#but im runnin outta space

[thaigls]

I'd rather go to bed with my girlfriend.

[zippidi-dooda]

Book of Harvest - I

Dearest Y/N,

'Ow ya been Trick? Did ye miss us? I hope ev'rythin' 'as been well. All of us 'ave been pretty busy, our acts get a lot of attention 'n more want to see us perform. Th' troupe 'as just kept on growin' since I last saw ye too, one lad in particular is very sensational, 'as an act all of 'is own. And on 'is firs' day too! Can ye believe it? Was in a bad situation tha' one. I'm glad we were able ta 'elp. Snake, tha's what we call 'im. Curious 'bout 'is act, are ye? Well, give us a visit and see fer ye'self, ye'll be amazed I tell ya. Of course, we'll let ye in fer free, couldn't 'ave made it 'ere without ya, after all, an' couldn't be more greatful. Th' least we can do as thanks so don't think 'bout protestin'  ya hear! Anyway, ye've been busy too, right? Wish ye weren't, ye deserve to sit back 'nd unwind more'n anyone. I'd love ta holiday with ya one day, maybe go s'mewhere away from all the bright lights 'nd starin' crowds. Somewhere peaceful. Over the hills and far away don' sound too bad, eh? But tell me, what's yer job like? Ye didn't give much detail in yer last letter an' I'm interested in 'earin' more. Oh, an' 'ow's yer father? Still workin' at the 'ospitals? Ye should bring 'im along next time ye visit, I think our doc would 'ppreciate the company o' another doc 'ere again. Wish I could write ye more but I'm 'fraid I'm runnin' outta space on th' page. I look forward to yer next letter and 'ope ye the best.

P.S. It took a while ta decide what to get ye, but I think I found somethin' ye'll like

P.P.S. The others pitched in an' insisted on sending this, so hope yer not disappointed 

-J

You chuckled, pressing your fingers to your lips as you read the letter. The writing had gotten smaller as the sender tried to pack the rest of what he needed to say onto the page. 

"Each time we talk you end up writing more and more," you smiled, picking up the wrapped gift mentioned. "I can't now, but I'll definitely stop by for a visit when I have time."

It didn't take even a second for you to peel off the brown wrapping paper from the small, rose decorated box. Inside, there was a glass, puff perfume bottle, a raspberry colored liquid swirling inside. 

You took a whiff of the rose scented elixir, a fond memory of your first meeting with the man signed "J" crossing your mind.

"This must have cost a fortune," You sighed. "I won't let it go to waste, but I really can't just take it without paying you all back. I'll have something for each of you when I see you, I promise."

"What are you muttering about, Dearie?" A familiar voice called from across the dark room.

You folded the letter, tucking it away in your corset, and spritzed some perfume onto your wrists and neck. Maybe you should spray some of the perfume onto the next letter you sent as proof you used it.

Smiling, you walked over wrapped your arms around this silver haired man's waist, cheek resting against his back. "My friends' letter arrived. They sent a gift this time too. It's far too expensive though, so I'm thinking of getting them something in return. Do you have any suggestions, Undertaker?"

The Undertaker giggled and pressed one hand on top of yours. "I'm sure you'll find something they'll enjoy."

You hummed in response. "And what kind of gift would you like? I can't get them something and ignore you, now can I?"

"Oh, you know exactly what I want, Dearie." The Undertaker spun around to face you. "And it won't. Cost. You. A. Cent."

He captured your chin between his thumb and forefinger, long, black nails etching against your s/c skin.

You sucked in a breath, face warming as he forced you to look up at him. 

He leaned close, that contagious smile of his growing wider and more snide as his thick bangs hung like a curtain around you, revealing a perfect view of his enchanting chartreuse eyes.

That unique shade of lime green was bestowed upon a rare, unlucky few, a ring of it mixing into the e/c iris' of your own. You used to see it as a signal of unending misfortune. Until you met him and he made bad luck appear as something to be controlled.

"... Undertaker ...." You uttered, eyes flitting to his lips.

He let out a low chuckle, his chest reverberating against your own. "Give me the choicest laughter! You know exactly how perfect of a gift that'd be." His usual cheery laugh returned and he cupped your cheeks in his cold hands, rambling about what a joy being able to laugh is.

You wanted to be upset with him for teasing you at first, but couldn't help laughing along with him.

"Well, I haven't got any jokes now, but when I find a good one, I'll be sure to tell you, okay?"

He giggled. "Of course, Dearie."

You leaned forward, leaving a feather light kiss upon his soft lips.

His smile didn't fade and he simply caressed your cheeks with his thumbs until you pulled away.

You stood in a blissful silence for a moment, gazing at him lovingly until you remembered you each had a job to do.

"How's your work going today?" You asked, turning your attention to corpse resting in the delicately carved coffin behind the Undertaker.

"Smooth as always." The man said, leaning against the wooden frame of the girl's eternal bed. "Quite the interesting one, she is."

"Oh? How come?"

Undertaker glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a smirk resting on his lips.

He was expecting something.

"Aw, I told you I don't have a joke right now. Can't you at least tell me about this?"

He hummed remorsefully. "Sorry Dearie."

"Please, Undertaker ...?"

He tapped a thin nail against his lips. "I suppose this time I can accept other forms of payment from you, Dearie."

You smiled and eagerly gave him a kiss. "So? What's her story?"

The man leaned down, brushing the girl's bangs away from her closed eyes. "All of my customers are so lovely. I do what I can to make them even more beautiful. Each has a unique story to tell."

Your eyes followed as his hands moved to adjust the neckline of her dress. He was always so careful and attentive when taking care of his cadavers. If they all could see how well fostered they were in his care, you were sure they'd be swooning in their graves.

"Such a rare case. This one might just be the first of many."

"What do you mean?" 

Undertaker scrapped his fingertips against the wooden frame of the coffin as he stalked towards you. The sharp, skirtch, skritch, skritching of his nails started a shudder that coursed through your spine, your ears rang and you squirmed, fisting your skirt in your palm.

His cheshire grin proved pleased with your reaction. "A very important piece of them is missing. One you have all your own."

"And ... what piece would that be?"

A gasp escaped your lips as he suddenly gripped your waist, digging one long, sharp talon into the soft, delicate flesh just beneath your belly.

Then he leaned close, lips grazing against the shell of your ear and he whispered, "the one necessary for starting a family of your own. U~ter~us."

You released a shuddered breathed before leaning as far away as you could, trying to pry his claw from your gut.

"That ... seems like hard work."

He chuckled and moved behind you, chin resting on your shoulder, arms wrapping around you, looking down on the poor soul who had the unfortunate removal.

"Indeed. Very few could have done such a fine job. I believe someone like yourself could have done it if the situation prompted for it."

"... Right."

The strange man pressed his nose against your neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell heavenly."

"So you like it? It's the gift I was given. Perfume. Rose scented. I'll have to ask where they got it so I can keep wearing it when it's all used up."

"If you'd like to, Dearie. Now, tell me, who's fortunate soul is under your care today?"

"Oh, you already know I can't tell you, Undertaker. But, since you did tell me a bit about your work, I'll tell you this: tonight's soul belongs to someone of very high status. Things may end up disasterous if I don't handle them carefully. Speaking of which, I should really get going so I don't get stuck with overtime. I've been on Will's good side for so long, it'd be a shame if I messed that all up now."

You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before heading towards the front door, pulling on your caplet and tucking your baker boy cap into your skirt pocket.

"Dearie?" Undertaker's voice called, causing you to pause, hand lingering on the doorknob as you turned to him.

"Yeah?"

"Your soul is a precious one. Take good care of it."

Your heart seemed to melt at his words and you couldn't wipe the wistful smile off your lips as you nodded.

"Of course, Undertaker. See you in a few."

He waggled his fingers at you as you walked into the busy streets, shutting the door to his secret work behind.

You stood with your back against the dark wood for a moment, mind hazy with the Undertaker's smile and gorgeous eyes that partially reflected your own. 

"Ah, you truly don't know the extent of power you hold over me, Undertaker." You mused, biting your lip.

You shook your head in attempts to clear your mind of him, dusted off your long skirt, and started in the direction of the palace. Can't keep the Queen waiting now can you?

Maybe on the way back you could pen a reply to the troupe and look around for their gifts. 

That'd be nice wouldn't it?

Though you couldn't just get them one thing, Lord knows how they'd fight over it. But, what could you send that'd be enough for each of them?

Maybe some candy? 

They didn't have the chance to eat many sweets back then, so maybe they'd appreciate it now. Of course, you'd have to get them Funtom treats.

They are the best out there and not to mention their creator was sort of a fan favorite around here.

"Make note to visit Funtom after work," you murmured to yourself, turning round the corner. "Ah, sorry, excuse me."

You bowed politely towards the man you bumped into and continued down the road.

You didn't pay much attention to it.

But the man did.

He didn't say a word, golden eyes simply followed you until you disappeared into the crowd. 

...

Your soul ... it wasn't anything like the others he's encountered before. 

It was incomplete.

Instantly, his interest was aroused.  It didn't make sense how a soul could be not all there, but that was what made him intrigued.  It wouldn't fill him, no, but it would make for the most interesting meal he's ever had.  He could feel that it was seasoned with impurities and fears.  This made your soul delectable to him.  To his kind.

Yes, his kind.  

If anyone else like him were to happen upon you, they'd waste no time in trying to devour you.  He couldn't let that happen.

He wanted it. Your soul. You. For himself.

And he decided then and there that he'd do anything to have it.

°°°

It was dark by the time you had to be outside Victoria's window. The moon was full, shining brightly against the vast rooftops, a cool breeze blowing through the air.

It was a beautiful night out.

You'd need to spent a night up above the dusky streets like this with Undertaker sometime.

Picturing the moment, you smiled and unhooked your billowy skirt, slipping it off your feet.

You dusted off the pair of black slacks you always wore underneath and made sure your caplet was secured around your chest.

You took the cap from your skirt pocket and put it on, tucking all your hair securely inside of it. You tugged your black leather gloves on further, weilded your heafty death scythe and entered the queen's bedroom.

All was quiet as you pattered softly across the thick, carpeted floor. 

The room was neat and tidy, the gold tipped furniture glinting as you walked past, all of it no doubt due to the palace servants' diligent cleaning.

A room like this was a luxury not many had a chance to even see. It was gorgeous and serene.

But something was off.

You pressed on further towards the canopied bed.

The soul in here felt faint.

Red curtains rippled softly from the wind seeping through the ajar window.

You held your breath.

The queen was mighty important, reigning this long had to amount to something. Now, you were tasked with assessing whether she was a valuable living piece in society or if another could just as easily continue in her place.

A big weight on your shoulders, others' lives hang in the balance.

Did the other souls you collected always ebb like this? You couldn't recall.

You licked your lips and reached for the curtain.

One ...

Surely it was nothing,

Two ...

Right?

Three ...!

"She's not there."

You jolted back, spinning around to face where the voice came from.

In the far corner of the room you could see the silhouette of someone sitting in a chair. Their legs were crossed, the tips of their shoes glinting under the moonlight, the white hem of their pants swinging softly as they bounced their leg. 

The human soul you were sent for still lingered in the room, yet strangely enough, you couldn't sense the accompanying presence of this other person's soul.

You tightened your grip on your death scythe, "Who are you?"

"What's it matter? I'm supposed to be here. You are not." The person stood and began to walk towards you. "Though your type always assumes you're needed at a specific time in a person's life. What a nuisance."

They stepped into the light and you could make out the rest of their features. 

They were clad in a white suit with lilac and gold adorning them. Soft hair was dove white, their eyes a soft purple, gazing down at the black, ruffled doll sitting in their arms. A sheathed long sword lay at rest against their hip.

Against the rays of moonlight streaking around them, they looked almost angelic.

They looked up at you, a smile adorning their lips.

"It must irk you to have to leave so soon after making the trip here. But may you rest easy knowing I'm deciding to let you run free."

You'd have to deal with them to be certain, but duty first.

"How thoughtful. But, I'm afraid my orders are clear, sir."

You threw back the red curtains behind you and peered into the bedded cavern. 

There, laying amongst the fluffy pillows and heavy blankets ... wasn't a person in sight. The queen wasn't there.

That didn't make sense. You knew Victoria was in here. Her soul was faint, but it was in here.

The person chuckled and you turned back to them.

Were they hiding her?

"Where is she?"

"Oh, I've already told you she isn't there. As her devout servant it is my job to ensure her safety from any and all intruders. And it is in your best interest to leave now, I will not say it again, Half-ling."

Just who was this guy? 

You flipped through your bingo book, confirming the time and date of Victoria's death. Tonight at midnight. If you took any longer tiptoeing around the issue with this person you'd miss the scheduled time.

You pocketed the book again and glared at the person.

"Interfering with a soul is exactly what I don't need today. What have you done with her?"

Their smile fell and they narrowed their eyes at you. "Do you never heed sound advice?"

"I may not be allowed to interfere with your life if you're not on the list. But I still have a job to complete and I'd rather not do it with all the headache."

You hefted your scythe, took a step forward, and swung. 

Swish!

Immediately the person was behind you, a single hand holding onto the end of your scythe, keeping it in place. 

They were stronger than you.

You strained to bring it down, to get out of their grasp.

"Honestly, there is no end to the amount your type pains me." They tore the scythe from your grip and kicked you to the ground. 

Much stronger.

You grunted, quickly turning over and crawled away from them. Your back stung from the blow, forearms and knees burning from the sudden impact of slamming to the carpeted floor.

You kept your eyes focused on them as they twirled your scythe in their hand. The sharp blade glistened dangerously in the moonlight as they stepped forward.

"Quite the dangerous accessory for a young lady. You wouldn't mind my confiscating it, would you? Of course not."

You scowled and braced yourself, palms planted against the floor, leg stretched out to hit them. You spun quickly, then shot up in hopes of knocking them off their feet and gaining the upper hand.

"I'd think you'd have a little more manners than this."  

Their voice was a soft whisper in your ear. Soothing.

Right before they landed a heavy blow to your side.

You gasped, stumbling as you were thrown onto the bed, clutching your side. You already knew they couldn't be human since you couldn't sense them. And clearly they weren't reaper since they were hindering your work and didn't own those familiar green eyes. But they couldn't be demon either, or else they would've taken a swipe at your soul by now. So if not those, then what?

Red curtains were yanked from their mount with a chink! You'd need to end this soon before they got to you. 

Turn, throw the drapes, lunge, and reach for your scythe!

You acted swiftly, ending up behind them with hands secured around an item.

You brandished it at the person. 

Wait ... was that the doll?

You stiffened suddenly sensing a surge of Victoria's soul coming from it. But that couldn't be right, could it? The Queen was a normal human not a doll. Unless ... you looked up at the soul-less person in the room with you ... this being did something to her.

They tore off the sheets then looked around perplexed for a moment.  Then their eyes landed on their doll. And the air grew dark and still.

"Enough."

In one swift movement their hand was around your neck and they pinned you against the wall. 

"Let's see how you fare now."

And just like that, they let you go, leaving you coughing and heaving against the wall. They stabbed your scythe into the plaster, the flat of the blade gently kissing your ear.

They were even faster than you.

They grabbed a fistful of your hair, knocking your hat off in the process, and yanked you forward. 

"I don't take kindly to those who take without permission. I've come too far now to lose anything towards the likes of you or anyone else. It'd do me well to get rid of you. You are unclean beyond belief."

They were seething.

At this rate you'd just become another Jane Doe, an empty husk in the the ladder of the English empire. There was no way you could move fast enough to counteract them.

But then, they softened and lowered their hand to caress your cheek. 

"But I am a magnanimous being. And an angel must always give the wicked a chance to repent. I can help you, if you're willing to recieve."

You grit your teeth. "In your dreams."

They chuckled, dragging their hand down to your neck. With their teeth, they slipped the ash glove off their other hand.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice."

Then, they tugged on something you hadn't yet noticed adorned your neck.

And an indescribably pain shot through you, for a moment your mind seemed to numb and blank. You let out a guttural scream.

They hushed you gently, pressing the glove past your parted lips, muffling your cry. "Shh, sh. It hurts, yes? I must teach you obedience somehow. Don't worry, the pain will subside. Though I suggest you don't try to take off this ... pretty, little collar if you wish to avoid more anguish. Only I have the power to free you, much like I would free any other wayward soul from their wicked ways."

They released their hold on you, taking the fluffed up doll from your trembling hands.

One thought made it's way through the stinging haze: get away from them

You spat out the drool covered glove and yanked your scythe out of the wall with one harsh tug. Then, with bleary eyes and gritted teeth, you ran for the open window to escape them.

Only to come crashing to your knees with another anguished cry. The burning, stinging sensation pierced through your neck where the collar sat and was spreading through your entire body like wildfire.

It was unbearable. 

"You'll be punished for any action I do not warrent. Each time will become more painful than the last."

You tried to claw at the collar, feeling the coarse leather and sharpened spikes beneath your leather clad fingertips. But also feeling the same intolerable burn seeping into your finger pads. Aching hands reached for the clasp. But there wasn't one. The collar encased your neck completely, coiling around you with no way to get it off by any means of your own. And the longer you kept pulling at it, the more unbearable the pain was. You had to let go.

But the pain persisted.

"STOP! MAKE IT STOP!"

The angel tucked the pretty doll in the crook of their arm, brushing back it's long gray hair gently. "You'll do as I say now, won't you?"

You nodded mindlessly.

Anything but that searing pain.

"Good, seems you can learn. There may be hope for you yet. I look forward to your cooperation, Half-ling."

And just like that, the blinding pain was gone. You slumped against the floor with a shaky breath, trying to get your bearings, scythe laying uselessly on the ground next to you.

They turned with a flourish, sitting back down in the plush chair once more, singing to the living doll in the most angelic voice you'd ever heard. Comforting the carefully crafted porcelain as if it was the most dear thing in the world to them. Listening, you could almost forget the intense pain they had inflicted on you just seconds ago.

But that was just it. 

Without the voice smooth as silk or tender hands softly caressing the plaything in their arms, this angel was simply a fierce monster, interfering with human life with no regard for the path they were originally intended.

"London Bridge is falling down, falling down ...,"

One of the fallen.

"Falling down ...."

[newbarrk]

Microsoft reallt out here trying to make me buy more storage for my emails

"Youre runnin outta space!! Uve us3d 13.6GB of your 15GB!!!" fuck off im not deleting my god damn emails ive had this thing since TWO THOUSAND AND SEVEN.

Maybe even 2005, my first email that still exists in my inbox was from 2007 and im NOT DELETING IT.

[jrueships]

Baby t-rex Keldon showed off tonight 🥰

IS IT ILLEGAL FOR ME TO REPLY TO THIS NOW ????? because if it's about what i THINK it is then this ask old as hell 😭😭 im SO sure it's about keldon showing up in the first pistons game ( the good one not the one where he did bad -)... BUT... it's a rlly cute ask so imma just go ahead n answer it anyways bcus i got the highest score in star reading

YEAASSSSSS BABY T-REX KELDON !!!!!!!! THE GIRLBOSSERY OF IT ALL !!!! Keldossery 😎 johnson. went bubble on em frfr with a lil THREES sprinkled in U KNOWW IT !!! little potato skin head n all !! Lov him 🥰🥰🥰 this is a really bad angle of him because he doesn't have a jawline but THATS OKAY! maybe trexs didn't have one either , i mean, we couldn't measure that fat on those bad boys so ??? they might not be as tightly skin suited as thought ! # babypotatoheadRIGHTS!!!!!

[mcka-a]

i wanna make up a atla verse 🤔🤔🤔

[sentanixiv]

Always Something [AO3] [T] John and Arthur debate whether it was worth it, killing one bounty to secure three others. Cost, cause, and consequence; and then a hint of Morston, because this is me we’re talking about. Inspired by bounty hunting in RDO, wherein we tried real hard to lasso that fourth bounty. Turns out the bullet is mightier than the rope.

Dust settles, blood congeals, and the world carries on. There’s no care to the lives and losses of its denizens, nor tribute to the sacrifices made to make ends meet. Little more than the tip of a hat, nary a ‘thank you, sir’ before the next demand sweeps away the success of the last.

Toil and tedium that ain’t unfamiliar, the days long and the work unending when there’re nearer twenty mouths needing feeding. That ain’t cheap and might be the reality of it’s why Arthur huffs out a breath as he counts the bills from this nobody town’s sheriff. Payout for turning in four of the county’s more notorious criminals, but ain’t quite the windfall he’d aimed for when riding out.

John sits astride his mare, rubbing blood from his gloves to smear on his pants as he nods towards the meagre jail building. “Three outta four ain’t bad,” he remarks. Pulls his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow, the day’s heat heavy on them after three hours of hard riding, running, and shooting – to the lessening of their reward.

“Four outta four’s better,” Arthur drawls. He nods towards the rear of the building, where a pair of boots lie – owner still attached, lifeless from the bullet through his chest. Dead costs ‘em on bounties, always has.

Silence is golden, and lasts about four beats before John sighs. “It’s always something with you,” he mutters with a shake of his head.

Arthur tucks the bundle of bills into his satchel, resettles his weight in the saddle, and looks out past the town’s boundaries. “I ain’t the one what got trigger happy and killed the fourth,” he replies easily, irritation fraying the worn patchwork of his patience.

“He was runnin’, what else was I s’pposed to do?”

“You got this thing, John. It’s called a rope and y’use it to hogtie ‘em so’s we can bring them in alive.”

The way Arthur says it, slow and simple like John is, well, slow and simple? Grates his nerves and shortens his temper. “I weren’t leaving you to run ‘im down and mess with that,” he grumbles, brushing uselessly at the blood on his pant leg.

“I had it handled.”

“You had shit”!

The accusation comes with an angry gesture to the blood on Arthur’s sleeve, where two separate bullets carved a line into his jacket, shirt, and through his skin. He flexes that hand and it moves, proof that this wound won’t kill him any more than the dozens before it have. “They was hardly hittin’ me,” he replies, flat. His tone brokers no argument.

Oh, but of course John Marston does broker one, fool as he is determined to be. “There were five guys, three of ‘em bounties!” he snaps, agitated. “You was about to become holier than the damn church if I ain’t been there to cover you.”

“I had it handled, Marston!”

Arthur reins his horse about, reaches over to haul John with a fistful of his shirt, leaves the man balanced precarious between his mount, Arthur’s hand, and the ground. “You ain’t so good with doin’ what yer told,” he snarls, them threads of patience snapped. “I told you to run that feller down and now we got shorted ten damn dollars because you wanted to play hero!”

“Ten dollars don’t mean nothing if yer dead!”

Something in them words kills Arthur’s anger, silences him, and loosens his hold long enough that John pushes back from him, pulls himself back centre in the saddle. Tugs down his shirt to smooth it, muttering under his breath. “Yer damn stupid some days, Morgan.”

Arthur catches his senses where they was scattered to the winds, fingers flexing in the emptied space here he’d dragged John. Realizes it and drops his hand with a scowl, pulls his hat down low. The way his head tucks, the way it pulls shadows over his face, says there ain’t more worth talking ‘bout here if John values his life.

John considers it, thinks real long, then lets out a sigh and starts down the main road. “C’mon, sunshine,” he calls back when Arthur doesn’t move to follow. “I’ll buy you a drink, maybe it’ll rinse off that sour look.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

7. Leshen Indruck your choice of rating!

Here you go! I went with SFW

It’s old wisdom that humans fear that which they do not understand. 

Indrid really hoped he would never learn the truth of that wisdom the hard way, but here he is. One misplaced attempt at aiding someone using his foresight and he’s been caught, blindfolded, and dumped in the middle of the vast Monongahela Forest. 

He just wanted to help. 

His foresight renders him less fearful than he’d otherwise be; he’ll be able to see threats coming and locate the resources he needs. If he takes his time, he might be able to use his visions to locate the nearest (friendly) village. And, like anyone who grew up near the woods, he knows how to hunt, fish, and forage. For someone who’s been left to die, he’s rather confident. 

Still, it sting a little.

After a few moments of rightfully-earned self-pity, he buttons up his coat and starts the slow, halting journey towards safety. 

Two days later, he’s pushing his way through branches and miserably pointing out to himself again and again that a town where everyone grew up with basic forest survival skills would exile one of their own somewhere that required high-level survival skills. 

The topography and scenery is so disorienting that he may have better luck if he covered his eyes, spun around ten times, and chose his path from there. It’s a dense landscape of deep greens and browns with splashes of bright color that he’d no doubt enjoy were he not constantly snagging on branches or catching his toes on roots. 

Worse, he’s had no luck catching food, and cannot for the life of him locate water. The fact it rained last night is the only reason he’s not dangerously dehydrated.

A sharp, high chirp draws his eye to the foot of a tree. Flapping sparsely feathered wings, a baby bird hops through the mud, her nest visible but unreachable. A meager meal, but a meal nonetheless. 

Indrid scoops her into his palms, clambers into the lowest crook of the tree, and sets her back among her siblings. 

His stomach chastises him the rest of the day, though the rest of his body rejoices when he finds a hollow in the base of a tree large enough for him to shelter within. From within the trunk, he spies vine sprawling across the ground, berries glinting in the light rain. Deep purple, meaning they’re Brambleberries. 

The handful he shoves into his mouth brings tears to his eyes, even though they’re not the ripest. How else do you explain the bitterness chasing the sweetness down his throat. 

Wait. Brambleberries don’t go purple until mid-summer. This is early spring. Which means those were-

“Chokeberries.” He curses himself, darting outside the tree once more, finger down his throat until his meal comes back up. Maybe he was fast enough.

His throat tightens in a prelude to closing. Sinking to his knees, gasping for air, he swears the ground vibrates with heavy steps. His eyes flutter close as he falls forward. As darkness slips over his eyes, he thinks it’s taking him a long time to hit the ground. 

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

Bitter metal on his tongue. 

“Nnnnf” Eyes still shut, he pushes at whatever is holding the spoon and it’s vile contents in his mouth. 

“None of that. You’re gonna need two more doses of this before that Chokeberry is outta your system, and they were hard enough to get into you when you were passed out. Swallow.”

He swallows.

A large hand pats his head, “There we go. I know, shit’s gross, but if you were fool enough to eat those berries, might stun some sense into you.”

Indrid sits up, rubbing his eyes, “I was delirious with hunger, forgive me for not remembering the exact seasons of fruits. Did you heal me only to insult me or-” his visions flicker back full force, revealing his host before he opens his eyes. He scrambles back, but instead of a wall or an edge he just finds a vast expanse of bed. 

Watching him with an amused set to his lips is a man three heads taller and much bulkier than Indrid, dark hair streaked with grey-green moss, eyes the dark green of pine needles, and nails like treebark. He crosses arms tattooed with green, gold, and bronze swirls, waiting for Indrid to collect himself. 

“A Leshen.”

“Yep.”

“Are...are you going to eat me?”

“What? No, I’m not gonna fuckin eat you. I don’t know which of my kind chowed down on humans but if I ever find out I’m gonna give ‘im a piece of my mind. Ain’t great to have people thinkin I’m a man-eater when the worst I done is throw a tree at someone.”

“That is still very alarming.”

The Leshen shrugs “I’m a forest guardian; I’m gonna guard.”

Indrid studies him, wary, drawing the covers up his chest without noticing. 

“Look” the Leshen sighs, “I ain’t tryin to scare you. Hell, made myself the smallest I can so I could be all comfortin. Noticed you in the woods earlier today and kept an eye on you, since humans-”

“Don’t often come here, yes, I am aware. I was extremely, forcibly exiled into your part of the woods.”

Green eyes blink, “Huh. Well, point is it didn’t seem right to leave you there to die, so I brought you here. Chokeberry is real easy to undo, assumin you got the right herbs.” 

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say. His foresight tells him the Leshens promise of no harm is true, but there are so many timelines for what he could say and how his host could respond that he freezes. 

“You’re welcome. You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“You oughta rest up more, Indrid. I’ll be back with the next dose in a bit.” His host steps out to the hall.

“Wait, do I, ah, get to know your name?”

“Duck.”

He snickers, replies to the raised eyebrow with, “Apologies, I expected something tree-related.”

Duck smiles, “It’s a nickname.”

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

“What’s your plan?” Duck asks from across the breakfast table. The morning found Indrid well enough to walk and to eat without feeling ill, so he’s been perching awkwardly on a chair that’s too big for him as the Leshen makes plates of toast and eggs that don't come from any bird Indrid is familiar with. 

“I, ah, I don’t really have one other than ‘avoid going home’.”

“You were just gonna wander around until you found a village? I hate to tell you this, but there ain’t one for at least fifty miles, and I’m guessin that’s the one you came from. They must’ve used and enter to navigate here, because this part of the woods is hostile to travel by design.”

“Yours?” Indrid sips his tea, face to hide his distaste for its bitterness. 

“Yep.” Duck slides a jar over to him, it’s copper lid revealing sugar cubes within, “Don’t much feel like runnin into humans every damn day, and it means that even as y’all sprawl out more and more, there are parts of this wood that stay wild.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it does little to improve my situation. Unless…” he bites his lip. 

“Unless?”

“Unless I could stay here. I’m not bad company, and I have some skills which could-”

“No” Duck shakes his head, “savin you is one thing, takin you on as a roommate is all whole other kettle of fish.”

“Ah. Right. Of course.” He sips his tea, reflection crestfallen. Maybe he’ll just finish this and then go back to sleep. 

Duck sighs, expression one of someone who already regrets the offer he’s about to make, “You can stay here for a month. After that, I’ll get you as close to a safe village as I can, and you’re on your own. Deal?”

Indrid grins, appetite returning in full, “Deal.”

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

Duck has a good guess as to what’s making all the scratching and clanging in his kitchen, but it’s still a surprise to see Indrid moving from counters to chairs doubling as stools to tend a pot that he can barely peer into.

The human’s gotten nimble over the last week and a half, thanks to his routine attempts to help Duck around the house. Everything is scaled to Duck’s smallest possible form, but that still leaves Indrid at a disadvantage. 

He’d be more inclined to help him if it wasn’t so obvious that his help is a ploy to convince Duck to let him stay. Look, he feels bad for the guy, but humans don’t have a great track record with his kind and he generally likes his peace and quiet out in the woods. He also notices that, left to his own devices, Indrid is messy. The area around the couch he uses as a bed is strewn drawings and unfolded clothes that Duck conjured up. Which means this is about Ducks favor, not a commitment to household cleanliness. 

That’s not to say having Indrid around has been unpleasant; the human is good company but also understands Ducks' need for space. He’s odd, and even though the foresight was the given reason, Duck suspects his fellow villagers would have found reason to exile him regardless. Indrid even said that living with Duck was the happiest he’d felt in some time. That wasn’t a ploy; Indrid is prone to saying unnerving statements without registering them. Thorns pricked Duck’s heart when he heard it and, that night, when Indrid fell asleep on the bed during their conversation about deer, he didn’t move him. Just brushed the white hair from his eyes and laid down a respectful distance away. 

“Oh! We’re in the timeline when you’re early.” Indrid waves distractedly as he wrestles open a jar, “I checked on you during the day through my visions and it looked as though you got drenched, so I thought something warm was in order.”

He’s smiling, and Duck’s gaze lingers long enough to see there’s no trickery in it. Yeah, being a forest spirit means storms are refreshing more than freezing, but the one today was so relentless he felt like it was eroding him away. 

“Thanks, Indrid. I’ll join you in a sec.”

The next morning, before he leaves he forms some nearby stumps into a proper step-stool, and transmogrifies the minerals of the earth into a solid set of human sized pots and pans. 

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

“I know you’re there, Duck. I may not have eyes in the trees, but I do have visions that tell me when someone is dithering about coming to speak with me.” Indrid smiles, checking the fishing pole he’s dug into the shore. He feels rather than hears Duck approach; in spite of his size, the Leshen moves through the woods more softly than a butterfly. 

“Guess those visions do make you harder to spy on than the average human.”

“A not at all creepy statement.” Indrid teases, then tips over when Duck playfully shoves him. 

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright” he brushes off his arm, “the sand is nice and warm.” He picks up his sketchbook (stray pieces of paper sewn together) and pens (Duck turned flowers, fruit, leaves, and wood into them until Indrid had every color) and continues drawing. Half the reason he likes fishing is that he can draw futures (and for his own pleasure) while he does it. The other half is that he doesn’t want Duck to view him as a parasite in his home. Yes, for the first week, he did everything he could to demonstrate that he would make an excellent addition to the house made of twisting trunks and mossy floors. 

Now, though, he just wants to enjoy his time with Duck, even if that means not tidying constantly or cooking every meal. He hopes Duck enjoys it too, regardless of whether he lets Indrid stay. The Leshen is lonely, even if it only comes through on those days when his voice is like the wind through a weather-beaten log. Indrid wishes he knew how to assuage it, but a month is not long enough to learn such things. 

He’s slept in Duck’s bed these last three nights. It’s not purposeful, Duck is just so interesting to talk with and Indrid will lose sight of the time, will slump sideways and mumble that he ought to turn in, and then wake up in the early hours atop his host. It didn’t occur to him until this morning that Duck does that to keep Indrid from being uncomfortably squashed by his larger bedmate. And that Duck chooses to do that rather than carry Indrid to his own bed. 

“Hey, uh, ‘Drid?” Duck’s voice brings him back to the riverside, “would you, uh, wanna come with me on my rounds sometimes? Might be some nice things to draw, and that foresight of yours could be real helpful with some of the stuff I need to keep an eye on.”

His host looks nervous until Indrid nods, “I would be honored.”

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

Never has the folding of clothes made him so miserable. Yet still he tucks the garments into the large-but-manageable rucksack Duck gave him, placing his sketchpad safely between the layers of fabric.

“Weather oughta be good tomorrow.” His visions show Duck behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s going to miss that voice, the way leaves rustle underneath the drawl. 

“That’s good.” He pulls the ties on his rucksack, sets at the end of the couch but doesn’t turn around. 

“I’d, uh, say you’re welcome to visit but, uh, well, you know how fuckin hard this place is to find.”

“Mmmm.” Indrid wants him to go, wants him to be brusque or happy, not awkwardly fond in a way that gives false hope of shared affection. 

“‘Drid there’s, there’s somethin I wanna, that is I’m thinkin...aw, fuck it.”

Indrid yelps as arms nearly as big around as he is scoop him up. Duck’s lifted him to examine flowers or see over trees, but the hugging is new. 

“Duck?” Carefully, he drapes his arms over his shoulders.

“Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to.” Duck always smells faintly of pine needles and green wood, and Indrid buries his face in his neck, inhaling in hopes of remembering it forever. 

“Then stay. I changed my mind, ‘Drid, life is so much better with you around.” 

“Okay” Indrid can’t get his voice above a whisper; this wasn’t in the timelines, which means Duck changed his mind at the literal last moment. 

“Really? You wanna stay?” Duck shifts him back, Indrid functionally sitting on his forearm with his legs half wrapped around his chest. 

The seer summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so closes his eyes before going in for a kiss. His lips find Duck’s cheek until a firm hand cups the back of his head, guiding their mouths together. At this size, their mouths are compatible even as Indrid remains pleasantly dwarfed. Duck breaks the kiss first but Indrid, hell-bent on making up for lost time, continues kissing his face until they’re both laughing.

Duck kisses his forehead, “I’m gonna take that as a yes.” 

[1p2p-heta-imagines]

Yaaay matchups! (Is da same anon hi) ok so 1p Axis/Ally, pls. Im a straight female w/dark brown hair and eyes. I like writing, video games, music, and acting. I tend to keep to myself, but if u approach me im not shy! I have very low self esteem and kinda depend on others to cheer me up (I need cuddles to feel loved sometimes). If ur willing to listen, I WILL talk. I have a lot of ideas and hate being shot down/ignored. Hope thats enough info cuz im runnin outta space ok thximsorrytobugyoubye 🍪

(Hi hi again 🖤 I hope this is good enough!)

I match you with...

1p America!

America is a naturally affectionate and cheery person, he’s always trying to make someone feel good about themselves! People keeping to themselves isn’t something that will keep him from striking up a conversation with them. While he isn’t too great at writing, he is a huge fan of video games and will spend hours playing with you! He adores listening to people’s ideas and even pitches in his own, he will never ignore someone if he can help it. Music and acting he’s very neutral on but will certainly keep up the excited attitude to hear you talk about it, it makes his day to see people passionate about things.

[beetlejuwuce-archive]

ur the most wonderful person ever, ur loveliness is indescribable and u make me smile every single day, thinking of u makes me imagine bright summer days spent picking strawberry fields with the sun warm on my back, only to walk back inside to the cool shady living room and cuddle on the couch and kiss ur forehead while we laugh and tell each other dumb sappy stories while eating our freshly picked strawberries and fuck im runnin outta space but i love you with my whole heart and wont ever stop!

i’m crying

[gendercucked]

im runnin outta wall space

[honey-speedway]

i need a whole ‘nother wall bc im runnin outta space

[powerovernothing]

A little while back I saw that that the most lovely @sevi007​ created a super wonderful post based around the idea of a crossover happening with Yondu and Peter based around the film Road to El Dorado.

Now, considering that’s one of my all time favorite animated movies, and the concept is just way too fitting for our Local Space Assholes that we know and love... well, honestly, I couldn’t help but get inspired and write my own take on this fantastic idea.

So, with that in mind, as well as knowing this is totally in honor of Sevi’s great headcanons, please take a moment and consider both Yondu Udonta and Peter Quill in an over the top scenario similar to the one of the film.

Imagine the two of them in the roles of Miguel and Tulio, but shift the plot ever so slightly so that it fits the world of the Guardians of the Galaxy.

Meaning that, while it’s still based on Road to El Dorado of course, it goes from two best friends searching for a golden city, to a father and son looking for great riches...in space!

And while that idea alone can totally create something hilarious with great dialogue, allow me to take a moment and discuss in further detail my own thoughts of what this grand Ravager Family adventure would entail.

(Lots of Yondad and Star Son crossover headcanon and fic under the cut! Prepare for a mix of many feelings~!)

~Both Ravager Father and Son pulling many a scam, as they often do, on some backwater hub on some equally tattered planet, to earn a few extra units on the side -- “’Cussa can’t have on’ too many units, eh, boy?” -- and having it go all so perfectly with Yondu at the head of said scams -- until Peter manages to set his eyes upon a particular holo-map of an unmarked planet being tossed into the betting pile. One that he, oh so surely, believes is indeed their massive ticket to massive wealth -- because when dealing with something that unique, why on earth would it ever be anything else? -- and thus completely forcing his old man into one final game to try his hand in winning their original earnings as well as the map to boot: “Pops, check this shit out! Look at it! Just imagine all the untapped potential! The mystery! The units! The women! It could be like our, I dunno, our destiny or something to find this place before anyone else! Possibly even our fate!” “Boy, if ah’even so much as believed in any’sorta idea o’fate, ah’wouldn’t be sitting up in this shitty bar with you tossing around loaded dice!” “Aw, c’mon, Yondu!” “Oh, don’tcha even start -- not with ‘dem damn eyes of yers -- aw, hell!”

~Them actually winning the game, without a doubt, and collecting the units and the map...but sadly ending up getting caught because of all their scamming done to the locals -- “Guess ‘that ol’ Ravager luck was bound to run out sometime, eh, pops?”/”Dont’cha go blaming ‘dis shit on me now, boy! Ya the one wanted the fool map ta’ begin with!” -- and thus, having to create yet another con just to get away with their asses in tact. Meaning, but of course, fake fighting each other all the way out of the bar and towards some amount of safety. Which looks almost too convincing to any sort of onlookers that aren’t sure what is teasing, conning, or actual truth when it comes to Captain and Star Lord. (But that’s okay, because sometimes neither do they.)

“Ya go an’ raise a boy ever since he was nutfin more ’den ah’ scrawny lil’ youngin, and what he go and do ta’ya in return? Give you loaded dice ta’ get’cha nabbed by’th law?! What kinda’ son would’a -- ah! Nova Core thank’tha stars yer here! Go on now! Arrest ‘dis embarrassment; drag ‘im outta ma’ sight!” “What the hell, you arrogant blueberry? I put up with all your crazy bull for years, and you wanna start shit talking me like this?! When you're the one controling all the cons in the first place, and just pullin’ me along for the ride! No way, arrest him! He’s the crooked one!” “Tha’ it, boy, I just about had enough outta yoo’! Ya and yer damn disrespect! If ya got any sorta scrote left’on ya, you would flash ‘em fancy blasters of yers, and show what kinda man you really are!” “A better man than you, obviously! Come on, let’s go! I’ve been wanting to do this for years!”

~Both of them escaping far away from the various aliens wanting their heads because of their tricks -- after all the blaster shots, whistles, and countless amounts of property damage ring throughout the bar and the streets --  as well as the Nova that has become too done with these two to ever be lenient ever again. And very ‘cleverly’ stowing away on a, what they assumed to be at the time, completely ship and having to escape from that in the end as well.

Because apparently fate -- “And boy, ah’really wish ya’d stop using ‘dat damn term.” -- just loves to take the piss out of them whenever convenient. So they end up floating in a poor, pitiful, half functioning escape pod in the middle of space’s absolute nowhere as wait for life support to give out. "Pops, you ever think that we'd end up going out like this?" "...Well, shit, lotta ways ah’thought our last moments would go, but nowhere near ‘dis humiliatin’" "Hah, well since we're probably gonna kill over any second now, ya got -- I dunno, any regrets, old man?" "A'sides dying out n’space with’cha, boy?" "Yep." "Pffft, hell 'course I do. One bein’ -- I ain't never had ‘nough credits t’pay off all 'em bounties an’ threats on all 'em planets." "My regret -- 'sides killin' over -- is that our most badass adventure, our most epic Ravager heist, is friggin' over before it really even got going, and ain't no one even gonna remember what we did! In this planet. Or in that star system. Or how many people we pissed off in that one..." "Prob’ly space exposure  gettin' all up in these ol' eyes or sumfin -- but I figure I oughta let'cha know, Pet --" "Oh wait, don't tell me. Right before you die on me, leaving me all alone in this escape pod -- and first of all, how effing dare you -- ya gonna tell me something all sappy and heartfelt? Like, how you never knew jackshit about raisin’ a kid, but you did your best and in the end ‘I really came ta care fer ya like my own, Petey, and I don’t wanna leave ya, even though it’s mostly all my fault in the first place -- ‘" "...Al'rite 'dats it. I had this whole' speech all rearin' to go, but ya just had to go and ruin it. Well, fergit' it; ya ain't worth the breath. And it was damn nice too, ah’ll have ya know." "Yeah, yeah...love ya too, Yondu."

~The two of them eventually getting out of the pod, (After crashing landing, with a lot of loud swears, whistling, and throwing the blame around. Because obviously this is Peter’s fault somehow.) and even despite the super close call, Peter then realizes where exactly they ended up and having a sudden second wind full of adventure and excitement!

“‘Ey, boy, getc’ha ass over here and help out with this ‘ere pod! We gotta get it runnin...unless o’course yer wanting to make dis ‘ere yer second Terra --” “Holy shit, Yondu.” “Quill, now, I expect ya’ to answer me when I’m orderin --” “Holy shit, Yondu! You are not going to believe our luck!” “What are ya shout-- oh hell, don’tcha tell me that that is --” “We almost died like, way more times than normal, and got lost in space on top of that, but oh my God, look! We’re actually here! We found it!” “Ya still have that piece’a junk, after all ‘dis time!? And durin’ all that, you ain’t never thought about -- I dunno, grabbing a lil’ more resources!?” “Dude, get over here, look, look, look! You said so yourself, back at the bar --” “I reckon I said a’ lotta things --” “You said this place could be real, and it is, man! It totally is! And we are the first ones to find it! The riches! The mystery! The women! It’s completely ours!” “...Remind me ‘gain why I ain’t dumped yer crazy ass years ago?”

Outside of the amusing interactions that ended up leading to the Guardians versions of “El Dorado”, imagine for a moment how you could take this crossover idea and turn it into something quite clever and original! I’m sure that everyone has their own ideas -- but since I’m always the one who loves coming up with adventures for these two. How about for a moment, you consider this here: ~The two of them, after being on the Trail We Blaze for quite a while, and having to rely on each other’s expertise to figure out the map -- including Yondu getting annoyed at first, because how on earth did his son ever talk him into trucking through wilderness of an unknown world, and “Ya sure ya even know where’th hell ya going, boy?”  -- eventually finding out the secrets of the uncharted planet. That being a long lost Centaurian tribe that automatically hails them both as Gods -- Yondu as the one that “Escaped His Chains” and Peter as "The One Who Carries The Light” ~Yondu being incredibly unnerved by this idea, mostly over Peter’s title, and when said, oh so stupid, son of his gets way too ahead of himself in terms of newfound fame -- “Petey, ya know that ther’ lil’ voice ‘dat folks have 'dat tell ‘em to quit when they’re ahead?”/”Uh, yeah --?”/”YA AIN’T GOT ONE, BOY.” -- he actually decides to go along with the wild and crazy idea of “Godhood”. Firstly, just to make sure that Peter doesn’t end up getting himself killed over all of this, and second because never had any warm feelings for his people; (And finding a full tribe of them isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing) so, if he can have a little bit of fun at their expense and also walk away rich...well, it couldn’t be all bad, right? ~Both Ravager Father and Son having to keep up their God like con for three whole days, until they can get some means of transport back to the Elector properly, and Yondu’s fun starting to melt away into full fledged worry. Because being around these people for one evening is bad enough, and obviously Peter doesn’t release what could happen if they are caught, and the repressed memories alone--! “No, seriously man, look at this -- having been hidden away for so long, aren’t you just the least bit curious  --” ”Hell no, boy! Don’t’yoo even move so much’asa muscle!” ”Hah, Yondu, c’mon, ya gotta be --” ”Wha I just tell ya?! And look’atcha! Yer moving! You are abs’olu’ly moving! And I just said not to!” “Whoa, hang on, I just --” “Ey, ey! Stop, right now, Quill! I mean it!” “P-Pops, ya can’t be --” “I swear ta’th stars, that if you so much as move an inch, I’ll show ya just how many of ‘dem “Eat’yoo” threats I really meant! Just. Stay. Put. Peter!” “For, three, friggin’ days?!”

~Peter eventually escaping out from underneath his dad’s watchful gaze, and exploring the village all on his own. And in doing so, bringing music to the Centaurian children, and teaching them how to dance, oh so awkwardly mind you, but the concept just being very sweet all the same. ~The mood ultimately shifting at the end of the big adventure, because of a Centaurian slaver secretly being among the tribe. And him knowing who both Peter and Yondu are -- who they really are -- and thus believing that they would fetch an amazing price along with the rest of the slaves, and  turning against them because of greed and selfishness. The exact same thing that originally brought both Father and Son to finding this place to begin with. And so, when that terrible truth comes to light, both Yondu and Peter end up throwing their original plans away -- because they may be a-holes, surely, but they’re not, as they would say, 100% dicks, and oh man do they really hate slavers -- and Yondu takes on the slaver single handed, while Peter frees the children and elders that had been captured and tortured while under this terrible Centaurian’s awful control. Meaning that, after all their greatness, the two of them end up being held as heroes among the people. Not Gods, but heroes. And somehow that just feels a whole hell of a lot better.

~The Centaurians going a bit further with their praise, and offering Yondu a place among their tribe because of how he destroyed the slaver with his own hands, and broke free all the chains that held them down. But Yondu simply shaking his head to their words, knowing well enough that his place is out there among the Stars -- with a certain annoying ass lil’ Lord of them right beside him as they both chart their own paths through the galaxy. ~Yondu throwing an arm around Peter’s shoulder, and the two of them walking away from the village with massive grins on their faces.

Not only because they make damn fine heroes when they want to be, but also during the intense battle, both Father and Son managed to take whatever the slaver had on him. That being a fair amount of credits that will keep the Ravagers going for quite a while, but also some rather interesting coordinates to a nearby Slaver camp.

“Ah’m kinda feeling up to a Free Em and Burn Em run; what’cha say, son?” “I say that you completely read my mind, old man.”

Because maybe Peter and Yondu enjoy the occasional adventure in space, and maybe they both end up getting on each others nerves when that adventure doesn’t go according to plan, (Or goes too well?) and perhaps they completely adore the idea of relaxing with endless amounts wealth underneath them...

...but by the end of the day, they still remain the duo that they’ve always been. The ones that care too deeply and loves too easily, and will willingly protect and save all that they’re able to, including each other, even though they would deny all the way to the grave that they’re nothing more than Ravagers.

And don’t you know that they don’t have a heart?

But even as the Slaver Camp burns down to ashes, and Yondu and Peter manage to grant freedom to the ones that were denied it, and begin their next big adventure together with the rest of Ravagers crew...you know that no matter what comes their way; they won’t ever change.

Freeing slaves, burning camps, getting drunk off their asses and taking the occasional extra unit when no one is looking, they still are the actual worse kinds of heroes that the galaxy has ever known.

...But isn’t that one of the mains reasons that we adore these assholes so much? ;)

[jacxkelly]

Could you maybe write Crutchie asking Jack to prom?

I realized I can’t write ‘the boys are dumb’ for all of these. Gonna have to come up with something else to say. 

“So you’se gonna ask ‘im already or just keep us all waitin’?”

Crutchie made a face, looking up at Spot Conlon with as muchof a glare as he could muster. He had been on him constantly about prom sincethe date was announced. Apparently all the boys were bent on going no matter what,and that meant the sudden influx of everyone scrambling to find dates.

If there was one thing anyone knew was that Jack Kelly wasoff limits until Crutchie worked up the nerve to ask him.

Well, the only one oblivious to this fact was Jack Kellyhimself.

“Wouldya hold yer horses? Ya ain’t even asked no one yet letme do it when I wanna—“ Crutchie protested, looking back down at the fieldwhere currently  the other boys weremessing around after class. They were all just waiting on Jack to show upbefore heading out for the day.

Spot snorted, rolling his eyes. “’M gonna ask, I ain’t gottaworry ‘bout if he’s gonna say no. Here, watch.” The shorter boy sat upstraighter, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Heya, Race!”

Immediately, Racetrack whipped around on the field, staringup at the bleachers. “Yeah? Whaddya want??”

“Go ta prom wid me!”

“Sure, a’righ’!”

Satisfied with himself, Spot Conlon relaxed back and foldedhis arms over his chest. “See? Easy peasy. All ya gotta do is ask. Jackie boyain’t gonna say no to you’se, Crutch.”

The butterflies in Crutchie’s stomachtold him Spot could be wrong.

“Would ya guys lookit this! Crutch went the poster route!”Racetrack grinned brightly, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and tappingoff the ashes. They were sitting on the front steps of the school this day,once again waiting for Jack Kelly to get out of the halls.

There was a chorus of ‘aw’s’ around them, causing Crutchieto blush faintly before puffing his chest out with pride. “’Course I’se did.Jack’s the artistic type, ain’t he? I gotta appeal to his sensibilities.”  He defended, keeping the folded up postertucked between his crutch and his under arm.

“You’se gonna appeal to somethin’ a’righ’.” Race sniggeredto himself, earning a whack upside the head by Spot. “Hey! Lay off, you’se saysthe same sorta things.”

Spot rolled his eyes, draping his arm over his boyfriendsshoulder and kissing the top of his head in apology. The other stuck thecigarette back between his lips, maintaining a slightly sour expression butleaning into him regardless.

Crutchie’s gaze had turned back to the front doors of theschool, staring at them expectantly. Any moment now, any moment and his fatewould be sealed. Was this what it felt like to await your untimely death? That’swhat asking your crush since middle school to prom felt like. Did he get lastwords or was that just a movie thing?

“Here he comes–!” Specs, who had been staring at the dooras well, jumped off of his perch on the stair rails, giving a wide space andshooing the other boys out of the way in the process.

Suddenly, Crutchie found himself standing all too alone inthe middle of a circle of their friends, watching a very confused Jack Kellystep out of the school doors and stare at them all suspiciously. Slowly, he puthis backpack onto his back and pulled the baseball cap off of his head, exposingthat all too perfectly messy dark hair that Crutchie both hated and adored.

After an awkward stretch of silence, Jack looked down at hisfriend expectantly. “…What’s goin’ on? C’mon, guys, honestly.”

It was then that Crutchie realized he had been standingthere like an idiot ready to be struck down by lightening. He scrambled to grabthe sign, nearly falling over before he successfully pulled it out and unfoldedit, holding it up expectantly for Jack to see.

The boy standing on the steps raised both his brows, thentilted his head upside to try and read it. “…might wanna turn it right waysround, Crutch.” He said, fondness hinting at his voice.

Going a bright shade of red, Crutchie did so immediately. “Right.I’se knew dat, just testin’ ya, Jack.” He grinned sheepishly, biting his lowerlip. Well that hadn’t been a bad reaction.

Another stretch of silence passed as Jack all too calmly putthe hat back on his head, and made his way down the steps.

Crutchie was certain his pounding heart could be heard byeveryone within a twenty mile radius, watching nervously as Jack came to stopright in front of him. This was it. This was the story of how he died. Struckdead by Jack Kelly’s sudden betrayal. He wanted to melt into the floor, for thesidewalk to swallow him up and never spit him back out.

Suddenly, slightly chapped lips were pressed against his ownin a soft kiss before pulling away all too calmly. “’Course I will. Waswonderin’ when you’se was gonna ask, been runnin’ outta time to find a suit.”Jack said all too calmly with a smile before Crutchie could process entirelywhat was happening.

“I—wah?” He stammered dumbly, causing Jack to laugh.

“I’ll go ta prom with ya, Crutchie. You an’ me.” Jackruffled his hair, and Cruthcie broke out in a large grin. He grabbed Jack bythe front of his shirt suddenly, yanking him back into another kiss. The otherboys around them cheered, and Race’s sharp voice shouting, ‘About damn time!’was easily picked out above the crowd.

There had been nothing to be worried about after all.