#Fortunately I managed to snag one of them today

[rooatgumpoint]

HUNTER RANT 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

I didn’t realize just how toxic survivors were until today when I finally gave in and bought night watch and they’re taunting me at gate every. Single. Round. Like okay why don’t I just kms then

[mushyblushyredhead]

Go to Sleep! — Sonic Movieverse

Summary: It’s movie night for the Wachowskis. But after Sonic helps himself to some sweets before bed which results in a sugar rush, it’s nearly impossible to get him to sleep. Fortunately, Tom and Maddie know exactly how to tire out a sugar rushed hedgehog.

Lee!Sonic 🦔💙

Lers!Tom & Maddie 🍩🥨

Word count: 3.8k

A/N: My first Sonic fic that I wrote four days ago while being bedridden from being sick 🤒 Takes place after the first movie. Also, I just wanted to quickly write some Sonic fluff to take my mind off things this month and cuz my Shadow plushie was delivered today. ^^ enjoy!

Tooth-rotting family fluff ahead! May be too sweet for reader consumption!

It was movie night in the Wachowski household, something Sonic had been looking forward to all week. Just him, Tom, Maddie, and Ozzy for the whole evening binging movies and feasting on junk food. And tonight, it was Sonic’s turn to pick the movie.

The little blue hedgehog quickly skimmed through the channels before sorting through the movies catergory of their streaming service, trying to decide what movie they should watch. But there were so many options. How was he supposed to pick just one?

Tom and Maddie had already settled down on the couch, popcorn bowl wedged between them. Even their golden retriever, Ozzy, had taken a seat on the couch.

“Sonic, c’mon,” he heard Tom say. “Just pick a movie already. The longer you decide, the less time we’ll have for our movie night.”

“I’m trying!” retorted Sonic. “There’s just so many good options, it’s hard to pick one!”

Tom rolled his eyes fondly, muttering “oh, this kid” under his breath. Maddie overheard, and couldn’t help but giggle.

“Ooh! I think I finally got it!” Sonic exclaimed as the loading icon appeared on the TV screen. He zipped back to the couch, squeezing in between the couple and making himself comfy.

“So what movie did you pick?” asked Tom.

Sonic beamed. “The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie!”

Tom and Maddie exchanged glances before simultaneously uttering, “Ohhh no.”

When the scene came where SpongeBob and Patrick were scarfing down triple goober berry sundaes, Sonic’s eyes widened at the sight of the cartoon depicted ice cream sundaes. “Whoaaaa! I wanna make that! Can we make that after the movie? Can we? Can we?!”

“Slow down, buddy,” Tom chuckled. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to eat a heaping ton of ice cream right before bed. You’ll be bouncing off the walls for hours.”

“Wait, can that really happen?” Sonic asked, immediately convinced. “Now I really wanna try it!”

Maddie quickly intervened. “Uh, Tom’s right, sweetie. We don’t want you to have a sugar rush keeping you up all night. We’ll have ice cream earlier tomorrow.”

“Awww…” Sonic’s ears dropped. Maddie ruffled his head apologetically to get him to smile again.

As their attention pivoted back to the movie, Sonic got a brilliant idea. An hour later after the movie concluded—and Sonic quit scream-singing the lyrics to “Goofy Goober Rock”—it was time to put his idea into action.

“All right, everybody, time for bed.” Maddie ushered them all off the couch before calling Ozzy to take him outside. Tom picked up the empty popcorn bowl and switched the TV off. He caught a certain little blue hedgehog trying to quietly slip into the kitchen.

“Sonic.” Said hedgehog froze in his tracks. “You heard Maddie. Upstairs to bed.”

Sonic shyly twiddled his fingers. “I-I know, I just…wanted to get a quick glass of milk before I go. Y’know, wash out all that popcorn I ate.”

“Well…okay. But make it quick.”

“Okay!” The little hedgehog internally squealed at how excellent his plan worked. “Perfect,” he whispered to himself. “Now to finally make that triple goober berry sundae. Let’s see…what do I need? Ooh, I know!”

Sonic managed to snag everything he needed to make the sundae in under two seconds. He silently thanked Tom and Maddie for having all the ingredients in the kitchen. Then, he quickly constructed his sundae based on memory in another second. When that was done, he stepped back and looked at the finished product. “Whoo! Not bad for a first timer!”

He had successfully made a screen accurate triple goober berry sunrise: three large scoops of vanilla ice cream dripping with chocolate syrup, an M&M smile, and banana limbs with cherries on the ends.

Sonic felt like he could tear up at the sight. But no, no time for that. He had to eat this fast. While also trying to savor every bite at the same time.

As soon as Maddie came back inside with Ozzy, she asked, “Did Sonic head off to bed already?”

“Not yet,” Tom answered, now changed into his pajamas. He gestured to the kitchen. “Said he wanted to get some milk before he went to bed.”

The sound of a spoon cluttering and scraping got their attention.

“That…doesn’t sound like he’s just getting milk,” Maddie said uneasily. Tom slowly shook his head, parental instincts kicking in. The couple slowly peered inside the kitchen, and their jaws dropped at the sight: Sonic sitting on the counter, his face coated with ice cream and chocolate syrup, as he attempted to lick the bottom of his bowl clean.

“Sonic?!” exclaimed the couple simultaneously.

Said hedgehog jerked his head up at the sound of his name, smiling sheepishly as he was caught. “O-Oh…heyyy guuuuys…”

“Sonic…” Tom began slowly. “What are you eating?”

“Uhhh…triple goober berry sunrise?” Sonic shrunk under the parental glares. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it! It just looked soooo good in the movie, I thought…maybe I could make one before bed?”

“After we explicitly told you no?” Maddie asked in her stern mom voice.

Sonic lowered his ears before flashing an apologetic smile. “I promise to clean up?” He zipped around the kitchen in a streak of blue light as he tidied up. “There, see? Like it never happened!”

Maddie tapped the corner of her mouth. “Except you missed a spot here.”

“Oh!” Sonic licked his lips. “Got it!” He suddenly squeaked in surprise as he was lifted off the ground.

“All right, you’re going straight to bed,” he heard Tom say. Sonic whined and tried to squirm out of the awkward hug lift. “Don’t give me that. We warned you about having ice cream before bed even though we promised you we’d have some tomorrow.”

“But I couldn’t wait! And anyway, what’s the big hap? I cleaned up, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point. And tomorrow, we’re going to have a talk about this.”

“Awww you’re no fun, Donut Lord!” Sonic whined. He managed to squirm free and raced up the ladder stairs to his attic bedroom.

“Aw geez…” Tom sighed as he facepalmed.

“At this rate, he’s not going to get any sleep,” said Maddie.

“Unless we duct tape him down to his bed.”

“Tom!”

“I’m kidding! But that’s still an option we can use as a last resort.”

“How about this,” Maddie suggested. “Instead of…that, we’ll gently tire him out; give him soothing pets and rubs, tuck him in snugly, read him a story. That should put him to sleep quickly.”

“Hm. Okay, that works.”

It did not work. Sonic was far too hyper to settle down no matter what they tried. Not even soft scratches to his ears or under his chin pacified his sugar rush. And that always was a good remedy whenever the blue hedgehog was restless.

Tom and Maddie sat helplessly on the edge of Sonic’s race car bed, while he continued to do laps around his room and babbling gibberish. He was bouncing off the walls. Literally; curled up as a blue hedgy ball and bouncing from wall to wall, as if he were a ping pong ball.

Tom turned his attention to his wife. “Well, if we’re both in agreement with restraining the hyper hedgehog to his bed, I’ll go get the duct tape from the garage.”

“We are not duct taping him to his bed.”

“What about those calming gummies you give to Ozzy during the Fourth of July? That should do it, right?”

“Tom! I’m not giving canine calming gummies to a hedgehog!”

“NyQuil? If it’s safe for human consumption, it should be safe for him.”

“Tom, no!”

With no other options, Maddie suddenly perked up with an idea. “Hang on. I think I’ve got something. Something my sister and I used to do with Jojo when she was younger, and in a similar predicament.”

Her husband looked relieved. “Really? What is it?” She motioned for him to come closer to whisper so Sonic wouldn’t overhear. His lips slowly curled into a big grin.

As the hyper hedgehog continued to zoom across the walls, he was oblivious to the fact that his parental figures were plotting something against him. It wasn’t until he heard them call out his name that he skidded to a stop, while still bouncing in place.

“All right, Blue Devil, can you settle down now?” asked Tom.

“I can’t! I’m too hyper!” Sonic declared, still bouncing on his toes.

“Well, will you at least lay down in bed?” Maddie coaxed, patting the bed.

Sonic thought about it for a second, before getting a running start and leaping onto his bed. He landed face first with an “oomph!” before bursting out into giggles.

It was hard for the couple to stay mad at him because sometimes Sonic would be too cute for his own good. His sweet giggles and smile almost made them forget why they were displeased in the first place.

“Alright, we’re not going to tell you again, Sonic,” Maddie tried to sound stern, but the grin on her lips proved otherwise. “You better go to sleep right this instant.”

“I can’t! I’m too hyper!” Sonic repeated through breathy giggles. He giddily kicked his legs, already making a mess of bedsheets and blankets.

“Last chance, turbo toes,” Tom playfully warned. “Go to sleep now or else you’re gonna get it.”

Something in Tom’s voice sparked a fluttery feeling in Sonic’s tummy. Anticipation; and anticipating some sort of playful consequence if he didn’t abide. But there was also a streak of provocative cheekiness. He dared to defy.

“Heh, make me, Donut Lord!” Sonic challenged, sticking his tongue out.

Tom and Maddie exchanged devious grins. Oh, this kid was so asking for it!

Sonic emitted a surprised squeak as his wrists were suddenly grabbed and pinned above his head. The culprit? Tom and Maddie each took a wrist as they sat on either side of him. “Aaah! Hey, what gives? Aw, you two are no fun!”

Tom smirked like a villain. “We warned you, Sonic.” Then he glanced at his wife. “So, Maddie, looks like we’ve got a sugar-rushed hedgehog. As Green Hill’s most elite and respected veterinarian, what do you propose we do?”

Maddie hummed, pretending to think. “Well, normally it wears off on its own. But it looks like we have a severe case here. And there’s only one way to cure a severe sugar rush…”

Sonic didn’t like the way they were speaking to each other. Something in their voices seemed suspicious, like they knew something he didn’t. What were they planning on doing? And why did their cryptic conversation make even more anticipatory butterflies fill his belly? What witchcraft were they doing to him?

His questions were answered when he heard the couple say, “A visit from the Tickle Monster!”

Sonic suddenly burst out into squeaky giggles as two hands gently fluttered against his ears and neck. His ears twitched with every soft tweak, and he attempted to scrunch his shoulders. “Guhuhuys, nohohoho! This ihihis so nohot fahahahair!”

“Again, we warned you,” Tom smirked. He moved his hand down to tase Sonic’s side, resulting in a high-pitched squeak.

“OkAHAhay! Okahahay! I’ve learned my lesson!” the giggly hedgehog squeaked out. Tom and Maddie paused for a moment.

“Hm, should we believe him?” asked Maddie.

“Mmm…nah.”

“What?!” Sonic exclaimed. “But—But, I mean it! I learned my lesson! I-I’ll never ever eat ice cream before bed again! Swear!”

“Hmm, then why don’t we believe you?” Maddie playfully asked, hovering her wiggling fingers near the hedgehog’s side.

Sonic gasped and tried arching away from her hand as far as he could. “B-Because…Because you guys are jerks, that’s why!”

Maddie pretended to be offended. “Excuuuse me?! Calling us jerks now, huh?”

Normally, Sonic would be terrified of Maddie’s reaction to his choice of words. But he was feeling too playful and cheeky at the moment. And he knew nothing serious was going to happen to him. He just enjoyed seeing the look of their faces as he got quippy with them.

“Y-Yeah! You’re not only jerks, but you’re also fun sponges!” Sonic dared to say. “You suck the fun out of everything!” Then, just to be even cheekier, he dared to stick his tongue out at them again. “Mmmh!”

“Ohh that does it! Tom, hand him over.” Maddie cradled the little blue hedgehog in her lap, who was now giggling and eyeing her with wide anticipating eyes. Awwh, he must really want this.

She wasted no time and rapidly wiggled her fingers against his sides. Immediately, Sonic arched his back with a squeal before erupting into more high-pitched giggles.

“EEEEEAAAHeeheeheehee!! Mahahahaddie! Mahahaddie, nohohohoho!”

“Who is this…Maddie you speak of? I’m the Tickle Monster! And you’re mine, you sassy little hedgehog!” She empathized by tasing Sonic’s sides, making him arch with another squeal.

“AAAAAHH! Whahahahat?! No you’re nohohohot!”

“Oh yes I am! And you’re not going anywhere!” She gently pulled him back into her lap as she noticed Sonic was trying to roll out of her lap.

He yelped and made a dramatic show of reaching out for Tom. “Donut Lord! H-Hehehelp! Sahahave meheeheehee!”

“Oh, I’ll save you, all right. Hand him over, Maddie.” Sonic was passed over, and thought he was safe. But that split second of relief was only short lived as Tom suddenly dug rapid fingers against his ribs and under his arm at the same time.

“AAAAAEEEEHEEHEAAAA!! NAAAHAHAhahaha!! Nohohohot cool, Donut Lohohohord!”

“Who are you calling Donut Lord?”

“AAAHAhahahaha! Y-Youhoohoohoo, Tohohom!”

“I’m not Tom, I’m also the Tickle Monster!”

“HaHAAAhaha! Nohohohoho! NAHAhahat you too!” Sonic giggled madly, rapidly shaking his head. “And quiHIHit sahahaying that! I’m too old for thahahahat!”

“Too old for the Tickle Monster? I beg to differ!” Tom switched tactics; yanking one arm up and scribbling his free hand into the exposed little underarm.

Sonic emitted a girly squeal, and shrieked with laughter. “EEEEEEEEEHEEHEEHEAAAAAAHAHAHA!! NAHAHAHAHAHO! I-I AHAHAHAHAM!! I’M TOO OHOHOLD FOR THE T—HAHAHA! THE TI���MMPHHEEEEHEEHEEHEE!!” Sonic was too flustered to even say the words. And unfortunately for him, that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Aww having a little trouble saying the words ‘Tickle Monster’, sweetie?” Maddie couldn’t help but coo.

“N-NOHOHOHO!” Sonic squeakily protested. No way in Green Hills he was going to admit that he couldn’t say the t-word. Or that just hearing the word flustered him to no end.

“Is it because you can’t actually say the word ‘tickle?’”

Uh-oh. Now they were on to him.

Sonic blushed, panting as Tom halted his attack. “N…No..? Of course I can say it! I have absolutely no problem saying—that word.”

“Ohhh, so sassy, hyper from a sugar rush, and can’t say the word ‘tickle?’” Tom pointed out. “Good to know!”

Sonic rolled his eyes and giggled. “You’re soho meheeheehean, you fun sponge!”

“Oho, still gonna call me names?”

“That’s right!” The blue hedgehog sat up, quickly recovering from the tickly onslaught mere moments ago. “You guys are not only mean, but you’re fun sponges, wazbags, and also hobknockers!” He crossed his arms with a huff before bursting out into giggles as he saw the couple’s mouths agape. “Oh my—hahaha! You…You should see your faces right now! Ahahaha!”

The couple exchanged glances again before Maddie nodded at her husband, silently giving him the green light. Tom gave a single nod back. Time to bring out the big guns.

He made a grab for the little hedgehog, securely cradling him. “All right, you little sass master. Since you clearly still have a lot of energy left to keep sassing Maddie and I, that means you can still take a lot more tickles. Lucky for you, I know just how to teach sassy little hedgehogs like you a lesson for being so snarky. Time to bring out the old Wachowski family special!”

Sonic tilted his head like a confused puppy. What the heck was that supposed to mean? He let out a soft squeak as he was lifted up closer to Tom’s face. “What are you up to, Donut L—AAAEEEEEEEEHEEHEEHEEEEEEEK!!” He didn’t have time to finish his question as Tom leaned down to press his face against Sonic’s belly, and playfully nip the soft surface. “NAAAAAHAHAHA!! NAAHEEEEHEEHAHAHA!! N-NOHOHO, WHAHAHAT ARE YOU DOIHIHIHIHING?!!”

“This Tickle Monster grows tired of your sassy comments, and has simply decided to eat you instead!” Tom spoke against the twitching tummy, chuckling as he heard Sonic shriek like a girl again.

“EEEEEEEEEHEEHEEHEAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!! NAAAAAHAHAHAHAO!! DOHOHON’T PLEAHEEHEEHEEHEASE!! THAHAHAHAT FEELS WOHOHOHORSE!!”

Sonic was squirming like a leech on a salt covered sidewalk. The nibbles to his belly were unbearably tickly. Tingly currents were zipping up and down his spine, and he could feel them all the way down to the tips of his toes.

He frantically batted at Tom’s head, silently begging his father figure to have some mercy on him. Fortunately, Tom did get the message. “So, are you ready to apologize for your sass and head off to sleep? Or do we need to keep teaching you a lesson?” The couple hovered their wiggling fingers over the small hedgehog, making him squeal and curl for protection.

“Aaaah! No, no! Wahahahait! Lemme thihihink about ihihihit!”

After Sonic caught his breath, he tapped his chin and hummed in deep thought. “Hmm….I think you guys need a second opinion before calling yourselves professional Tickle Monsters! No way that’s true! I mean, look at me; I’m still hyper, and full of energy, so HA! Your sneak attacks did absolutely no—AAAAAHEHEEHEEHAHAHAHA!!”

“That’s enough sass out of you, mister,” Tom interrupted. He had scooped up the hedgehog, not wasting another second and mercilessly scribbled under his arms.

Sonic screeched and slammed his arms down to his sides, merely trapping the still wriggling fingers there. He jolted with a louder screech when he felt nails scribbling and digging into his belly. “W-WAIT, WAHAHAHAIT!! NAHAHAHAT THERE!! NOT THERE!!”

“Where? Here?” Maddie innocently asked, vibrating a clawed hand against the center of Sonic’s tummy.

Sonic squealed another octave. He frantically shook his head, kicking his legs at 300 miles per hour. “AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!! NAHAHAHAHAHAAAAHAO!! NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE!!”

Tom chuckled. “Y’know you keep saying ‘not there’, but I’m not hearing you apologize.”

Sonic may have been laughing his quills off, but he was a stubborn hedgehog. “N-NO WAHAHAHAHAY!! I’LL NEHEHEHEHEVER AP—HAHAHAHA—APOLOGIZE!!”

“Suit yourself, buddy.” Tom and Maddie paused their attacks one last time before switching spots. Maddie grabbed and held Sonic’s wrists above his head while Tom made a grab for his legs. “Just so you don’t try and kick me in the face while I do this,” he told Sonic after he shakily asked what were they going to do to him now.

“Oh, just a secret family combat tactic that’s lethal enough to paralyze a victim within seconds,” Tom stated like a villain as he wrapped an arm around the fidgeting hedgehog’s legs.

Sonic gulped. “P-Paralyze..?”

The couple had to fight the urge not to break character. Sonic just looked too cute! He actually looked like a scared puppy, wondering what they were about to do. They wanted to tell him right there that he had nothing to worry about, and explain what they were going to do, but…it was better to show rather than tell.

The fluttery anticipating tingling intensified as Sonic felt Tom slide his arm behind his back, arching his stomach. He had a bad feeling about this. “W-Wait, what are you..?”

Tom took a deep breath, dove down, pressed his lips against the center of Sonic’s belly, and blew hard.

Sonic threw his head back and screamed. “AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHEEEEEEAAAAA!! NAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAO!! WHAHAHAT IHIHIHIS THAHAHAHAT?!!”

“They’re called ‘raspberries’, Sonic,” explained Maddie with a giggle.

Tom lifted his head. “But like I said, they’re a very lethal weapon that can cripple a victim! Like, for instance, sassy-mouthed hedgehogs who refuse to go to bed!” He leaned down to pepper more ticklish raspberries all over Sonic’s tummy.

And Sonic? He couldn’t stop squealing and screeching hysterics. This was way worse than the nibbles from earlier! “AAAAAAAAHEEHEEHEEHEEHAHAHAAAAAA!! NO!! NO—AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAA!! THIHIHIS IS SOHOHO MUCH WOHOHOHOHORSE!! AAAAAAAAHHH!!”

“Good! Maybe this’ll teach you not to be sassy to your parents!” Tom spoke against the soft tummy again.

“B-BUHUT I WAHASN’T EHEEHEEHEEHEVEN BEING SASSY!! AAAAAAAHHH!! NAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAO!!” Sonic’s protests were interrupted as another fat raspberry was blown to the center of his belly. “O-OKAHAHAY!! OKAY!! I’M SAHAHAHAHARRY!! I’LL GO TO BEHEHEHED NOW!!” He meant it; he could feel his quills starting to spark and he was starting to lose it. Plus, he didn’t want to accidentally cause a power outage if his quills continued to spark.

“You promise?” he heard Tom and Maddie ask.

He nodded frantically. “YES, YEHEHEHEHES!! PROMIHIHIHISE!!”

The couple finally ceased and released him. Sonic lay limply on his bed, panting while trying to rub away the aftershock tingles from his stomach. “That…you…you guys…are so mean..!” Tom and Maddie laughed, affectionately rubbing his ears and head.

“Well, now you know what happens when you refuse to go to bed,” shrugged Tom.

“And when you get sassy with your words,” Maddie added, booping Sonic on the nose.

Sonic sheepishly smiled. “Okay, I guess I did walk into that one. Sorry for sassing, I think it was the sugar rush.”

Maddie gave him more pets to the head. “Now do you see why we don’t want you to have sweets before bed? It’s for your own good. So you can avoid dealing with the Tickle Monsters as a result.” She playfully tased his side one last time for emphasis.

Sonic arched away with a cute squeak. “EEEP! Okay, okay! I get it! No more! Just…please stop calling yourselves that.” With one final pet to the head, Sonic yawned as his ears drooped.

“Ready for bed?”

He sleepily nodded. “Mm-hmmm…”

Maddie carefully slipped off his sneakers while Tom snugly tucked him in. Sonic was out like a light after that. Smiling, the couple each took a turn giving Sonic a good night kiss to his forehead. Their hearts swooned as they saw the little hedgehog smile in his sleep at the affectionate gesture.

“See? What did I tell you?” Maddie whispered to her husband. “A visit from the Tickle Monster works every time.”

THE END <3

[nanenna]

Today I remembered that my favorite thing about having so many AUs is to pick up 2 AUs like Barbie dolls and clack their faces together while making smooching noises.

Behold my beloved DCxDP AU amalgamation monster: DeamonTwinAU and PhantomThiefAU (aka: Selina gives Danny a slutty slutty cat suit, good times)

The story vaguely goeth thusly: Danny is a halfa, the Balance, the Bridge Between Worlds, he is....... the Observants' glorified gofer. You see, there are a lot of cursed/enchanted/ghostly artefacts floating around loose in the living Realm and they need Danny to go retrieve them. Danny would rather not, but they just won't leave him alone about it. Can't a guy just live? At least let him poop in peace! Ancients! Fine, he'll do it if it'll get them to shut up. (Spoiler: it does, in fact, not get them to shut up.)

But you see, Danny has a secret: he was raised in an assassin ninja cult (at least for the early years) before getting adopted by the Fentons. Now the killing? Not a fan, no thanks, he's working on not increasing his kill count, thx. But the sneaking? He could use that. Sneaky ninjas are also good thieves, right? So he cobbles together a knock off League of Assassins outfit, buys a cheap portable lock picking set, and decides to make a game of how far can he get without using his powers (much. He's new at this okay?)

Batman is not having fun. There's some (possible?) League assassin running around stealing verified cursed/magical artefacts! Is Talia planning something? Is Ra's planning something? (Isn't he for real dead? Silly reader, no one is ever for real dead in DC.)

Robin is super frustrated. For all the same reasons Batman is but also because he just knows this new rogue is taunting him. Personally. Because he's Damian al Ghul Wayne and the whole world revolves around him, obviously. (And also because he once pointed at Robin and laughed before jumping out a window.)

Selina is intrigued. Who is this kid? How does he know what to go after? How does he keep evading the bats? Luckily she runs into him mid heist (fortunately they had different targets, she's intrigued but not enough to hand over her shinies to him) and oh he's adorable! She has to train him, it would drive Brucie up the wall. But then she sees his face and oh, she knows exactly who he is, even if he seems oblivious.

Because Danny? He's in Gotham for the ecto, for the Thomas Wayne full ride scholarship he managed to snag, and also because for some reason Gotham is full of so many cursed/ghost artefacts. (Lady Gotham is seething, she worked hard to collect all those curses! But this is her beloved dark knight's kid and she kinda wants him home. But she also doesn't want to give up her curses!) Back to the point: Danny doesn't care about ANY of the rich bougie people. The Waynes give out a lot of scholarships? Cool, that's nice and all. They probably also rub elbows with Vlad or Sam's parents. No thanks. Doesn't care. He's got better things to worry about.

Selina has got a plan though! She's gonna teach this boy how to thief properly, starting with better tools (including the slutty, slutty cat burglar outfit). She also knows that she can't let any of the Waynes (in or out of costume) meet Danny (out of costume). So does Lady Gotham. So does the universe apparently (or just Clockwork maybe), because all kinds of unlikely things keep happening to prevent it.

Danny is having so much fun though! He's learning new skills. Selina is giving him an allowance so he's not living off ramen and peanut butter sandwiches, he's doing well in school, he gets to stretch his ghost powers regularly to go above the smog cover and star gaze in peace. Everything's coming up Danny.

Selina decides it's time to flaunt her find in front of Brucie and makes Danny go to a gala as her date, she spends the entire time clinging to his arm and introducing him around to everyone. Including Bruce himself (who just so happens to have Damian in tow). Danny may not recognize Bruce, but he sure recognizes Damian, and Damian recognizes him if his utterly flabbergasted face is anything to go by. But Danny remembers what it was like living in the League. And so far as he knows Damian is still in it, he was the Demon Head's heir after all. Damian made sure of it.

Oh it. Is. ON! Now Danny is on a mission! A sibling rivalry mission! He is going to make Damian's/Robin's a living hell. Selina going on a heist that has no magical artefacts? Danny's there anyway, always have back up. That necklace in the museum has barely any powers and he wasn't even going to bother with it? Too bad, it's back on the list. He has no reason to be out at all but the bats are on patrol? Well so is Danny. Catch him if you can, suckers!

It's good for Danny, it's enrichment!

[magnoliasandarson]

Happy Birthday

“Surprise!”

A knife was in Jason’s hand in the heartbeat it took for the lights to flicker on. His eyes darted from laughing face to smiling face until he had checked over everyone in the room- all in the time it took to drop his bag and raise his knife-wielding arm. 

Bruce was hovering like an uncomfortable shadow behind Damian and Tim, Stephanie lounged on his kitchen counter like a heathen with Cass predictably at her side, Alfred was filming with a gently scuffed phone, Kori and Roy were blowing party horns, Babs was even next to Tim, and Dick was of course at the center of it all. All in all, Jason was now faced with ten unwanted guests in his home. Go fucking figure. 

Dick was the one to step forward, wasn’t he always?, still grinning like a fool as he gently took the knife from him, “Took you long enough to show up, Little Wing,” the acrobat wrapped an arm around the larger man’s shoulders, “Figures you’d be late to your own party.”

Jason’s tongue felt leaden as he took in the red streamers hung from his rafters and the large Happy Birthday spelled in silver balloons. His hands felt clammy and he itched for the knife now safely tucked in his brother’s pocket. Unconsciously, his fingers curled into fists as he croakily said, “Didn’t ‘spect an ambush, Dickie.”

Dick tutted like Jason had just said he didn’t expect the sky to be blue, “C’mon, Jaybird, you know better than that.” He did, he truly did, but he didn't expect something for today of all days.

Roy stepped forward, grinning like a fucking idiot in a way that made Jason’s chest tighten, and pulled him into a bro-hug, “Happy birthday,” the archer’s grip tightened, and his voice lowered as he continued, “Star and I can blow this bitch to hell if you want to get out.”

Jason, while not religious, was ready to thank whatever higher power was out there that he had Roy and Kori in his life. Jason forced air back into his lungs and squeezed his fellow Outlaw, “I’ll be okay. They need this,” he patted the redhead’s back, a clear signal for get the fuck off me before I stab you, and accepted the armful of Tamaranean princess.

Kori, ever the least subtle of her teammates, gleefully exclaimed, “Happiest of birthdays, dear one.” She lifted them both off the ground and squeezed hard enough to make something in Jason’s chest creak, “I have informed the Bats that I will burn them if they don’t behave,” she pulled away enough for Jason to see her eyes glowing a fiery green despite her large smile, “and I have brought a present!”

Jason huffed a half laugh as he was lowered back down. Tim offered him an odd sort of half-hug that was followed by Damian's frankly ridiculous handshake. Dick tried to snag him in one of his nightmare hugs of doom, but Roy distracted him with some gossip about the old Titans. Stephanie fully attempted to spear tackle him (fortunately missing), and Cass managed to pin his arms for a hug. Babs simply gave him a stern look, and he was forced into a squatted embrace. He and Bruce just exchanged nods. 

But Alfred, Jason let himself be tugged into the old man’s gentle embrace, and he was immediately reminded of better days. Back when every single breath didn’t hurt, back when he could see an action movie without being tossed into fight or flight, back when he could work on a car without having a panic attack, back before he ruined everything.

Jason sniffed a little as he pulled away, blinking hard to push back tears that physically would never appear. He sat down at the table, tolerating the half-noogie Dick tried to give him before Kori nailed him with a star bolt, sending him staggering back a few steps. His smile turned genuine for a few seconds, right up until the cake came out. 

There was a large 20 emblazoned across the top in chunky red letters.

That can’t be right. He felt his face fall in real-time as he stared at the burning candles.

He wasn’t twenty. 

He had died when he was fifteen, four months before his sixteenth birthday. He came back in October, but he was catatonic for almost two years. 

He wasn’t twenty.

He hadn’t aged when he was dead. He hadn’t really aged when he was walking around brain-dead. Right up until they dunked him in the pit, the lights were on, but no one was home. 

A dead boy can’t age, right?

He wasn’t twenty- he didn’t even have a driver’s license. 

The candles on the cake burned all the way into the icing before he was aware again. Roy was on one side, Kori on the other, as they tried to pull him out of the darkness in his own mind. He loved them both so much it made his chest ache. Jason’s eyes flickered between the other faces at the table, and blurs of memories, shadows, and nightmares looked back at him.

He wasn’t twenty- he couldn’t be.

The world shattered around him in a ghoulish kaleidoscope of greens and reds, fire and blood reaching out and pulling him under. He never turned sixteen, he never turned seventeen, he never turned eighteen, he never turned nineteen- he couldn’t be turning twenty.

The monsters around his table lurched forward in a horrifying swirl of colors that made bile rise up his throat. The hand on his left arm was gently shaking him, but he was beyond that. Jason couldn't breathe there was fucking laughter coming from somewhere and he was scared-

Jason squeezed his eyes shut and bit firmly down on his tongue, trying desperately to regulate his breathing and heart rate. Blood filled his mouth as he shot up from his chair- I’m alive, I’m okay, I’m alive- His hands reached out for Kori and Roy, but they came up empty.

His eyes shot open-

HERE LIES JASON TODD

[bellaseternaltear]

In thinking about rewriting Twilight so that things make more sense and have a less Mormon-y vibe, I’ve been rolling the question of why Forks, WA around in my head. Many people have made the valid point that being anonymous in a small town is impossible and the Cullens would be able to live indefinitely as actual adults if they relocated 200 miles West to Seattle. I still wanted to base the rewrite in Forks because part of Bella’s initial struggle with the move is the sheer culture shock of moving from desert metropolis to basically-the-rainforest rural small town. Bella is in Forks for Charlie, obviously, but why are the Cullens there? It occurred to me today that maybe the lack of anonymity is the answer.

“Why aren’t there more vegetarian vampires?” Bella asked, studying Edward’s profile as he gazed across the valley.

“It’s incredibly difficult. Not to sound like a martyr, but the thirst is excruciating and it took each of us years to be able to handle it amongst humans.” He sighed, “And even then we still run into . . . Snags.” He smiled wryly.

“But you did manage. And you said you don’t want to be a monster. I would imagine that is a sentiment held by a lot of people . . . Er vampires.”

“It is. No one wants to think of themselves as evil, but you would be surprised by the creative solutions people come up with to rationalize their worst indulgences . . . ” He trailed off and reached for her hand, lightly running his thumb over the raised scar on her knuckle from where her fist had split open on Lanny’s jaw. “. . . Or maybe you wouldn’t be surprised. In any case, my family was very fortunate to have had help. Most newly turned vampires live in isolation or only with their creator who more than likely has no qualms about biting humans. They can’t return to their human families and friends-at least, not for long-without losing control or being found out. As for the few who do resist the call of human blood long enough to reenter society, it has usually taken so long that their loved ones have all died. This is not an endeavor one typically enters into alone and finds any degree of success.”

“Didn’t Carlisle do it?”

“He’s the exception that proves the rule. Not only did it take him the better part of a century to successfully re-integrate, but he also committed himself to the medical field. He found that actively building connections with humans helped him remember what it was like to be human. It’s why we prefer to stay in smaller towns. The lack of anonymity means that we know a lot about the people around us. It’s harder to imagine killing someone you know has three kids and a mom with MS back home waiting for them.”

Bella shuddered. “You have to know that people know your family is strange though. What’s to stop them from figuring out your secret?”

“There is no hiding how strange we are, but being part of the community means we can manage the rumors to some extent. Besides, it gives us all extra incentive to behave. In a big city, it’s easy to pick off people that wouldn’t be missed or disguise a slip up as a warehouse fire. Here, we can’t mess up or our whole family will be in danger. Most vampires don’t have a whole family devoted to the lifestyle that will protect you from yourself and who will encourage you be known and remind you what all you are apart from the monster.”

[sednonamoris]

oil on troubled water

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: Tensions are high between John and Arthur. Will collaborating on a train robbery bring them closer or tear them farther apart?

Warnings: Even more emotional constipation, strong language, canon-typical violence, gun violence

Word count: 2,828

A/N: Pouring Forth Oil nation rise up - hopefully worth the wait!! Tysm to everyone who enjoys this story 🥰

Series masterlist • AO3

—

There’s a train due through Scarlett Meadows in a few days. Overburdened and underprotected, Mary-Beth insists it’s the perfect target. More than that, John has a plan to rob it. A good plan, one that will force the train to stop with a commandeered oil wagon parked dead over the tracks and allow you to hit it in the dark vulnerability of night .

It’s all he’s been able to talk about for a week.

You just need another man.

“That is… kind of brilliant,” Arthur admits when he hears. He’s fresh back from Strawberry with Micah not far behind. “Uh, for you, I mean,” he quickly amends, maybe remembering that he and John are supposed to be at odds. Tensions have been high since his return. “I think that’s the first time you ever had one of them!”

“Shut up,” John snaps.

But Arthur is on a roll now, that mean, brotherly gleam in his eye. “You might be the first bastard to ever have half his brains eaten by a wolf and end up more intelligent.”

John shoots you a look, one of those see didn’t I tell you he’d be like this glares you’ve been getting since you were kids. Arthur rolls his eyes towards you in much the same can’t he take a joke for once way. It takes everything in you not to groan aloud. You and John are good, now. At least there’s a truce. But the two of them? They’ve been bickering from the moment Arthur swung down from his saddle after nearly two weeks away. You’re lucky they’re being this civil, really.

Doesn’t mean they’re being cooperative.

You fold your arms and sigh. “We doin’ this thing or what?”

They glance over at each other, then you. The payday gleam in their eyes says it all.

—

Arthur volunteers to snag most of the supplies: guns, ammunition, dynamite. He can’t resist adding on that Abigail has asked him to head into town, anyhow, after he takes Jack fishing. Neither of you miss the way John’s jaw clenches. That leaves the oil wagon between you and him. He claims to have a plan for that, too.

“All them wagons come and go from that big oil field near Valentine,” John says. “I reckon between the two of us we can snag one on its way out.”

“Actually,” you say, “I think I can do you one better.”

His brows raise with interest when you explain that one of the drivers, Norris, always pauses his route in town to grab a drink. It’ll be far easier to rush the unattended wagon there than contend with all that security Heartland Oil Co. spends half its fortune hiring. When he asks how you know all this you just shrug.

“Spent a whole week in town, you didn’t think I’d notice a big damn oil wagon parked outside the saloon every other day?”

There’s a jab waiting on the barbed tip of his tongue about the way he heard it, you were sloshed six ways to Sunday the whole time you were there. You tilt your head at him when it never comes. He looks away.

It’s strange, this fragility between you.

“So, when’s he due in next?” he asks.

“Today,” you say, then jerk your head towards the horses. “Ready when you are, Cowboy.”

—

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to nick the wagon. The saloon doors haven’t even stopped swinging after Norris before the two of you scramble into the driver’s seat and urge the team of Shires away. With John sitting shotgun the few ambitious idiots that chase after you are quick to regret it. The sheriff never even manages to mount his horse before you’re halfway out of town, and then you’re good as gone. Blood and brains paint the dirt road leading away from Valentine and toward Old Trail Rise, where John says you’ll be able to stash it.

A mile or so out you drop your masks and slow your pace. It becomes a far more relaxing journey after that. The sky is blue and the clouds are white and the grass that covers the prairieland that slowly gives way to rolling hills is so very green. The breeze fanning your face is warmed by afternoon sun, and being away from camp always has a way of making you feel free. Like you could wheel with the wind or run across the plain or softly sigh through the stony creekbed if you tried.

Beside you, John squints up toward the sky. His face scrunches at the nose, obscuring sunspots and freckles you’ve long since mapped in your mind. His scars pull the skin funny, but his eyes still manage to crinkle. They’re clear and bright in the sunshine and you can’t help but smile at the sight. It’s a secret one, filled with all the things you’re too yellow to say. Filled with the way you’ve memorized the sharp features that relax into fond familiarity when he turns his head back to look at you. Guilt wipes it away and you turn too-fast to the road in front of you. In your peripheral, you can see that the fondness never quite leaves his eyes. You don’t quite know what to make of it.

“Keep left up here,” he says after a moment. “It’s not far past this fork, off the right and into those trees.”

Your mouth is a little dry. “Sure.”

Arthur and Charles are waiting there near the skeleton of an old shack. There’s just enough room beside it for the wagon to pull in out of view. Nearby, Taima grazes untethered beside Moonshine and Old Boy and that big bay paint Arthur’s still riding after Ambarino. He’s calling it ‘Blaze’. Or maybe ‘Ember’? Something to do with fire, because he fancies himself clever after walking away from the Adlers’ burning homestead with a horse in hand.

“Gentleman,” you tip your hat.

Charles nods back, and Arthur puts his hands on his hips. “Took you long enough.”

“Not all of us spent an easy morning fishin’,” you say.

You expect another friendly jab back, but Arthur frowns. “Not so easy,” he says. “Pinkertons found us down by the river.”

Your eyes go wide. “Shit, Arthur! Is Jack alright?”

“Fine,” he says, sparing the briefest glance at the conflict across John’s face. “A little shook up is all. They offered my freedom for Dutch. Said they killed Mac— or left him for dead, it’s all the same.”

“Jesus, are we still sure hittin’ this train is the right thing?”

Charles’ mouth draws into a grim line. “We should think about moving camp.”

“Come on!” John says. “When are we gonna get a sure thing like this on a train anytime soon? Camp can’t move without money.”

Arthur opens his mouth to argue the point further when a rustling in the brush stops the lot of you. Everyone’s hands go to the guns at their belts, but the figure who emerges through the trees is just Sean. He’s sat astride Ennis, crooked smile on his face and hands raised in mock surrender. The horse’s single blue eye is filled with just as much mischief as its owner.

“Don’t tell me now,” he tuts. “You old-timers are rolling over at the first sign of trouble?”

“What the hell is he doing here?” John asks, hackles raised.

It’s mostly directed at Arthur, who frowns up at the menace in question. “Thought I told you not to come along.”

Sean grins. “And I told you this is a young man’s game! The moment your one let slip there was a train in the works I knew you’d be needin’ guns, and mine’s the fastest around. It’s a job for a man in his prime. Youthful vigor, I say, and the lot of yous have run clean out ‘o that.”

John’s face is pinched in annoyance, and Charles rolls his eyes. You fold your arms and sigh.

“Mary-Beth needs to stop hangin’ around you,” Arthur gripes, but he doesn’t refuse him again.

By now you’ve all realized it’s pointless; he’s coming with.

Sean lets out a triumphant laugh when he sees he’s worn everyone down, and then launches into a monologue about being cut out of the action after his absence and finally getting out with the big cheeses to prove his far superior worth.

It’s a long wait until nightfall.

—

Sean never does shut up. Not through a one-sided shooting contest with Arthur or the conversation you try to have with Charles about potential camp locations or the nap John takes, slumped against your shoulder until the light falls. Even on the wagon ride to the tracks it’s incessant. He complains about Karen. He calls everyone old. He pokes at the tension between Arthur and John with all the subtlety of a stick of dynamite. He dubs you Sukky, Angry, Spooky, and Scar-Face, respectively, for refusing to hear one more story about his da.

You’re glad he survived Blackwater and the bounty hunters that caught up with him afterwards, really, but he sometimes he makes it hard to remember why.

Arriving at the tracks is a welcome relief.

Arthur calls out everyone’s moonlit marching orders: Charles will take care of the engineer, you and John will secure the passenger cars and start taking valuables, and Sean will handle the baggage car while Arthur runs point. It all sounds simple enough, so you’re sure something will go wrong, but all there is to do is stick to the plan and try not to get shot.

Once the wagon is in position and the horses are set loose, you fix your bandana to your face and head into the treeline to wait.

Arthur hangs back. When Seans asks what he’s going to do he flashes a grim reaper smile. “I’m gonna make sure she slows.”

“It’s do or die wit’ you, isn’t it?” Sean laughs. “I love it!”

You can feel the same manic laughter bubbling in the back of your throat. John’s eyes are flint sharp and bright. Even Charles isn’t immune to the feeling just before a big job like this; the electric air just before a lightning strike.

The train thunders down the tracks from around the bend. The ground shakes with it. Arthur climbs atop the wagon and stands tall, bandana up and gun at the ready. Tonight’s moon hides behind cloud cover, as though it knows your business and is lending you the shadows. There is only one light to break through the darkness, and it comes from the headlamp of the train. The moment it lights upon Arthur and the oil the brakes scream desperately. The train whistle cries out in alarm. Your heart hammers in your throat as it comes to a halt just a few feet away from him with a shower of sparks and the sound of scraping metal.

The conductor jumps out of the train in outrage.

“What’s going on here? What’s going on?!”

Charles emerges from treeline and shadow to hit him on the back of the head. He drops, dead weight.

Nothing good.

You step up to the passenger car, gun in hand, and smile.

—

Everything goes to plan, to your great joy and surprise.

Until it doesn’t.

Just when you’ve gathered all the valuables you can carry and you’re ready to disembark with the law none the wiser, two riders shine lamplight bright from the treeline.

“Oh, fuck,” Sean says.

“Ah, there’s only two,” Arthur claps his shoulder before settling behind a crate, gun at the ready. “We’re fightin’.”

You’re quick to get into a defensive position with John and Charles, but the whole thing gives you a bad feeling.

The men ride closer, lanterns held up to get a better view of the situation. They tell you to get off the train with your hands in the air.

Arthur tells them to go to hell.

By the time the first shot is fired there are more of them than you bargained for. A lot more.

It’s a hell of a firefight. They come first from the right, then the left, then from behind, until you can’t help but hit one no matter where you fire. Someone went through the trouble of hiring a goddamn army to protect this train. The fact that they only showed up now leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It feels alarmingly like a setup.

“I thought you said there’d be no guards ‘til the state line!” you shout at John over the gunfire.

“There wasn’t s’posed to be!” he shouts back.

You share a brief glance and know that he’s thinking the same thing. He didn’t exactly keep quiet about the job, but why should that matter? Who the hell would’ve talked?

The minute it looks like there’s a window you whistle for the horses and make your break for it, galloping blindly behind Arthur through the countryside. Moonshine grunts with exertion but keeps pace, ever eager. You slip him the reins to fire off a few shots behind you, nailing the handful of lawmen that were able to follow.

Soon there’s only the sound of panting horses and thundering hoofbeats and the creak of saddle leather and Sean’s breathy, wild laughter.

He’s beaming when you finally pull up. “That was fun, real fun! I can see why they call yous the professionals of the outfit.”

“Shut up,” Arthur says, but it comes off half-winded and far more fond than you’re sure he intended.

He tosses everyone their share, a nice bit of cash, and you hand him the sack full of valuables to fence. He mentioned something about a dealer near Rhodes he was going to see. This far South, you figure he might as well head a little farther before making his way back to camp.

There’s a moment where everyone just catches their breath before John speaks up. “Was that a setup? Law turned up real fast.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Arthur’s brow is pinched with worry. “I’m startin’ to get nervous.”

“You think they followed us from Blackwater?” Charles asks.

Arthur frowns. “Maybe. They found me already near Horseshoe, but… I think this lot was just locals.”

You shake your head, but say nothing. You want it to be locals, certainly. But you don’t think that’s what they were. If you didn’t know the place was crawling with law you’d head back to check some of the bodies to make certain. For now you just agree to accompany John over to Emerald Ranch to see about a lead while everyone else splits off with a final warning - mostly to Sean - to be careful about being tailed.

“Hey, Arthur,” John says just before he rides off.

“Yeah?”

“When you get back to camp,” he trails off, then shakes his head, determined. “Just— Take care of Abigail, will you? Make sure she’s… alright. After what happened with Jack and them Pinkertons, I mean.”

Arthur’s posture softens. He smiles, quiet and small, like he’s trying not to spook him. “Sure, John. Sure. I will.”

“Good. Thank you.”

They nod at each other, and all of the sudden it feels like you’re intruding on this moment between brothers. All of the sudden it feels like you can breathe.

—

You and John wind your way carefully toward Emerald Ranch, only making camp when dawn starts to break rose gold across the horizon. The few hours of sleep that you grab are restful, likely because the past several hours haven’t been.

When you wake it’s to the sound of John whistling, happy and tuneless. He sits beside the fire with a cup of coffee - freshly brewed by the smell - and a distant smile on his face. It grows wide and present when he notices your open eyes.

“Mornin’, Ghost!”

“It’s too early for you to be this goddamn happy,” you grouse, like it isn’t entirely infectious. You can’t even hide the smile on your face that starts to mirror his.

“Oh, come on,” he grins and hands you a cup of coffee. You huddle it close to your chest. “I got a pocket full of cash, a good lead on some more, my best friend, and a beautiful morning. A man don’t need much more’n that.”

“Shut up,” you laugh.

“I’m serious!” he says, but he’s laughing, too. “I know we got Pinkertons to worry about and all that, but I feel good, you know? Like a weight’s been lifted or somethin’.”

“I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with you and Arthur making nice last night,” you shoot a pointed look at him over your mug.

“No. Maybe. Shut up,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “Just let me be happy.”

“Fine. Tell me about this lead, then.”

His eyes light right back up as he launches into an explanation about the local livestock market. You’ve never been so happy to hear about sheep.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #155

After I wrote yesterday's letter, but before dark, it rained AGAIN!!! And it rained for a long time!! I went outside and danced around and jumped in ALL THE PUDDLES!!! And I got soaked and the inside of my boots were all gooshy from the water, and my long black cardigan was sopping and heavy, and my hair was a wild mess, and I REGRETTED ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. It was WONDERFUL!!!

I didn't get any pictures or video of me frolicking around, but I did manage to capture this picture of a triple rainbow! There's the one in the middle, and a second rainbow juuuust below it, and another, reversed rainbow a little higher up!! Check it out!!!

...There's more to this picture, but I cut out all but the important bits, because it's probably dangerous to publicly put any picture that indicates where my house is while carrying a controversial belief such as "you, like any fallen human, are deserving of kindness and mercy". Gamers in particular can be really ah... nasty... when it comes to people having opinions different from theirs. "Nasty" to the point of stalking people and threatening them, especially if you have the misfortune of playing video games while having a body that bears a vagina. A whole big thing called "Gamergate" happened a number of years ago, and the aftermath still hasn't really faded away. And I really don't wanna get letters written in blood, or have dead animals being left at my front door. It's really sad that I gotta worry about things like this, but... this is the world I live in. Not much I can do to change it.

...Even if someone is angry enough at me for writing these letters that they would do such terrible things if they had the chance, I have no intention of stopping. I will keep writing these letters, even if, goodness forbid, it ends up costing me my life. You're worth it. You're worth the risk.

Anyway, I snagged a few other nice ones before going inside, too:

I went to bed really early last night (read: ACTUALLY ON TIME), because I tired myself out running around. When I woke up this morning, I had a terrible dream in which a shadowy figure oozed through the screen windows of our house, walked purposefully and angrily with a box cutter to where I was sleeping, with the intention of... uh... we'll leave it at "doing really awful stuff", how about that. Fortunately, I woke up when it wrapped its hand around my throat and dragged me out of the bed. I didn't get to the rest of the parts that were going to happen after that, which is really super great, since I retain full sensory faculties in my dreams, and if it had gotten to that point, I would have woken up in A LOT of pain, good grief.

...Dreams like these are just part of having PTSD to the extent that I do, I guess. It's rare that I get them anymore, though I wonder what prompted this one. Hm.

...So, though I went to bed early, I've been up since like 3 in the morning. Whoops. I browsed my phone 'til getting out of bed at like 7, and then I made a tea to try to calm my nerves a little...

This one is matcha with bits of toasted rice - one of my favorites!! I sweetened it with a little lilac syrup and some milk, and the result was absolutely lovely:

Today I worked a little more on the music box. I am trying to turn a popular rock tune into a lullaby, but I have audio processing disorder and zero understanding of music theory, hahaha! So rearranging the notes and the rhythms in ways that repurpose it while remaining mostly true to the original structure is definitely going to be a challenge. I made some good progress, but then I got to the solo, and I was overwhelmed so I stopped so that I wouldn't get burnt out; I really wanna finish this one.

I did some leisure writing until M and J left the house to hang out, as I had asked; I don't suppose you remember that song I was searching for, but never found, and so I had to rebuild the lyrics as best as I could from memory? Well, today while they were away (so that I wouldn't be self-conscious), I managed to record me singing the melody. I am going to entrust the instrumentals to a couple of brilliant musicians that I know. It's gonna be a duet; I hope it'll be something worthy of you when it's done.

Oh, and I took a walk today! I got a couple really nice pictures for you this time, I think...

I happened to catch these ones just after, as the wind rustled through the leaves, creating an opening for the sunlight to shine through:

...I really like how both of these turned out, so I included both!

And then we have fancy clouds through a tree window...

...I hope you enjoyed them. These are just done with a cellphone camera, so it's not like I can do anything especially fancy with them. But if you like them, then that's all that matters, right?

I'll write to you about tomorrow's adventures, too, so stay safe out there so that you can read about it, okay? I love you.

Your friend, Lumine

[aranciafiamma]

Boy in the Ice pt. 3

1:26 p.m.

"Hail, fair maidens!"

Ochako stops mid-stride, sharing a look with her friends. They turn in sync to take in the stranger approaching them. He has light brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a black blazer paired with jeans. Overall, he looks average save for the touch of foreign in his features. Except the definition of foreign gets more and more abstract these days, with all kinds of folk immigrating to Japan, and all the ways a quirk can mutate someone's looks. So maybe this guy is Japanese. Ochako can't say for sure. But he definitely feels out of place.

"Is he talking to us?" Ochako murmurs to Jiro. She gets a clueless shrug for an answer. Biting her lip, Ochako feels her stomach squeeze, as if she was attempting to levitate a heavy load.

School let out early today and with the long weekend starting tomorrow, they now have a chance to go shopping. Everyone is missing some kind of necessity - shampoo, soy sauce, socks, etc. And with all the craziness lately, they agreed that something normal and boring would be nice.

The plan was to head downtown, snag a few snacks, check out any new stores, maybe even play a couple rounds of dress up. Even if they never bought a single shirt, they always had a good laugh trying on new outfits. Ochako had been looking forward to that. But one look at this stranger and she knew that things are about to go sideways.

They're halfway across campus when this guy calls out to them. So he got past the gates somehow, and sure, he could have been invited in by someone. Except it's after school on the eve of a long weekend. There aren't even any makeup classes or club meetings because of the holiday coming up. The campus is deserted except for the handful of staff to supervise the dorm students (and their new guests). If Ochako was a gambling kinda girl, she would bet good money that their guests have something to do with this random dude walking around their campus.

"How goes the day?" The stranger asks, and wow. He sure sounds like an extra from those ancient samurai movies. Seriously, no one talks like that.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" Good ol' Yaomomo, always on top of things - they would be a wreck and likely dead without her.

"Pardon me, I have been far too forward. I am Basil, at your service."

"Basil who?" Mina pipes up, hands on her hips.

"I am a friend of Lord Sawada. He is currently enjoying your hospitality."

"Sawada?" Ochako echoes, frowning. "So you're friends with Tsuna-san?"

"Aye."

There it is. She totally called it.

"Pray, may I know if you reside on these grounds?"

"Why you asking?" Jiro lifts her chin and pins Basil with a needle-point glare. "And why are you here? Did Tsuna-san call you? Do the teachers know that you're here?"

"Peace. Peace. I mean not to offend." Basil smiles ruefully, holding up his hands. "I am a stranger in your lands, and I call upon your aid to find my way."

"Okay… That didn't really answer Jiro-chan's questions," Tsu-chan points out. "And do you have to talk like that? It's a little hard to take you seriously."

Basil chuckles, eyes pinching in the corners. "Doubt me not, good lady. I only seek to escort Lord Sawada back to his home."

"Boss isn't here."

Ochako flinches. She whips around and finds Chrome standing a few steps away. Her hands clench into fists as she forcefully calms her startled heart. Someone needs to put a bell on Chrome-san before she induces cardiac arrest. Honestly, Ochako is reluctantly impressed. As a hero-in-training, with considerable experience in combat, her senses are keener compared to most of the general public. But somehow, Chrome-san always manages to spook her. This time, Ochako didn't even hear her coming or see her coming - as if Chrome-san appeared out of thin air. Toru-chan could learn a lot from her.

"Lady Chrome! Good fortune blesses me with your presence."

Chrome-san blinks, slow and almost sleepy. She's hard to read as always, as if her mind is out to sea, as if her body is a wisp of smoke. And okay, Ochaka has an invisible girl for a classmate so the absence of facial cues is not new to her. But it's not about what she sees and more about what she believes. The truth is that Chrome-san stands right in front of her and Ochako can't believe that she's there. Something in her brain is telling her that Chrome-san does not exist even with visual and auditory proof. It's tripping her up.

"Boss left."

"Wait, you guys can do that?" Mina cuts in, scratching her head. "Weren't you guys stuck on campus or something?"

Chrome-san shrugs.

"Would you know where he went?" Basil asks, and he sounds earnest. He must have been looking forward to seeing Tsuna-san.

Huh. Well, it has been six months - that's half a year - since Tsuna-san crash landed in their school. If Ochako had disappeared for that long then miraculously returned, her parents would have been a wreck. Nothing would have kept them away from her.

And now that she's thinking about it… Where are Tsuna-san's parents?

A sigh from Basil drags Ochako out of her head. She must have missed Chrome-san's answer or maybe Chrome-san just didn't answer. Either way, Basil looks none too happy, with his head hanging low and his shoulders slumping. An air of absolute exhaustion seems to envelope him. And oof, maybe Ochako's been getting paranoid from all the stuff that happened recently. She had no good reason to be so weird about Basil. Yeah, sure the guy talks funny but apart from the possible trespassing (which okay, that's a pretty big deal actually), Basil seems pretty polite and soft-spoken. He hasn't made threats or demands or anything to show that he's some kind of danger to her or her friends. Ochako should have been more welcoming, especially since he seems to have missed Tsuna-san terribly.

"We can help you find him, if you'd like." Ochako offers a friendly smile. "You don't know the way around, right? And we were just about to go downtown anyway. Maybe you'll find Tsuna-san there."

Basil shakes his head. "I have depended on your patience for long enough. Please excuse me."

"Are you sure?" Tsu-chan chimes in. "Because we really wouldn't mind, kero."

Basil looks them over, pursing his lips. Then his eyes drift up, locking onto Chrome-san behind them. There's a split second of something, Ochako isn't sure what. It's over before she could really think about it, and then Basil is smiling nice and wide with a lot of teeth.

"You have my sincere gratitude, gentle ladies. I am in your care."

"Sheesh," Jiro snorts. "You talk worse than Fumikage. Let's hope you two never meet."

"Chrome-san, would you like to -" Yaomomo's gasp cuts off her question.

Ochako turns and flinches hard. Chrome-san is glaring at them. For once, emotion colors her face, transforming her delicate features into something sharper, more vicious.

"Chrome-san?" Tsu-chan murmurs softly. "Is something wrong?"

Chrome-san squeezes her eyes shut, breathing in deeply. All at once, her expression flattens out, returning to its usual neutral state. She shakes her head once.

"I am not feeling well. I will be heading back to my room." Chrome-san tells them, speaking more words than Ochako has ever heard from her. "Have a good time… Stay safe."

Then she walks away, never looking back. What just happened? Something happened. Ochako considers chasing after Chrome-san, just to make sure that she's really okay. But a hand drops on her shoulder before she could make a move.

"Let's give her some space," Yaomomo whispers, barely loud enough for Ochako to hear. "We can check on her later."

Ochako bites her lip, pinching her brow. Yaomomo is right - of course, she's right. Chrome-san didn't seem to want any company, the exact opposite actually. Ochako should leave her alone. But… The hero-in-training couldn't shake the dread curdling in her gut.

"Shall we hasten to the market?" Basil asks them. "Daylight is fading and I would not like to burden you for too long."

Ochako sucks in a deep, steadying breath. Then she nods at Yaomomo. Together, they face Basil with polite grins.

"You aren't a burden, Basil-san."

"Yep, yep. C'mon now, let's head on out!"

The group makes their way off campus, strolling down the side streets, making idle chatter. They learn that Basil taught himself Japanese, studying the language through classic Samurai films. He tells them that his boss helped somewhat, but only encouraged his archaic way of phrasing. At this point, Basil is fully aware that he sounds funny but in truth, he prefers old-fashioned speech. He feels more distinguished and sophisticated - completely unlike how he speaks in his native tongue.

Of course, this confession prompts all the girls to ask for a demonstration. A blushing Basil obliges them with several phrases in Italian. To their clueless ears, Basil sounds polite and soft-spoken, nothing unusual. But he assures them that if he had said this to a fellow Italian, they would be throwing punches before the last word left his lips.

Their chatter is cut short when they reach downtown. A thick layer of tension blankets the main street as agitated shoppers skirt around a massive crater embedded in the road. Police tape already surrounds the affected area with a few officers nearby, taking statements and offering assurances. Making note of all that, the girls tug Basil towards their favorite café where their familiar faces encourage the waitress to share all the shocking details.

A fireball fell from the sky. Everyone ran. But before a hero could arrive at the scene, the fire died out, revealing a boy without any clothes. Wisps of smoke rose from his bare skin as he kneeled in the crater. No one dared approach except for a loud, angry blond. Mean sparks danced between his fingers as he yelled at everyone to stay back and mind their own business. He had jumped down and crouched next to the boy, exchanging a few words, before he hauled him over his shoulder like a sack of rice. The two didn't wait for a hero or even police to help, simply walked away and out of sight. A few tried to stop them with well-intentioned queries, but the blond had a glare that could cut through metal. As for everyone else, well… they didn't want to buy trouble, not even in a shopping district. The boys were long gone by the time police showed up.

Ochako squeezes her eyes shut. At her side, Tsu-chan lets out a long, belabored sigh. Yaomomo requests for a table.

Once they were all seated, the girls share a look the way only intimate friends could. Jiro lets out a chuckle. Tsu-chan slips out a giggle. Mina barks out a laugh. When Yaomomo and Ochako join in, they're in full blown hysterics.

Of course! Why wouldn't Bakugou be involved? It just had to be someone from their class. Honestly, 1-B does not find half the bullshit that they seem to crash into on a weekly basis. They're all such problem children, ergo problems keep finding them. If Aizawa-sensei survives this year without losing his sanity, he would accomplish a miraculous feat.

"Um, I beg your pardon." Basil raises his hand, like a student asking a question. "I aim not to shorten your mirth. I simply wish to know about this Bakugou fellow."

"He's a crazy tough guy!" Mina tells him.

"His default volume is loud, and he only gets louder," Jiro adds.

"Bakugou Katsuki is one of our classmates," Yaomomo explains. "He is another hero-in-training and one of the best in our class. He does get angry often but he isn't the dangerous sort. Let's just say that he can be difficult at times."

"Well, he has enough goodwill to aid that other boy," Basil replies. "That is to his credit."

Ochako blinks. "Yeah… What's up with that? I mean, I'm not saying that he wouldn't help some random kid. But I'm also not not saying that he wouldn't help some random kid."

"So then… Bakugou musta known the guy." Jiro drums her fingers on the table. "Right? That's why he went through all that trouble."

"Does Bakugou-chan know anyone with a fireball quirk? I mean, not counting Todoroki-chan, of course," Tsu-chan asks with a tilt of her head.

"Who knows…" Ochako sighs.

"Where would this Bakugou fellow take his friend - if we are to presume that the unknown boy is a friend. It seems hasty of him to leave before peace officers could intervene."

"Yeah… But Bakugou does his own thing, yanno?" Mina replies. "Especially when he thinks that he's right. Which is most of the time, bee-tee-dubs. So… huh. Where would he take the guy?"

"If I was gonna guess," Ochako chimes in. "I'd say that Bakugou would take him back to school. But we didn't see him on the way here, unless he took a different route. Except that wouldn't make much sense, since any other route would just be longer and more inconvenient."

"That is strange…" Basil hums, pursing his lips. "And… I may have the explanation."

"Oh, please share your thoughts." Yaomomo nods at him.

"Kindly note that I only have theories and nothing that can be confirmed without additional evidence. With that said, I believe that your peer came to aid Lord Sawada."

"Tsuna-san?" Ochako frowns, folding her brow. "So, wait… You think that… The guy who fell from the sky - the guy on fire - that was Tsuna-san?"

"That dude's makin' a habit out of falling from the sky." Jiro shakes her head. "This would be what? The second time he's done this?"

"It would be imperative to know Sir Bakugou's location, so that we may confirm if Lord Sawada is in his care."

Ochako studies Basil's heavy frown, the hard-set fold of his brow. She pulls out her phone and starts texting Bakugou.

"Are you messaging him?" Mina asks. "Tell him the teachers are gonna freak when they hear about this."

"Like he'd care," Jiro scoffs.

Ochako doesn't get an immediate reply but that doesn't mean anything. Bakugou isn't very responsive usually, unless he's pissed off then he sends a text every second. If he's not in the mood, he could leave someone on "read" for days. Right now, Ochako can't even tell if Bakugou looked at her message yet. Maybe he's just not on his phone. She'll have to wait a little longer to find out for sure if he's with Tsuna-san.

She tells as much to everyone around her. Mina groans. Jiro rolls her eyes. Tsu-chan shakes her head. Yaomomo orders them a round of drinks.

Basil hums a flat note. "Mayhaps, he has simply gone home."

Ochako perks up. "Oh, you're right! He doesn't live too far from here, just a few train stations away. Back when we weren't living on campus, he and Deku-kun never had so much trouble getting to school."

"He lives up north, right?" Jiro asks, crossing her arms. "He and Midoriya live close to each other. That's how they met, I heard."

"Well, I don't know how close. But they both grew up in the Orudera district and went to the same schools. That's what Deku-kun told me, at least."

"Yanno, rumors say that Bakugou's pretty rich. He's got some fancy, modern-looking house. His dad's a designer or something, right?" Mina adds.

"How do you know that?" Jiro furrows her brow.

"Oh, just gossip. Honestly, you guys should keep your ears more open. We have the biggest busybodies in our class." Mina waves her hand.

"Tooru-chan isn't a busybody!" Tsu-chan protests.

"I was talking about Aoyama," Mina cackles.

"Nevermind that now," Yaomomo speaks up. "We should focus on helping Basil-san."

"But that gives me an idea…" Ochako quickly taps her phone, sending a second message. "Maybe Deku-kun can help."

Mina peers over her shoulder. "Hey, why did you star Midoriya's message thread? Hmm?"

Ochako immediately pulls away from Mina, heat flushing her face. "No, I didn't! Shut up!"

Jiro cackles. "You're so red! You look like a tomato, Ochako-cha~an!"

Ochako balls up her napkin and throws it at Jiro. Her so-called friend dodges, continuing to laugh.

"Do you really like-like Deku-kun?" Tsu-chan asks, tilting her head.

"We will stop if you wish," Yaomomo nods. "Admittedly, teasing you is quite enjoyable. You react so cutely. But we will stop at your request."

Ochako pouts. "No, it's fine. I'm not really bothered. As long as Deku-kun doesn't hear about this, then it's fine. And honestly, I'm not that sure about… you know… feelings. We're good friends, and all that."

"Well, I ship it," Mina says. "You would make a great couple. So when you get your stuff figured out, shoot your shot girl! We're in high school! We're at the height of our hormones! We gotta maximize that teenage experience!"

There's a round of giggling agreement as Yaomomo, Jiro, and Tsu-chan express their support. Basil politely keeps quiet, studying his drink as if cola held the universe's secrets.

Ochako groans, dropping her head on the table. "You guuuuys! Somehow, I'm both incredibly embarrassed and super happy? I can't tell if you're the best or the worst!"

"Why not both?" Ochako can't see Jiro's face but a smug smirk was somehow implied in her words.

"Then what about you, Mina-chan? Do you have any crushes, kero?" Tsu-chan, officially Ochako's best friend, turns everyone's attention on someone else.

Mina clicks her tongue. "I wish! Everyone's my bro. No one has swept me off my feet. But I guess that's too much to ask from a high school boy."

"What about a high school girl?" Jiro asks.

"Same difference."

Ochako lifts her head, just in time to see a devious smile curl Jiro's lips.

"Is that a challenge?"

Inherently incapable of backing down, Mina sits up straight and slams her hands on the table. "What? Are you gonna romance me, bro?"

Jiro leans forward. "What if I did, bro?"

"Just name the time and the place, bro!"

"Tomorrow, 4pm, at that new cafe, bro!"

"Oh it's on, bro!"

"Yeah, bro!"

"Good heavens," Yaomomo murmurs. "Once those two get started, there's no stopping them."

Ochako breathes out a laugh when she hears her phone buzz. She taps the screen and finds Deku-kun's response with Bakugou's address. At her side, she notices Basil shift closer. She turns to look at him but his gaze is firmly on his drink. Again, something twists in her gut.

"-ko-chan!"

Wincing, Ochako whips around to face Tsu-chan. "Whoops, sorry! Did you say my name?"

Tsu-chan nods. "Did you hear back from Deku-kun?"

"Oh, um, yeah! I got the address right here…" The knot in her guts tighten. "But, you know, maybe Bakugou will reply soon. We haven't ordered any food yet. So why don't we eat first and then make our way to his house? I mean, dropping by without letting them know - that's a little rude, right?"

The words rush out of her with all the urgency of a flood. She can't explain the goosebumps dotting her skin, or the way sparks seem to dance down her spine, like she's in combat or taking a practical exam. But she's not. She's sitting at a cafe, surrounded by her friends. They're all her friends, right? Her eyes shift to the left, where Basil sits next to her.

"That… seems like a fine idea," Yaomomo agrees. "It would be unseemly to…"

"Exactly!" Ochako barely restrains herself from yelling. Honestly, Yaomomo is an angel.

"Mmhmm, and that way, we can walk Basil-kun to Bakugou-kun's place," Tsu-chan adds. Bless her. "He's new in town, so he might get lost if we only give him the address."

"I offer gratitude for your generosity." Basil nods with a serene smile, getting to his feet. "Indeed, I wish not to impede our feasting. Please excuse me as I must visit the lavatory. Kindly request delicious fare on my behalf. This will take but a brief moment."

He slides by Ochako and in that second, she notices a hard shape behind his jacket. Nowadays, with quirks so common, hardly anyone carries weaponry of any sort. But as Basil leaves, she could swear on her great-grandmama's grave that he was hiding a gun in his jacket.

But surely not, right? That's ridiculous! Guns are highly regulated in Japan, even if most people don't use firearms anymore. There's no way a visiting foreigner could come into the country with a gun on hand… No legal way at least…

"Ochako?" Mina grabs her shoulder and shakes her gently. "Hey, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"No… No… I'm just - I was seeing - My eyes were playing tricks on me."

"Wait," Jiro holds up a hand. "Did you actually see a ghost?"

"What? No!" Ochako shakes her head, pasting on a smile. "I'm fine! It's fine! Let's just get our orders going, yeah?"

The girls exchange concerned looks. Ochako ignores them, focusing on the menu. It must have been something else - some other L-shaped thing. She's jumping to drastic conclusions. It could have been a square ruler or some kind of hardware tool or hell, it could have been a boomerang! She doesn't know! She's going crazy!

The waitress stops by. She orders on autopilot - fries or whatever. The girls continue to talk, hushed now, clearly concerned about her. She offers single syllable responses, nodding once in awhile. But everyone can tell that she's not really paying attention, and she should. They're her friends! She wants to have a good time with them! But her eyes spot a wall clock on the cafe wall. And she can't stop watching the minutes tick on by and tick on by.

The food comes. Basil doesn't. They begin to eat. Ochako can see everyone is now equally on edge. They take small bites. They chew slowly with great care. Basil's seat remains empty. Ochako feels the familiar sensation of nausea, as if she tried to lift something far too heavy, far too big, far too much. She stands up.

"I'm gonna ask someone to check on Basil-san. I'll be right back."

She doesn't wait for a response. She runs to the counter, nearly tripping over her feet. She finds someone on the staff and asks if they can check the men's restroom.

"You see - um - that is, I have a friend - he's… you know… new in the country. And I'm worried that he… doesn't know the way… toilets work?" Wow. That sounds beyond stupid but she can't think of anything else to say.

The poor, confused cashier wrinkles her forehead, tilting her head to the side. "Ma'am, our restroom has been out of order since yesterday."

In a single, brutal second, Ochako knows - maybe not fully, maybe not truly - but she knows the same way she knows that gravity pulls everything down and down and down. Something terrible has begun.

[furys-mercy]

- | Brother | -

Word Count: 1,173 Characters: August Mercer, Sebastian de Vairemont

“Get yer arse up!” 

Sebastian had always been rather particular about his morning rituals, a fact that made his brother’s gutter drawl even more grating than usual. “Who let him in?” The question was barely groaned loud enough for Mercer to hear, much less the footman he’d left in the hall, shaking in his immaculately polished shoes. 

“I let m’self in.” The machinist ripped back the velvet curtains, allowing light to spill in. 

Sebastian hissed as he rolled away, covering his head with a pillow. “I am not in the mood for your games today, August.” 

“My games? Well tha’s fuckin’ rich ain’t it? Comin’ from the fella who left m’arse sittin’ on the deck’a m’damned ship fer three fuckin’ bells. Damned near froze m’arse off.” Mercer’s boot collided with an empty bottle of wine, sending it skittering across the marble floor. “Started ta wonder if ya were ill or somethin’, so I made m’way up ta tha gods forsaken Pillars ta find ya sleepin’ off a hangover? Nah. Get yer arse up, put on some fuckin’ pants, and lets get goin’. I ain’t gonna be late cause ya can’t hold yer liquor.” 

“And why, pray tell, did you not simply… leave? It would have been quite easy. In fact, it still is…” Sebastian waved a hand in the direction of the door. Or rather, the direction he assumed was the door. It was lucky for him that Mercer was too busy throwing open his wardrobe to notice that he’d suggested he leap out the window. 

“Unlike some folks I know, I happen ta be a fan’a keepin’ m’word.”

The rustling of silks finally spurred movement in Sebastian. He sat up to offer his counterpoint only to be stunned into silence at the sight of the clashing fabrics now piled at the foot of his bed. 

Mercer, on the other hand, looked rather proud of himself. “Get dressed.” 

Sebastian’s mouth hung open for several moments before he managed to huff out a response. “Absolutely not.” No one in this world could convince him to pair an emerald brocade with a cravat the color of sunrise.  

Mercer’s brow furrowed as he reached down, grabbed a pair of pants from the floor, and hurled them directly at his brother’s face. “I ain’t in tha mood fer…” His expression shifted as his gaze snagged on the piece of parchment that slipped free of the pants. The crest atop it made him visibly shudder. “Wha’ do those arseholes want with ya now?” Scarred fingers reached out to grab the paper before it settled fully into the folds of Sebastian’s velvet duvet. 

“It is nothing for you to worry with.” Sebastian launched himself forward, attempting to reclaim the parchment, but seeing as Mercer had not been sleeping off what appeared to be three bottles of wine, he was faster.

“Is this why ya tried ta drink yer whole damned wine cellar?” Mercer peered up at Sebastian from over his black-rimmed glasses. 

“Do not start with me, August. I am well aware of your feelings on the matter.” He reached for his dressing gown, tugging it on. “So, if you are inclined to congratulate me on my great fortune, do keep it to yourself.” 

“Hey, hey… tha’ ain’t…” Mercer was interrupted by Sebastian snatching the parchment from his grip. “Look, I ain’t gonna claim ta I understand any’a tha’ noble shite. But I ain’t ‘bout ta stand here an’ add ta tha pile’a ‘bo shite ya’ve been dealt.”

Sebastian stepped towards the fireplace, pausing to look back at his brother. “No? And why not? Is this not exactly what you have wanted since the day you learned of me? For me to choose a side… or be forced to.” He turned back towards the flames, contemplating if the edict in his hand might serve everyone better as kindling. 

“I… I didn’t want ya ta choose a side. Tha’ ain’t it. It’s…” Mercer stammered as he did his best to compose his thoughts. “It’s tha’ I wanted ya see tha’ you deserve better’n this shite. Tha’ there’s people an’ places where no one gives a shite who yer parents were. Tha’ ya’ve got other options. Ya always have, ya jus’... ya didn’t have anyone ‘round ta tell ya tha’.” 

“And what would you have me do? Take your name?” Sebastian didn’t know what answer he was seeking, but he knew he’d failed to tame the venom in his tone. 

“I wouldn’t ask ya to.” The Machinist didn’t even wince. “I know wha’ names mean ta people. I ain’t got much left of ‘em, ya know? M’parents, I mean… jus’ tha name they gave me. An’ I’d put up one hell of’a fight before I’d let someone jus’ take it. It don’t matter wha’ tha’ fancy shite says. If ya say yer Sebastian de Vairemont, then tha’ is who ya are. Ain’t no one got any say in tha’ other’n you.”

Sebastian sagged against the mantle, feeling the weight of his brother’s words. “Is it… is it truly that simple?” The touch of his brother’s hand on his arm surprised him. Had they been this close since that initial awkward handshake? 

“Ain’t nothin’ in life simple, but there’s satisfaction in fightin’ fer it, in buildin’ it with yer own hands, in tellin’ folks like tha’ ta shove it.” Mercer nodded towards the now crumpled parchment. “He ain’t got any bearin’ on you. Tha’s wha’ tha’ paper says. Ya don’t have ta play by ‘is rules anymore. He ain’t yer lord. Yer free, Sebastian. Free ta do an’ be whoever ya want.”

“And what of you? Will you not continue to wish for me to be something else?” Sebastian wanted to believe him. More than anything. But trust was a risk, as Akhutai had once noted. And while it was a risk he very much wished to take, he needed to be absolutely certain.

“I only get ta make choices fer m’self, not fer you. An’ I’ve already gone an’ made m’choice. I made it tha day ya walked in m’front door smirkin’ like ya were an’ holdin’ those damned letters. Part’a me wanted ta kick ya out. Ta tell ya ta shove off back ta wherever ya came from, but tha rest… tha rest jus’ wanted ta know ya. An’... I still want tha’. Cause yer m’brother. An’ I ain’t sayin’ tha’ cause we share blood. Blood don’t make families. Choices do. An’ I choose you, Sebastian. Today, tomorrow, an’ everyday after tha’.” 

“You… you…” For the first time in his life, The Bastard of Vairemont had been rendered truly speechless. There were simply no words for what he felt. Or if there were, he did not know them. So, he did the only thing he could think to do. He reached out for his brother, tugging him into a tentative and hesitant embrace. 

Mercer quirked a little smile before wrapping his arms around the taller man. “I love you, too, Sebastian. I love you, too.” 

[tmbgareok]

I wonder, how did the band manage to get a marxophone? From what I understand, the instrument is rather obscure and rare, and only some have survived to today.

John L. found one in a pawn shop somewhere on the West Coast fifteen years ago or so. Like a lot of "parlour" instruments that were sold door to door in the first half of the 20th century, they made a trillion and it took a long time for them to make their way out of closets and into landfill. Fortunately John snag one before they started to fully disappear. The Salvation Army's often had odd variants in the 60s and 70s, but now not so much...

[perditus]

     Viago’s gaze follows her closely, even in the wake of ‘defeat’. Victory, while often desirable, often meant little when it came to her. Not always of course, for when their words were as sharp as their daggers it was infuriating. Right now it was acceptable. Even as his body is racked by another heavy sigh, one brow raised as he reluctantly retreats back to his desk. She was cunning with her craft and maker only knew how he had managed to hold steady for as long as he had. 

     So far. 

     Sinking back into his chair again, he retrieves a small cloth from his person to begin cleaning the equipment. Reducing the risk of cross contamination and ‘false positives’ he lets out a snort at her comment, most of his attention now focused on his task. Most. “ Is that why you’re so insistent? Trying to speed up the process? You’ll have to try harder ” He snags the glass as soon as they’re within reach, holding them up to the light for a first observation. 

      Nothing out of the ordinary. He tilts his head to the side, curls shifting across his face slightly as he continues his initial inspection. Though it appeared safe ‘enough’ it was not silver, glass unable to react to most poisons in a way that comforted him. So he sets them down for now, retrieving a small stick with a cotton, carefully prying open a small jar he had brought with him. He dips the end into the substance, swirling it around. Then, he coats the inside of each glass with it, brown eyes narrowing slightly as he studies the glass for any reactions. 

     Copper sulfate was particularly reactive to most common poisons these days. The arsenic found in most of the readily available poisons triggered a chemical reaction. One that he would recognize in an instance. It was fortunate that other poisoners were remarkably uncreative these days. At least half of his were harder to detect, something he was particularly proud of. Their antidotes are even trickier. 

          “ The fledglings need a firm hand to guide them. Not gentleness. They will learn quickly that pissing me off is the least of their worries ” he responds, a little curt but not intentionally. Half of his attention is on her, the other on the glasses as he finishes testing them for anything unsavory. Cleaning off the chemical substance gently, he sets the glasses down before turning his attention to the wine itself. 

      Though, a vacation does sound enticing. His gaze flickers back to her entirely at this point as he entertains the idea for just a moment. The slight tension on his face from before slowly crumbles away, a slight grin tugging on the corner of his lips. “ though I might entertain the thought if you were to accompany me ” 

     A slight ‘pop’ suddenly echoes through the room slightly as he pries open the wine bottle, sufficiently sealed but not quite enough for the poisoner.  He snags one of his testing strips, dipping it in the liquid before setting the bottle aside on the desk. Watching as the small paper reacts to the substance it had been exposed to. It takes a few minutes to work, Viago’s tension returning just a little as he watches it dutifully. 

     Safe. 

          “ It seems my antidotes will not be finding use today” relief is evident in his words as this wine was a favorite of his. It would have been quite a shame to have to toss it. Pouring the wine carefully, he sets one of the glasses down for her, the other left in his hand. He swirls the tantalizing liquid around a few times, observing it for a second longer before taking a small sip first.

Still safe.

" I find that wine tastes better depending on what its held in. And you still haven't given me that kiss..."

borrowed — what a clever way of dressing up the explanation. she considered calling him a thief. the word sat temptingly on the tip of her tongue as she pressed it against the inside of her cheek like a secret she wasn’t quite ready to spill. not out of malice — never that — but because there was an irresistible satisfaction in prodding at viago, in seeing how far she could needle him before he sighed in that exasperated way of his.

teia was not a gambling woman. not really. but if she were — if she found pleasure in the thrill of risk-taking, in the variability between loss & reward — she might have played her hand now.

viago was a risk. she had always known that. what she hadn’t quite decided was whether she was willing to wager anything beyond the game they already played.

she merely hums in acknowledgment, her attention drifting as she continued to idly peruse his collection. she barely spares him a glance until his fingers curled around her wrist, the warmth of his touch an insistence that she ceased her mischievous nosiness.

her lips pursed — worrywart — a teasing little jab waiting for permission to slip free. she watched him, gaze flicking over his face, studying the set of his jaw & the careful way he measured his concern. a look of consideration settled upon her features, only to shift into something adroiter — a knowing smile pulled with the kind of satisfaction that only comes when she knows she’s caught him.

with a dramatic sigh, she relented, pressing the cabinet doors shut with the flourish of someone indulging a petulant demand. with a lazy sort of elegance, she crossed the room to where he’s gestured, fingers skimming along the edges of his desk as though savoring the texture beneath her touch as she passed by to the other cabinet.

“ you know, vi, ” she begins, the words rolling from her tongue like the first pebble loosened on a mountainside — small, inconsequential ( as much as a pebble could be ), poised to set off an avalanche. “ at the rate you stress, you’re going to start getting grey hairs. ”

with deliberate showmanship, she retrieved two glasses from the cabinet & lifted them to the light with exaggerated scrutiny, turning them this way & that as if searching for the dust that so gravely concerned him.

“ not that i’d complain, ” she mused, devilry curling at the edge of her voice like the slow burn of a fine vintage. “ i do have an appreciation for things that are finely aged. ”

the gentle clink of glass meeting wood punctuated her amusement as she set them down upon the desk, gesturing with an airy wave of her hand for him to proceed with his ritual. she would never tell him no when it came to his meticulous caution — if testing for poisons put him at ease, she would let him do what he must.

but that would not stop her from pressing further.

“ have you thought about a vacation ? ” her tone is light, careless. “ i think you’re starting to frighten the fledglings with all the new frown lines you’ve developed. ”

[everfascinated]

Writing prompts:

49. “I may be an idiot, but I’m your idiot.”

Feeling this for Steddie, but obviously dealer's choice =)

Thank you for the prompt! It took two tries and I think this came out nicer for it

tw: bugs

The Birds and the Beetles

The leaves on the ground were making it impossible to walk quietly, but that was alright. Eddie was keeping his running commentary as low as he could manage as they walked through the forest, however, that was still louder than their footsteps.

"I don't know how they could have missed it. The signs were right in front of them." Rolling his eyes, Eddie nearly tripped over a particularly large tree root. When Steve dropped his binoculars to catch him, Eddie's alarmed look melted into a smile before he took advantage of their position to peck a swift kiss to the corner of Steve's lips. "My hero!"

Steve knew his expression was more fond than chiding as he helped Eddie back to his feet before giving him a little shove to keep him moving.

"So you've said." And Eddie has. He's got a lot of nicknames for Steve and 'hero' made it into the rotation after they pulled him from the Upside Down oh so long ago. "Maybe you should be paying more attention or you'll miss some signs of your own."

Because, yes, the walk was a bit for their health - getting out and walking around was good for them no matter what Eddie sometimes complained when Steve pulled him from his indoor hobbies. He always came though, because it was also a great way for them both to indulge in their outdoor hobbies which Eddie was incredibly enthusiastic about. He loved to look for bugs and creepy crawlies as they wound their way through the forest, but Steve preferred -

There was a bird call, just audible over Eddie's exaggerated hurt at being called out like that, and Steve instantly had the binoculars up again from where they were hanging around his neck. Not quite putting Dustin's gift to his face while he didn't know the direction it came from, Steve scanned the trees for movement.

Nothing.

Well, that bird call sounded familiar - what little he could hear clearly when Eddie stopped mid-sentence to let him listen - so he'll get his chance to look at it another time if not today. Today would be nice though. He remembered to bring the old camera Jonathan gifted him (with a particularly amused look) last winter and Steve would love to add to his small collection.

"No?" Eddie asked, watching Steve instead of the treetops, obviously trusting Steve's skewed vision to pick the birds out. When he got a negative head shake, Eddie just gave a commiserating nod and motioned them onwards. "Let's see if we're just too far away."

Reaching out with his free hand, Steve snagged one of Eddie's and set the pace. It was an easy one, more of a stroll than anything as Eddie picked up his story again as they both scanned the path for interesting creatures.

Birdwatching wasn't something Steve ever thought he'd like. Honestly, if anyone had told him that it was a hobby before he unknowingly fell into it he likely would have said it was for old people. Fortunately for him, he did kind of come to it naturally. Between the way their encounters with the Upside Down made him hyper aware of movement and the way his eyesight slipped from perfect to far sighted, spotting birds was surprisingly easy and fun.

The fun part was possibly the most surprising, but Steve loved seeing the little guys. Whether they were flitting by his bedroom window, sitting on a wire at a stop light, or hopping along the forest floor, the birds were always free and happy to do as they liked. And finding an uncommon one was always exciting! Trying to think of how or why a bird would come to their part of the state instead of their usual haunts was tricky and both Dustin and Eddie loved to debate it with him.

Of course, sometimes those debates included wildly incorrect guesses like bird revolts or bird spy tactics (specifically, birds spying on other birds and not shady government organizations using birds to spy), but those were usually joined by a wink in Steve's direction as Dustin started tearing Eddie's ideas apart on principle.

"So I told them we'd need to continue another- Steve!" Hissing his name Eddie froze, only the fingers trapped between Steve's moving in an excited set of taps telling him nothing was wrong. Not looking away from whatever he spotted, Eddie pulled Steve's hand closer to tap the back of it with his other hand as he did a few giddy steps in place, the ones that shift him from foot to foot rapidly in a motion that makes him look all of seven. "Look! Look look!"

It took effort to pull his eyes away from Eddie's elated grin, but Steve eventually managed to look in the same direction only to see more trees, leaves, and bushes. After a moment, he leaned in close to whisper a question.

"What exactly am I looking at?"

"A Potato Beetle or maybe a false one." Eddie brought his free hand up to his mouth to squint, presumably at the bug but Steve still couldn't see it and didn't know what that one looked like. His silence was telling, it must have been, because Eddie let his eyes slide over to meet Steve's before flashing him another smile. "Come here and get that camera of yours ready."

Setting his binoculars back down, Steve reached across to pull his camera from his opposite pocket so that Eddie could continue pulling him slowly forward until they're couched a few feet from a branch laying beside the trail.

"See, right there?" He pointed to a spot on the top of the branch and something moved. Narrowing his eyes, Steve listened to Eddie describe it. "It's kinda small, but it's brown and white, with stripes. It almost looks like a lady bug, do you see it on the top of that twig?"

And Steve did. It was small, less than half an inch so he was impressed Eddie noticed it (though, maybe he needed to stop being impressed, Eddie was finding little guys like this constantly). As they watched it, the bug's antennae wiggled a little and Eddie made a cooing noise.

Acting fast before Eddie tried to pet another bug only to get upset when it few away, Steve raised his camera to take a picture of it. The thing had more functions than a disposable one, but thankfully not as many as Jonathan used so getting the zoom right only took a few seconds.

Steve snapped one, then paused.

There was that birdsong again. Closer this time. Shaking off his distraction, Steve focused on getting another few safety shots in case the first was blurry. The bird likely wasn't going anywhere.

He took a second picture and then jumped as Eddie cursed, partially because of the noise, but mostly because of the nearly green bird that swooped down in front of them. It barely glanced at them as it snagged the little beetle right off the branch it was now scuttling along before flitting off again.

They both sat there for a second in stunned silence before Steve snorted with laughter, Eddie's squawk of affront following shortly after.

"What?!" Standing, Eddie stomped over to the branch as if he might be able to find the little bug they definitely just saw get eaten. "No! That's not fair!"

Steve looked down at the camera in his hands to try and keep from laughing too hard and realized he snapped another photo. Damn, he hoped it wasn't blurry. He wasn't sure what part of that farce he just caught, but that was going to be a story, he just knew it. It would be great to have proof when Dustin inevitably tries to deny this happened.

"Steve!" Back in front of him, Eddie stared down with his hands on his hips and Steve caught his tongue between smiling teeth as he looked up at that dramatic pout. "Steve, call your bird back and make him put down my beetle!"

"Her." The correction fell out automatically, before Steve shook his head. The coloring of cerulean warblers wasn't the part of his statement to focus on. Unable to wipe the fond smile from his face anyway, Steve continued, "Idiot. I watch birds, I don't control them."

Clicking his tongue, Eddie's shoulders slumped as he obviously fought to keep up the disappointed expression instead of smiling back.

"Lame. What's the point if you can't make them do your bidding?" The grin fully overtook his expression as he moved on before Steve could point out that Eddie was doing something similar even though he didn't have control over bugs. "Besides, I  may be an idiot, but I'm your idiot."

Warmth spread through Steve as he exchanged an adoring look with Eddie that would have their friends groaning and throwing things at them.

"Yeah," he agreed, accepting the offered hand up to lean into Eddie's space. "And I'm yours."

The bird called again, but Steve was enjoying their kiss too much to pay it much mind.

There would be other times to photograph birds.

Eddie did love indulging Steve's hobbies after all.

Also put this on AO3 if people like reading it there better

[endless-summer-soldier]

you see me - epilogue

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: Bucky has grown used to a life of solitude after a mysterious accident leaves him forgettable. every person he comes in contact has no memory of him the moment he walks away. until he meets a cute girl at a record store who actual remembers him.

warnings: alcohol, sex (minors do not read), slight mentions of depression

taglist: @sebsgirl71479

word count: 1k

series playlist

series masterlist

X

“What brings you to Edinburgh?” the customs agent asked him.

“Holiday,” he responded. This became the standard answer they provided as they traveled throughout Europe. He reviewed the passport before giving it a firm stamp and allowing Bucky through.

Traveling was a challenge given Bucky’s predicament, but the two had fallen into an easy routine. He still had some credentials on him from when he was an Avenger which granted him easy access to different countries. His language skills became very useful as they crossed border lines and Y/N finally started picking up some conversational skills thanks to Bucky (and Duolingo). 

Making money was surprisingly easy. Y/N started writing travel articles for magazines and kept up a popular blog where advertisers paid to be featured on her site. Bucky found a new passion in photography and started documenting all their adventures together and selling his photos to travel magazines. They didn’t have a ton of cash coming in, but it was enough to support the vagabond lifestyle.

Y/N still kept in touch with her family and friends, constantly reminding them of her new beau, but being apart from them didn’t bother her all that much. All she needed was Bucky in her life and she loved exploring all these new places.

Y/N was especially excited to visit Scotland, mostly because Bucky was always talking about how much he loved it. Bucky had planned some excursions for the day and they were fortunate enough to get a beautiful day in the sun. After a quick lunch in a fish and chips shop, they headed to Edinburgh Castle. 

They walked up toward the castle hand in hand and Bucky was surprisingly chatty. Usually Y/N led the conversations, but today he was making comments left and right about seemingly pointless things. She figured he was just excited to be visiting one of his favorite spots again.

They navigated around the groups of tourists with little kids running around and walked through the castle as Bucky whispered bits of knowledge into her ear. Y/N was constantly amazed at how much he knew about history. He had his camera with him and was constantly taking shots of the architecture and views from impeccable angles. He always managed to capture a few candid shots of Y/N when she wasn’t looking, with the light hitting her in the perfect way. Once she started to pick up on his lens, she fell into a habit of photo bombing his shots with a peace sign or her tongue out.

As the tour came to an end, Bucky said, “I have one more spot I want to show you.” They walked down the hill of the castle and weaved through the gardens to an ornate fountain. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. She always loved sitting around fountains with a cup of coffee and a book. Bucky would take photos from all different angles and she would sneak a peek to watch as he worked. Occasionally he would capture candid shots of strangers and would send Y/N to talk to them so he could send over some of the photos.

They fell into their standard routine: Y/N snagged a cup of coffee from a nearby cart and sat on the bench, book in hand, as Bucky circled the area to find the best angles for photos. 

In between snapping shots, he approached a young couple, chatted with them a bit and showed them some of the photos he took. Then he called to Y/N and gave a head nod to come over. 

“What?” she asked him, confused.

“Come on, this is my favorite place with my favorite girl. Let’s get a picture.” Bucky wasn’t usually one to pose in front of the camera but she couldn’t argue with his logic here. He handed his camera off to one of the kind strangers as Y/N walked over towards the fountain. She easily slid under his arm and they smiled together as the young woman snapped a few shots. 

“One more,” she called to them. Y/N adjusted her pose ever so slightly when she felt Bucky’s arm unfurl from her shoulder. She turned to him, thinking maybe he was doing a fun pose, but instead, she found him down on one knee, a small velvet box in his hand.

“Y/N…” he started. Oh boy she thought. “These past few years have been the best in my life. I never imagined I’d meet someone who would bring me so much happiness and teach me what it is to be in love. You’ve changed everything for me and now that I’ve met you, I can’t live a life without you. So now I’m here, at my favorite place in the world with the only woman I have ever truly loved, and I’m asking you to make me the happiest man alive and marry me.”

A teardrop slid down her face. “James, of course I will.” He jumped up from his knee and captured Y/N into a warm embrace, his hand found her jaw and his lips softly enveloped hers in a passionate kiss. They were removed from their bubble by the sound of applause coming from all around them. She pulled away from Bucky to glance around as a blush crept upon her freckled cheeks. The girl holding Bucky’s camera was absolutely beaming. She showed them all the photos she captured of the special moment and it could not have been more perfect. The couple offered to treat them to a round of champagne at the local pub which Y/N and Bucky happily accepted.

As they walked together, hand in hand, she whispered into his ear, “I can’t believe this is my life.”

He kissed her on the cheek, “I’ve had that thought every day since I met you.”

[nn1895]

AU August Fic 11

So, this isn’t exactly a ‘twisted’ fairy tale.  Most like a backwards one.

Twisted Fairy tale

Bang.  Bang.

Prowl rolled over and pulled the blanket over his helm.  The berth frame nudged him.

Bang.

Slaggit.  If someone was out in this sort of weather, it wasn't like he could just leave them.

“Let them in,” he said, drowsily.  “Close all the doors except the ones to the kitchen and the sitting room.”

Domain’s field warmed with excitement.

Of all the ancient manors he could have gotten stuck with, he managed to snag a three story, sparked house that loved company.

0-0-0

Jazz lifted his servo to knock again.  He wasn’t exactly sure if anyone lived in it - this stretch of road was lined with buildings from the Golden Age, long abandoned but too out of the way to bother pulling down.

He just wanted to make absolutely sure before he broke in.  Nothing like having an insane squatter - or worse, penniless heir - trying to ventilate his helm with an acid rifle.

The door swung open and Jazz jumped back.

There was no one there.

“Hello?”  Jazz inched in.  The room was dark, but he could make out the usual clutter of an entryway - side table, rickety bench with pede cleaning clothes, box of crystal gardening equipment.  It was also empty.

Okay, so, third option, potentially haunted house.  Did he chance it or try to find someplace less terrifying up the road?

The temperature was rapidly making the decision for him.

Jazz vented hot air over his plating and decided that today, fortune would favor the bold.

He hoped.

“‘M comin’ in!”

Jazz hopped over the threshold and waited for something to happen.

Nothing.

“I’m jus’ gonna warm up an’ wait out the storm!”  He called loudly as he walked further in.  The door in front of this and to list right were both locked, but the one on his left was left invitingly open.  The room beyond had a low, yellow glow, like from a -

“A heat-pit!” Jazz gasped and nearly tripped over the thick foam carpet as he raced towards it.

The heat-pit was set into the wall with a couch and a cushy chair set in front.  Jazz flopped down on the couch and sunk it.  

Primus, it was already warmed…

 Jazz rolled over onto his back and stared up at the dark blue ceiling.  It had fiber optic stars.  He glanced around the room from his new berth.  There were a lot of diagrams on the wall - a blaster, a energon press, a forcefield generator.  One table had a chemistry set on it and the pinboard above it had the words “Case File 221 - Solved” written on it in neat glyphs.  Strange room for such an old house.  A haunted old house.

“I can’ pay ya anything,” Jazz said to the ghost - ghosts? - as he pulled out his harp.  “I’m on my way ta Praxus ta see about signing on wit’ one a’ the big music labels.”  He couldn’t contain his smile.  “I can play ya a bit of music, though, if that’s ta ya likin’.”

He strummed through a few of his favorite melodies as the warmth soaked into every strut and cable.  He added his voice when it needed it and stayed silent when the notes were enough.

Eventually he grew clumsy with exhaustion and stopped.

“Sorry, ‘m a bit tired.”  He let his optics drift closed.  “Gotta say, ‘m a bit nervous ‘bout it all.”  He found himself explaining things to the ghost.  His sparkling days in poverty.  His music teacher’s help in getting him this chance.

“Bots say tha’ ya sell ya spark when ya sign on.  But I gotta.  Got a blank notarized datapad and everything!  I gotta sign on somewhere or it’ll all be for nothing…”  

In a few minutes he might wake up to find himself being eaten by a ghost or set upon by sparkeaters.  Until then, it was very comfortable.  He felt like he was being cupped in the servos of a kind giant, keeping him warm…

0-0-0

I refuse to acknowledge this, Prowl thought, offlining his optics and venting deeply.  I am not having an argument with my house.  My house is not winning.

Domain was refusing to open his bedroom door or his office door or any door.  Domain had in fact, closed all the doors in the house except for the ones that led to the sitting room and the kitchen.

From the unrepentant amusement in his field, Domain thought he was being very clever.

“I don’t need to speak with him,” Prowl argued, looking vaguely towards the center of the house where he knew Domain’s spark was.  “He can stay until the storm is over and then be on his way.  I left the kitchen open so he could fuel.  There is no reason -”

The floor started to rise.

“Wha - no!  Domain, we are not doing this again -!”  Prowl tried to grab for a doorway, but the floor was curling up at the edges, the frames recessing into the walls.

“Domain!  If you do this I won’t speak to you for -” Prowl yelled, knowing it was a useless threat.  Domain preferred to communicate with fields.  It was why they were such a good fit.

The end of the hallway lifted up towards the ceiling and suddenly Prowl was sliding.

“Scrap!”  His claws were useless as Domain tossed him this way and that, down towards the sitting room.

Down towards…company.

0-0-0

Jazz woke to a huge thump and a shout of “FRAG!” - 

-which was immediately reassuring, because he didn’t think sparkeaters knew a lot of cuss words.

On the floor, in the doorway, was a bot.

Jazz crawled to the end of the couch and peered over the armrest.

He was a Praxian, judging by the enormous doorwings.  A former Enforcer by the paint.  He had a temper given the running list of swear words.

Finally he managed to untangle himself and sit up.  He glared around the room until his optics hit Jazz.  Then he groaned.

Not a haunted house after all.  Jazz raised a tentative servo.

“Hi.  Thanks for letting me in this morning…?”

“That wasn’t me,” he mech grumbled, now getting to his feet, “that was Domain.”  He stepped back quickly and the door that was about to slam shut had to stop and swing open again.

“Domain?  That the name of ya ghost?”

“Ghost?”  His face wrinkled.  “What nonsense are you talking about.  Domain is my house.”

His - oh, that explained a lot actually.

“Hello, Domain!” Jazz said immediately, looking around the room.  “Thanks for letting me in!”

The door tried to nudge the mech out of the way, but he just wrapped his servo around the door frame where it would be squashed.  The door stopped.

“My name’s Jazz, what’s yours?” 

“Prowl.  Get out of my house.”

Friendly.

“Case ya haven’t noticed, it’s the storm of the vorn out there.”

Prowl closed his optics and vented slowly.  Jazz could practically say the mantra along with him it was so obvious.

“Fine.  When the storm is over - get out of my house.”

“What were you doing on the floor?”  Jazz ignored him.

“Domain wanted me to come down here and throw you out personally.” 

The door swung out again and this time it bumped him a bit harder.

“I’m a musician!” Jazz continued.  “What do you do?”

“I sometimes consult with bots about crime,” he said, staring over Jazz’s shoulder instead of meeting his optics.

“Cool.  So you’re an enforcer?  A consulting enforcer?”

“No.”

“You’ve got the Enforcer paint.”

“I was an enforcer.  Now I live here,” he answered shortly.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

Jazz raised his brows at that.  There was a story here, or maybe a song, and he was curious.

“So, ya don’ have ta answer if ya don’ wan’ ta, but…what’re ya doin’ all the way out here?  Amazingly pretty and useful sparked house, aside, I mean.”  The heat-pit glowed brighter.

Prowl crossed his arms and finally stepped out of the doorway.  The door immediately swung closed, like a sparkling trying to be sneaky.  Prowl turned to glare at it.

“I was banished from the city and from my family home,” he intoned, still glaring at the door.

“You were banished?”

“I committed several actions I have been told were faux pas,” Prowl said, starting to pace the room now, his doorwings gently rotating in smaller and smaller circles.

“Yeah?  I’ve made a few of those myself.  My family never banished me for it.”  That was actually really sad.  “What did you do?”

“First, I refused to allow our family company to donate money to what I was certain was a money laundering front.  It turned out the Happy Sparklings Foundation was a real thing.”  Jazz stared at him.

“Um, yeah, mech.  They have commercials all the time -?”

“Their premise is ridiculous and ineffective!  They ask for donations!  Do you know how unstable that is for a main income?  I offered them investing advice afterwards and they refused.”

“Well, it is a charity -”

“Second,” he continued, “I spurned the advances of my Captain’s creation.  He is a chronic underachiever with no drive and he is always in debt.  My Captain took issue with my phrases, apparently.”

Jazz found he was getting a good enough handle on the mech that he could well imagine what ‘phrases’ he’d used.

“Third, the misstep that led them to finally send me away - unfairly! - was when we all attended a function together.  I was against going from the start, but they convinced me.  I thought it would be a good opportunity to discuss some of the Sentinel Prime’s policies with him.  I managed to get close enough to speak to him and…”  Prowl grumbled softly and his doorwings flicked violently.  “The Prime said something that made me angry.  I have been told I’m not good at controlling my anger.”

“An’ ya yelled at him,” Jazz guessed.

“I threw something at him.”

“At the Prime?  What did ya throw?” 

“A bomb.”

Jazz tumbled off the couch.

“Mech why did ya have a BOMB at a gala?!”  He gaped at him from the floor, flailing as he tried to pull himself back up.

Prowl looked insulted, optics narrowed, mouth set firm.  “I wasn’t planning it!  The science team and I were recreating it because we were tracking a criminal!”

Jazz just stared at him.  He shifted.

“It was not a well thought out plan,” he admitted.

“What did he say?”

“What?”

“What did the Prime say that made you mad?” Jazz asked again, curious, as he settled back on the couch.

Prowl seemed to regain his earlier fury.

“I asked him when he was going to authorize more support for the Enforcers in the Undercity.  We’ve been trying to reduce the crime rate, but we need more than just enforcers.  I offered to send him my plans for it - increase the number of social workers first, to address the all the homeless sparklings and younglings, then contact the Adult Psychiatric Care Organization that is working out of Kaon, and finally, I requested a complete review of the city building plans to stop the substandard materials that are resulting in tunnel collapses.”

That…actually sounded like a good plan.  Better than Polyhex’s “Pave over it all and pretend nothing’s wrong” approach.

“What happened?”

“He said -” Prowl paused and his doorwings drooped, “he said that the only bots in the Undercity were there because they’d made the choice to be there and if they wanted safer housing they should just move.  Then he said that he would authorize another shipment of blasters and we could put officers in the field with less training if we were so desperate.  I think he was also going to say something about the next Superintentnet of Enforcers election but then I threw the bomb at him.”

“Tha’s rough, Prowler.  I like ya ideas.”

“You do?” he asked, optics widening.  “I mean,” he put the scowl back on, “they’re great ideas.  But, they’re what got me banished.  I came out here to be alone.  All by myself.”

“All by yourself with a sparked house?” Jazz asked, wryly.  The windows fluttered open and closed rapidly.  It sounded like laughter.  It felt like laughter.  Prowl glowered at no one.

“I didn’t set out - it just sort of happened.  Domain was for sale and the sellers didn’t realize he was sparked and so I got him for a steal and -”  Prowl stopped and narrowed his optics.  “You’re trying to get me off track.  I’m telling you that, when the storm is over, you will leave.”

“Will I?”

“Yes.  It’s the polite thing to do.  You are not wanted here.”

His voice tripped up on the word ‘wanted.’  And there - Jazz hid a smile - was his in.

He stretched out, throwing an arm over the back of the couch.  “I don’ know, mech,” Jazz said, feeling the floor vibrate with laughter.  “Your place likes me.  I might never leave.”

“Are you, are you threatening me?” Prowl gawked at him.

“Might be.”

Oh look!  He was glaring again!  This was fun.

“What do you want?”

“Want?”

“In exchange for leaving.  Tell me and I will give it to you, barring anything illegal.”

Hmph.  Rich coming from the mech that brought a bomb to a Primal Gala.

“Oh no, mech.  I ain’t stupid.  We’re gonna go inta a real contract.”  He pulled the datapad from his subspace.  Sure, landing a music contract would have been nice, but Jazz had an inkling that he’d enjoy this one more.  He laid it on the table.

Prowl walked over and knelt across from him.

“What are your terms?” he gritted out.

“I have one request.  You give me what I want and I’ll leave,” Jazz said, putting every atom of his frame into the effort of looking innocent.  All it got him was a scowl and a scoff.

“I am not that stupid.  You’ll ask for the house.  Well -”

“Well,” Jazz interrupted, “the house is sparked.  Can’t give away bots, Prowler.  No, what I want is a thing, under 20 credits, that won’t harm anyone to give me.  Now,” Jazz laid his servo on the pad and it received his signature, “are you going to take the deal or not?  We can keep arguing if you’d like -”

Prowl slammed his servo down as well and the pad dinged its acceptance.  

“Now tell me what you want,” he growled.

“What I want?”  Jazz grinned.  “I want the most beautiful crystal bloom from your garden.  The reddest, biggest, most perfect flower you can grow.”

Prowl sputtered.

“It - it is WINTER!  There aren’t any flowers!”

“Hmmm,” Jazz pretended to think again.  “Guess I’ll just wait here until the garden’s in bloom again.”

Prowl scowled and sat heavily on the chair.  The chair gently enfolded him, naked affection spreading out in the room.  It rather ruined the effect when your house tried to snuggle you in the middle of negotiations.

“I might eat you.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“I am extremely grumpy.”

“You don’t say.”

“The fuel is nothing fancy.  We get it piped in from the city.”

“Mech, I’ve lived on vending machine fuels for vorns.”

“I like to be alone a lot of the time.  You’ll get lonely.”

“I’ll invite some of my mates to come by once the worst of the storm is over.  Beachcomber would love to see the garden.”

There!  A twitch.

“It’s not much -”

“It looked like it’ll be gorgeous in the summer. It’s like a frozen summer now, I can’t imagine what it’ll look like in good light with all of its colors.”

It looked like Prowl had forgotten how to glare.  His face was smooth and his field was sprinkled with spots of actual pride.

0-0-0

Prowl tried to hide how much the compliment meant to him.  

“Well, I guess I have no choice -” he said finally, at a loss for anything else to say.  Jazz grinned at him and actually bounced off the couch.

“Excellent!  I’ll grab us some cubes from the kitchen!”  Jazz darted off like he owned the place.

“This is ridiculous,” Prowl grumbled.  He stood and walked to the heat-pit.  He gazed at the wall - all that separated him from Domain’s too-soft and too-big spark.

“Want to explain this sudden madness that has taken you over, hmm?” he asked.  “What exactly do you think is going to happen?”  He wasn’t expecting an answer.

“I waited,” Domain said, his voice shaking the walls.

Prowl knew what remained unsaid.

I waited for you.  

I was lonely.  You were lonely.

He put his servo against the wall and felt the living spark energy running through it.  Domain, the last of the bots that had once dotted the countryside, enclosing and protecting families of three dozens bots or more.  The last of the great titan’s sparklings.

Prowl sighed again and leaned his helm just above his servo.

“I guess I can deal with a couple of guests.  Especially if it makes you happy.”

“Jazz will make you happy,” Domain rumbled back and his field bloomed with hope and affection.

Prowl blushed.

“Maybe.”

[snowstark]

Growing Wings.

READ ON AO3 For @starkerfestivals | Fill: Mafia AU “Don’t fucking touch me,” Tony snarls, grabbing Peter’s wrists to rip them off of him. “Then don’t fucking talk,” Peter spits back. Tony growls and shoves him back, but Peter just pushes right up against him again, getting in his space. He can feel his warm breath on his face as he snarls, “You think I wanna hear your fucking voice after you left like that? Tell me why I shouldn’t just punch your lights out right now." And ouch, that kind of hurts. Tony shoves him off, jeering, “Well, you wouldn’t want to break my nose, sweetheart, we both know how much you love my pretty face.” “Yeah, enough to want to spit on it, maybe.” S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t the worst place to work. Tony’s been there for a while now, and he gets along just fine. Then, he gets sent back to a world that he thought he’d never return to. I have now achieved a blackout, yay! Thank you to @vaguekiwi for beta'ing!

The barstools are mahogany. They blend into the red-brown wood of the bar, illuminated by the glow of lights behind the bottles. The people blend in, too—clinking glasses and flashing scars as subtle hands exchange wads of bills and tight packets of pot, mingling amidst the sharp smell of whiskey and beer between them; leather jackets that conceal switchblades and guns, hung on large shoulders and frames like bedsheets on a king-sized bed. It all paints a cohesive picture, barely anything out of place.

Except for the boy sitting at the edge of the bar. The Parker heir.

He barely looks legal. Pink cheeks, scruffy brown hair, and pretty pink lips sipping at his daiquiri. There’s a fat golden ring on his index finger. He’s dressed to fit in, but with his youthful face and frilly drink, he looks more like he’s wearing daddy’s clothes than anything.

Tony wants to ruin him.

He wants to grab him by the scruff and drag him down from the throne he’ll be stepping up to and pull him into a kiss, wants to feel the heat of his breath on his neck, wants to… buy him a drink.

“That one’s on me.” Tony pulls a chair out to sit next to the boy, and opens his mouth to order a beer when— no. “Sex on the beach,” he tells the bartender, and gets a weird look from the both of them, accompanied by a smirk lacing the boy’s lips. Otherwise, silence. He waits for his drink to be fixed before taking a sip from it, swirling the liquid in the glass loftily before saying, “Want a taste?”

“Not unless it’s from your mouth.” Parker’s voice is pretty. It reminds Tony of a mockingbird’s song, a sound of nature itself, with each word spilling from his mouth a pretty melody.

Tony lifts his eyebrows. “What, you don’t want a pretty babe to take home?”

The Parker boy pointedly takes a sip from his daiquiri.

Tony feels his lips curve into a smile. Okay. He gets it. He’s pretty sure he sees the other’s eyes crinkle a bit too at the corners. “Tony,” he finally says.

“Peter.”

As if he doesn’t know.

“Pretty name for a pretty boy. You got someone to take care of you, treat you like you’re a diamond?”

“I am a diamond.” Peter tips his head back to take the rest of his daiquiri into his mouth in one large gulp. “And I can find someone to come and make me shine whenever I want.”

“Lucky guy, finding a gem in all this dirt.” Tony keeps his attention on the ice cubes clinking in his glass. “Makes me wonder if that’s what you come here for.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter set his empty glass down. He swipes the tip of his index finger along the rim of the glass, then pops it between his lips to suck on it before turning to face Tony, leaning in. He lets his hands rest gingerly on Tony’s shoulder, just barely gripping as he breathes into his ear, “Why don’t we take this home, Tony?”

Tony likes the way he says his name.

He thinks he’ll like it even more when Peter’s moaning it.

He lifts his gaze to meet Peter’s. Peter doesn’t budge, only pulling back the slightest bit, nose a few inches away from Tony’s. Tony watches his eyelashes flutter with each blink. It’s like a swan taking flight, feathers fluttering in the air and daring Tony to reach up to snag one for himself—a keepsake, or a trophy.

His lips quirk up when Peter gives him a look, clearly saying, well? Tony licks the lingering taste of his drink away from his lips so he can replace it with Peter. “Think your father’ll approve?”

Tony knows he won’t. Peter knows that too.

Peter smiles. “We’ll just have to keep quiet, won’t we?” His hands slide down to fist the front of Tony’s shirt and pull him out of his seat by it.

Tony barely remembers to toss a wad of bills onto the counter before he’s guided out of the bar.

-- -- --

Tony’s in the process of sticking a piece of gum underneath the briefing table when the meeting finally ends. Fury talked for a painfully long time today. Tony’s pretty sure he even saw Rogers’ eyes close a few times, and everyone knows that if Rogers is dozing, the situation’s bad.

His left foot’s fallen asleep. He stomps it subtly a few times before getting up from his seat. The room’s clearing out now, agents talking to each other and chuckling as they shuffle through the doorway. Tony stops by the door, letting Rumlow pass through before turning to Fury, who’s now digging through a box of donuts.

“You know,” Tony says when Fury doesn’t acknowledge him, “might be good for team morale if you actually share your snacks with everyone. Oh, and you know what? We really gotta work on these outfit designs. I mean, how do you expect us to get the job done when half of us are fighting a wedgie?”

Fury’s quiet for a few moments, but it doesn’t faze Tony. Fury’s either astronomically loud or terrifyingly quiet; there’s no in between.

Finally, he speaks. “Found the meeting boring, Stark?” Fury’s eye flicks up to him as he takes a monstrous bite from the donut. It sends sprinkles raining down onto the table and floor for some poor janitor to take care of later.

“Always is, Sir,” Tony replies.

“I’ll always wonder why I let someone with the attention span of a goldfish sign up.”

“Maybe because this goldfish has brought the most innovative ideas you’ve seen in the past three decades.” Tony reaches to snag a donut from the box, but Fury slaps his hand away. It hurts.

“You know, I caught wind of something new today. Toomes.”

Tony blinks. “We don’t deal with people like him.”

He doesn’t deal with people like him. Not anymore.

Fury carries on like he hasn’t even spoken. “Word has it that the Toomes are deep in debt with the Parker family. The Parkers want to collect; you think Toomes is just gonna hand over a small fortune that easily?”

Tony feels his heart leap into his throat at the words.

Parker. Parker. Parker. He repeats the name over and over in his head, and realizes that he’s been silent for a second too long. Fury’s looking at him with a raised eyebrow as he takes a fierce bite from his donut.

“Probably not,” he manages, sounding as dumb as he feels.

Fury sucks sugar off of one of his fingers. “It’s allegedly reported that Toomes’ men are going in to get rid of their debt through unconventional means.”

“They’re not paying them off.”

Fury snorts. “Hell, no. They’re going in to get rid of the Parkers. Which includes our little asset, Rumlow. Member of the Parker family since before the boy even became kingpin, he’s been… interested in testifying against the family if it means he gets a lesser sentence to bite him in the ass later. He’s the weak link in the family, and we need him alive.” He dusts his hands off. “Barnes has already volunteered to infiltrate the Parkers at the higher levels, but we need more people to go in, hang around at their front and get them talking.”

“Best of luck to them.” Tony swallows and looks away furtively.

Fury makes a disgruntled noise in his throat. “Rogers will step in if no one else wants the gig—seems eager to, actually—but really, Stark, I’m bringing this up because I thought you might be interested.”

“Me,” Tony repeats, fighting back the urge to swallow. His mind jumps to skin on skin, fingers lacing together amongst soft silky bed sheets.

“Sure.” Fury shrugs. “You think fast on your feet, and you know how to get out of sticky situations if anything goes south. You know it’s not every day that I offer an agent a job like this—it’s your chance to prove yourself, Stark.”

Tony sucks the inside of his cheek.

“We only need someone to watch Barnes’ back, sit around the area and report back if there’s an issue. It should be easy for someone like you, just mingling with the associates of the family, indulging in their favourite hobbies, bonding, you know how it goes.”

Does he?

“I…” Tony trails off. His eyes flick down to the box of donuts, lingering there for a few moments. Fury actually nudges it open for him, like it’s positive reinforcement for considering the gig. “Can I tell you my decision tomorrow?”

Fury grunts.

Tony takes that as a ‘yes’ and hurries out before Fury can say anything else.

-- -- --

It still smells the same, Tony realizes. Leather and alcohol accompanied by raucous laughter and cigarettes and money. It feels the same, too. The barstools haven’t changed, except the leather is cracked now. He runs his fingers over it. It’s like a scar, if someone ripped off a wing and let the flesh mould over with new skin.

He orders himself a drink. The bartender makes quick work of it and Tony gives her a nod of thanks before taking it from her. At least it’s not the same bartender.

It only takes him a few minutes to empty the glass. He signals for another, then turns ever so slightly to side-eye the big hunk of meat next to him. It’s not a face that he recognizes, and he’s not sure if he’s more disappointed or relieved by that fact.

Probably relieved.

“Long day?” he sighs, knowing as soon as the words come out of his mouth that it’s a stupid thing to say. It sounds green, sounds like two suburban dads at the bar of a family restaurant.

Tony gets completely ignored for his trouble. Okay, fair enough. He’s gotten rusty—which is good, he reminds himself.

He needs another drink.

He downs it in a few big swallows, which catches the attention of a couple people in the bar. He gulps past the burn and it means his voice rasps a bit when he tries again. “I had a run last night up on 116th, got jumped by like, ten guys.” He hesitates before adding, “I think they were with Toomes or something.”

He gets a few more eyes, and some heads tilting in his direction. Okay, interest. No engagement yet, but that’s okay.

Tony’s grip tightens around the glass in his hand and he plunges ahead. “Heard they’re gonna take a run at us about their debt to—” don’t say his name, he could at least pretend that wasn’t real right now “—to the boss. Think your head’ll be one of the ones they cut off?”

That gets the big guy to turn to him, a scowl on his face. “Toomes would be lucky to snip even one lock of my hair,” he growls. And, admittedly, the man has great hair.

“Hey, new guy!” Five others have swivelled in their seats, and one has his eyes fixed on Tony. “Toomes really planning something against the family?”

Tony smirks triumphantly and motions toward the bartender. “I’ll tell you all about it, friends. Drinks are on me.”

-- -- --

Peter lets out a soft yelp as Tony practically tackles him onto the bed, dragging him into a kiss. Peter’s fingers fumble as he yanks off his jacket and shirt, moaning against his lips, and Tony helps him out of them. He hears the sound of Peter’s pants dropping to the floor and his lips part in anticipation. It’s exhilarating to take apart Peter’s exterior piece by piece to reveal what’s inside, to take it for himself and ravish it.

“That hurts, you asshole,” Peter laughs as Tony nips from his jaw to his collarbone. Tony ignores him, just sucking a mark onto the pale expanse of skin right above his collarbone, and then twisting to kiss Peter.

Peter gasps into the kiss, and Tony swallows his noises up hungrily like his life depends on it. Peter gives a small whine and pushes him. Tony falls back onto the bed with a confused noise, propping himself up on his elbow. “What?” he pants. “You don’t— is something wrong?”

“No, ‘s just—” Peter licks his lips, cheeks flushed bashfully now. “You still have your shirt on.”

“Huh?” Tony looks down and feels a small smile tugging at his lips at the realization that Peter’s right. “Oh.” He swipes his hair back with a hand, flustered, and Peter bursts into laughter.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” Peter tells him teasingly, already reaching forward. He makes quick work of Tony’s clothes with clumsy, eager fingers, yanking and tugging at buttons and zippers before copying Tony’s actions from earlier, dusting a few kisses onto his jaw. Tony tips his head back, eyes fluttering shut again, settling back into that warm, fuzzy place in his head where everything he can feel and see and smell and taste is Peter.

Peter’s touches are more hesitant than his, less experienced, maybe. It makes him wonder if Peter’s ever really done more than make out with someone, or if he’s ever even been in bed with another guy.

His suspicions are confirmed when Peter pulls back the slightest bit and whispers, “Is this okay?” as he lets a hand slip down, eyes flicking up to his face uncertainly.

He’s younger than Tony; they’re both young, but Tony likes the idea of teaching Peter from scratch, moulding him from untouched putty to a sinning angel, claiming what’s his. He gives a small smile through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah,” he breathes, “you’re more than okay.”

It’s like the words settle the apprehension in Peter, because he relaxes, tense shoulders dropping in what’s probably relief. Tony doesn’t like the idea of Peter worrying when he’s supposed to be enjoying, so he just grabs him and flips him over, eliciting a surprised, “Oof!” from him. He grinds down on Peter, watching delightedly as Peter lets out an obscene moan, and he clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Thought you said we gotta stay quiet,” he whispers.

Peter licks the palm of his hand to coax it off of him. “We are quiet.”

“Not you,” Tony teases.

Peter scowls. “Fuck off.”

Tony kisses the pouty look off of his face. It slides away easily once his lips are slotted against Peter’s, wet and sloppy.

And then Peter surges up in a bout of energy, and Tony falls back with a surprised noise. “I wanna,” Peter pants as he dusts kisses on Tony’s neck, nuzzling and nipping, “I wanna— I want you to make me—”

Peter steals his breath from him with each kiss until his chest is tight and Tony has to push him away the slightest bit to gasp, “Your father— last chance to—”

Neither of them give a shit about Peter’s father. It’s foreplay at best, now. The thrill of getting caught, the feeling of ecstasy as they touch what’s forbidden, snagging an apple from the garden, it only urges them on like fuel added to fire.

“Still in the family, aren’t you?” Peter plays along, hands sliding down to Tony’s hips. “Least you’re not a fed.”

Tony barks out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah,” he agrees breathlessly. “Least ‘m not a fed.”

And then he takes Peter for himself, drinking in every little noise he makes as hunger ravishes his body, basking in the dove’s pretty noises.

-- -- --

“Another one!”

They all burst into laughter as the big blond guy—Thor, apparently—smashes his glass on the floor of the bar. The bartender rolls her eyes. Broken kitchenware isn’t a scarcity with Thor around here.

Tony’s not drunk. He’s spilled a couple of drinks instead of downing them, and he’s been sneaking refills of water instead of alcohol when he can. And, he can hold his liquor well. He’s not willing to risk his job to indulge himself.

He has, however, gotten the others to drink their fair share. They’re red-faced and all they can do is roar with laughter. It reminds him of how he used to do this too, come into the bar and share a drink or two before rushing off to press his lips to fair skin as hands push through his hair. For a split second, he feels a pang of longing in his chest.

He instantly forgets about it when Thor claps him on the chest. “Our— Our heads!” he booms, then snorts. “Toomes better watch out; we could step on ‘im even like this, crush his puny skull with our boots.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” another guy snorts, elbowing Thor in the side. “Don’t you ‘member what happened last time? Parker had a nosebleed for days.”

The words make Tony jerk in his seat before he even realizes it, and then he turns back around. “Yeah, yeah, Rumlow better watch out, heard he’s a popular target,” he chuckles in an effort to regain his composure, lifting his hand to signal for another drink.

“Rumlow?” An unfamiliar voice sounds and they all turn around.

It’s another face that Tony doesn’t recognize, and it makes him realize once again just how long it’s actually been since he was last here. He takes a quiet sip from his drink, and the guy narrows his eyes at Tony.

Maybe he’s been here too long. He wants to check his watch, but he refrains.

“Rumlow ain’t here,” the guy says. He doesn’t budge, preventing Tony from sliding out of his seat. “Boss sent him to Siberia two days ago. I would know, ‘m his partner.”

One of the guys snorts. “You sure, Rollins? Last I heard, you two went through a little break-up. Did he dump you, or was it the other way around, big guy?”

There’s a loud cracking noise, and the guy falls off his seat, clutching a bloody nose. “Jesus fuck!”

They have the attention of the whole bar now, and yep, this has officially gone downhill. Like, to the depths of the earth, to the underworld where Hades resides type of bad. Tony can feel the palms of his hands getting sweaty.

Rollins gives Tony a lingering look. “What did you say your name was?”

Fuck. And that’s his cue to leave.

He tosses a wad of bills onto the counter, then says, “I gotta get home.”

“He didn’t say his name.” It’s Thor now, staring at Tony with wide, suspicious eyes now.

Tony would rather not get into a fight with Thor, or any of the guys here, really. They’re all massive.

He needs to get the fuck out of here and go straight to Fury to ask him what the hell is going on, because what does Rolllins mean Rumlow is in fucking Siberia?

“You need to see the boss,” Rollins says, and that’s the only warning Tony gets before the front of his shirt is roughly snatched in a massive paw.

“Whoa, whoa, big guy, I’m sorry—my name’s Anthony Howard; didn’t mean anything by it; just heard stuff about Toomes. Look, I really do gotta get home—”

And then Rollins yanks, making him trip forwards, and then there are hands gripping his shoulders and his wrists are being yanked behind his back like he’s getting arrested. He’s dragged off, and he prays that whoever the boss is, it’s not him.

But he knows that it is, and there’s no way he can avoid it now.

-- -- --

Tony’s there when Peter’s father is gutted like a fish.

He wraps his arms around the boy, letting him scream and cry until he’s exhausted, throat raw and scratchy from how hard he’s worked it. His cries sound more like the shrieks of a crow by the end of it, and Tony runs a hand down his spine in an effort to soothe him.

“You’re okay,” he says, voice low, and Peter shudders and shakes his head in a small, jerky movement. He doesn’t believe it yet, but Tony knows he will be.

He doesn’t stop to wonder whether they’ll be alright.

He’s there when Peter steps up.

He’s there when Peter rules like the king he was meant to be.

He’s there when Peter ruthlessly rips off the wings of the mockingbird inside himself to lock them up in a cage and leave them to rot. He’s there when Peter transforms into an eagle, a bird of prey; he’s there when Peter stops singing.

Until one night, he’s not there. He’s slipping out of the compound, silent as a field mouse running away from an eagle under the gaze of the silver moonlight.

And he’s not there when Peter wakes up.

-- -- --

At first glance, Tony thinks Peter looks the same. But then he takes a second look, and he sees that he’s grown a bit taller, his face isn’t as youthful, and he has a small, healed scar on his cheekbone, just a faint white line. Most people wouldn’t even notice it, but it catches Tony’s attention right away, and he hates himself for it, hates that he has the memory of Peter’s face etched into his brain.

Peter’s men don’t even get a chance to say anything, because the moment Peter’s eyes land on Tony’s face, his lip curls up and he barks, “Out!”

They fumble for a moment, like they’re not sure whether they should be dragging Tony out of the room too, but when Peter’s scowl grows, they scuttle out with their tails tucked between their legs. Tony sneers at their backs.

Peter strides forward and Tony clenches his jaw in preparation for what he knows is coming.

The moment the door slams shut, Peter flies into action. He grabs the front of Tony’s shirt and shoves him against the wall.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Tony snarls, grabbing Peter’s wrists to rip them off of him.

“Then don’t fucking talk,” Peter spits back.

Tony growls and shoves him back, but Peter just pushes right up against him again, getting in his space. He can feel his warm breath on his face as he snarls, “You think I wanna hear your fucking voice after you left like that? Tell me why I shouldn’t just punch your lights out right now.”

And ouch, that kind of hurts. Tony shoves him off, jeering, “Well, you wouldn’t want to break my nose, sweetheart, we both know how much you love my pretty face.”

“Yeah, enough to want to spit on it, maybe.”

“You sure you don’t want me to be doing that to you? Wouldn’t get off on it, wouldn’t blow a load the moment I touch you? Happened way too much in the past, didn’t it? Don’t wanna relive those memories, honey? And this scar—” Tony reaches out, not even flinching when Peter tries to slap him away “—what happened here, huh? Fell off the swingset when Daddy wasn’t here to watch you?”

Peter pulls a face of disgust at his words, and Tony almost barks out a laugh, which would’ve incensed him more. It almost makes him wish he had; he knows how much Peter hates when he calls himself daddy. Almost as much as he hates being called kid.

Tony presses his thumb onto the scar when he gets no response, and Peter smacks his hand down to snap, “Just the result of the last guy who walked out on us. He came out a lot worse than me; should’ve done the same to you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony lifts his eyebrow tauntingly. “Then why didn’t you, huh? Did I wear you out too much, princess? Didn’t have it in you for round two? Should’ve known; pretty little thing like you wouldn’t have been able to handle it anyway—”

Tony falls back with a grunt when Peter tackles him, hands flying up to wrench him off. Except now he feels lips roughly mouthing at his neck. And then Peter snarls, “Get yourself out of these fucking clothes, I fucking hate you, always making shit harder.”

“Then ask nicely, kid,” Tony bites back. Peter’s head jerks at the pet name, nostrils flaring, and Tony triumphantly shoves him off enough to yank off his own shirt. He stumbles with how hard he pulls, and then there are hands that are tugging too, helping him out of it, and he grunts, “No fuckin’ patience at all, should’ve known you’d be begging to gag on my dick before you even—”

“Shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up.” Peter throws the shirt behind himself before throwing himself at Tony again.

His nails bite harshly into Tony’s skin, making him hiss between clenched teeth. “Put those damn claws away, Christ.” He shoves Peter back again and they stumble together against the wall, then fumble for another moment as Peter wrestles out of his own shirt.

The moment the shirt drops to the floor, discarded like a feather floating to the ground, Tony grabs Peter’s shoulders and manhandles him over to his desk. He manages to get him bent over it despite the kicking and thrashing that Peter puts up, but Tony knows Peter, knows that he isn’t fighting as hard as he can, knows that he wants Tony to wrestle with him. There’s also no denying the fact that despite the years that have passed and hardened them both, Tony’s still larger and stronger than Peter, and Peter loves it. Tony can see it in his eyes; he’s practically feral every time he rests his eyes on Tony.

“Remember the last time we did this?” Tony laughs roughly, pressing flush against him as he bends over, caging him in with his arms. Peter snarls and jerks his head back, but Tony easily avoids it. He pinches the back of his neck harshly in reprimand and Peter chokes, straining against him. Tony lets him gasp and heave for a moment before licking a hot, wet stripe from his neck to his ear. “You think you can scream as loudly as you did then for me right now, sweetheart?”

“Over my dead body,” Peter gasps.

“Not the biggest turn-on.” In a lightning-fast movement, Tony rips Peter’s pants off. The button goes flying and Peter hisses.

“That was expensive, you asshole!”

Tony opens his mouth to snap back, but then his breath catches in his throat at the sight of the red lace. Peter’s face has gone a shade that’s equally as bright and he snarls in Tony’s grasp.

“Ohhh,” Tony says, beginning to laugh, and it sounds mean, which only serves to aggravate Peter even more. “This is why you were fighting so hard, huh? Little prissy Parker, wearing fuckin’ panties like you have someone to strut for?”

“Shut. Up,” Peter grits out.

Tony grins, feeling a sadistic little ball of heat furling in his gut, and he leans in to breathe, “Make me,” before cracking a hand down on his ass. The sound is loud, ringing throughout the whole room, and Peter keens. He’s pushing back against Tony like he can’t help himself now, spine curving nicely in a way that makes Tony want to kiss every inch of his body.

Tony slots his hips against his ass, grinding down and letting out a low growl in his throat. “That’s right. That’s fuckin’ right. Can’t make me, can you? Bet’chu wanted this so badly, can never help yourself, can you? C’mon, little mockingbird, admit it—it doesn’t feel as good when you’re on your own, I get it, I—”

He does get it. He’s forgotten how good they are together, and years apart only riles him up further, gets him wanting more, more, more. He knows Peter feels the same, and now, he wants to hear him say it.

“Tell me you want this,” he growls, and Peter jerks in his grasp. “Tell me,” he repeats, cracking a hand down on his ass, “you want this.”

“Fuck off,” Peter grits, but Tony can hear it, the desperation and arousal in his voice.

“Tell me you want it, let me fucking hear it.” He brings his hand down in earnest, making Peter gasp. His ass turns a dusty pink as he jerks and whines in his grip. Tony can see his cock growing harder by the minute, encased by lace. “C’mon, lemme hear it, what’s the matter, kid? Cat got your tongue? No point in hiding, you know, we know you want it, probably been waiting for this moment for years now. Bet you put fuckin’ panties on every day hoping I’d see them.”

He punctuates his words with smacks, hand cracking loudly and ringing through the room, and Tony bites out, “C’mon, sweetheart, you being shy ‘cause you don’t want me to fuck you? Or are you still thinking about that time I nearly let you fuck me? That was a fucking mistake, wasn’t it? You got a hungry fuckin’ hole, you think your dick would’ve lasted more than a minute in my—”

“I want it!” Peter finally gasps, tears in his eyes. “I want it, I want it, I want you to fuck me, I want your hands on me, I want you to fucking take me, take me, fuck me—”

“Fuck!” Tony sees red. He fumbles with the zipper of his pants, yanking it down as fast as he can.

“Jerk,” Peter pants. “You’re a fucking asshole, bastard, selfish piece of shit, cock-sucking fed—mmph!” He chokes when Tony slaps a hand over his mouth.

“The mouth on you, kid, Christ!” Tony pulls back, then tears off his panties with his hands. Peter jerks from his position, rearing up again, but Tony puts a stop to whatever he’s about to do by shoving him back down with a grip on his neck. He roughly makes Peter turn his head, then mocks, “If you can’t learn to say nice things, then you shouldn’t say anything at all.”

Peter doesn’t fight him—as much as he expected him to, at least—when he balls the panties up in his hand and stuffs them into his mouth. Tony laughs when Peter’s face flushes, and he taunts, “Can’t even spit and snarl like you want to anymore, can you?” Peter jerks in his grasp again, and Tony bites his shoulder in reprimand. “‘s okay,” he says against his skin, grinning, “I gotcha.”

He brings his hand down on his ass again, admiring how pink it turns, and then starts roughly opening the drawers of his desk. His other hand is gripping Peter’s wrists behind his back, pinning him down. Peter’s breathing is raw and heavy in his throat even with the garment in his mouth, but there’s no denying how hard his dick is, and nothing delights Tony more than that.

“Lube,” he mutters impatiently under his breath, digging through the drawers. “Don’t tell me you don’t have fucking lube.”

Peter makes an indignant noise that Tony disregards.

When he finds it tucked under a stack of envelopes, he rips the small packet open. He presses his lubed fingers to Peter’s hole, and Peter jerks, then pushes back against him.

“Fuckin’ hungry for it, aren’t you?” Tony mutters as he works a finger in. “You know what hasn’t changed? How tight your fucking hole is.”

Peter moans behind the panties in his mouth, thighs shaking as Tony works him open. He’s not rough, but he’s not gentle either—just the way Peter likes it.

Tony’s pumping three fingers in and out of his hole by the time Peter makes a muffled noise. It sounds suspiciously like, “Hurry up,” but he can’t know for sure, and he doesn’t care to know either—Peter would kill him if he stopped to ask. So he just pinches Peter’s cheek, making him groan, before straightening.

He spits in his hand and brings it down to his cock, pumping it a few times. Peter twists to look at him, eyes blown and heavy, and Tony smirks. “Cock-drunk little thing,” he drawls, seeing the spark that ignites in Peter’s eyes at his words.

Tony squeezes Peter’s hip as he presses the head of his cock to his hole. It slips in easily, rim fluttering around him, and Tony hisses out a small, “Shit,” before pushing in slowly.

Peter gives a muffled moan, just taking it, and Tony pants, “Good boy,” before he lets his hips roll.

It’s slow at first, but then they pick up the pace once Peter starts making little noises in his throat, even pushing back to meet him halfway. It’s heaven to Tony, to feel Peter all around him like this, even more so when he gets to grip his hips and mark him up.

“You know,” Tony pants after a while, fingers digging into Peter’s skin hard enough to bruise, “it’s almost too boring with you so quiet. Maybe I should just—”  He reaches out, and takes the panties from his mouth.

Peter’s moans and gasps fill up the room immediately, and Tony gives him a sloppy grin in return for the glare he gets. “There we go. But I don’t want to just carry this, so let’s…” He stuffs the panties into Peter’s hand, then guides them down to his dick. “I want you to wrap your filthy panties around your filthy cock and make a fucking mess of them.”

There’s no hiding how turned on Peter is by that; his eyelashes flutter and his lips part in a silent moan. Tony snaps his hips up, and Peter moans, jumping into action. “I fucking hate you,” he pants, even as he follows Tony’s order.

Tony laughs and gives one of his cheeks another spank. “I know,” he grins, then lets his hips pick up the pace. He digs his nails into one cheek, and Peter moans so loudly that he’s pretty sure the entire fucking room shakes. “Sing any louder than that, ‘n you’re gonna have people comin’ in to see you fuckin’ impaled on my dick, crying like a kid who just found his lost stuffie,” Tony taunts in his ear.

Peter gives a snarl, but there’s no real fight in his body; he just wants Tony and they both know it.

Tony closes his eyes, head lolling back and lips parting as he works his hips fast until he’s pounding Peter’s ass hard enough to jostle his whole body. Peter mewls, fumbling as he jerks himself off, still gripping his panties in a vice-grip, and the mere sight of him nearly tips Tony over the edge.

“So— fucking— filthy—” he gasps, bending over to press as flush as he can against Peter, skin on skin, damp with sweat. He mouths at his neck and shoulders, trying to take every inch of Peter that he can.

“P-Plea— O-Oh, god, fuck, fuck—” Peter whimpers, and the sound goes straight to Tony’s cock.

Tony hisses, “Fuck, ‘m gonna—” before he interrupts himself with a loud groan that rips from his throat, raw and heavy. He lets his hips slow as he rides through the wave of ecstasy that crashes over him, only pulling out once he gets too sensitive.

Peter’s a mewling, sweaty mess over his desk, fingers scrabbling to grip something, anything. Tony slides a hand through his damp hair to pull his head back and places a hand over Peter’s, which is still working feebly over his own cock, and he says roughly, “Lemme help, kid, can’t even do it yourself, can you? Too dumb to even think, shouldn’t have expected so much from you.”

Peter keens at the words, and Tony’s pretty sure he’s drooling on his desk. Tony lets his strokes quicken, the lacy fabric of the panties sliding wetly over the head of his dick, and Peter lets out a breathy moan. “I— I— P-Please—”

“No one’s stopping you, baby, c’mon, lemme see it.” Tony leans in and licks a wet, broad stripe between his cheeks, tasting himself mingled with the taste of Peter, and then Peter’s coming with a loud wail.

He shoots strings of white over their hands and his panties, now completely ruined and sloppy, and he gives up—gives in—entirely to let Tony jack him off through it, coaxing whines and whimpers out of him.

“F-Fuck,” he gasps after a few moments, squirming to get free, and Tony cracks a hand down, keeping him there until he’s begging incoherently, blathering for Tony to fuckstoppleasekeepgoing oh god—

Tony falls back onto the floor, completely exhausted as the weight of what they just did slaps him in the face, and Peter follows suit, collapsing on top of him.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, the sound of their breaths coming in rough gasps. Erratic exhales fill up the space between them, and Tony closes his eyes as Peter turns his head the slightest bit. He starts kissing his way up Tony’s body, from his knee to his hip to his chest and his neck.

When it slows to a stop, Tony lets his head fall to the side and is shocked to find Peter’s eyes damp and glossy. “Baby,” he whispers, feeling himself go cold. He’s only ever seen Peter cry once before. “What’s wrong?”

Peter’s eyes fall shut and he shakes his head. The silence stretches out longer and Tony’s fully convinced that he’s lost his voice when Peter finally speaks. “Stay,” he croaks. He reaches out and finds Tony’s hand, then grips it tightly. “Don’t leave me.”

Not again, are the unspoken words, and Tony knows it.

Tony looks down at him to meet his shiny brown eyes, full of longing and sadness and hatred and anger and happiness and resignation. He reaches out, placing a hand on Peter’s cheek, and Peter shudders and presses into the touch.

“Baby,” he breathes. His mind feels like it’s gone blank, save for the thought of Fury, and Toomes, and S.H.I.E.L.D. He’s an agent. He’s not part of… this, anymore. He can’t be.

A tear trails down Peter’s cheek, dripping onto the crook of his finger, and Peter turns his head to smudge it. But before he can, Tony pulls back, then grips his face with both hands to pull him into a kiss. It’s a clumsy one, full of wet gasps and pained noises, before Peter kisses back, pressing closer and closer until he’s toppled over Tony.

Tony keeps his eyes closed, even when Peter pulls back, lips ghosting over his. Peter falls onto his chest, mouthing desperately at his neck, fingers lacing through his own to squeeze tightly. Tony can feel his wet cheeks pressing against his jaw.

Peter finally pulls away, and Tony opens his eyes. “Stay,” Peter whispers again, and Tony swallows over the lump in his throat. He looks down at his hand, uncurling his fingers, and sees a familiar golden ring resting in his palm. His breath catches in his throat, and he squeezes his hand into a fist tightly, feeling the gold warm up at his touch.

And then he knows he’s made his decision—or maybe there was only ever one right answer.

“Okay,” he says, and Peter falls back onto him, a silent sob wracking his body.

Tony wraps his arms around him, holding him tightly, never wanting to let go—and he doesn’t.

The feeling of holding so Peter closely is accompanied by the decision that he’s going to grow a pair of fucking wings, if only to take both him and Peter elsewhere, away from any place that isn’t just for them.

He should have known he would end up back here. He was always going to end up back home.

-- -- --

“You passed with flying colours, Stark.” Fury doesn’t even look up as he addresses him. He’s too busy making his coffee. Tony thinks he goes out of his way to never look anyone in the eye. “Makes me wonder where you learned all these skills. It’s not every day we get an applicant like you.”

Tony doesn’t say anything. Just lifts his chin.

Fury’s eye flicks up then. It’s just the slightest bit unnerving. It feels like he can see right through him, see everything that he’s been through, see where he’s come from, see the dirt and blood that remains underneath his fingernails no matter how much he scrubs them under the faucet. He wonders if the bitter smell of leather is still stuck to him, coiling through his hair to settle down like a snake in a nest. He wonders if it’ll ever leave him, wonders how many baths and showers it’ll take for him to rub himself raw, clean.

“It’s not an easy task to commit to S.H.I.E.L.D.” Fury takes a sip of his coffee and saunters closer. Tony doesn’t move. “You leave everything behind and give it all to us. S.H.I.E.L.D. can give you what you want, but in return, we demand loyalty.” He’s standing right in front of Tony now. They stay like that for a few moments, before Fury asks softly, “Are you a loyal man, Stark?”

Tony lifts his chin. “Yes.” His voice doesn’t shake, and he holds Fury’s gaze. His fingers curl into fists, and he waits with bated breath.

Finally, Fury holds a hand out, and says, “Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D, agent.”

Tony takes it, grips it tightly, and gives a jerky nod to seal his fate. “Thank you, sir.”

He’s home, and he’s never going back.

Tag list: @sinditia @darker-soft-starker @starkeristheendgame @thegreenmetblue @momodashii @peterrparrkerr @tnpt @blazingparker @carelessannie

[luimagines]

You React to Him getting Sick/Injured Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

The final installment of this prompt!

It will include Sky, Time and Twilight.

Content under the cut!

Sky

You were having an ok day.

It could have been better.

It could have been worse.

Very mediocre all around.

You looked around and saw how your friends were handling the change of scenery. It had happened in the middle of the night when most of the group was asleep. You had considered it a more merciful shift than what usually happens.

But it does always mess with the internal clocks of the groups. You never seem to shift from night to night. It’s always night to middle of the day. 

And middle of the day usually brings trouble.

But since the group was asleep, it takes a lot of energy to get up and deal with whatever shenanigans the day brings.

You yawned and tried to rub the last of the sleep from your eyes. “Anyone know where we are?”

“Not a clue.” Wild speaks up from beside you and puts his sheikah slate back in its holster.

“Anyone see Sky?” You hear someone ask and you look around your surroundings in search of your friend.

“Nope.” You reply and stand up, stretching your arms over your head.

“I don’t see Sky either.” Hyrule comes to the middle of the group with a slightly concerned look on his face. “Where is he?”

“He’s not with us?” Warrior gets up, a little concerned and on verge of frantic pacing.

“Wasn’t it his watch?” You ask and take your first step to put away your bed roll.

“No. It was mine.” Wind answers. “But Sky was with us when we shifted.”

“Then where is he?” 

“Here. Help.” You hear Sky’s voice come from above you and snap your head in his direction.

“Sky. I didn’t think you’d take your nickname so seriously.” You say and squint against the sunlight. It takes a while to see him but you take a step to the side and see him more clearly.

He’s stuck in a tree, arms and legs all snagged by a branch and holding him in place. “Get me out of here please.”

“Sky did you even manage that?” Four snickers slightly into his hand. “Weren’t you on the ground with the rest of us?”

“Believe it or not-” Sky glares. “-I was. and I don’t know how I got up here. I only know that this hurts and I can’t move. I’m pretty sure that all the blood is being cut off from my limbs. Get me down.”

“I got you. Hold on.” Wild grins and climbs up the tree with the same grace as a cat. He places himself on the a nearby branch next to Sky’s legs and chops away the tangling twigs with one of his sheikah swords.

“Is there anyway we can put like a tarp or something under him so he doesn’t just hit the ground?” You ask in a panic. 

No one was doing anything, content to watch Wild hack away at the tree to free your friend.

“That’s not a bad idea.” Twilight shrugs and looks around your collective supplies. “Anyone have anything we can use?”

“Wild slow down, you might hurt him too!” You cry out again but he’s too focused on his mission to get Sky out to even notice that you’re speaking to him.

He frees up both of Sky’s legs in record time, quickly moving to his arm.

The debris collects right under them and lands without much fanfare.

But Sky were to just fall, he’d land right on top of them and it’s not an idea you’d like to entertain.

You dash under them and clean them up to the best of your ability while Twilight and Time look for something to break Sky’s fall.

Wild is working to fast for any of your to keep up and gravity does its part in tearing at the branches that aren’t strong enough to hold Sky up on their own.

He falls.

You dodge out of the way so Sky doesn’t land on you and barely succeed in avoiding the branches you moving out of the way. Sky however, isn’t so fortunate.

He tries to jump out of the way but trips over half of them. He gets up with a nasty gash on his face and a torn sleeve on his left side.

You hiss and pull him out from the pile, just time to avoid Wild as he jumps out of the tree next to you.

“Got him!”

“I can see that!” You growl and pull Sky away to start cleaning him up.

“Thanks guys. I feel like there’s bugs crawling under my skin but I’m glad to not be there any more than I had to be.” Sky smiles and kicks his feet a few times. He shakes his hands a few time for good measure as well and gradually begins to feel the blood move away and back to as it should be.

“You shouldn’t have been in there at all.” You  scold and take out your personal medkit. “How did that happen?”

“How should I know? I woke up like that.”

“Sleep walking but he climb a tree instead.” Legend yawns and pats Sky’s head. “Gets the best of it.”

“I think you need to go back to sleep.” Sky smiles and moves his hand away from him.

“Whatever.”

“Sleepy Legend is best Legend.” You smirk and pull Sky’s face close to you with your hand to clean him up even more. “I can’t believe you got stuck in a tree.”

“I like to be up in the sky but not like that.” Sky snorts and lets you tend to him.

Time

You couldn’t believe what you had just witnessed. 

Despite the cool and calm nature Time like to put off, you had seen him slip down a hill and roll right into a pricker-bush.  With all calm demeanor lost, Time cursed in the loudest voice you had ever heard from him.

It had scared so much that you jumped and dropped your journal in the process.

You stood there staring at the man as he pull himself away from the bush and brush off all the thorns that he could reach. Curses kept falling from his mouth left and right but he at least had the decency to lower his volume and say them under his breath.

You took a breath to unfreeze yourself and stepped forward. “You ok Old Man?”

“I’m fine.” He snapped through gritted teeth. 

“Ok.”

Time blinked for a second and sighed. Responding to you again in a softer voice. “I’m fine, really. Just.... inconvenienced.”

“If you say so.” You help to his feet and watch his back as he begin to walk away.

At first, it seemed like that was it.

A bit out of character but nothing to bat an eye at. Until Time started to look a little green in the face and had started sweating bullets.

“Time.” Warrior called out with a concerned wobble to his voice. “Are you ok? You don’t look so good.”

“Admittedly, I don’t feel so good.” He grunts and wipes his hands over his face.

“What happened?” Sky takes out a cloth to hand it over.

“He fell in a bush.” You explain.

“What did look like?” Four asks you, eyebrows furrowed and face deadly serious.

“Brown and dusty green with red tipped thorns.” 

“Time.” Four turns. “You’ve been poisoned.”

“Poisoned?!” You yell.

“It’s all mild, but we’re done for today.” Four sigh. “It won’t kill him but it’s going to get worse before it gets any better.”

“I’m fine.” Time winces slightly and shakes his head. “I can keep going.”

“For like five more minutes.” 

As if on cue, Time folds over himself and spins away from the group to vomit.

Any one that was close to him instinctually takes step back and recoils from the scene.

“Worse.” Four reiterates. “Before he’s better.”

Twilight takes a step by Time’s side and rubs small circles on what he can reach on Time’s back. “We’re going to need to find a spot to set up camp.”

“I’ll do it.” Sky raises a hand.

“I’ll go with you.” Warrior places a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s make this quick.”

“Agreed.”

“Wild.” You grimace as Time continues to dry heave and cough out enough sick to probably be part of last night’s dinner as well. “I don’t Time will be able to handle any food until this passes. Do you have anything that would pass for tea or maybe a light broth?”

“I think I can whip something up.” He nods and begin to look through his slate.

You make your way next to Twilight and Time and side step away from the dibbling bile. You place you hand on the back of Time’s neck and wince at the steady growing temperature. “This is going to be bad.”

“Come on Time. Let’s get you to somewhere out of the sun.” Twilight hums and begins to pull and lead Time away from the others, heading off in the vague direction that Sky and Warrior disappeared to. You follow and hook your arm around Time’s when you see he’s barely able to hold himself up anymore.

“Bad indeed.”

It’s a long night to say the least.

Twilight

You thought you had seen enough monsters to last you the next fifty lifetimes.

You were sick and tired of these guys and how they seemed to come from an never ending source.

Your sword clashed against the shield of an annoying lizalfos and it had to audacity to strike you back and not die.

“For the love of-” You bite back a curse and continue hacking away what you can at the beast. “Why. Don’t. You. Die!”

“Aim better than!” You hear Legend shout from across the battle field.

“Legend! So help me! I will cut you!” You shout back and finalize the beast in front of you by cutting off its head.

“You won’t, you love me.” 

“I’ll throw something at your head then.” You spit and spin around to slash at the bokoblin that tried to sneak up on you. It doesn’t put up much of a fight and falls within seconds.

There’s a growl from behind you and you spin around to fight off the next attacker. It’s a huge moblin and you doubt for a split second that you can successfully block the upcoming attack. 

But you don’t have to.

Wolfie comes up from the side and jumps on it, latching and sinking its teeth into the forearm of the monster, ripping its arc away from you. You grin and stab it in the opposite direction, keeping its attention on you instead of your wolf companion as he goes to help someone else.

That’s the plan anyway.

A separate monster, a stalfos, jumps and lands on your friend and sends the poor thing flying across the field with a crack.

“Wolfie!” You scream and run after him, ditching the monsters around you.

You can vaguely hear that Warrior takes over the monsters you’ve left behind and you see Wild run up with you toward your friend.

Wolfie tries to get back up onto his feet but he’s whining and not willing to put any weight on his front paw. There’s a patch on his fur that’s beginning to turn red and you think that there’s a bit of bone peaking out.

“Oh this is bad.” You kneel next to him and try your hardest to shift the fur gently.

Wolfie growls and even snaps at your hands as you try to help and get a bigger picture of what had happened to him.

“Wolfie, stop moving.” You whine and try to get him to sit back down. “We’re going to have to put your bones back in place, before we can even think about healing you.”

“Why do you think you can get away with stuff like this?” Wild scolds and kneels next to you, helping you place pressure on the rib. “You can’t do anything to me at this point.”

Wolfie growls again, trying to snap at your fingers but Wild grabs his snout and holds him down.

“What on earth are you two doing?” You hear Wind shout.

“Wolfie is hurt! We’re trying to help him!” You yell and place both of your palms on top of the bone, putting your knee on Wolfie’s abdomen to try and keep him in place. Wolfie for his part won’t stop squirming and you’re worried that you’re actually going to hurt him more if he doesn’t sit still.

“Wolfie. Stop being stupid.” Wild growls. “We’ll let you go in a minute. just stay still.”

Somehow he listens to your friend and stays still long enough for you to pop the bone back inside and shift it back into place. Woflie lets out a pain howl but you and Wild both let go of him when it’s safe to do so, jumping away from his teeth and personal space.

You’re quick to run over to where Epona holds your bag. You’re holding on to the hope that Wild will keep Wolfie there for a minute longer with his presence alone. You pull out a potion and run back, dashing and maneuvering around the battle field and left over monsters.

You bring out a bowl as well and pour the potion inside.

You place it on the ground by where Wolfie and Wild were having a stand off.

“Here, Wolfie. Come here boy.” You whistle and coo, trying to call your canine friend over to the potion. 

Wild sends Wolfie what can only be called a smug look and he watches as the wolf limbs and whines his way over to hesitantly lick the contents of the bowl.

You sigh and begin to pet the friendly beast, trying to calm him as he drinks.

“Are you two just going to stand there?” Time shouts and he delfects another around of slashes.

You growl and stop petting Wolfie for a second. “You know what Old Man, I think I will! Fight your own monsters! These aren’t even from my time!” 

“Good job.” Wild raises an eyebrow. “Now we’re all going to pay for it.”

“Not my problem. Wolfie probably just saved my life, I owe him this much.”

Wolfie pauses from drinking your potion and then licks your face instead.

You smile and push him away gently, trying to guide him back to the bowl to drink what’s left over. “One good turn deserves another, don’t you think? Drink up Wolfie, we’ll all be ok.”

Wolfie seems to nod at your words and drinks up the last of it.

Wild takes out his bow and strikes at whatever monsters try to get close.

You stay by Wolfie side and dread the talk you know you’re going to get from Time when this is over. Maybe Wolfie will bail you out again, who knows?