#characters that would immediately call me 3-4 slurs on sight

[lazycranberrydoodles]

‼️🔪PREPZ DNI‼️‼️

watched @strange-aeons’s reading of my immortal and i needed to draw ebony. i remember when i first read my immortal… it was 3am on a school night and i was having the time of me life. this outift is based off of the description in chapter 6? but also artist’s interpretation

follow for more goffik content🥀⛓

[theleftovertaco]

Post War HCs

TW- mentions of panic attacks, hoarding, PTSD, self harm, if any of this may trigger something for you, don’t fucking read it.

I always kind of get annoyed when writers, shows or movies ignore the physical or mental trauma that their characters have. I understand in Harry Potter where the characters aren’t really shown past their first 7 years but I do have some personal HCs about how each of the characters fared following the second Wizarding War and the Battle of Hogwarts

All was not well.

Harry gets sensory overload, he’s anxious all the time, and over the following years he becomes a bit of a control freak, since he felt like he could barely control things around him as a teen. He spent nearly 7 years telling himself and others that he wanted to be an Auror, and he followed through, going through the training, passing his exams and finally becoming an Auror.

He gets burnout in less than 2 years before eventually resenting his job. It’s not for lack of trying, they do a lot the first few months in active duty and he moves up the ranks faster than anyone in Ministry history (being the chosen one has it’s perks).

But he feels like there’s so much that’s put on his plate, that he can’t control. Harry spent seven years at Hogwarts dodging Daily Prophet interviews and trying to live up to the expectations of being the Chosen One, and he hoped that after he killed Voldemort, those expectations would have been met and he could finally have some peace. 

The expectations grew. So did criticisms. Any singular mistake the Auror department made fell under his responsibility, at least, according to the press. 

At the one and a half year mark, he breaks, doesn’t show up for work one day, dodges his family and friends and takes off for a few weeks. He shows up later to press shoving their quick-quotes quills in his face and hands in an immediate notice of resignation. 

All was not well.

Hermione still wakes up in the middle of the night with stinging flesh, and she has to check over her limbs to make sure that Bellatrix didn’t somehow carve another slur into her, even though Hermione knows she’s dead. 

Sometimes she can still feel the knife carving into her arm, can still feel the blood dripping out of the wound.

She develops a fear of snakes over time, even the smallest garden snake makes her jump, considering her experience with snakes during the war was less than satisfactory, to say the least

Hermione puts her guard up when meeting diplomats as she rises the Ministry ranks. She never knows who is going to spout anti- muggle rhetoric in her face. She walks with her wand always in her hand. 

She never knows if a Voldemort sympathizer will jump out and attack her when she walks down Diagon Alley. 

All was not well.

Ron can’t be away from Hermione or Harry for too long or he gets separation anxiety. Spending nearly a decade in life or death situations makes him nearly unable to function unless he knows they’re both okay. 

Ron still feels a curling sensation in his gut if he is away from Hermione for too long. Sometimes he wakes up screaming her name when his nightmares make him relive the sounds of her being tortured by Bellatrix. 

After the third time of him showing up at her doorstep at odd hours of the night, she takes him to buy a landline so he can just call to confirm her safety.

Ron needs reassurance that his friends won’t leave him. He spent his whole life being mistaken or compared to his siblings. There is always that sinking feeling in his mind that one day, his friends will realize that they’re better than him, and they’ll move on.

It takes years of reassuring before he begins to believe it himself.

All was not well.

Fred lives, but his hearing is permanently damaged from the explosion. Sometimes he can still hear ringing sounds of the blast and his ears will randomly bleed. 

He tries to hold it together, to prove that he doesn’t need help with his hearing. 

It takes about eight months before he concedes and allows his mother to take him to get his ears looked at, but by that point the damage is too far down, so he tries muggle hearing aids. 

Sometimes Fred can still feel his lungs crushing in while he struggles to take another breath, can feel his ribcage closing in on his heart. Whoever he’s closest too will have to sit down with him and remind him that he’s not under a dark pile of rubble, unable to scream or speak or breath.

Sometimes it’s impossible for him to hear them though because when he has panic attacks his ears just, shut off, or he’ll rip out his aid. 

All was not well.

George still gets insane migraines and feels phantom pains on the left side of his head. He has to take potions to quell the constant pounding sensation in his head. 

He can never be apart from Fred for long. The five minutes of terror he went through when he believed his twin brother was dead have made him constantly worried for his brothers safety so he babies him all the time. Fred eventually gets fed up with him and snaps a few months in, yelling at him to “stop treating me like a child!”

George breaks down sobbing and they both end up going to joint therapy.

George is tired all the time. His job of being around kids in the shop all the time, working 12+ hour days, for 4-6 days a week tires him out. He needs his sleep. 

Fred often finds him slumped over at his desk or at a register and sends him home. 

He hits his breaking point when he refuses to sleep or rest for over 3 days and collapses while restocking.

Fred and George learn to enforce specific schedules, shifts no longer than ten hours for them and no more than nine for their employees. 

All was not well.

Ginny, Neville, Luna, Dean, and Seamus still wake up from nightmares of the first years screaming under the punishment of the Carrow twins. 

They snuck as many as possible into the Room of Requirement. 

But it wasn’t enough, and they all have memories scraped into their skulls of sending the body of a first year Hufflepuff home to sobbing parents after Amycus Carrow caught her reading the Quibbler. 

Ginny feels her scalp on fire years after her 6th year from when Alecto Carrow dragged her by the hair. 

She begins to tear out her own hair.

Ginny eventually breaks and just shaves her whole head.

All was not well.

Neville retreats into his shell of plants and disappears into greenhouse three to his venomous tentacula when he feels panicked.

He has to create a rigid schedule for himself, a response to the undiscernible chaos of his school years. 

All was not well.

Luna starts seeing her mother again in her dreams, her screams as she died mirroring the ones of the students that screamed out for help while they were still in school.

All was not well.

Dean and Seamus rent an apartment together and open a pub because if they aren’t always in each others line of sight, panic shoots through their hearts. Seamus throws all his energy into cooking and Dean controls most of the serving and financial aspects of the place.

All was not well.

Molly Weasley still glances at her family clock in fear, though now a few more names have been added to it, waiting for the hands of Harry, Ron, and Hermione to switch back to “Mortal Peril” like they did so often while the three were horcrux hunting.

All was not well.

Arthur Weasley clings to his muggle objects like a shield and eventually develops a light hoarding problem. Molly and the children have to force him to go through each item. Harry and Hermione sit down with him and explain the purpose of each object until he’s ready to let a lot of it go. 

All was not well.

Minerva McGonagall still is on the lookout for kids that look like they come from dangerous homes. Kids that need her help. She worries after 7 years of chaos when the other shoe will drop, and waits with baited breath for news to come through that another catastrophic event will occur within the walls of Hogwarts, walls which were supposed to keep students safe. 

All was not well.

Draco Malfoy spends hours in the shower scrubbing at his scar, trying to make it disappear, he cuts into it at some point with a knife and his mother gently forces him to enter himself into a temporary psych ward after she finds him bloodied and passed out on his bathroom floor.

All was not well. All was never well. 

[soysaucevictim]

“aching, shaking, breaking (like humans do)”

Summary: Remus thinks Hypnos has abandoned him for good (metaphorically speaking), Patton is there to help. (Sanders Sides, Gym Rat AU. One-shot. Ao3 link.)

Genres: Slice of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic

Characters: Patton and Remus centric. Logan, Virgil, and Roman mentioned.

Relationships: Intruality (platonic), Logicality (platonic), Background Intrulogical (platonic/ambiguous), Background Dukexiety (romantic/QPP), Background Moxiety (paternal/platonic)

Warnings: Remus angst, extreme insomnia, (unintentional) self-injury, medications, mental health issues, grim imagery, Remus Has Intrusive Thoughts, Remus Is A Mess, Patton Is A Good Friend, Interfaith Friendships, Implied (Extended) Family Problems

-

Patton was pedaling on one of the exercise bikes, which was one of his favorite activities to do at the gym. Relatively low impact and he usually took a “something is better than nothing” approach to his routines nowadays. Just appreciating the people watching and socializing with his workout famILY.

That was odd.

Remus hadn’t been to the gym for the whole week. Even when the kiddo overdid it – usually he’s not out of commission this long for it. Unless-

Something hit him in the gut when he realized that. He stopped on his bike and immediately buzzed his number.

Ring.

Ring.

Nothing.

He could shoot him a text, but it was just not settling right with him. Logan had been doing one of his HIIT circuits on the bike next to him. He took a deep breath, gently tapping Logan’s shoulder. Despite Logan’s concentration, he desisted immediately, turning off his music to respond, “What is it?”

“Have you seen a certain Pottymouth at your work recently?”

Logan paused, with a look of concerned realization, “Come to think of it, no. No, I haven’t. Well, he was getting particularly erratic and called in sick… 3 days ago.”

“I think I should go check in on him. My Other Son’s been swamped with work lately, sooo…”

If Logan was perfectly honest, it was often confusing when Patton referred to half their crew as his son, “Other son? Did you mean Virgil?”

Patton nodded.

“Probably prudent. Unfortunately, no one can stand in for me at the firm tonight. And. You’re better at the… emotions stuff.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence! Hopefully I’m just worried for nothing.”

Patton rose up from his bike and was about to leave with his things. Logan smiled faintly, “Hey, if you would, could you tell me how he’s doing when you find out?”

Patton smiled back, a little forced if he was honest, “I’ll make sure to have him tell you that himself!”

-

It wasn’t a very far trip across the city to get to Remus’s apartment complex from the gym.

Once Patton parked his car and took another deep breath, he stepped out toward it.

After getting buzzed in and jogging up a couple flights of stairs, thanking his stars for basic training, he was at the door in a jiffy.

Patton wasn’t in the business, but he was reminded of the time Remus was raising heck to get Unit 404 from this building. He remembered seeing Logan trying desperately not to laugh when he heard about it.

He knew to knock to the phrase “Shave and a Haircut”, to alert Remus. He drummed out a few calls, waiting for Remus to make a sound on the other side, hoping he would.

It was a thing in their group, ever since they all watched “Roger Rabbit” together for a movie night, years ago.

Once. Twice. Thrice…

Patton heard the sound of chaotic crashing noises and an off-script, but still in the right cadence, “Fuck OFF!”

“Remus!? Kiddo, it’s me. I wanted to check on you!”

He heard some stumbling noises and a hoarse, “P-padre?”

“Can I come in?”

There was a dramatically loud sigh before the door was unlatched, unlocked, and open.

“Thanks- oh.”

Patton wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting, but Remus looked even more harried than he usually was. The darkness around his eyes even more pronounced, his face was so drained. His makeup smudged, tear-streaked, and hanging on for dear life. His gaze wild and jumpy. Remus didn’t do much more than stand in the living room, staring at Patton once he entered.

Patton saw that Remus had knocked over one of his glass cabinets. He noticed Remus looked pretty scratched up and was bleeding in places, mostly his hands and knuckles.

Patton furrowed his brow, asking mostly to avoid presumptions, “How are you feeling?”

Remus sounded breathless too, “What does it fucking… look like!?”

Patton paused and looked around some more, there was a lot of trash strewn about the floor. Granted there usually was, Remus would just call it “organized chaos”. But Patton did note that there was an alarming number of energy drink cans piled around a hopelessly full trash bin. Monsters, NOS, Red Bulls, 5 Hours, yerba mate, the works.

Patton slumped a little bit in worry, “Not exactly peachy keen, I take it?”

Patton had a hunch that Remus was screaming not that long ago, based on just how raw his voice sounded, “No SHIT!”

“Um, would you like to sit down for a bit? It might help to talk it out.”

“Can’t.”

“Too restless, huh?”

“Yeah.”

At that point Remus was mindlessly digging his fingernails into his arm. Patton winced a little and decided to ask, “Can I take care of those injuries, at least? I just want to make sure they don’t get-”

Remus glanced at but barely registered the wounds, “Infected?”

“Yeah.”

“F-first aid kit’s in the bathroom. Not like it matters. It would be just my luck to have a brown recluse bite or resistant staph or necrotizing fasciitis. You know where shit rots and liquefies and you get all septic?! Imagine the SMELL.”

Patton slowly worked his way to the bathroom to get the kit, not taking his eyes away from Remus, “Well, if it looks like it’ll be that way, I WILL be taking your butt to the ER.”

Remus didn’t seem to register that, droning on, “Oh. What if I lose a finger? Or several! Or my entire hands! Everybody says I might die of a heart attack before I hit 30? My ticker feels like it’s going to EXPLODE, Teddy Roosevelt. Imagine a live grenade strapped to it – BOOM. Sounds like fun.”

Patton flinched, thinking that was to get a rise out of him, “Kiddo, I think that’s the opposite of fun.”

Remus weakly laughed, pointing at his chest thoughtlessly, “Better than worrying about cancer or some shit!”

Eventually Patton had to break line of sight to grab the kit, but he kept talking, “When… when did you last get some sleep?”

There was a pause that made Patton’s own heart ache a little bit. Remus muttered after some hemming and hawing, “Uh… 3? 4?  4 days ago? I think. I don’t even fucking know.”

Patton took a moment to look over the medicine cabinet while he was there. Just to see if Remus had anything that could help him get much needed snooze time. There was a bottle of trazodone, mostly full, Benedryl, also mostly full… no suspiciously empty bottles of anything around. So that was a hopeful sign.

“Would you mind if I asked you to take something to help you sleep? After I patch you up?”

“You remember that story where a whole batch of Tylenol was tampered with and killed like seven whole people?”

“… I’ll ask again a little later, then.”

Patton returned to the living room, kit in hand, both relieved and disconcerted about Remus just standing in the same spot he was in. His hands were clenching and unclenching, like he was fighting to stay awake even longer. “Okay, it would be easier on both of us if you sat down while I dress those wounds.”

Remus didn’t move, so Patton tried to gently nudge this poor kid toward the sofa anyways. Thankfully, he didn’t resist at all. Patton noticed just how wobbly a gait he had in that short distance. Once seated, Patton also saw that both his knees were scuffed. Patton winced, imagining that he took at least a few falls very recently.

Without prompting, Remus whined, “Everything hurts, Padre.”

“Well, going without sleep as long as you have can give you a bad case of the body aches. Seen some of my old combat buddies deal with that on our worst deployments…”

Patton started to wipe down Remus’s knuckles first with some cotton balls and alcohol. He just wanted to get a better sense of how deep these cuts were. He was relieved that they were surprisingly shallow, “I think these will only need some simple bandages and antibiotic cream… but I’m definitely going to check on you later, to see how your hands are doing.”

Remus nodded, and started to blather a bit again, “I feel like Hypnos himself has forsaken me. A curse! A bane! Pat? Is his brother going to come for me? Am I going to ride down Styx and meet the big H himself?”

“… you’re not going to die, if I can help it. I swear to God Himself.”

“Gross.”

Patton sometimes forgot that their positions of faith were so far removed. But that didn’t dissuade him from caring a lot. He hated seeing his friend suffering so much. He took another breath, and addressed the gouges and cuts in Remus’s arms. They were rough, probably unintentionally from his own hands. He approached those similarly. “You feeling any sleepier, yet?”

“Mmm… no.”

Remus looked like he was about to pass out, Patton was reasonably sure just the fact he was seated and getting some TLC helped push him closer to shutting his eyes. “Well. I’m going to hang around for a few, just to make sure you’re alright, okay? Mind if I turn on the TV?”

Remus started to slur his speech considerably, “Knock yourself out, Holy Ghost.”

Patton thinly smiled about the blasphemous sentiment, but he shook that off, it didn’t matter really. He was just glad to see Remus doze off like he desperately needed it.

Patton decided to tune into Nickelodeon and watch some cartoon reruns, eventually hearing some loud snoring coming from Remus. Patton sighed and smiled at the sight.

-

“Oh GEEZ, Patton. Were you – were you here all night?”

Patton blinked awake from the shouting and looked outside to see it was bright out, “I-I guess I was?”

Virgil was there to see his boyfriend sleeping like the dead and Patton next to him.

“Logan told me to check on Remus and I just got back here. And-”

“Remus is going to be okay, I think. Do you have any idea what may’ve started this episode?”

Virgil sat down on the recliner nearby and looked tired but contemplative.

“His “family” tried contacting him. All I know was it devolving into a messy fight and it rattled him. He… stubbornly didn’t want to talk about it.”

Patton understood what he meant at this point.

The only blood relative Remus had anything nice to say about was Roman. Someone who should probably know what happened, if he wasn’t already aware.

All to address later, once Remus recovered a little more.

Patton ran his fingers through Remus’s greasy hair. Not the most pleasant, but he hoped it helped to soothe him as he continued to slumber.

Virgil smiled at both of them, his own concern never quite gone, “Thanks for this, Pop Star.”

[moral-turpitudes]

Whiskey Glasses

A/N: Gif isn’t peaky related but the facial expression is on point. Anyways...can we just appreciate the beauty of this man? God damn.

Trigger Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Fighting, Swearing, Drinking.

Word Count: 2,006

Characters: Bonnie Gold x Reader

Summary: Y/n puts up a bit of a fight while out with Bonnie and the blinders, but it’s only a matter of time before the real fighter steps in.

Requested by: No one I’m just a ho for Bonnie lol BYE.

A/N:

I’ve noticed a pattern in my writing about hitting motherfuckers over the head with whiskey glasses. I’m kinda here for it though.

Also, you can peep this same oneshot on my wattpad @jetblackheartsx, I may be adding more that I’ve written on here, to there in due time.

Made this cute transparent cut line too. Credit if ya use it. :)

The sun set over the black and gold accents of the Garrison, casting a faint orange glow over its drunk patrons. The sounds of glasses clinking and whiskey being poured over ice filled the room. The pub was full and there was a group of men in the distance singing, slurring their words every now and then. You smiled at the sight, as you felt your boyfriends hand clasp around yours under the table.

You met him 2 years ago at a fabric shop just outside of Small Heath. He and his father had came in from a long trip and needed some extra fabrics for winter. He immediately fixated his eyes on you and you remembered him looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. His father noticed how keen he was for you and gradually convinced him to ask you out that day.

Luckily you agreed to the date, and here you were with an amazing boyfriend and his father Aberama who soon became one of your best friends. Due to his line of work he often found himself in, he wanted to help Bonnie keep you safe, and so he helped you learn to punch and use various weapons over the years as you joined them on their travels. During the time you've known Bonnie and his father, you knew Bonnie wasn't always the violent type, but he did what had to be done when the time called for it. And god help anyone who crossed someone he loved.

As you and Bonnie made small talk in the pub, you glanced over your shoulder and saw a trio of men eyeing you. You quickly diverted your gaze back to Bonnie as you listened to him join a conversation between the peaky lads, the stone faced Thomas Shelby eyeing you as you avoided the creeping men in the distance.

"Are you okay love?" Bonnie asked watching your worried facial expression.

You looked up at him as he snaked his arm around your waist bringing you closer to him. You nodded and smiled, pushing the awkward moment to the back of your mind.

He smiled slightly and downed the last of his whiskey and you offered to get you and him a couple more drinks. You had began to feel a bit buzzed and so you walked carefully up to the bar.

"4 shots please." You said and placed some coins on the bar.

You waited and saw the men from earlier come up to the bar near you. You were a bit on edge and you turned to see Bonnie and the lads talking way off in the distance, probably discussing the next boxing match.

You always loved the passion Bonnie had for boxing. He was a skilled fighter and even though he had a slight build, he could pack a powerful punch. You had been known to join Aberama on the ropes, encouraging Bonnie and giving him a sly wink or a kiss every now and then before he would finish off an opponent. You were like his good luck charm as he once told you, as he had never lost a fight when you were there. And luckily you were there with him tonight.

You downed two of the shots as your nerves got the best of you, and you began to feel the effects of the alcohol kicking in as you waited on the other two. Feeling an uneasiness in your stomach, you turned around to see the guys behind you. All 3 were smoking and staring at you menacingly as you moved to grab the two shot glasses.

One of the men caught your wrist and chuckled.

"Woah there pretty lady. You can't drink all that. Don't want you falling eh?" He said, reeking of smoke and bad intentions.

"I can drink if I want. Now if you'll excuse me." You said and walked to the side of them with the two glasses in tow. One of the other men came near you, causing you to panic. Despite you inebriated state, you quickly thought to down the two shots meant for Bonnie and held on tightly to the glasses, preparing to whack one of them if they got too close.

"I'll give you 5 shillings to fuck off." You said, spitting at him. Your desire of wanting to hit the man growing the more you drank.

"How about you give me a couple more and we can have some real fun eh?" The third man said walking behind you.

You clenched your hand around the glass and quickly turned to strike him in the head. The glass shattered on his head, cutting your hand a bit from the impact. The drunk man stumbled back, grabbing his head which was now glistening with blood and shards of glass.

You looked desperately for Bonnie as you were sure your antics caught the boy's attention by now.

"Are you lot dumb? I said fuck off!" You shouted at the other two who moved in on you.

As the second man came up to you, you reached out to him to distract him. With a shaking hand, you hit him with the other glass you had. But it didn't do as much damage as last time.

You sucked in a breath, wincing as you saw the cuts on your hands starting to bleed more.

"You shouldn't have done that lovely." The first man said and grabbed your wrist roughly.

"Let go!" You yelled and finally saw Bonnie from amongst the crowded pub. He rolled his sleeves up and came close to you.

"I would let go if I were you." Bonnie yelled, his eyes darkening with anger.

"I can do what I want...and fuck who I want....I might just have to get her to come home with me. You...you aren't even from here. You and your razor caps can't do nothin’..." the man said, slurring his words angrily.

He got closer to Bonnie, and so he pushed you behind him protectively. You stood back and saw as the lads, including Thomas looked to see what was going on.

"That's my girl you're taking about mate, I suggest you shut the fuck up and get out." He said, cracking his knuckles and removing his cap he'd received earlier that day.

"Oh yeah? Are you gonna stop me?" He asked, and that's when you saw Bonnie swing. A single punch landing on his jaw, making a cracking sound in the process. The man fell back unconsciously and his friend went to attack, but Bonnie dodged his punches and hit him in the face with his cap gashing his face and then tackling him to the floor. He landed a couple of punches to the mans cut face before knocking him out completely. You stood shocked as he got up from the man on the floor and rushed over to you. His breathing was ragged and his hands were covered in the men’s blood.

"Are you okay y/n?" He asked wiping his hands on his button up before putting his cap on and taking a look at your hands. They were cut up in several places. You winced again and pulled your hands away, instead wrapping your arms around him in a hug. You let tears fall down your face as he held you for a moment, and then he led you through the crowd and back to where the lads were. They made room for you to set your hands on the table and Tommy, John, and Arthur left to most likely finish the drunk bastards off.

"It's so crowded in here we couldn't see what was happening till you yelled y/n!" Michael yelled over the slew of drunk patrons.

"I know! I didn't think I'd make it back here." You yelled towards him.

"What'd you do to your hands y/n?" Finn asked.

"Eh, those...those...bastards were trying to grab me and got too close...so I chugged all those damn things and smashed em' in their faces...." you said, your words slurring a bit as the 4 shots started hitting you.

You looked down at Bonnie who was undoing his tie and looking hot as hell while doing so.

"Not here are you crazy? Keep your clothes on while we're here at least" You said smirking. Finn laughed and Bonnie cracked a smile as you joked around more, a sure sign that you were drunk.

"Love, bite down on this okay? This is going to hurt a lot but it'll help the cuts to not get infected." Bonnie said inspecting your palms for glass and assessing if they needed any stitches. Luckily they didn't, but it was still a nasty set of cuts nonetheless. You nodded, as he placed the tie in your mouth and then quickly poured half a bottle of gin on your hands.

Tears fell from your eyes as the alcohol seeped in, burning like small fires along your palms. You stifled back a small scream as he poured more over them and gently patted them dry. Through your tears you looked to see Tommy, John, and Arthur dragging the drunk men outside. Those drunk excuses for men probably wouldn't live to see tomorrow.

You winced again as he wrapped your hands in some cloth he tore from his shirt. And when he was done he removed the tie and you frowned.

"You...you tore your shirt up Bon, what the fuck." You said, he practically destroyed his whole outfit trying to help you at this point.

"It's just a shirt love, I'll be fine." He said kissing your lips, then sitting back in the booth next to you.

"Well...I think that's been enough action for one night eh?" Bonnie asked you. You laughed in response and leaned against him.

"Yeah. Do....do you wanna go back? Wait where did-where's Aberama?" You asked whipping your head around suddenly.

"He's with Polly, remember her? We met her earlier before my match. Let them be, I'll take you back to the vardo." He said as you stood up, feeling a bit unsteady.

You felt him put a strong arm around your waist to support you. You smiled and closed your eyes for a second before hearing Tommy's voice from behind you both.

"Heading out?" He asked Bonnie, who turned to him nodded, tightening his grip on your waist as you moved with him.

"Yeah, she's had a long night. I'll be back in tomorrow for our meeting Mr. Shelby." He said.

"Alright. Good work today Bonnie. And good work to you as well Miss y/l/n..." he said looking at you. You could've sworn you saw a small smile playing at his lips.

"What'd I do?" You asked not comprehending that he was talking about earlier.

"Well you helped take down two men with nothing but whiskey glasses so that's at least worth something." He said, gently placing some shillings in your hand to pay you back for your drinks.

"Oh...thanks Mr. Shelby." You said smiling.

"It's Tommy, sweetheart. Now go get her home Bonnie. I don't want more glasses broken in my pub for tonight." He said, letting you all walk past him, you more so stumbling past.

Bonnie walked you down the long streets and over a couple of blocks to Charlie's yard where you all put the vardo earlier. The distance from there to the Garrison seeped terribly long as the night was grew colder, the fog clouding your already blurry vision.

"We're here babe." He said and helped you in. You immediately fell onto the bed inside and closed your eyes smiling, knowing Bonnie would be joining you after he looked over everything and made sure you all were safe. As you drifted off, you felt Bonnie come in and lie gently beside you, wrapping you into his arms protectively. Before slipping into a deep sleep, you thought about tomorrow and how you were going to have fun recovering from your hangover, and telling the family about your own little fighting experience.

[pl-panda]

Damienette arranged marriage: part 20

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from, @thyladyanput for idea for Chat Damian and me for the plot.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 part 14 part 15 

part 16 Part 17 Part 18

Part 19

Damienette arranged marriage: Part 20

NEXT

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

“But MDC is still...” Alix started and suddenly realization dawned on her. She finally connected the dots. From there, she realized more and more. It was like she woke up from some trance. Image of utter fear and regret on her face was priceless. “No…“

Alix run out of class just as madame bustier entered. 

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

After the matter with Akumatized Alix crashed the classroom and was defeated by ladybug and her team, the classes were canceled. Marinette spent the afternoon with Damian, happy to crush him several times in Ultimate Mecha Strike and several other games.

“Can we play something else now?” He moaned as the big red defeat displayed on the screen. He convinced her to go to arcade to have more choice, which proved to be his biggest mistake. The girl decimated him in absolutely everything. 

“Oh. Ish baby shad that I win?” Marinette tried to imitate english babytalk, but it did not really work in her favor.

“I see no dishonor in losing to a titular champion.” Damian tried to defend his ego, but she only giggled.

“I have an offer for you. If you beat me in any game, you can choose what we do tomorrow.” She tried to motivate him.

“You want to repeat it?” He asked surprised.

“Yes silly. I really like you… I mean spending you with time… No wait! Timing with you spend… Spending time with you! I like spending time with you!” She finally shouted, getting some confused looks from people around. That is until they met Damian’s gaze and run away before Marinette could get more embarrassed.

“I was just kinda... surprised. Not even my brothers want to spend that much time with me.”

“They aren’t married to you now, are they?”

“Only you Angel.” Damian grinned as she blushed deep shade of red. “I challenge you for a dance.”

“What?” She asked confused.

“tt. Dance Off. The game. You asked me to challenge you for a game. That is what I choose.” He explained.

“I… never played before.” She said a bit shyly. 

“Is that a surrender?” He gave her a challenging look.

“Dream on.” She retorted and moved to the panels in the back. there were no people currently using it so they jumped on the platforms. 

Damian confidently got into stance while Marinette just copied him. One of Jagged Stone’s older songs started playing. While the boy immediately started to follow the rhythm and get the perfect score, Marinette clumsily tried to follow his footsteps. She was off balance and hardly following the keys. She missed every third one and never scored perfect. She would definitely loose. 

She stopped dancing and took one deep breath. She focused on the song instead of just pressing the buttons. When she started dancing, there was no more clumsiness or flailing hands while losing balance. She was confident, strong and she would totally kick Damian’s ass in this game just as well as in the others. 

As Damian danced, he kept perfect score. If not for the fact that she’s beaten him in every single other game in this arcade, he would actually pity his wife. At least until she started to get perfect score too. Suddenly, they were moving in perfect synch with music and each other. A crowd gathered around them. People were cheering for them. He was pretty sure he heard some wolf whistles from the boys in the back that were directed to Marinette and he was pretty tempted to drop the game and just throw some things at them. Maybe exploding batarangs. Yeah. That would work… 

By the time they were getting to the final, Damian had a quite firm lead. Then, he heard someone from the crowd actually dare to call some slurs at Marinette and got distracted. It was something along the lines “I want to see your other moves”, He only slipped for a moment, hitting several wrong buttons while getting up, but Marinette got in the lead by mere ten points. She was completely unfazed by the cries and words of the crowd. It was like she was in her own world. Damian caught himself staring at her instead of dancing so he doubled the effort. In the end, she still won. 

“Yeah! You go babe! I want to...” Damian saw red. It was the same guy as before. He jumped over the railing that kept players from falling off the stage and punched the guy mid-air square in the face. There was a cracking sound and the idiot fell down with bloodied nose. The crowd dispersed as if it was never there.

Immediately, almost half a dozen of other guys appeared around to support their mate. 

“Now you just got yourself a problem boy.” One of them commented.

“Actually…” A new voice joined the ‘discussion’. “I think your friend is the one in trouble. He was calling my friend here some very inappropriate names and suggesting several less than legal things.” Alix rolled into the sight.

“So since the girl can’t take some compliments! Doesn’t mean he can punch our friend.”

“He is her boyfriend who was defending her from an elderly man. She is underage so get lost before I call the police.” Alix threatened them. While the idiots were distracted, Damian took the opportunity to grab normal dusters and put them on his fists. He was ready for a fight. The fact that this tugs didn’t pull knives or guns already was close to a miracle. If it was Gotham, he would have a gang-fight on his hands ready and set. 

“Sowwy madame.” The one with broken nose spoke, showing that he also lost some teeth. “I was not awawe of that. You looked so full of confidence that I fowgot myself.” He apologized and got lost with his friends as per instructions. 

“Ugh! I swear they keep getting in trouble.” Alix complained to himself. Damian was suddenly in front of her. Because of her rollerblades she was taller so he had to look up. 

“Excuse me, but where from do you know this criminals?” He started to interrogate her.

“Calm down Short Stack.” She cooled him off. “My brother and I sometimes volunteer at the homeless center. They tend to come there from time to time. One of this guys even works there.” She explained. 

Marinette walked to the scene and practically pulled away the still fuming Damian. “Thanks for the assist Alix.” There was an awkward silence interrupted only by Damian’s breath. He was not tired, only angry. 

“No problem.” Skater girl finally shrugged. “Listen Mari. I wanted to… apologize. Lila is a liar and an idiot. I was even bigger idiot for believing her.”

“tt. My plan worked at least partially I see…” Damian commented.

“Your… plan?!” Marinette shouted at him. “I asked you specifically not to do that because we will have another scarlet moth at our hands!” 

“I think that is something the two of you should solve between yourself so I will leave you to it.” She was about to ride away, but Alix took one last look over the shoulder. “Are we cool MDC?”

“Yes Alix. Yes we are.” Marinette smiled before making an angry face at Damian. Alix chuckled and zoomed away.

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

Late in the night Red Robin, Ladybug and Robin met in the Wayne Enterprises headquarters. 

“Anything new on hawkmoth?” She asked. It was more than a month of them working separately but so far there was little they could do.

“Well, I think I tracked the Akumas to this general area.” He pointed to the holograph map of Paris.

“This is like one-fourth of the city!” Damian was less than amused.

“It is still something. At least Akuma appear on camera.” He said, reffering to the time when Tikki (convinced by Marinette) sneaked into the building to switch Tim’s coffee for the non-caf version so he would get some sleep. He didn’t forgive her to this day, but he would not take vengeance when mr. I-stab-anyone-who-harms-her was on the same continent, much less the same city. 

“So we are not really that close.” Ladybug sighted.

“I do have some suspects. Out of the people in Paris who were not akumatized only handful match the criteria. And then, if you eliminate those who are not living in the area, then you have… an empty list.” 

“So hawkmoth only owns a hide-out in this area.”

“That would be hard, unless he works from the sewers.” Red Robin zoomed on the area. “This is stricltly living space. Not even that many shops. I also don’t believe a shop owner would have time to attack the city on so many occasions. At least not while keeping a steady revenue.”

“So we have literally no clue?”

“Well, if you take in account that Hawkmoth could somehow akumatize himself, we do have one solid lead.”

“Who?” Ladybug was very eager to finally be done with all of this and return to being a normal teenage girl.

“Gabriel Agreste.” Red Robin displayed a profile picture of the artist for reference.

——————————————————————————————————–

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[garbotuesday]

This Was Almost a Good Day

By @garbotuesday for @lbigreyhound13 for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: None

Relationships: Irondad

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, May Parker

Summary: Internal bleeding, blunt force trauma to the head, bones in shards, a heart rate that is rapidly dropping - but wasn’t Peter just on his way to the compound? What the hell could he get caught up in that would cause all that?

Super excited to have this done! I was strangely uninspired until the eleventh hour. 

Here’s how to ruin a Saturday morning.

Let’s break it down into steps:

Step 1 - start by finding a kid with spider powers and an unshakable moral foundation and give him a multimillion dollar super suit. People will tell you later this was not the greatest move. After the kid gets home and tries to go too hard too fast, you try to take it back, but it becomes pretty obvious that this kid needs the suit or he’s going to die in a fireball. Besides, he helped you out, and you like him a little bit. So you give it back, and this time you decide you’re going to be keeping a much closer eye on him. You offer him a spot on the team, and after he shocks the hell out of you by turning you down, start drafting preliminary ideas on how you can keep closer tabs on this kid.

Step 2 - that same day, field an angry phone call from the kid’s aunt who walked in on said kid in said super suit. You don’t really manage to get a word in edgewise as this woman goes through all five stages of grief on the phone with you. By the end of the phone call the only thing you’ve managed to do is meekly say that you’d like to teach him to be safe, and after a moment’s pause you get a “you had better,” hissed in your ear before the call is disconnected. You’re a little scared, so you text the kid and tell him that he needs to come over this weekend so they can start training him.

Step 3 - neglect to send Happy to pick the kid up to bring him to the compound. Now this one isn’t really your fault - you did offer, the day before in a text thread, but the kid turned you down and said he’d ride the subway. You mentioned to him that the subway line ended well before the compound, but after a minute more of texting you understand that he just wants to swing over. You should have put your foot down, you know you should have, but you were amused. Surely if the kid had managed to bring down a plane full of weapons without hurting anyone, he can manage a 30 minute swing to the compound.

And finally step 4 - forget exactly how deep that self-sacrificing thing goes with this kid.

Tony follows these steps and finds that he really should have seen some of this coming.

—

FRIDAY lets him know before Peter’s aunt does. FRIDAY’s overhead speakers let out a soft but urgent beep, grabbing Tony’s attention from his coffee. With no further prompting, a set of holographic statistics appear in his 3D work field. He recognizes that they’re coming from Peter’s suit, but he can’t make sense of what they’re saying to him. Internal bleeding, blunt force trauma to the head, bones in shards, a heart rate that is rapidly dropping - but wasn’t Peter just on his way to the compound? What the hell could he get caught up in that would cause all that?

“You have a call coming in on your phone,” FRIDAY says. “From Peter’s aunt.”

Tony hasn’t the faintest idea where his phone is, and FRIDAY seems to know that, because without his prompting the phone is answered and May’s voice comes from above him.

“Tony,” she says, and Tony can hear the raw red of panic in her voice.

“I see it,” he tells her. “It just popped up on my screen. Where are you?”

“I’m at the scene. I’m filling in as part of the first response team.”

Tony swallows, finds he can’t. Tries again. “How bad is it?”

“He isn’t here,” she whispers.

Tony blinks and checks the holograms again. They’re steadily getting worse in a way that has Tony standing now. “He already got taken to the hospital?”

“No, he’s just not here. He wasn’t here when we showed up.”

Tony pauses. “How can you tell that he should be there?”

“Two cars, head-on collision. They each have a large dent in the hood in the same spot that looks like …like hands..and-and like-” She can’t finish. She doesn’t have to. Tony can imagine the Peter-shaped divot in both cars where Peter put himself between them so the cars would hit him instead of each other.

“How is he not there if he - if he was -” Well shit. Tony can’t bring himself to say it either.

“I don’t know,” May whispers. “But can you - I mean I can’t - but I should -”

“I’ll find him,” Tony says. “You stay there. I’ll find him and I’ll take care of him.”

She goes quiet. “I still don’t trust you,” she finally says.

Tony swallows. “I know.”

They listen to each other breathe on the line for a moment longer before she gruffly says “prove me wrong, Stark,” and hangs up.

Tony takes a breath and puts his phone down. “Find him, FRIDAY.”

“Locating now,” she intones, dimming the lights on Tony’s work station and powering up the Iron Man suit in the corner. Tony lets the suit wrap around him and looks over the information on his HUD, searching for the tracking information from the secret trackers he installed after learning Peter couldn’t be trusted. The screen pings with the location and Tony takes off, arcing out through the window that opens whenever he gets into the suit. There is no inconspicuous way to shoot through the air as Iron Man, so he settles for being too fast to garner much more than passing attention. He hopes May sees the trail he leaves behind and feels somewhat comforted.

Tony finds him at his apartment, but on the roof instead of indoors. Tony lands on the roof and steps out of the suit in a frantic heap to find Peter laying flat against the rooftop. His mask is in his hands, palms over his eyes, and he’s making a small hiccuping grunt that sounds so pitiful Tony rushes straight for him.

“Peter,” he says, dropping down to his knees beside the kid. “Peter, I’m here.”

Peter pulls his hands away from his eyes and blinks at Tony. His face is red and tear tracks have cut through the grime on his cheeks, but he’s long since stopped crying. “Mr. Stark? H’w ‘re you here?”

“I came to find you,” Tony says, eyes roving over Peter’s body. “How bad is it?”

“’S fine,” Peter slurs, wiping his hands over his face. “Jus’ need a minute.”

Tony doesn’t love the idea of rolling his eyes at this kid who may or may not have a crushed midsection, but he definitely grits his teeth. “Yeah, that tracks. Two cars plow into you and I get the scariest vital report I’ve ever seen in my life, but sure, you just ‘need a minute’.”

Peter parts his fingers and eyes Tony curiously. “How’d you know? Suit rat me out?”

Now Tony glares. “Your aunt. She’s on the first response team today and got a little suspicious when she caught sight of two cars with the very distinct impression of her nephews handprints embedded in the goddamn hood.” He didn’t know he was yelling until Peter winced away from him with a look of pain on his face.

“Sorry,” Tony says immediately. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell. Not until we get you checked out.”

“I can’t move anymore,” Peter says flatly.

“I’ll pick you up in the suit, it’ll be-”

“No, I mean I cannot be physically moved from this spot,” Peter says, voice edge with desperation screaming please don’t touch me. “How I managed to swing all the way over here is a mystery to me, but I promise you, I will not be conscious if you try to move me.”

Tony looks him over, tries not to be panicked over the definite depression in Peter’s middle, and takes a breath. “Kid, moving you is non-negotiable. You need a hospital.” He opens his mouth to ask if Peter thinks his aunt could possibly borrow the ambulance when he stumbles over his words because fuck, something just clicked. “Is that why you bailed on the scene of the accident? So they wouldn’t take you to the hospital?”

There’s a half second of silence between the two of them. Peter blinks up at him, face pain-pinched and guilty, and Tony actually has to take a deep breath. Peter whimpers.

“I’m part spider,” Peter stutters. “My identity, you know, I mean, they’d be able to figure it out.”

“Okay,” Tony says. “Let’s pretend that any of that was a valid reason not to go to the hospital. What exactly was the plan once you hit the rooftop?”

Stop it, Tony snaps to himself. Peter is injured and you’re screaming at him.

Peter wipes his hands over his face. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You call me.” Tony’s voice is deep and furious, and it makes them both flinch. Tony continues. “When you’re on the roof of your building and you’re too injured to move, you call me, dammit!”

Peter blinks up at him with wide eyes. “Wh…why?”

Tony’s blood freezes. His heartbeat, which he could taste on his tongue, beats once and goes still. “What?”

Peter’s face scrunches up. “Why would I call you?”

It’s like being hit, the force of Tony’s shock. Why? Why?? “Why would you…kid, you -” Tony can’t even think. All he can sense is the taste of failure hot on the end of his tongue, the sharp startling realization that this kid was going to internally bleed to death on the hot roof of his apartment building instead of reaching out for help because he didn’t think he could call Tony.

There’s something there, something Tony isn’t ready to address that involves his own father’s irritation and the deep understanding that he would never be able to ask for help. Whatever it was it paid dividends - Peter isn’t even his kid and he already knows better than to trust Tony.

“I heal fast,” Peter mutters. His breath is starting to sound more difficult. “Didn’t want to..to bother you.”

And what reason would Peter have to think it was anything other than a bother? He and Happy haven’t exactly been subtle about how annoyed they’d been with Peter’s repeated calls and antics. And it can’t be denied that the phone calls began to become a bit much after the 80th one, but this is like…fuck, Tony doesn’t even know what to say about this. It’s only now that Tony realizes, despite what he told Peter when he gave him the suit, that Peter genuinely doesn’t know what the grey area looks like - either Peter tells them about every cat he sees during patrol or he dies on a roof in silence.

Tony hits a button on his watch and starts the process of requesting the fastest med-evac known to man to his location. He handpicks the nurses that will help them out for their discretion, not that it matters. He’s not going to let anyone see Peter’s face.

That done, he turns back to Peter, who he can tell is starting to fade into unconsciousness. “Try to stay with me,” Tony tells him. “Cavalry’s on the way, maybe three minutes out.”

“No hospital,” Peter bubbles.

“You’ll have whatever they think is necessary,” Tony says firmly, laying a hand on Peter’s arm. “I’ll deal with the rest of it.”

They sit in silence for a second before Tony gruffly says, “Just promise me you’ll call me next time.”

“Didn’t wann’ bo..botherooo.” Peter is almost completely down for the count.

Tony is quiet for a minute. He’s never been good at saying the heavy stuff, especially when he knows he should. But dammit, this is important. Tony unglues his tongue from the roof of his mouth and says, “you’re not a bother, Peter. If it has to be all or nothing, I’d rather have it all. Go back to telling me about your homework, and your friends, and the dogs you help rescue. I’ll only be bothered by the silence.”

“Oh. ‘Kay,” Peter says. His eyes have shut.

“I’m serious, Peter. If I go two days without hearing about your grades, there’ll be trouble.”

Tony is surprised by the sound of Peter’s rolling laugh, strained and breathless but entirely genuine. “’Sound like sucsh a dad,” he slurs.

A bit of wind whips around them and Tony looks up to see the med-evac, right on schedule. “Perhaps,” he says, looking dad at Peter’s relaxed form. “But no one will ever believe you.”

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ Love is a Battlefield (Arthur Kirkland/England)

Genre: Comedy, Fluff, Suggestive/16+, Romance ☁

Word Count: 1,582 ☁

Pairing: Reader x England ☁

World: Hetalia ☁

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

One of those nights

England had gone out drinking with America to celebrate the blue-eyed male’s three hundredth hamburger. England wasn’t happy to be dragged out to celebrate something as stupid and pointless as that. However, it was better than listening to said male whine and complain for the next five hours. At least if he was drunk, he wouldn’t remember the crap Alfred talked about when he finally sobered up.

Arthur downed another glass of scotch, slamming the glass onto the counter and watching the ice cubes rattle with the slightest movement. His mind was hazy and the words Alfred spoke were nothing more than gibberish to him. The blonde’s head was aching and the room span before his head fell onto the counter, a groan passing his lips as he tightly shut his green eyes to try and block out the pain.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You sighed in annoyance as you carried England into your home, dropping the half-conscious male onto the couch.

“Why’s your bloody room spinning?” he slurred, green eyes closing as a small groan left his lips.

You chuckled as you sat on the coffee table in front of him, chin in the palm of your hand, “That’s what happens when you get drunk, moron.”

He groaned again, reaching his hand up to tug on the hem of your shirt, “Get me some water.”

You grinned as a thought entered your mind. Standing up, you made your way into the kitchen, grabbing the largest glass you could find and filling it with ice-cold water. Returning to the living room, you stood over the male with an almost evil grin tugging at your lips. “Oh, Arthur~” you sang before dumping the contents of the glass over the male’s head.

He sprung up almost instantly with a yelp. “Bloody hell! What was that for, woman!?” he shivered, shaking his hair free of the drops and wrapping his arms around himself, “That was bloody cold, you git!”

You giggled in response, “You said you were thirsty, I was just trying to help~”

His eye twitched and he fell back on the couch with yet another groan, clutching his throbbing head. Even the small drops of water from the faucet were enough to send ripples of pain through his head. Knowing this, you made sure to make as much noise as you possibly could, and whenever he’d yell at you, you’d simply come back with “You shouldn’t have gotten drunk, idiot! It’s your own fault, now suffer.” while sticking your tongue out in a childish manner.

Ah, yes. It was just one of those nights.

“I’ll never get drunk again! Just please stop being so loud!” England moaned, clutching his blonde locks as he lay face down on the couch.

You chuckled in response, lips curling up into a satisfied smile.

Battle #1: Victory!

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Pain relief

“What’s wrong with you?” England asked as he stood in front of you. You were lying down on your bed, groaning in pain.

“My head. It hurts so bad~” you moaned, “Make it stop, Arthur~!”

Said male gulped as his eyes darted from your glassy eyes to your flushed face and parted lips which made way for more moans and groans of pain. His own cheeks tinted pink at the arousing sight. Were you doing it on purpose? Was it punishment for his drunken escapade a few nights ago?

“What’s wrong, Arthur?”

He saw your lips forming the words, but no sound reached his ears. The pounding of his heart blocked it all out. Against his will, Arthur’s body moved forward towards you. Seeing the approaching male with lust clouded green eyes made you turn over so you were facing him, hands out flat behind you in order to keep your body up.

“Uh, Arthur?”

The male ignored the call filled with confusion, pushing you back down into a lying position before climbing over you. He licked his lips, grinding his hips against your own, creating enough friction to earn a pleasure-filled moan from you. Hearing such a beautiful sound coming from such an intoxicating person made the beast within him awaken; England pounced, slamming his lips roughly against your own.

A groan left his throat and he ran his tongue along your bottom lip. You refused him until he bit down roughly on your bottom lip, causing you to gasp in surprise and open the door for the wet appendage. His tongue darted in immediately after, greedily exploring every inch of your mouth before letting it caress your own. His hand pushed your shirt up, exposing the skin beneath and his lower body was roughly grinding against you.

Feeling the need for air, he pulled back, a string of saliva connecting you both. Seeing you breathing heavy, eyes half-lidded and hair fanned out over the pillow… you were absolutely breathtaking in his eyes. He leaned back, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered to you in a low, husky voice. “Let me relieve your pain, love.”

A strangled moan left you as his hands explored your body, the sound muffled by his own mouth as he kissed you with so much passion and lust that neither of you had ever experienced before.

Battle #2: Defeated?

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Word on the street

You smiled as you ran your hand through Arthur’s blonde locks. You were both lying on the couch, the blonde sound asleep with his head resting snuggly against your chest. Your free arm was wrapped around his back, while his were secure around your middle.

For some reason, you began to reminisce about old times. One particular memory that floated to your mind was the time when Arthur had first asked you to be his significant other.

You had visited America’s birthday party…

> Flashback

You sat on the stool at the island in America’s kitchen, drinking a glass of soda. It had gotten dark by this point and the party had mellowed out considerably compared to how rowdy it was when it first began. Only Alfred’s closest friends remained.

England had been the first one to notice you when you arrived and his eyes had not strayed from you for more than a few moments at a time. He was nervous because he planned to ask you out. It was just a matter of getting up the nerve to do so.

“Go on!” America nudged him, sending him an encouraging wink and a thumbs up.

Arthur nodded, taking a deep breath before finally approaching you, “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hmm?” you paused just before the glass reached your lips, moving your gaze to meet his. You were surprised by the serious and determined expression the blonde wore.

He leaned against the counter, his lips pulled up into a smirk. “Word on the street is that you have a thing for me.”

Your cheeks turned a rosy pink as you cursed down at your soda. You should have known not to trust France…

“So, let’s not beat around the bush, love. Be my girlfriend?” On the outside, England was cool, calm and collected. On the inside, he was a raging battlefield of emotion. How could he say something so stupid? You were totally going to hit him.

To his surprise, you laughed softly, eyes lighting up. “I’d love to,”

He grinned, mentally breathing a sigh of relief.

> Present Day

You smiled warmly at the memory and England snuggled closer, his face now resting in the crook of your neck. Arthur Kirkland was an all-around idiot who often spoke too loudly, loved to argue with people, and had a weird obsession with invisible fairy tale characters, but you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Even if he was slightly crazy, you’d continue to love him forever.

Battle #3: Tied

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Always, all ways

You smiled as you leaned your head on England’s chest, eyes locked on the velvety black sky that shined brightly with thousands of stars. It was a clear night, without a cloud in sight, making the sky appear even bigger than normal.

You and Arthur were sitting outside on the roof, wrapped up in each other’s arms and gazing happily at the twinkling dots that hung above your head. It was a romantic atmosphere and the two of you decided to eat it up while you had the chance.

“Y/N?” England’s voice broke the silent barrier that had formed around you, voice low as if trying not to disturb the peaceful night.

“Yes, Arthur?” you responded with a tone just as soft.

“I love you,”

Those three simple words made the corners of your lips curl up into a smile. He had said it so many times to you in the past, but it seemed to sound better and better as time passed; you could never get enough of hearing it.

“I’ll always love you, in all ways, no matter what,” he whispered, his hand slowly stroking your back as he kissed the top of your head in an affectionate manner.

You snuggled closer to his warmth, hand lacing with his free one. “I love you too, Arthur. I love everything about you.”

He smiled, his arms tightening around you. It may have been out of character for him to act so fluffy, but that didn’t matter to either of you. He was being true to his feelings when it came to you and that was more than enough to satisfy you. You knew that you would always have Arthur Kirkland as your own and nothing would ever change that.

Battle #4: Tie~

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

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[sofreakinmanyfandoms]

November 14 - We’re Gonna Go Flirt with Superheroes

Some important notes:

1. Thank you to my amazing friend Dean for letting me use their delightful self as a character in this fic. You may all be jealous that I actually know this person.

2. Because Dean does not have the cleanest of language, this fic has significantly more swearing than anything else I've posted here. I still only put half as much language as normally spews from their mouth. Love you, babe.

3. I've never actually been to a hipster bar and it's been years since I've been to Portland. Please forgive me for any obvious errors.

4. I normally shy away from describing the reader too much, but honestly? I needed this. I needed to explore a bit what it's like being straight but looking gay, because while it's nothing compared to what the LGBT+ community goes through, it's something I get a lot of grief for from my conservative Christian extended family. I needed a fic where the main girl has short hair, okay? Okay.

Thanks for letting me vent myself in this fic.

Word count: 2416

Warnings: Language, mentions of cheating, if you’re homophobic you’ll hate this one so go suck an egg

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X short haired!hipster!Reader

“Ah, Portland,” Sam said with a sigh, looking around at the bar that was definitely owned by someone very hipster. “Remind me again why we’re here?”

“It was the closest city with the material Stark needs to fix the jet,” Steve reminded him. “He’ll have it ready by morning and we’ll be on our way back to the compound.”

“Friends,” Thor declared cheerily, throwing his arms around their shoulders, “despite our transport’s destruction, we have won a great victory this day! Let us celebrate, even if your Midgardian drinks are weaker than mother’s milk.”

Bucky followed behind them, feeling out of place as he took in the décor. The floor and ceiling were concrete, but the walls had been coated in what looked like disassembled pallets with wooden booths build out of the walls. The free-standing tables were giant spools and he was pretty sure no two chairs in the whole building matched. Whoever had been in charge of decorating had even taken the chalkboard menu trope to the extreme, making the whole wall behind the bar a blackboard instead of just hanging one up. Everything was decked out in old – sorry, “recycled” – netting and buoys, presumably ones that had seen actual use based on their condition. Also, Bucky had never seen so much flannel in his life.

He settled into a booth with Sam as Steve and Thor went to get their drinks. The other man was looking around, a determined expression on his face.

“Here’s where we get to the hard part,” Sam whispered to him. “Now we’ve gotta figure out which women are gay and which are just fashionable.

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows at his friend. “I don’t understand.”

Sam leaned back and nodded to the bar. “Well, normally you see a woman in skinny jeans, a plaid flannel, and a beanie? She’s a lesbian. But we’re in Portland, where that’s everyone’s style, so it gets harder. Like the chick on the end of the bar? Pixie cut, slouchy beanie, band tee that’s probably for some local group her friend is in under her open flannel, black jeans that look painted on, and totally ignoring the prime male specimens currently ordering our drinks in favor of her cell phone? Definitely gay. But that chick over there,” he subtly pointed to a nearly identically-dressed girl, shorter and with longer hair, who had definitely noticed Steve and Thor’s presence, “is either straight or bi. I can work with either of those.”

Snorting at his friend’s explanation, Bucky flashed a quick look back at the woman at the end of the bar. Sam was probably right. Too bad; she was beautiful, and he wouldn’t have minded getting to know her better.

----------

You sighed at your phone and shifted on your seat at the end of the bar. Your friend was late again; they were always late. According to the text chain you were receiving nearly non-stop, they were also probably already drunk, not that that was surprising anymore.

“Come on, Dean,” you muttered under your breath. “I need you here before he shows up.”

Five minutes later, your friend stumbled through the door, giggling madly at, well, you didn’t want to know what. They stumbled their way over to you and collapsed onto a stool.

“Why are we here?” Dean immediately began complaining. “I stick out like a sore thumb. I’m more goth than hipster, you know that.”

“We’re here because I nanny for the owner part-time so the drinks are free,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes. “You know fully well that any place becomes your scene when you don’t have to pay for alcohol.”

“True,” Dean replied with another giggle. “I didn’t have to pay at the last place either, because I’m fucking hot. Three guys and two girls bought me drinks.”

“Aaand, that’s it, you’re cut off for the night,” you sighed, asking the bartender for a coffee for your definitely drunk friend. “You did kill your makeup tonight, though. It looks great.”

“Damn right it does,” they slurred. “Hey, how come you didn’t tell me? I’d have gotten here a hell of a lot sooner if you’d told me there were Avengers in the building.”

You followed your friend’s line of sight to where there were in fact four members of the Avengers seated in a booth.

“Oh… I didn’t notice them.”

Dean scoffed and gave you that knowing look that you really hated. “You got lost in your phone again, didn’t you? Just in case he showed up.” The blush on your face was enough of an answer. “Damn it, woman, he’s a fucking asshole who never deserved you and I’d have killed him already if you weren’t so fucking concerned with whether or not things are legal.” They downed the rest of their coffee with a grimace and pushed themselves off the bar, grabbing for your hand. “Come on. We’re gonna go flirt with superheroes.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “Oh no. I am not going to talk to the Avengers with you while you’re drunk.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as they looked at you. “Then you have to promise me you’ll sing karaoke tonight. You haven’t done it since that bastard criticized your voice, and I miss hearing it. You’re fucking good, and you let that fucking moron rob us all of your beautiful songbird-ness.”

“I hope you realize how drunk you sound.”

“Do we have a deal or not? Because if I’m going to give up a shot at fucking Thor, it had better be for a good reason.”

You sighed. Your friend was always stubborn like this. “Fine, we have a deal.”

“Awesome! I get to pick your song.”

“Aw, hell, no…”

----------

Your ex showed up right before karaoke started as he always did.

“Look at the smug asshole,” Dean muttered into the drink they’d somehow managed to get despite your best efforts. They put on a comically feminine voice and mimicked, “I must sing every chance I get, for my voice is God’s gift to mankind and to deprive people of the joy of listening to it would be blasphemy of the highest fucking order!”

“Dean,” you sighed, “please behave. You’ve already gotten me to agree to singing again. You don’t need to start a scene with him, too.”

“I should cut off his fucking dick for cheating on you.”

Because you knew Dean, you were concerned they meant it. “Don’t. He did me a favor, helping me realize he wasn’t worth it. Now, did you sign me up for karaoke already, or do I need to do it?”

The grin they flashed you was even more concerning when paired with how much they’d had to drink. “I signed us both up. After you sing your mystery song – yes, you’ll have enough of an intro to figure out what it is and come in on time, they put the lyrics up anyway, you’ll be fine – I’ll blow your performance out of the water with a spectacular rendition of ‘Bang, Bang.’ Your ex won’t know what hit him.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” you said dryly, only to be horrified when your name was called first as karaoke started.

Dean laughed at the glare you threw them. “Go blow them all away with your magical voice, darling!”

“Y/N,” the bar’s owner said into his mic when you stepped up on stage. “It’s been far too long, m’lady! Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in a few months, it’s the lovely Y/N singing ‘Shake It Off’!”

“Really, Dean?” you asked, picking up your mic. “All the songs in the world to choose from and that’s the one you picked for me?” The regulars laughed at your teasing as Dean raised their beer in salute. Almost before you had a moment to collect yourself, the music was off and you could feel your ex studying you from his seat near the back with his new woman draped across him. You shut him out of your mind and focus and launched yourself into the song, determined to have fun even if you weren’t really drunk enough to do a Taylor Swift song for karaoke.

----------

Bucky hadn’t been paying attention to much other than his beer until the karaoke started. Their booth was set up at the perfect spot for watching the stage, and he chided himself for the way his heart jumped when you stepped on stage.

“Really, Dean?” you joked, shooting a look at your friend who did not look like – he? She? Bucky couldn’t tell which – would be interested in hanging out in a bar like this. Then you took a deep breath and wow, your whole demeanor changed as you started singing. It was like the song took over you and you had an entirely different energy about you.

“I go on too many dates, but I can’t make ‘em stay,” you sang, and Bucky watched you work the stage, using the mic stand to your theatrical advantage even as you held the mic in your hand. He’d say you were hamming it up for the crowd, but there was something about your performance that said maybe some of the words were hitting a little too close to home for you to be too flippant with them.

“My ex man brought his new girlfriend,” and he didn’t miss the way your eyes flickered to a couple in the back. “And to the fella over there with the hella good hair, why don’t you come on over baby? We can shake, shake, shake.”

He almost choked on his beer, because he could swear that during that last line you had looked over and winked at him in a very “I’m not a lesbian and I want to climb you like a tree” type way. Bucky’s eyes quickly flickered to Sam to see if the other man caught it, but if he had, he wasn’t giving any indication of it.

It had to have been the performance, right? You were just working the audience. When the song ended, he made sure to applaud, and soon your friend (Dean, the announcer called them) was on stage singing like they were, well, as hammered as they looked.

----------

“Come ooooonnnn,” Dean whined, tugging on your sleeve. “Y/N, they’re in town and they’re in this bar and Thor’s so hot I’m surprised I don’t have a sunburn yet. I can’t talk to them alone. Come flirt with me.”

Your friend wasn’t going to give up anytime soon, so you slammed back the rest of your drink and stood.

“Fine,” you said, “but if you look like you’re going to puke on an Avenger at any point I’m dragging you home.”

“Yay!” they cheered, immediately pulling you over to their table and sliding into the booth next to Thor. “Hello, gentlemen of the Avengers. My name is Dean, I’m genderfluid and pansexual and would gladly climb any of you. This is Y/N and she’s a straight prude but if you give her enough alcohol you might be able to get a nice make-out session with her.”

You groaned and rubbed your face with your hand. “Sorry for my friend here. They passed merely being drunk an hour before karaoke started.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” Captain America (YOU WERE TALKING TO CAPTAIN AMERICA?!?) said. “I’m Steve, and this is Bucky, Sam, and Thor.”

“Hi, Thor.” Dean batted their eyelashes and you choked back a snerk.

Bucky pushed at Sam and the two slid a little further back in the booth, making space for you to sit next to the soldier. He motioned to the seat and you slid next to him hesitantly.

“Sorry for interrupting your evening,” you apologized quietly, although Dean had long since tuned you out in favor of attempting to seduce the god of thunder. “Dean gets an idea their head and I’m basically stuck along for the ride.”

“It’s no problem,” Sam said smoothly. “I do have one question, though. Are you really straight?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, and Bucky thought that might be the nicest sound he’d ever heard. “Yes, I’m really straight. Most people are surprised, but my sense of style wasn’t enough to keep jerks from hitting on me so I got a haircut and fell in love with the style. It’s let me fly under the radar a lot more frequently, which is nice.”

“I can’t imagine how,” Bucky said, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “You’re beautiful.”

Before you could thank him, a voice to your left made you freeze.

“Y/N.”

Dean’s attention was snapped away from Thor and they stared down your ex. “Listen, asshole –”

“Dean.” You held up a finger to stop your friend before they made too much of a scene before entirely turning to your ex. “What do you want, Daniel?”

“It’s free karaoke time,” he crooned, ignoring how unwanted he obviously was. “I thought maybe we could do a duet together, for old time’s sake?”

You affixed him with a glare that would whither a plant. “Why on earth would I want to be reminded of our time together?”

That seemed to shake his confidence a bit. “I’m just being friendly,” he snapped.

“You don’t know how to just be friendly. We’re over, Daniel, so get over it already. If you really wanted me, you wouldn’t have cheated.”

“I believe you heard the lady,” Thor cut in before Daniel could reply. “She wishes for you to leave her alone, and I suggest you abide by her wishes.

For the first time he seemed to notice who you were sitting with, and he sulked off back to his date.

“Well,” Sam broke the silence that had fallen over the table, “I’m guessing that relationship being over is a good thing?”

You nodded. “Thank you,” you told Thor. “I appreciate the support.”

“Anytime, m’lady.”

----------

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky asked you softly a few minutes later when you had yet to join the table’s renewed conversation.

You shook your head. “He was a jerk who cheated on me so I got out. It was a long time ago.”

“How could anyone throw away someone like you?”

The earnest way he said it made you blush.

“His loss,” you whispered shyly.

Bucky only paused a moment before asking, “Could I make his loss my gain?”

“I’d like that,” you said with a smile. “I’d like that very much.”

[riverdalewriter]

Greendale to Riverdale |Ch. 1| {J.J x Reader Imagine}

Author’s note: This was not requested. This is also my very first writing piece. I am very excited for this one. I am hoping that this will become a really good series. Enjoy! Keep in mind this one is weird, it’s season 1 and 2 merged together. you won't see that merge until chapter 3.

Word count: 1,659

Character count: 8,681

y/n = your name

Summary: A new one comes to town and quickly befriends the core four, plus Kevin. They are welcomed to this town, no one bothers them and they trust their friends. They are loving their new home, but soon their mother gets in trouble, and everything comes tumbling down from there.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

I was looking out the window, the scenery was dark and beautiful. I saw a sign, that read “Welcome to Riverdale, The Town With Pep”. It didn’t seem like it was a town with pep. The town seemed like it had something dark happen to it. Eventually, we got to our new house. My parents started unpacking the car, while the moving guys helped unload the truck. I got out of the car, taking it all in for the first time.

We were going to live in yellow, two-story house with the white picket fence, it was sickening. But it was better than the house we were living in before. This town seemed better than Greendale. I was born and raised there, and I hated it. Hopefully, this town is better.

I heard people talking next door, I looked for the source. I stopped short of the garage, afraid of them noticing me, but I peaked a bit and I saw two teenage boys talking with two older men. One teenager had red hair, the other had dark hair and wore a crown beanie. It was strange, but I liked it. By their facial structures, the men they were talking to, were their fathers. They were a handsome bunch. I was intrigued by them, so I put my whole body into their view. The boy in the beanie noticed I was there and stopped talking, the others soon noticed me as well.

“Sorry to interrupt,  I couldn’t help myself. I had to know who you people were. My folks and I just moved next door. Just came from Greendale. I’m y/n, by the way.” They were hesitant, who wouldn’t be? They don’t know me, but soon enough one of the fathers speak up and introduced himself and his son.

“I’m Fred Andrew, this is my son Archie,” said one of the men, he pointed to the redhead. His father had dark hair and kind eyes. He was wearing a plaid buttoned up flannel with a grey top underneath, jeans and some sneakers. His hands were dirty, but they were also handcrafted. He worked with his hands, maybe construction. His son had red hair, kind eyes, his clothes told a different story. He was wearing jeans, converse a white top underneath and a red cardigan. I noticed the calluses on his fingertips, I assume he plays an instrument. I smiled at both of them.

“FP, FP Jones. This is my son, Jughead,” said the other man, he nodded to the boy in the beanie, the one that intrigued me the most. FP had thick, dark hair and dark, brooding eyes. He was wearing a black top with a leather jacket, jeans, and black boots. Jughead also had thick, dark, curly hair, but he had curious eyes. He wants to know who I am. He is also wearing a leather jacket, with an ‘S’ t-shirt, a plaid flannel tied around his waist, wearing his dark jeans hung low, but not too low and black converse, oh and of course his crowned-shaped beanie that has two pins on it. The kind of leather jackets they were wearing was associated with a gang. I know because there was one in Greendale and I would know what type of leather that is anywhere, I did hang around with those type of people back home.

I smile at the Jones’ and look at all of them, “Well, it is very nice to meet all of you. But I should get going. I don’t want to leave my family to do all of the unpacking.

Now it’s Monday, my first day of sophomore year, even though it’s been a month into the new school year. I had picked out a pair of high waisted shorts, a white camisole and my blue denim jacket along with my white converse. I put on a little makeup, make my hair look nice and grabbed my phone off of my bedside table. I walked downstairs and into the kitchen. I was greeted by my mother sitting at the counter. She was hungover, for the millionth time. I knew she wasn’t working late last night, she was just drinking every last bottle at the bar, like usual. I don’t know why I expected anything different.

“Hey, honey.”

“Hi, mom. I’m just going to grab a breakfast bar and my backpack and then I’m off to school.”

“Okay, sweetie. Have a great first day,” and with that, I head out the door. Over the last couple of days, I had befriended Archie and Jughead. I was surprised when later Thursday night they asked me to join them at Pop’s. From then on we all had just clicked and became friends. I walked up the school buildings outside stairs and opened up the schools' doors. I immediately find Jughead by Archie's locker. I am excited to see them.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?”

“Hey y/n. Jughead and I were just discussing that we, Betty and Veronica were going to Pop’s after school. You in?”

“Yeah, sure.”

As the first bell rings, Jughead and I head to science, while Archie heads to math. Jughead and I link pinkies so we don’t lose each other in the crowd of horney teenagers. As usual, science was boring and every class after that. I couldn’t wait until lunch. And then just like magic the bell rang signaling lunch. I jump out of my seat and head out of the history room. As soon as I am out of the building I head to the tables outside and sit down at one of them with my lunch. I am soon joined by Jughead, Kevin, Betty, and Veronica. I only know who the rest of them are because of pictures Jughead and Archie have shown me. Archie is nowhere in sight.

Lunch went on. I listened to the conversations, not wanting to interrupt. Soon enough it’s the end of the day and I am at my locker putting my books away. I close my locker and turn to leave, but I almost collide with Betty as she and I are both rounding the same corner in opposite directions.

“Ah! Betty, it’s you! I almost ran into you.”

“Sorry. I just wanted to see if you would join me on a walk to Pop’s?”

“Sure.”

“Great!” We walk out of the school and to Pop’s. We talk about pretty much anything and everything, about outfits, makeup trends, from politics to celebrities. Then, of course, Betty mentions the one topic I was trying to avoid: boys and dating.

“So, have you seen any recent cuties that you would be interested in?”

“No. You?”

“Are you serious right now? You know I like Archie, I always have.”

“Of course I know. I was just kidding.”

“But seriously y/n, who is it? If it’s not a recent cutie, then who do you fancy?”

“Fancy who?” I turn to find Veronica right by me.

“No one. Betty is just trying to get answers that aren’t there.” Veronica just nods her head. We turn the corner and the view Pop’s bright neon lights bring back some short-term memories. Pop’s has become my home away from home. We walk into the diner and take a seat in a booth. A waitress comes over, takes our orders and walks to the kitchen for Pop to make our food. The waitress comes back with our milkshakes and fries. Archie and Jughead haven’t arrived yet.

We get talking again. It’s about what I had missed while I was in Greendale for a bit. Yes, I have heard of what happened here, just not the details. I wasn’t really interested in it back home, but now I am. This kid Jason had gone missing over summer break. Jason and his twin sister Cheryl had gone down Sweetwater River in a boat. Cheryl had dropped her glove in the water and when Jason went to retrieve it for her, the boat tipped. The next thing that happened was Dilton Doyle and his troops had found Cheryl soaking wet, sitting at the edge of the river clearly crying. Jason was nowhere to be found. No one knew where he was back then. Everyone was talking about what might have happened to him. And everyone was coming up with theories.

After a while of talking about it, we switch to other topics. I had felt that I had known everything there was to know about it. I don’t listen to the other topics. I just rest my head on the window watching the raindrops race down the window. I hear the bell jingle, signaling someone new had walked into the shop. I hardly notice Jughead and Archie grab a seat at the booth. Jughead sits next to me and puts his hand on mine. I move my head from the window to him.

He mouths, ‘Are you okay?’

I mouth back, ‘I’m fine.’ He squeezes my hand before letting go of it. Veronica, Betty, Archie, and Jughead start talking about god knows what. I just put my head back on the window. I feel my phone buzz and I look at who is calling me. It’s the police station. ‘Oh no.’  I answer the call and accept the charges. I hear my moms voice through the phone. She’s slurring her words.

“Can you come to the police station to bail me out, sweetie? I need your help.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration, “Yeah, sure mom. Be right there. Just give me a moment to get my things.” I hang up the phone and motion for Jughead to scoot out of the booth to let me out. I grab my bag and head out the doors. I can feel the raindrops hitting my head. I make my way to the station. I walk through the doors and find Sheriff Keller. He knows why I’m here, and brings me to my mother.

[thelastspeecher]

Stan-at-Home - Chapter 5: Responsibility; Recovery

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6 Chapter 7   AO3

It’s finally here!  The next chapter of “Stan-at-Home”, my fic that takes place in an AU where Stan is a stay-at-home dad.  And as I was writing this chapter, I decided that, even with these super-long chapters, I can’t tell the story I want to tell in just six of them.  So as of right now, this fic will have seven chapters.  We’ll see if I write too much and I increase it to eight.  Anyways, in this chapter, Ford gets high, there are multiple surprise visits, and brain surgery has side effects.  Enjoy.

               “Ugh.”  Ford groaned without realizing what he was groaning about.  He was in a room, somewhere.  His surroundings were blurry, so he didn’t have his glasses on.  

               And…I’m not wearing underwear. Ford groaned again.  What happened?  Where am I?  There was rustling to his left.  He winced as someone carefully slid something onto his face.  The room became clear.  My glasses.  Okay then.  

               “Howdy there, sleepin’ beauty,” a voice said quietly.  Ford turned his head carefully.  He frowned at the woman sitting by his bed.  She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her.  “Stan actually just left to go pick up the kids.” She cocked her head.  “Everything all right, Stanford?  Doc said the surgery went well.”

               “Angie!” Ford burst out suddenly.  Angie jumped, startled.  

               “What?” she asked.

               “Nothing, I just- I remembered who you were,” Ford mumbled.  Angie raised an eyebrow in amusement.

               “Ya forgot me, huh?  At least ya figured it out.”  She leaned forward and adjusted one of Ford’s pillows.  The paperback novel that was sitting on her lap slid off.  “Oh, shoot,” she said in a good-natured tone, picking the book up again.  Ford looked at it with interest.

               “Is that a Star Trek novel?”

               “Hmm?  Oh, yes,” Angie replied.  

               “I didn’t take you for a Trekkie,” Ford remarked.  Angie chuckled.

               “Don’t think ya can call me that.  I only ever seen a few episodes of the show.  Mostly just read the books.”

               “Why?”

               “My older brother, Harper, he works in movie special effects.  I like them sci-fi things, mostly ‘cause of the biological implications of ‘em.  But I can’t watch a good old-fashioned space shootout without hearin’ Harper’s voice in the back of my mind, blabbin’ on and on ‘bout how they did it.”

               “He works in Hollywood?” Ford asked, surprised.  

               “Yep.”

               “Did he help with anything I might have seen?”

               “Oh, definitely,” Angie said, grinning.  “Ya ever heard of Indiana Jones?”

               “No.  There’s no possible way that your older brother worked on Raiders of the Lost Ark,” Ford said immediately.

               “He did.  His name’s in the credits.  Harper pointed it out to me.”

               “But that’s- your brother worked on a Spielberg film?”

               “Yep.  Got headhunted to work on the next one, too.”

               “Holy-”  Ford shook his head.  “That’s incredible.  Why did Fiddleford never tell me?”  The lighthearted smile on Angie’s face slipped away.  “…I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

               “No, it’s- it’s fine, Stanford,” Angie said in a falsely cheery voice. She bit her lip and looked down at her lap, carefully smoothing the fabric of her purple skirt.  Ford rubbed his eyes.  The room was fuzzy again, but this time not in sight.  Rather, it was fuzzy in feeling.  He could have sworn his body was lighter than usual, and a question he’d wanted to ask for two weeks suddenly didn’t seem inappropriate.

               “I’ve been wondering,” Ford said.  “Back when we met with Dr. Carmichael the first time, Stan said something.”  Angie frowned.

               “He was fairly quiet, though.”

               “True.  But when she asked him if he had any sons, he said ‘Not right now’.”  Ford looked at Angie.  “Are you going to have any sons?”

               “Is this yer way of askin’ me if I’m pregnant?” Angie asked.  “‘Cause I ain’t.  Not that it’s really yer business, anyways.”

               “No, I wasn’t talking about right now.  I mean, in the future, will you?”

               “Whether or not I have a son is a bit out of my control,” Angie said.  “I know Stan would like one.  He’s got grand ideas ‘bout baseball and other stereotypical father-son things.  Which is, frankly, ridiculous.  There’s a 50% chance that if we did have a son, he’d be more McGucket than Pines, and wouldn’t be a fan of baseball and grillin’ and whatever dads do with sons in movies.”

               “You’re dancing around the topic,” Ford said.  “I can tell because I do the same thing.”

               “Fine, I suppose I’ll tell ya what Stan ‘n I have planned, even though ya don’t need to know,” Angie said shortly.

               She didn’t need to be rude about it.

               “We’re plannin’ on at least one more kid.  Not fer a couple years, though.  We want the girls to be in kindergarten before they get a lil sibling.  And if that goes well, havin’ a fourth, when the third one is ‘bout two or three.”  Angie idly picked at her nails.  “It’s a couple more kids ‘n I planned on, but Stan loves bein’ a dad so much. And I love havin’ a big fam’ly.” She rolled her eyes.  “And even though the girls were a bit rough on me fer the nine months they lived in me, it wasn’t as bad as I was worried it’d be.”

               “Yes, so, what is it like to be pregnant?” Ford asked.  Angie eyed him.

               “Them drugs are somethin’ else, huh.”

               “I do feel a bit strange,” Ford conceded.  “You didn’t answer my question, though.”  He paused.  “But maybe you did.  If you’re willing to go through it two more times, it can’t be that bad.”

               “Oh, darlin’,” Angie said, shaking her head.  “Spoken like someone who won’t ever have to worry ‘bout bein’ pregnant.  It ain’t no walk in the park.  I mean, I couldn’t exactly take walks in the park when my feet swelled up.”

               “Really.  What else did the pregnancy do to your body?” Ford asked.  Angie looked at him, perplexed.  

               “Stanford, yer my brother-in-law, yes.  But that don’t really give ya authority to know my medical history.”

               “We’re family,” Ford cajoled, the words slurring together.  Angie adjusted his pillows again.  “You can tell me.”

               “I can, but I won’t.  Anyways, seems like yer ‘bout to pass out.  Get yer rest, Stanford.  If yer still curious ‘bout pregnancy when ya wake up, I’ll fetch the books Stan was given by my older brother.”  She stroked his head.  “Sleep well.”

----- 

               “Annnnd…done,” Stan said as he wrapped a hair tie around a clump of dark brown curls.  “You’re all ready to go, kiddo.”  Daisy, who had sat patiently on the floor while Stan braided her hair, jumped up eagerly. She kissed him on the cheek.

               “Thank you, Daddy!”

               “You got it, sweetie,” Stan replied, poking her nose.  Daisy giggled and ran off to play building blocks with Danny and Tate.  Stan leaned back on the couch with a sigh.  “Ford, those pain meds kickin’ in yet?” he asked idly.  There was no response.  “Stanford?”  Stan looked over.  Ford was sitting at the kitchen table, staring intently at a blue sippy cup in front of him.  He reached out a hand to touch the cup, seemingly engrossed by the cartoon characters decorating the sides.  Stan raised an eyebrow.  “Uh, Ford, that’s Danny’s drink, y’know.  If ya want juice, you need to get your own cup.”

               “Mm,” Ford mumbled, not looking away from the cup, which was half-full of apple juice from breakfast.  When Ford didn’t say anything, Stan prompted him.

               “Do you want juice, Ford?”  After a moment, Ford shook his head slowly.  “All right.  If ya do, lemme know.”  The phone rang.  Stan stood up, groaning quietly.  He walked over and picked up the phone.  “This is Stan speakin’.”

               “Stanley, did Stanford ever get ahold of you?” Ma Pines asked abruptly. Stan blinked, startled.

               “Uh, yeah, Mom.  He’s actually gonna be stayin’ with me for a bit.”

               “Okay, good.  He called me to get your number, but never followed up.  And you never called to tell me anything about him, either.  I got worried!”

               “Sorry ‘bout that,” Stan mumbled.  He cleared his throat.  “Actually, uh, I was about to call ya.”

               “Don’t lie to your mother.”

               “No, I really was!” Stan protested.  Danny looked up from her blocks to stare at him.  Stan winced, suddenly realizing how juvenile he had just sounded.

               And in front of my kids and nephew…oops.

               “What would make you suddenly wanna pick up a phone to call me?” Ma Pines demanded.  Stan rubbed the back of his neck and turned away from his daughter’s judgmental gaze.

               “My, um, my wife said I should,” Stan muttered.  

               “Your what?”

               “My wife.  Her- her name’s Angie.”

               “You got married?!  When did that happen?”

               “1978,” Stan replied quietly.  There was a pause.  “Uh, Mom?”

               “You got married four years ago and didn’t tell your mother?!”

               “…Yes, ma’am.”

               “You didn’t invite me!”

               “I didn’t want Pops to see the invitation and come,” Stan said quickly. “So I told Angie that you, uh, you weren’t around.”

               “‘Weren’t around’?  Stanley Pines, did you kill me off?” Ma Pines asked, in a low tone that suggested she was barely keeping her anger under control.

               “…Yeah,” Stan said reluctantly.  “And, uh, also my- my last name isn’t Pines anymore.  I took Angie’s last name,” he added quickly.

               “Huh.”  That last tidbit of information seemed to take Ma Pines by surprise, calming her anger for the moment.  “Well, that’s certainly something.”

               “The reason behind it is…complicated.  But Angie had no clue you were around, or she woulda called you by now.  She- she wanted me to say that.  She even wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget.”

               “Hmm.”

               “I think you’d like her.  Angie’s, uh, her family calls her a firecracker.”

               “She’d have to be, to be able to handle you.”

               “Yeah…”  Stan looked down at his feet.  “There’s one other thing I need to tell ya.”

               “And what would that be?” Ma Pines said cautiously.  Stan winced, well aware of how poorly his mother would take the news.

               “You’ve got two granddaughters,” Stan said.  He fought the urge to go hide in a bomb shelter somewhere.

               “What?!” Ma Pines yelped.

               “Twin girls.  Danica Viola and Daisy Leigh.  They’re about three years old now.  Funny story, actually, Angie was still goin’ to college when she got pregnant, so her kids went to her graduation.  Well, they’re her kids but they’re also mine.  I helped make ‘em,” Stan said.

               Stop, Stan.  You’re rambling.  

               “Danica and Daisy.”

               “Yes.”

               “You waited until my granddaughters were three to tell me about them?!”

               “I-”

               “Your address hasn’t changed since we last spoke, has it?”

               “No, I-”  Stan felt someone tug at his shirt.  He looked down.  “What is it, princess?” he asked Danny.  Danny pointed at the front door, which was wide open.

               “Uncle Ford’s gone,” she said quietly.  Stan’s heart stopped.

               Ford’s gone.  He’s a grown man that had brain surgery two weeks ago and is on a serious pain med high.  Shit shit shit.

               “Uh, Mom, I’m gonna have to call you back,” he said into the mouthpiece, his voice shaking slightly.  “Gotta situation over here.”

               “With twins, there’s always a situation,” Ma Pines said idly.  She hung up the phone.  Stan blindly slammed the phone in the general direction of the hook for a few times before he got it right.  

               “Good eye, Danny,” Stan said.  He fought back his panic and scooped Danny up in his arms.  “Daisy, Tate, come on, we gotta get shoes on!  We’re gonna go on a Ford hunt!”

----- 

               Angie opened the door to the room they set aside for children separated from their parents at the zoo.  Jim, one of the people who worked admissions, walked over to her quickly.

               “I got a page sayin’ I needed to pick someone up?” Angie asked.  Jim nodded.

               “Yeah, uh, this guy’s your brother-in-law, right?” Jim said, pointing to a man sitting on a bench.  Angie sighed.

               “Yes.  That’s him.”

               “So do you wanna take him home or…?”

               “I’ll call my husband in a minute.  Thanks, Jim,” Angie said.  Jim nodded.  Angie walked over to Ford and took a seat next to him.  “Stanford?”  Ford looked at her, a wide grin stretched across his face.

               “Hello, Dr. McGucket!” he said in a very loud voice.  Angie stifled a groan.

               “Did ya take yer meds today?” she asked.  Ford nodded.  “And after ya took yer meds-”

               “I left!” Ford said cheerfully.  He scoffed.  “I don’t need to be nannied by my twin brother.  Especially given that he’s the younger one.”  Feeling something tugging her pants leg, Angie looked down.  She blinked at the goat chewing on her slacks.

               “Stanford, do ya know this goat?” she asked slowly.

               “Yep!  Rented him.”

               “Why?”

               “Well, Apple is clearly not a dog,” Ford started.  “For one thing, he knows about my connections with Bill.  This is excruciatingly obvious.”

               “How do ya know, did Apple tell ya or somethin’?” Angie asked idly.  Ford frowned.

               “No.  I didn’t ask. I should ask.”

               “No, ya should go home.”  Ford shook his head.  “Stanford, ya can’t stay at the zoo all day.  Why did ya come here in the first place?”

               “So that the goat I rented could meet the other goats!” Ford chirped. Angie frowned.

               “What?” she asked.  Ford looked around carefully and then leaned closer to her.

               “I’m here to free the other animals,” he said in an exaggerated whisper. Angie stared at him, perplexed.

               “With…the goat?”

               “The goat is my accomplice.”

               “Uh-huh.  I’m goin’ to call Stan.  He’ll come pick ya up.”  Angie stood up.  Ford tugged at her shirt desperately.

               “Don’t leave me alone with them!” he said.  Angie looked at the people he was pointing toward.  She sighed.

               “They’re ‘bout six years old.  I highly doubt they’ll mug ya and steal the goat, darlin’.”

               “You don’t know!” Ford protested.  Angie groaned.

               “Just stay put while I call Stan!  Then I’ll come and protect ya from the children.”

               “And the goat.”

               “Yes, I will protect you and the goat.”

----- 

               “How did your dog even reach the shelves?” Ford asked.  Now officially a month post-operation, Ford’s pain medication had decreased to a more manageable dosage.  He was relieved to have his mind clear again, even if that meant he had to pick up some responsibilities.  For example, he was keeping an eye on the three children while Stan cleaned up the bathroom.

               “It’s a weird dog,” Stan said with a sigh.

               “Not only did it dig through the bathroom trash, but it somehow knocked over all the shampoo bottles.”

               “Don’t need a play-by-play, Sixer.”

               “I’m just impressed by your dog’s appetite for destruction.”  The doorbell rang.  

               “Ford, get it, would ya?” Stan asked.  

               “On it.”  Ford got up from the couch and opened the door.  He was face-to-face with two men, both of whom had very large noses.  The shorter one squinted at Ford with gray eyes.

               “Yer not Stan,” the stranger said.

               “Uh, no.  May I ask who you are?” Ford asked.  The man opened his mouth, but before he could speak, he was interrupted by a shout.

               “Unclute!” Daisy shrieked happily, running past Ford to grab onto the man’s leg.  The man chuckled.

               “Hey there, munchkin,” he said, crouching down, picking her up, and standing again.  He poked her belly.  “Gosh, yer bigger ‘n bigger each time I see ya.”  Daisy tugged on the man’s dark hair.  

               “We gotta new uncle!” she said exuberantly.  She pointed at Ford.  “He’s our Uncle Ford!”  The man smiled at Ford.

               “Howdy, the name’s Lute, the feller standin’ by me is my older brother, Harper.”

               “So this is the mysterious ‘Ford’,” Harper said.  He pushed his rectangular glasses further up the bridge of his nose.  “Howdy.”

               “Uh, hello.”

               “Who is it?” Stan called.

               “Two men named Lute and Harper!” Ford replied.

               “They’re Angie’s older brothers, let ‘em in,” Stan said.  Ford stood to the side.  The brothers filed in.  Harper made a beeline for Danny, who was building a very complex vehicle with her Legos.

               “Howdy, kidlet,” Harper said gently.  Danny beamed at him and, like her sister, embraced her uncle’s leg. Harper laughed.  “Yer just as clingy as yer ma used to be.”  Danny squeezed her uncle’s leg tighter.  Ford could see the family resemblance between Angie and her brothers.  Not only did all three have the same nose, but they had similar cheekbones, and Harper’s hair was the same color as Angie’s.  

               “So, Ford, I heard ‘bout who ya are,” Lute said.  Ford turned.  Lute had put Daisy down and was now staring at him, his arms crossed.  “Yer relation to Tate, fer one thing.”  At the sound of his name, Tate looked up from his picture book.

               “Uncle Lute?”

               “Oh, hey kidlet.  Didn’t see ya there,” Lute said.  Tate shrugged.  “Don’t worry, you ain’t in trouble.  Yer dad is, though.”

               “Okay,” Tate said, turning his attention back to his book.

               “In my defense-” Ford started.

               “Don’t care,” Lute said abruptly.  “Ya didn’t contact yer college roommate fer so long.  That’s yer own dang fault.  So is not tellin’ his fam’ly what happened to him.”

               “Look, I-”

               “Don’t bother arguin’ with Lute,” Stan said.  He walked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him. “Lute’s too dang stubborn to change his mind ‘bout anything.”  Stan smiled at his brothers-in-law.  “Hey, Lute, Harper.  Good to see ya again.”  Lute frowned at Stan.

               “I ain’t happy with ya either, Stan.”

               “Neither of us are,” Harper said.  “Ya lied to our baby sister.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly.

               “Yeah, I know I did a pretty shi- cruddy thing,” Stan said.  “But at least she knows now.”

               “The only reason she knows is ‘cause yer twin brother showed up out of the blue,” Lute pointed out.  “Ya weren’t even plannin’ on tellin’ her!  Is the Pines fam’ly just full of- of dishonorable men?”  

               “…‘Dishonorable men’?” Stan asked.  “Now I’m too amused to be scared of ya, McGucket.”  Lute crossed his arms.

               “What else am I s’posed to call the two of ya?” Lute asked.

               “To be fair, our older brother Shermie is, by all accounts, a decent guy,” Ford put in.  Lute raised an eyebrow.

               “So he must’ve taken up all the decentness when he was born then, huh?” Lute said.  Stan rolled his eyes.

               “Look, I get that you guys are upset,” Stan said.  “But we’re brothers now, right?”

               “Right,” Harper said after a beat.

               “Maybe cut me a bit of slack?  And I guess Ford, too.  He didn’t know about Tate.”

               “He should’ve,” Lute said immediately.

               “I’m not disagreein’ with ya,” Stan said.  

               “Thanks, Stan,” Ford muttered.  There was a clatter from the kitchen.

               “No, Gompers!” Danny said, detaching herself from Harper’s leg.  She padded over to the goat, who was digging through the trash it had just knocked over.  “Bad goat,” she said, patting him on the back.  Lute and Harper stared.

               “The goat’s new,” Lute said idly.

               “Yeah,” Stan said, walking over to the latest mess to pick it up.  He shoved the goat’s head away from him. “Ford rented it when he was on a pain med bender.  Somethin’ about proving Apple’s a chupacabra.  Of course, since Apple’s a dog, not a Mexican demon, nothin’ happened.”  Stan glared at Ford.  “Then Apple and the goat had to go and become friends, so the kids freaked out when Angie and I tried to return it.”

               “Uncle Ford got upset, too,” Daisy said helpfully.  

               “Oh yeah.  We had to buy the darn thing so that the literal children and my adult twin brother wouldn’t cry,” Stan finished.  Ford flushed.

               “Stanley, please.”

               “Hey, Daisy’s the one who brought it up.  You got a problem, talk to her,” Stan said, setting the trashcan upright again.

               “Uh, pain med bender?” Lute said slowly.  

               “Uncle Ford’s brain was broked,” Danny supplied, now hugging Gompers. “Doctors fixed it, but he was a bit funny after.”

               “Stanford, you had brain surgery?” Harper asked.  Ford nodded.

               “Yes.  Nothing too concerning, although it was decreasing my quality of life immensely,” Ford said.  Stan scoffed.

               “‘Nothing too concerning,’ he says,” Stan muttered under his breath.

               “If you’d told us, we would’ve been easier on ya,” Lute said.

               “…Oh,” Ford said, unsure of how to respond.

               “When Uncle Ford ran away, he got ice cream without us!” Daisy said.

               “Well, that’s just rude,” Lute said to his young niece.  

               “Yeah, Ford escaped when I turned my back for two minutes,” Stan explained.  “He bought an ice cream cone, rented a goat, and went to the zoo.”

               “Why would ya bring a goat to the zoo?  Zoo’s already got those,” Harper said, taking a seat on the couch.  Lute joined him.

               “The goat was my accomplice in freeing the animals from the petting zoo,” Ford said.  He let out a small chuckle, remembering the blissful ignorance of his scrambled mind.  “It all made perfect sense at the moment.”

               “It always does,” Harper said sagely.  

               “So how long are you two gonna stay?” Stan asked as he finally finished picking up the scattered pieces of trash.  “Ya have to stay for dinner.  Angie’d be upset if she missed ya.  But if you wanna stay overnight, you’ll have to camp in the living room.  Ford’s got the guestroom.”

               “Oh, no, we were just plannin’ on comin’ down fer a friendly scoldin’ and yellin’ session,” Lute said breezily.  “Don’t want to impose.”

               Apparently the McGuckets have a different definition of “friendly” than I do, if scolding and yelling qualifies. As though he could read Ford’s mind, Lute turned to Ford.

               “Now, this is a friendly session, trust me. If it weren’t, you’d prob’ly be in tears.”

               “After the things I’ve seen, not much can bring me to tears,” Ford remarked.

               “Aside from separating a goat and a dog,” Harper said, raising an eyebrow.

               “In my defense, they had befriended each other.  What sort of monster would break apart such a lovely relationship?” Ford replied.  Lute and Harper both chuckled.  Stan caught Ford’s eye and winked.  Ford knew what Stan would say later.

               “See?  Ya freaked out over Tate and the McGuckets.  But ya didn’t need to.  They’re good people, and even you can be a charmer when ya try to.”  

-----

               Ford handed Tate his backpack.

               “I’ve packed some pictures I took in the field, as a treat,” Ford told his son.  “Not- not the edible kind of treat.  Please don’t eat the pictures.”

               “It’s okay, Dad, I know,” Tate said calmly.  He cocked his head.  “What are they of?”

               “Our, ahem, mutual friend,” Ford said with a wink.  Tate’s eyes widened.

               “Bigfoot?”

               “The one and only.  Well, actually, there is more than one bigfoot.  There are whole societies of them, and Gravity Falls has one in the nearby mountain range.”

               “Wow.  Will you take me there?  Please?” Tate begged.  The doorbell rang.  Ford smiled.

               “If your mother gives me permission to take you next summer, or even sooner, absolutely,” he replied.  Tate beamed.  The doorbell rang again.  “I should get that.  It’s your mother, no doubt.”  Ford walked over and opened the front door.  Jenny McGucket smiled politely.

               “Stanford.  You look well.”

               “I feel better than I did last time we spoke.”

               “Clearly,” Jenny said.  She peered past Ford.  “Tater Tot! You ready to go?”

               “I need to say goodbye to folks first,” Tate said, running out of the living room.  He zipped into the girls’ bedroom, where Stan was helping Danny and Daisy get dressed.

               “Did Tate have a good time?” Jenny asked Ford.  

               “I believe so.  He’s quite the smart boy.”

               “Yes, he is.  I’m awful proud of him,” Jenny said.  “The two of you got along all right?”

               “Yes, we did.  And actually,” Ford said, deciding to be upfront, “I’d like to talk custody with you sometime.”

               “Custody?”

               “When Fiddleford returns, I assume the two of you will maintain primary custody.  But I’d like to have Tate during the summer, at least,” Ford said.  “The lion’s share of my research is done then, and Tate has shown a vested interest in my work.”  Jenny bit her lip.  “What? I thought you’d be happy that I’m trying to be an involved father.”

               “Oh, I am.  It’s just that…I’m not sure if you’re ready for it quite yet.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “You watched him for about a month and a half.  And you had help, from Stan and Angie, who both have more experience in childcare than you do.  On your own, in a different state, for three whole months?  I’m sorry, Stanford, I just don’t think you can handle it right now.”

               “Tate is-”

               “Very well-behaved, particularly for a child of his age.  But he’s still a child.”  Jenny smiled apologetically.  “Maybe we can begin the custody conversation after Fidds comes back.  It’s just- Stanford, were you ever left alone, in charge of the kids, during this entire time? Even for ten minutes?”

               “…No,” Ford conceded.  

               “I’m sorry to hit you with this right now,” Jenny said quietly.  “So soon after your surgery.”

               “It’s been seven weeks; I’m not an invalid anymore,” Ford said, bristling.

               “All right,” Jenny said after a moment, in a decidedly neutral tone.  “Tater Tot, we have to get going!”

               “Coming, Mom!” Tate called, running back to the front door.  “Dad, I need to say goodbye to you, too.”

               “Oh.  Of course.” Ford crouched down for a hug.  He squeezed his son tightly.

               Don’t think about how long it might be before you see him again.  Don’t do it.

               “Goodbye, Tate,” Ford said quietly.

               “Bye, Dad.”  Tate broke off the hug and beamed at him.  “Next summer, we’re gonna go find bigfoot, right?”

               “We’ll see,” Ford said with a weak smile.  

               “Bye, Stan, thank Angie for me, will ya?” Jenny called.

               “Yep!” Stan shouted back.  Jenny and Tate left the house, Tate making a small wave at Ford as he walked away.  Ford closed the door and leaned against it.

               “Damn,” Ford whispered.

               I can’t believe I’ve grown so attached to Tate, given the short amount of time that I’ve known him.  Maybe Fiddleford will be able to convince Jenny about the custody arrangement.  …No, that won’t happen.  Not after what I did.  Ford’s musings were cut short by his nieces rocketing down the hallway, shrieking at the tops of their lungs.

               “Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast!” Danny and Daisy yelled, racing through the living room and into the kitchen like twin tornadoes.  Despite himself, Ford cracked a half-smile at their innocent enthusiasm.  Stan followed his daughters at a more languid pace.  

               “Okay, gremlins,” Stan said, picking up his daughters and putting them in their chairs.  “Breakfast, it is.  Today is Leftover Wednesday.  On the menu, we have leftover hashbrowns, leftover pancakes, fruit, and toast.  What’ll it be?”

               “Corn stuff,” Daisy said promptly.

               “Did I say corn stuff was on the menu?” Stan asked.

               “…No.”

               “It’s Leftover Wednesday,” Stan reminded her.

               “Leftover corn stuff,” Danny suggested.  

               “There’s never any leftover corn stuff.  You monsters eat it like a plague of locusts,” Stan said, exasperated.  

               “What’s that?” Daisy asked.  Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

               “It’s when a bunch of grasshoppers eat all the crops and don’t leave anything behind,” Stan explained.  

               “I’m not a grasshopper!” Daisy protested.  

               “No, you’re pickier than one.  If you two don’t make up your minds soon, I’ll choose for you,” Stan said.

               “Fruit!” Danny yelled.

               “Cakepans!” Daisy shouted.  Stan winced slightly at his daughters’ loud voices, but carried on.

               “Hot or cold?” Stan asked.

               “Cold,” Daisy said.

               “Got it.  An order of fruit and an order of pancakes comin’ up,” Stan said.  Ford, who had been watching the exchange idly, frowned.

               Hmm.  That’s certainly an idea.  

               “Uh, Stan?” Ford said, after Stan had given his daughters their breakfasts.  Stan walked over.

               “Yeah?”

               “Could I- could I babysit the girls sometime?  So that I have more experience in taking care of children.”

               “This is a joke, right?” Stan said.  “Sixer, leave the comedy to the pros.”

               “It’s not a joke.”

               “You really wanna babysit my demon spawn?” Stan asked.  “You’ve been around, you know that the two of ‘em are hel- heck on wheels.”

               “Yes.  I’ve seen the chaos they seem to court, but I’ve also seen the methods you use to calm them down,” Ford said.  “Anyways, isn’t it my responsibility as an uncle to help supervise?”  Stan eyed him.

               “I’ll talk to Angie about it,” Stan said after a moment.  “Right now, go do your physical therapy.”

               “Very well,” Ford said.  

               It’s not much, but given how protective Stan is of his children, it’s a start.  Ford walked into the kitchen and took a seat next to Danny, who beamed at him.  Stan placed a sheet of paper and a comically large pencil in front of Ford.

               “What’s the task for today?” Ford asked, carefully picking up the pencil. He frowned at the tremors in his hand, which were not brought on from caffeine.  Rather, decreased mobility and usage of his dominant hand was one of the surgery’s side effects, along with slurred speech.  At his six week follow-up appointment, Ford had mentioned to Dr. Carmichael that, despite no longer using the pain medication, it seemed like he still was experiencing the medicine’s sedative abilities.  

               “You’ve had this since the operation?” Dr. Carmichael asked.

               “Yes, from the pain medication,” Ford replied. Dr. Carmichael shook her head.

               “No.  These symptoms are from the surgery.”  She took out a piece of paper and began to scribble on it.  “I’ll recommend you to a physical therapist and speech therapist, who will likely give you exercises you can do at home.”  Dr. Carmichael handed the paper to Ford.  “These are temporary, but only if you go through the therapy.”

               “Understood.”

               “You’re doing a drawing today,” Stan replied.

               “What am I drawing?”

               “As many plants as possible,” Stan said.  

               “Daddy!  Gotta go!” Daisy shrieked suddenly, rocking back and forth in her chair.  Stan’s eyes widened.

               “All right, kid, let’s do this,” Stan said, picking Daisy up.  He ran to the bathroom.  

               A few minutes later, Stan returned, holding Daisy again.  Ford looked up from his shakily-drawn lilies.

               “How’d it go?” Ford asked.  Stan beamed.

               “Daisy’s gettin’ closer to losin’ those nasty diapers.  Aren’t ya?” he cooed at his daughter.  Daisy giggled, clearly proud of herself.  “Can’t wait until I’m done with ‘em.”

               “You’ll be dealing with them again, though,” Ford pointed out.  Stan frowned.

               “What?”

               “Don’t you and Angie have plans for more children?”

               “Well, yeah, but not for a while, Sixer, geez.  Don’t scare me like that.  I thought you found a positive test in the trash or somethin’.”

               “Unlike your dog and goat, I don’t dig through the garbage,” Ford retorted, returning to his drawing.  

               “Yeah, and whose fault is it that I have a goat?” Stan said.  The doorbell rang.  “Saved by the bell, Poindexter.”

               “Sure,” Ford mumbled.  As Stan went to get the door, Ford focused on his exercise, carefully etching out a lopsided daisy.  

               “Pretty,” Danny said quietly.  Ford smiled at his niece.  

               “Thank you, Danny.”

               “My goodness, Stanley, why is your hair so long?” a familiar voice said. Ford’s heart leapt into his mouth. He turned.  Standing at the front door was someone he knew very well.  Stan seemed shell-shocked; he took a solid two minutes to croak out his startled response.

               “M-Mom?”

[neokollection]

Tutor Me - Taeil [3]

Ch. 1  -  Ch. 2  -  Ch. 3  -  Ch. 4

A/N: There’s so much stumbling in this and angst and idk how it got to this tbh lmao- talk about random character development. This is basically a shoujo manga now [probably bc I was reading one] No smut in this chapter-

Word Count: 1,113

You noticed the whispers in the hallways, the discreet glances aimed at you as you passed through the crowded halls.

“She’s out of his league.”

“What does she see in him?”

“She’s dating him for attention-”

Cautiously, you made your way to your classroom, your expectant eyes scanning the bare room for Taeil.

“Who do you think you are?!”

Taeil clenched his fists as Hansol’s hold of his collar constricted.

“She’s too good for you-” Hansol spat, shoving him to the ground.

The other boys snickered quietly as Taeil quickly stood, his gaze stern.

“You’re jealous” Taeil remarked, his smitten expression enraging Hansol further.

Hansol swore, his trembling fist swinging at Taeil. Stumbling, Taeil’s sly tongue soothed the saline blood oozing from his lip. He regained his posture soon after.  Taeil shoved Hansol, clenching his jaw in malice.

Taeyong intervened, nudging Hansol’s shoulder.

“Let’s go. He’s not worth it.”

Haughtily, Hansol strode toward the door of the rooftop, his several friends taking it as their cue.

You rushed up the stairs, tripping clumsily on occasion.  Finally, you reached toward the door hand before you, panting slightly.  You were bewildered to have it opened before you, Hansol’s broad chest making you stumble. You rubbed the tip of your nose gently, wincing from the unexpected contact. Your gaze fell upon his hand, his knuckles stained with a streak of blood.

“What happened?!”

You grew concerned, meeting his solemn gaze.

You noticed the band of boys behind him, glancing at one another. That was when you saw him. He stood far off, gazing at the bustling horizon before him, his arms draped over the railing. You tried to push past the group of boys, faltering as Hansol caught your arm. 

“Don’t touch me!” 

Taeil glanced toward the door as he heard your voice, his heart constricting as you emerged from the crowd. Immediately, he turned toward the low sun, watching as it’s rays filtered through the city.

“Taeil.”

He smiled to himself as you softly called to him, Hansol’s poignant words echoing through the thick air.

You leant against the railing beside him, your gentle gaze trailing over his delicate profile.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Why was-”

Taeil glanced at you, his disgruntled gaze interrupting you. Your words caught in your throat as you caught sight of his busted lip.

“Let’s end it.”

You stumbled over your words, your frail heart trembling pathetically at his cold tone.

“It’s only been two days-”

“I only hurt you,” he began his solemn gaze looking toward the sky, “and you only hurt me.”

Your sight slowly grew blurred.

“We’re only in love with the ideas of one another; we’re not meant to be together.”

You wanted to sob, to beg him to stay by you. You wanted to throw a tantrum, to demand he stay by you. 

“I will tell everyone you ended it” he announced.

“W-Why?”

“Girls like you are supposed to dump guys like me; think of your reputation.”

“I don’t care about my reputation! Did I ever mean anything to you?!”

He was silent, the school bell tolling in the distance. 

“I’m sorry.”

You sunk to the ground as he strode past you, your shoulders trembling as you attempted to hold back a pathetic sob. You heard the door close, signalling his leave.

As the days past, your heart grew heavier. He was as indifferent as ever, his tired gaze and solemn tone making your throat constrict. He ignored you, spending his time alone, either studying or staring into space.

“You need to get over him” your friend sighed from behind you, noticing your forlorn gaze.

“I can’t-”

“I’m going to throw a party, just for you. My parents have tons of liquor still from their Christmas party last week- I’ll even invite Hansol!”

“Don’t.”

“Alright, I won’t!”

You were intent on brushing her idea off. However, the temptation to forget about your heartbreak, even for one night silenced you.

“Finally!”

“I need a drink.”

The loud music and dim lights created a vibrant atmosphere, the obnoxious chatter of the guests creating an incoherent symphony of ruckus. 

You caught sight of Hansol, glaring at your friend in disbelief.

“Relax!”

You watched as she poured you a shot, grinning deviously.

Your vision slowly began to grow blurred, reminding you of when he ended it on the rooftop. You were supposed to get wasted and forget about him, yet here you were, sulking over him tipsily.

You stumbled to your feet, making your way through the sea of bodies. Warily, you left the party.

He was all you could think of. You missed his warm gaze that melted your heart, his soft lips, his flushed cheeks as he grew flustered. He had shown you a side you’d never known, a caring and foolish side.

You had walked for 15 minutes, clumsily stumbling as your feet seemed to drag. Your mind paid no attention to the possible consequences of your actions, knocking loudly on the door before you.

The door swung open, revealing Taeil’s bewildered gaze. You sprung toward him, engulfing him in an embrace.

“I missed you” you whispered, your words slightly slurred.

“Are you drunk?”

He closed the door, grasping your shoulders.

“Only a little-”

“Why the hell would you walk here drunk?! Do you know what time it is?! Do you know what could have happened-?!”

“I wanted to see you-”

You shrunk away as he raised his voice. He let out an exasperated sigh before pursing his lips. You giggled, reaching toward the hem of his boxers. He swatted your hand away, remaining stern. You frowned deeply, your frame slouching. Suddenly, you reached forward once again, this time grasping his manhood through his thin boxers. He stuttered, flustered from your sudden outburst.

“Love me!” you demanded, your hold constricting.

He winced, gripping your wrist harshly. 

“I do” he assured, coaxing you to release his stiffening length.

You released him, your sly hand slipping under his shirt instead.

“I want you,” you murmured, your hazy gaze entrancing his own, “you’re already hard.”

He grew flustered from your blunt observation, his stern facade faltering. You yanked on the hem of his shirt, his gaze finally level with your own. Brashly, you sloppily melded your lips with his own. A muffled groan escaped him as his back hit the wall, his eyes wide in bewilderment. Your mind grew hazy, the liquor and lack of oxygen dimming your senses.

Black.

Frantically, Taeil collected your limp body in his arms, stumbling from the doorway. He called out to you, panic-stricken as his calls went unanswered. He paused, your gentle breathing relaxing his rigid form.

“You’re too much” he heaved, frustrated.

Ch. 1  -  Ch. 2  -  Ch. 3  -  Ch. 4

[lazycranberrydoodles]

“red is DEFINITELY my color”

happy pride to bryce tankthrust, brandon rogers and co. in thrust we trust 🇺🇸 / follow if you love to see a girlboss abandoning her morals

[hollowhauntedheart]

EBONY DARK’NESS DEMENTIA RAVEN WAY ON TOP 💯💯💯

No cuz can we talk about how she had like the BEST fashion I’ve ever heard of??? I feel like people don’t give her enough credit for that!!!

‼️🔪PREPZ DNI‼️‼️

watched @strange-aeons’s reading of my immortal and i needed to draw ebony. i remember when i first read my immortal… it was 3am on a school night and i was having the time of me life. this outift is based off of the description in chapter 6? but also artist’s interpretation

follow for more goffik content🥀⛓