#brandy writes shit

[tertiatachonis]

69 for cleo/abner

Stay Down (Way Down) by Silversun Pickups

Abner hates this.

Abner loves this.

Abner needs to make up his mind.

"Abner!" Cleo calls. "Are you going to come in?"

Polka dots. Harley, being the menace she is, bought (uh, probably stole) Cleo a polka dot swimsuit. And now Cleo splashes in the chilled water of the Gotham River in a grey-and-blue polka dot two piece. She shrieks playfully as Rick tackles her into the water, kicking her legs and wiping her face when she finally emerges from the waves.

"I think I'll stay here!" Abner replies, gesturing with the book he wasn't even reading. He can't focus on his book (a recommendation from Robert, of all people!) when Cleo's like some kind of siren from the depths of his most private dreams.

He could brush her hair once it's dried and crusted from the water. He could hand her a towel, one of the towels that's been warmed by the sun, and try to not stare as she'd dry her legs, up further to pat that fucking bikini top dry so she wouldn't ruin her shirt when she covered up.

It's not even her shirt; she stole it from Abner's laundry basket but he can't bring himself to ask her for it back. Not when she could be wearing with, damp and--

Abner can't do this. Not when she's right there! Not when she's dumping handfuls of water on Nanaue and grinning as he thanks her for helping him out.

He's not going to leave his room once they're home. He's going to keep his head down the entire drive back to the house and lock himself in his bedroom.

He won't think about trying to knock on Cleo's door with a smooth one-liner. He won't think about her still dripping, still soaked with water, and easing that stupid bikini off. And he won't think about kneeling before her, following the taste of the river until it becomes the heady, salty taste of her.

"Abner!" Cleo's voice is bright. "Please?" She pouts playfully. "You'll have fun!"

Abner sighs. He can't say no to her.

"You can't wear your shirt in the water!" Cleo says as he gets closer to the shore.

Maybe he's not the only one hating clothes at the river. Oh no.

[tertiatachonis]

21 for rhaenyra & alicent (platonic or Romantic dealers choice)

#21: Buckle by We Are Scientists

Rhaenyra's plan took too long. But it was absolutely worth it. She wanted Alicent to buckle at the knees when she realized what Rhaenyra had done.

She didn't want Alicent's jewels, her silk gowns or her bejeweled shoes.

She wanted Alicent's envy.

Rhaenyra spent years being envious of Alicent. Envious of her large, beautiful eyes and tumbling, gorgeous curls. Envious of Alicent's freedom, as slight as it was; envious that the Hand's Daughter could maybe marry more for love than the King's Daughter could.

And love Rhaenyra has. Even if Laenor would not come to her bed, not without Harwin, they still loved each other. A fine husband Laenor made, loving and caring for a hugely pregnant Rhaenyra as if it was truly his babe she was carrying.

And is it not his? His little prince that he and Rhaenyra will declare an heir, a fine little boy to clutch their momentous titles in his chubby little fist. He was there the night that caused Rhaenyra's blood to be missed, nude and in Rhaenyra's bed, satisfied and pleased as Rhaenyra's needs were met.

"Oh Gods!" Alicent clasps a hand over her mouth as she enters Rhaenyra's chambers. "Your son-!"

"Yes?" Rhaenyra asks, clutching her newborn to her sweating breast.

"He's--" Alicent pauses, clearing her throat like the Queen she is. "He's beautiful."

"Isn't he, Your Grace?" Rhaenyra is almost smirking.

He is beautiful, so new to this world but already the loveliest thing Rhaenyra has seen. She wants to kiss those ten perfect toes and hold his perfect little hands and listen to him giggle and coo. He's the spitting image of his father, and Rhaenyra knows it's making Alicent's blood run cold.

Alicent is the Queen, and has done her duty to provide strong heirs for Father. But Father is old. Father is a drunk. Father only ever loved Aemma.

So Alicent is Queen, in the Queen's chambers with the Queen's jewels. Alicent will never want for anything again.

But Rhaenyra has love. Rhaenyra found two men who keep her bed warm, who listened to her woes while she was heavy with child. Two men who would lay down their lives, their titles!, for Rhaenyra.

And that's more than Alicent will ever be able to say.

[tertiatachonis]

“So why did I have to punch that guy?” for Joyce and Hopper!

Hopper pinches the bridge of his nose for what feels like the millionth time that hour. He sighs for the thousandth time that hour. He’s vaguely concerned that Joyce knows how to properly bandage a busted hand but she’s entirely businesslike as she stretches medical tape over her own knuckles. 

“So why did I have to punch Lonnie again?” Joyce asks nonchalantly, hissing as the Neosporin hits her raw knuckles.

“You didn’t even have to,” Hop stresses. “Lonnie is never going to--”

Joyce’s eyes darken at that. “Going to what, Hop? See his kids? Return my phone calls? Hmm?”

“Joyce.”

“He insulted Will, Hopper. To his face! What was I supposed to do? Pat Will on the back and say ‘oh sorry, son, your dad thinks you’re a failure because you’re a teenage boy who is more into your games and art than girls’? I’m not covering for Lonnie’s bullshit anymore.”

Hopper looks at Joyce and thinks distantly of a feral bird, fragile yet completely dangerous when provoked.

“He kind of deserves it,” Hop eventually admits.

“Yeah,” Joyce nods in agreement, “yeah he fuckin’ did.”

[tertiatachonis]

“Please put me down it’s just a sprained ankle" + steve harrington and any of his children

"Oh my God," Steve sighed. "Please put me down."

El shook her head. "You're hurt."

Another sigh. "It's just a sprained ankle!"

El shrugged, adjusting her grip on Steve. Nothing about this was comfortable for Steve. He had fallen when his foot caught on the ditch and suddenly El was hoisting him up into her scrawny arms. She struggled a bit with Steve's length compared to her frame but seemed otherwise unaffected by Steve's weight in her arms.

The rest of the party was hiding giggles, some better than others. Max had shot soda out of her nose. Lucas was biting a knuckle. Will offered to help and Mike's jaw was on the dirt. Dustin laughed, an unabashed noise of delight as El stood up with Steve carried in her arms.

Steve could probably really insist on being let down. He could call for Will to help El out. He could probably slid out and into the grass if he really wanted to.

Instead he pressed his lips together, sighed, and let El carry him to his car.

[tertiatachonis]

Plz write the parent teacher conference for Murray and his daughter(s)

Mr. Fields takes his glasses off and rubs his temples.

For the third time.

In 45 minutes. 

Nancy was an utter delight and Robin was, well, really weird but harmless but then Murray fuckin’ Bauman made a reappearance in his estranged daughter’s life and somehow ended up taking in the Wheeler girl along the way.

“Mr. Bauman--”

“Please,” Murray holds his hands up. “Call me Murray. Mr. Bauman was my father.”

“Dad,” Robin says. “Grampygoo is still alive.”

Murray scoffs, kicking his feet up casually on Mr. Field’s desk. “Pfft. He’s, like, a hundred by now.”

“He’s going to be 72 in November.”

Murray shrugs at his daughter. 

“Murray,” Mr. Fields restarts. “Your daughter and...uh...Nancy are both excelling in classes this semester. 

“Yeah!” Murray enthuses. He takes his feet off the desk and instead puts both the girls in headlocks. “Love my girls!”

“But.”

“Oh, don’t rain on my parade!” He lets Robin and Nancy disentangle from his arms. “Don’t you ‘ass’ me!”

Mr. Fields is starting to burn with embarrassment now. “However! Robin turned in an essay into her social studies class titled ‘Fuck Off, Bougie Boy’. Granted, Miss Grossley did give her a 97% on it but--”

“But what? What was the essay about? C’mon, gimme the goods.”

“Sir, the language!”

Now Robin shrugs. “Miss Grossley said to write an essay on Karl Marx. She didn’t give us parameters on a title. See the coffee splat up top? She spit her coffee out when she read it!”

“You know why you don’t like it, Fieldy-Fields? Hmm? It’s ‘cause ya bougie.”

Mr. Fields huffs. “Sir! We are here to discuss Robin and Nancy’s performance in school! Not--not--!”

“Bougie!” Murray wags a finger in front of the man’s face. “You’re being bougie!”

“And Nancy!” Mr. Fields is doing his best to ignore Murray’s behavior and focus on the paperwork in front of him. “Nancy is actually eligible for the honor roll this year!”

“Hells to the yeah!” Murray enthuses, holding his hand up. “Up high, baby!”

Nancy misses the high five and Murray insists they redo it. Their palms collide with a deafening smack. 

“As is Robin, however--”

“Both my girls!” Murray is almost levitating with pride. “Wait! You know what this means?”

Nancy and Robin both “hmm?”

“Ice cream!”

“Yes!”

“Whoo!”

“Sir!” Mr. Fields stands up as the three of them head towards the door. “I am not done! I wanted to discuss--”

“Listen, pally. Alls I care about is that my babies are on the honor roll and you need to quit teachin’ all this bougie propaganda.”

A pause.

“Baumans out!” Murray announces, arms up. Mr. Fields vaguely notices Murray is wearing cut-off shorts and a bathrobe, along with hiking sandals and a t-shirt for a campground out west.

“And Wheeler,” Nancy corrects. 

Murray wraps his arms over Nancy’s shoulders. “You’re a Bauman now, baby.”

Mr. Fields doesn’t bother to stop them as they head out the door. He needs a drink, to be honest.  

[tertiatachonis]

“I may have accidentally sort of adopted five cats.” -- aziraphale

“He was so lonely,” Aziraphale wails, motioning to the fluffy grey cat purring contentedly in a sunbeam. “The poor girl said he’d been at that shelter for two whole years! All because he’s missing an eye.”

“That doesn’t explain Adam and Eve,” Crowley points at the intertwined white cats sharing a cushion on the far end of the sofa.

“They were a bonded pair and Stormy was getting into mischief!”

“And now...” Crowley gestures vaguely to the two kittens in Arizaphale’s hands. 

“Ah yes!” Aziraphale enthuses. “This is Rosie,” he holds up the tortoiseshell kitten, “and this is Marty,” he lifts the orange kitten in the other hand. “I found them outside in a rubbish bin.” 

“So you...accidentally adopted 5 cats in two weeks?”

Aziraphale huffs. Aziraphale pouts. “Well, when you put it that way!”

Crowley is still wearing his sunglasses but Aziraphale can sense he’s rolling his eyes. One of the white cats disentangles from the other and saunters over to Crowley. The golden bell from her saccharine pink collar jingles lightly.

“Eve likes you!” Arizaphale points out as Eve stretches over Crowley’s lap before yawning and curling herself into a ball, trapping the demon on the couch. 

Crowley grumbles as Eve purrs. 

[tertiatachonis]

“I’m like 75% this won’t explode on us.” for the party!

A sturdy, terrifying boom wakes Jim Hopper up from his nap.

Two hours prior, he had found El and the party in the empty carport next to the house, lugging stuff from the shed to a circle clearly marked with packing tape on the cement.

“What are you up to?” He had asked. 

“Science!” was all Dustin had said, shooing him inside the house.

“I’m, like, 75% sure this won’t explode on us,” he had heard Lucas mutter, sending a cold shock through Hop’s body. 

Hop burst out the side door, shouting. “What the hell was that?”

The party is all circled around Mike, who holds his nose.  “We got some dry ice from the science lab,” El explains. “We wanted to--”

“You guys made dry ice bombs?”

The kids shrug. A heavy drop of blood falls out of Mike’s nose and onto the cement. “I got hit in the nose, chief!” 

Hop rolls his eyes and that’s when he sees it.

They burst a hole in the aluminum roof of the carport.

Fuckers. 

[tertiatachonis]

you’re the only person here who gets my costume for Sansa and Jeyne, shippy or not you decide!

“Oh my god!”

Sansa jumped as a brunette dressed as a monarch butterfly pushed through the crowd towards her.

“That’s so clever! You’re Mother Nature!”

Sansa beamed, rubbing her sweaty palms against her frumpy brown jumper. “You’re the first person to get it! Everyone assumes I’m just a bad Poison Ivy!”

“I thought so at first! I saw you and I was like ‘wow, that’s a bad Poison Ivy!’, then I saw your shoes and I knew it!” 

“My shoes?” Sansa glanced at her feet.

“My mom owns the same pair of clogs. I thought ‘huh, those are mom shoes’, and then it clicked!”

They both laughed as Theon, badly dressed as a pirate, wrapped his arm around Butterfly’s shoulders, bumping her plastic wings.

“Hey Jeyne,” he mumbled, kissing Butterfly’s cheek. He turned to Sansa. “No offense, Sansa, but that’s a really bad Poison Ivy costume.”

“Babe!” Jeyne slapped his chest. “She’s wearing those clogs my mom has, really bad mom jeans, and I’m pretty sure she borrowed that sweater from her mom. Add the plants and shit and she’s Mother Nature.”

Realization dawned on Theon’s face, but dimmed quickly as he shrugged. “I like the shitty Ivy better.”

Jeyne rolled her eyes. So did Sansa.

At least someone at this party liked her costume.