly. Breathe slowly.

I need to breathe, I need to breathe, I need to breathe.

He counted to ten in his head, breathing in and out as he did so. He repeated it.

Slowly, slowly the real world blended back into his frame of vision, not that it was any better. Ryan sighed as he heard the crackle of a radio and the man holding it.

Great. Security.

–––––

When Burnie first got the text from Ryan telling him he had to ask for the manager to take him to Ryan, it had put his head in a spin and left him panicked. A whole host of scenarios had rushed through his head, each one worse as the seconds ticked by between him receiving the message on his way to the store and him bursting through the staff doors to find a very sullen looking teen sat in the middle of an otherwise empty row of chairs, outside a door labelled ‘Security’.

“Ryan! You alright? What’s going on? Where’s Lawrence?” Burnie rushed out before Ryan even had time to look up.

When he saw who it was his shoulders slumped, head hanging.

Burnie was quick to take a seat next to him, subconsciously checking for any injuries of clues as to what had gone on. “Well? Ryan?” he insisted.

“I um… lost him,” Ryan said, voice low and flat, folding his arms, and Burnie’s spine went rigid.

Not again.

“You’re joking,” he said hopefully, even though he knew it was futile, confirmed by the helpless look Ryan gave him. “You’re not joking,” Burnie mumbled, running hands through frazzled hair, feeling like he was aging quicker all of a sudden. “How did you lose him?”

Ryan swallowed. He was wary, like he was being tested here, in some way, nervous under Burnie’s close eye. He seemed to struggle with what to say. “Well I kinda got mad and we got into a bit of a fight… but he’d gone and got all the wrong food on purpose and then he tipped the cart over and there was a mess and –”

“And let me guess, you saw red and he ran off,” Burnie finished off for him, already picturing the scene in his head. When Ryan said “kinda mad” he knew that was only half of it.

Ryan squirmed. “Yeah, not before he gave me a good kick in the shin though,” he managed finally. “Left me to deal with the mess too. I tried explaining it to them but I think they best talk to you. Think they’ll be back in a minute.”

Burnie nodded, formulating his next plan of action. “Alright, I’ll do that and, well, we’ll have a look and ask around and then better call the police, I suppose.” He laughed light, because that’s all he could do. “They’re gonna love us by the end of this year.”

“I - I’m really sorry Burnie,” Ryan stammered, bracing himself like he expected Burnie to be angry at him, like he thought he’d let the man down. It was moments like this that made Burnie curse the past events that still affected his kids more than ever. That he could love and care for them as much as possible, and they would return the favor, but they could also still instinctively react in such defensive manners, old wounds easily opening.

“No I – it’s fine Ryan,” Burnie said automatically. Ryan shook his head as if taking on the disappointment in himself he thought Burnie should have.

“Hey, really Ryan,” Burnie squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry about today. It’s my fault if anyone’s, I shouldn’t have left you two alone. It was my mistake for stupidly thinking he might actually be behaving today.”

Ryan took in a shaky breath.

“It was me. He was fine with you but with me he didn’t want to listen. He did it just to annoy me because he knew it would, and I fell for it. I should’ve… should’ve just dealt with it until you got back.” He was clearly very frustrated with himself.

“Two things,” Burnie began. “I’m the one trained to deal with kids acting out and two, neither of us really know yet why that kid does what he does. But if I were to guess, I don’t think it was personal Ryan. I think that sometimes it just might be in his nature to act out.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Like I do?”

“You never act out. You positively explode.”

Ryan smiled at his light teasing. “I’m getting better though, aren’t I? I mean… I was,” he trailed off.

“Absolutely,” Burnie assured. “I haven’t noticed that fireball anger in… well, not for a long time. I know you can go into rage mode but it’s often filled with humor these days. Or…” he lowered his voice, “is that just you hiding your true feelings?”

Ryan shook his head adamantly. “No. They’re not out as control as they used to be. Of course, I’m usually still angry for them to occur in the first place, but I’m quicker to find the lighter side of things.” He pulled a self-deprecating face. “It helps that the others just laugh anyway if I start shouting, helps me realize quicker if I’m getting upset over things that no one needs to be angry about.”

Burnie nodded. “But today - today you were so angry because?” he asked tentatively.

“Because he just has that effect, he… he was wasting time, your time. And he didn’t care, he seemed pleased with himself, like I said, he just wanted to make me angry. Guess he succeeded.” Ryan muttered sourly as he ran a hand across his own face, mirroring Burnie’s action from earlier, looking so old and so young at the same time.

“Thank you, Ryan,” Burnie said quietly, breaking the silence. “Thank you for caring about my time being wasted. Though nothing’s ever a waste with you lot, you know that,” he added. “Try not to dwell on today. What’s done is done and besides, I’m proud of you for lasting that long with him. I’m pretty certain Adam or Michael would have tackled him into the cereal stand way earlier.”

A pause. Ryan snorted gently. “Would’ve probably been more effective.” That joke, as small as it might have been, relieved Burnie to no end. If there was one thing he didn’t want to get from today it was Ryan blaming himself for no good reason. The fact that he appeared to be lightening up was good news. “If you’re so proud of me…” Ryan continued after a moment, eyes glinting with mischief when Burnie met them. “Does that mean I can get out of doing something at the house for my birthday?”

Burnie shook his head with vigor, matching Ryan’s small smile. “Hell no.”

If there was one thing you needed to work at Rooster Teeth, it was a bit of that quality “embarrassing dad” factor.

#my fic #rt fic #ah fic #funhaus fic