#he for sure jerks off to his own blueprints and how much better they are than the originals

[vialae]

reading about the hall of wonders and gortash truly has never had an original thought ever

the steel watchers AND the submarine too???

[weaselchild]

A Late Night Hunt

This is set before after Laque has managed to cap his leaking flow and adapted from an rp with a good friend of mine

There were shadows all around him. In the dim lighting of his bedroom, figures illuminated by the moonlight that streams through his open window danced at the corners of his eye as he so desperately tried to focus on the blueprints before him. His vision swam, eye wanting to chase those shadows further into the bedroom, beckoning his gaze towards sharp teeth and wide eyes; unnatural grins and spindly, dripping fingers that wanted to graze ever so lovingly over his face. But he kept his gaze on the paper, vision blurring ever so slightly with fatigue.

Something dripped onto his page. Iridescent and glowing. Flow splattered like tears on his papers. It was getting worse again. It always got worse before it gets better again. His body needed a break from the heavy restrictions he used to cap the ebb and flow of the world’s magic through him.

Letting out a groan of frustration, Laque let his head fall and forehead thump lightly against his desk. Whispering, chittering, laughing, roaring, the cacophony in his head continued, playfully echoing about the room, following figures out of his imagination, black shadows leaving a glowing magenta trail after them as they moved.

Sitting up again, he swivelled in his chair. Pink smeared across his cheek and on his sleeves as he considered what he’s about to ask.

“Did you want them for the night?”

And in the darkness, two eyes blinked back, torn from their simple thoughts of observing.

She was his shadow. A corporeal creature given existence by his acknowledgement, following wherever he goes.

Perhaps that was a little dramatic. She was her own person, after all. She just didn't care much about what that meant. Laque just was the only thing she cared about in this world, her overprotective tendencies never wavering at the sight of that living glass bottle of flow; that she could see the cracks claim more of every day. She knew she'd lost him once. Or was it twice? Between them, their memories of the past were still nonexistent and likely would never exist again. Three was a magic number, but not for the better in this grim fairytale.

She was his shadow. Her existence defined by his. She was one of Them. The Ones he created with the magic of his hallucinogenic-flow dreams. The only one sitting between his dreams and his reality without hurting him. Glowing flow splinters scattered from her jaws as his voice echoed through the dimly lit room. Like a panther she slid from the shadows to his presence, one fingertip trailing off an inky blackness in her shadow along the wall. It seems to shudder.

"Want what? Your furniture?" she whispers, voice low but scratchy. The urges were strong tonight. She’d have to slink out once he was asleep.

She watched a tired smile crack across his face at the perceived joke, the rough edges of his face softening. Her presence always brought him comfort, a familiar lower energy to complement his own. They had been companions since they both could remember (not long at all), perhaps longer.

"Them," he clarified, jerking his head to the corners of the room where the shadows felt most alive, writhing in an endless void, perhaps an amalgamation of various things he saw in his general day to day, making them a terror to behold. She isn’t sure. He isn’t too descriptive when he does see them.

And then one of them blinked at him, its emaciated body breaking from the mass to wind forward as its lidless eyes gaze upon the two of them. He saw its horrible face contort in what might have been the grin of a rotting corpse. More flow splattered across his clothing as he makes to remove his glass eye as distraction, lips curled back in a half snarl at the thought of how he was going to get the stain out of the carpet.

"They're restless. Their voices pound at my skull such that I think they may crack it open."

The emaciated figure knocked its head playfully, much to his annoyance. As if mocking him. Like an asshole. And then it crawled, spider-like, to rest its spiny fingers over Someone’s shoulder where she pulled its lips apart in a gruesome smile in a pathetic attempt to make it presentable.She dared a glance at her disfigured friend, a sweatdrop forming behind her neck. The chapaa hat she's wearing wasn't alive, but sometimes it seemed to move with the flow….like how it was drooping now a little, as if she was in trouble with a parent. And his followed, little ears twitching as if to show their connection.

"You know," she chanced a meek reply, just a little guilty.

The creatures had made their presence known to her not long before Laque's eye started bleeding flow, but she knew only Laque should be able to see them - or at least used to. Not eager to make him doubt his own sanity further, she took them away on regular hunts if only so that her dear friend could have some peace from their haunting presence. She had learned that the creatures cared for their unknowing master as well, much to both party's misery.

"I know… And I'm grateful. I probably would have lost my sanity having to deal with them on my own. I just didn't want to acknowledge them…"

The light thud of his eye on the table got her attention once more and she watched as he reached out to the oversaturated silks that have seen much use already. She frowned as she watched flow trickle down his neck, like blood from a dying body. Another minute or two, and they would have to be out of there. Tonight looked bad, and Laque was pale even under the moonlight.

With the wrap secured, he stood up, brushing his dirty hands off on his hoodie before removing it to clean up the rest like a rag. Without looking, he easily slotted up against her side, followed by two or three more blinking faces slowly coming into focus proper.

"They don't hurt you, right?"

"They hurt you," Someone replied quickly, leaning back against him, "and they know it. They don't want to. When did you notice?"

“I mean… It’s not hard to equate their and your disappearances when they happen at the same time. And they are far from my least favourite part of my symptoms." He gently knocked his head against her a second affectionately, bringing the stained hoodie to reinforce the cloth on his face before repeating his original question once more. "They don't hurt you, right?"

"They…don't. They uh. They make me more powerful? It's great. I don't even need arrows to hunt."

Powerful was an understatement. The flow energy transformed her entirely. She was much more akin to a beast than any human or Majiri in that form.

And she liked it. She was just not sure how Laque would react to it. What if it shocked his mental state enough that it affected the flow? She couldn't risk that right now. Absolutely not. She couldn't lose Laque again. Even if she couldn't remember how she'd lost him the first time.

But he snuggles against her more, hiding his head like a bunny as if to hide from the pounding in his skull. There was something hauntingly familiar about that look of pain. As if it wasn't just something she saw regularly, but before their life here together. She knew as much as he the effect that the hallucinations had on his dwindling sanity on nights like this, when the flow was too rough and restless enough that it gave his demons corporeal form. He wouldn't be able to sleep through it.

"Could you take them for tonight? They're too much."

"Was just about to."

Someone changed into her tank top before throwing a worn out cloak on top. No one needed to recognize her out there with Them. Nights like these were conflicting. She looked forward to the hunt, but the conditions for it hurt Laque.

But if he knew and he was actively asking her…

Maybe not so conflicting then. A small sigh escaped her as she puts their foreheads together in a moment of peace.

"Stay safe. I'll bring back some ingredients for breakfast."

Before Laque could say anything else, she slid off the sheets and silently stalked outside. Claws of neon violet protruded from her hands, connected to magical swirls that slither up her arm. The squeals of terror and calling voices were like a symphony of cacophony in her ears.

An eye in the midst of a swirling portal of magenta, disembodied.

She could feel the power behind her closed sockets now; the snap of pink electricity at her fingertips. They had to go.

"Prey," she hissed, voice like a snake. The shadows around her seemed to echo her statement, contorting in back breaking forms as they manifest from the ground. A small army of repulsive black bleeding upwards in a blasphemous act against the laws of physics. Not a moment later, they're gone.

Never does she feel closer to the feral violence of the land than in this form. With the wind in her hair and blood across her body, she threw her head back and howled’ joined by her friends of the night in a chorus of strangled pleas like the flow in her ears. The impressions of teeth and eyes swirled forth occasionally, the distinct shape of a creature showing through in the light of the two moons, otherwise shrouding her form in an almost protective darkness in the night.

There was always a comfort in the flow that supports her with the shadow creatures, like a gentle touch of Laque's presence. Then again it probably was, the shadow creatures that grant her these abilities were of his power, after all. They clung to Someone, melding around her form and acting as an extension to help track her prey. Instances like these where roles were almost reversed, in which she became the dominant and a part of him her shadow. A snare, an arrow, a boost of speed, whatever she needs to take down her prey, whatever would expend energy and work it off into the bay to join the ambient flow of the air.

She spat out a piece of flow wood, swiped before the small pack of humans descended upon the grove tonight. There was always plenty for everyone, so no one ever cared much about the strange break marks caused by her violent harvesting.

Sometimes she wondered if Laque could make flow wood himself by sleeping on a pile of logs. The creatures behind her begin to dissipate, making a series of sounds rsembling the hacking of flow trees. The energy around them had stabilized, meaning by extension, Laque must be in better shape. She could tell through the flow around her as well. By the time she returned, the creatures were all but thin air. She stood alone next to a large pile of neatly wrapped carcasses.

Blood and liquid Flow smeared her sides, coating her hands and teeth like a thick red glue. A curious expression settled on her face as she internally debates. Laque must be tired tonight, she'll wash up.

Ten minutes later she slipped into Laque's bed, still damp and bare from their pond. Snuggling her young companion is like her wolf's cozy den at the end of a long hunt as he turns over like a bunny looking for affection. He looked a lot better, the color having returned to his cheeks. The leak had already slowed to an almost drip, manageable now even by the oversaturated cloths he used as a makeshift eyepatch though the excess still smeared across her pale flesh. Maybe if she hugged him tight enough, he wouldn't see her friends for the night. Come morning they'll bathe and have breakfast with whatever she's brought back. Life as normal.

[intheticklecloset]

The Anticipation Game (Dr. Stone)

Summary: Gen really should have known that confessing anything to Senku would require an immediate experiment - especially his long-kept secret that he loves being tickled!

A/N: THE LITERAL BEST SENGEN PROMPT HOLY CRAP BUDDY!! I 100% HAD to have lee Gen for this one because come on - it's so perfect??? I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! ^^

Word Count: 1,476

@skribblz

Modern AU

~~~

“Senkuuuu,” Gen whined, covering up his dark red face so he wouldn’t have to see his boyfriend’s knowing smirk. “Just do it already!”

Senku – evil, experimental Senku – just smiled at him, splaying his fingers against the skin of Gen’s stomach beneath his t-shirt, keeping him pinned in place with a straddle so he couldn’t roll over or squirm away in embarrassment. The scientist loved seeing Gen like this. It was a rare treat – one he was going to enjoy every minute of while it lasted.

“What’s the matter, mentalist?” he teased, tapping his fingers gently, making his partner twitch in anticipation. “Regretting telling me your little secret?”

Gen whined again, louder this time. He blindly grasped for the pillow beneath his head and pulled it up and over to hide behind it, gripping it tightly. He couldn’t bear to see Senku looking at him like that – like he was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen in his life. It had taken every ounce of courage in his body to admit what he had. The least his evil boyfriend could do was indulge him a little!

“Hiding now, huh?” Senku tsked, curling his fingers just slightly, enough that the nails began to drag across Gen’s smooth skin. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Gen was buzzing from so much well-built anticipation; so much so that when the first ticklish touches finally started, his entire body jerked and he choked on a surprised but relieved giggle, gripping the pillow tighter, trying to muffle his own delight. He refused to speak now; he knew his voice would come out wobbly and giggly, and that would only embarrass him more.

“The silent treatment, too? That’s ude-ray, Gen~”

Don’t use my pig latin against me like that! Gen screamed in his head, giggling harder when Senku circled his navel. Not now! Not like this!

“All right, fine. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll just have to make you laugh.” Senku chuckled at the excited whimper he got from his partner beneath the pillow. “But first…you have to show me your face, mentalist.”

“No!” Gen cried, gripping his shield tighter when he felt hands enclose his wrists and tug gently, all ticklish touches having vanished. “I can’t look at you!”

Senku paused. “Are you really that embarrassed? I don’t think it’s weird, you know.”

“I know, but…but I…I just can’t look at you while you’re…” Gen trailed off, suddenly insecure again. “Will you…will you really not do it unless you can see my face?”

Another pause. Senku’s hands left Gen’s wrists, leaving a slight chill behind. A moment later, gentle squeezes along his sides made the mentalist arch his back with a squeal, bursting into relieved giggles once more.

“You really think I wouldn’t give you something you clearly love? Something that’s exceedingly simple for me to do? Come now, mentalist.” Senku suddenly pushed Gen’s shirt up to his chest and went wild, scribbling and scratching and poking all up and down his torso. “You know better than that.”

Gen squealed with elated giggles, gripping the pillow to resist the urge to bring his arms down, muffling his own cackles as he squirmed and dug his feet into the mattress, soaking in every ticklish touch, every brush of his boyfriend’s fingers that made him shudder and squeak and blush so hard he was sure he was running a fever.

“You’re too adorable, you know?” Senku chuckled, his tone gentle as he continued to play with Gen’s torso as though writing up a blueprint or creating a piece of art, drawing out the sweetest, bubbliest giggles from his partner. “I love that you love this. And I love you, Gen. Every ticklish bit of you.”

Don’t tease me! Gen pleaded in his mind, but he bit his lip to keep from saying it out loud. His whining was all the encouragement his scientist needed and he knew it.

“Now, in the name of science…” Senku suddenly darted up to his ribcage, tweaking each individual rib in a torturously ticklish fashion, methodical and precise as always, “…I must find your most ticklish spot.”

Gen squeaked, panicked excitement coursing through him. He tried arching his back again but only succeeded in opening himself up to further tickling.

“Interesting reaction~” Senku teased, scooting up slightly to pin Gen’s hips to the bed, keeping him from moving almost at all. “Am I getting close? Is that why you’re squirming so much?”

The scientist’s teasing was perhaps unintentional, but it didn’t matter. It messed with Gen just as much, making him shriek and giggle so hard he was practically laughing, his arms trembling with the effort to keep holding the pillow rather than protect himself.

“Is it in here?” Senku’s index fingers wiggled teasingly just under Gen’s armpits. “You’re shaking, mentalist. Does it tickle really bad here?”

Stop! Gen wanted to scream but didn’t. Not there – don’t tickle me there!

“Still not talking, huh?” Senku tsked playfully. “Ah, well. Guess I’ll find out for myself.”

The moment Senku drove his fingers under his arms, Gen lost the battle against his willpower and waged a new war against the pillow he’d been clutching so desperately, trying to throw it off but finding it wasn’t willing to move that easily, and he was laughing harder than he’d laughed in a long time with very little air to catch his breath, his arms and legs flailing as Senku – being Senku – honed in on that spot and stayed there.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! STOP, PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Gen screamed aloud this time, blindly shoving at any part of his boyfriend he could reach as he fought against the pillow. After several moments of screeching he finally ripped it away, and the first thing he saw – of course – was Senku’s wicked, wicked smile. “SEHEHEHEHEHEHENKU, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

“Oh? But you wanted this so badly,” Senku teased, merciless in both speech and touch. “You begged me to ‘just do it already,’ didn’t you?”

“YEHEHEHEHEHES, BUT – BUT PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!! IT TICKLES SO BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAD THEHEHEHEHEHEHERE!! SENKU!!”

Senku grinned at him evilly, but his eyes were soft and loving and full of so much adoration Gen almost couldn’t stand to be on the receiving end of it. “Got you to show me your face, didn’t I? And you’re talking to me now. I’d say I succeeded quite nicely, wouldn’t you?”

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

“Is this your worst spot? Answer honestly, mentalist; you know I’ll punish you if you lie to me.”

Gen clamped his arms to his sides, though it did little good. Senku’s fingers were trapped in there now, wiggling and digging relentlessly, making him scream with laughter as he kicked and babbled out whatever Senku wanted to hear. “YEHEHEHEHEHES IT’S BAHAHAHAHAD!! IT’S THE WOHOHOHOHOHOHORST!! SENKU, YOU JEHEHEHEHEHERK!! PLEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Senku slowed to a gradual halt, waiting for Gen to catch his breath and look at him before quirking an unamused brow. “Jerk?”

“N-No! I didn’t mean – I was just really worked up,” Gen said in a panic, worried that he’d made Senku angry after he’d been so kind to him about this whole thing. “I didn’t mean it—”

The scientist smiled – a full, bright smile – and gently took his wrists, pinning them to either side of his head as he pushed himself up to loom over his flustered partner. “I know. I just wanted to watch you squirm.”

Gen blushed, getting even more worked up when he realized Senku wasn’t just pinning him down playfully. He was really stuck – forced to look at his boyfriend dead on. “S-Senku…w-what are you doing now?”

“Messing with you.” Senku chuckled. “But I still have some experimenting to do. There are plenty of spots I haven’t tried yet that might be ticklish enough to make you scream again~”

“Y-You…jerk,” Gen muttered, unable to think of a better insult. “You’re sadistic.”

“Nah. I just love seeing you flustered. I’m really glad you shared this with me, Gen. It’s going to make things a lot more fun around here, don’t you think?”

Gen’s eyes widened. He bit his lip to keep from grinning.

Senku leaned down and kissed him softly, making sure his boyfriend was relaxed before pulling away and whispering in his ear. “But I was serious before. If you lied to me about your worst spot, I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”

“I didn’t lie,” Gen whispered back, feeling his heart flutter at the closeness of him, how completely in control he was right now. “S-See for yourself.”

Senku smirked. He let go of the mentalist’s wrists and turned around so he was facing the opposite way, the pads of his fingertips barely grazing Gen’s thighs, starting up his anticipation game all over again. Gen whined for what felt like the hundredth time, desperately aching for more already.

“Don’t worry.” The scientist’s matter-of-fact tone sent shivers down his boyfriend’s spine. “I will.”

[moregaythanyourealized]

First Impressions

Otto Octavius x reader

Working with others wasn’t your strong suit. People think you’re vulgar and rude. You like to call yourself brutally honest. This job wasn’t an exception. A science company that needed engineers, mechanics, and strong minds like your own. You had only been working here for a few months when gossip about a new super project was being passed around. No one bothered to tell you, of course. You just overheard it on your coffee break. Apparently some great scientist was coming in and taking over the entire lab.

Usually you’d be excited for an advancement in the world of fusion. But this new rich snobby scientist meant that for however long this project took you’d have; No office, Less working hours (meaning less pay), and worst of all....small talk

It was the day the new scientist was supposed to come in, you now knew his name was Otto Octavius. Your desk and your co workers desks were moved out of the lab and into a much smaller space. Cramping you all together like rats. You wore your usual attire and annoyed look as you entered the building. Although today you dawned some stylish eyeliner. Not for him of course, everybody was working extra hard to look presentable and professional. You passed by a co-worker who you didn’t really hate as much,

“Yo, Kathleen, is that guy here yet? Or do you think he’s too busy getting the windows on his lamborghini re-tinted?” You snorted at your own joke waiting for her response,

“Uh, he’s upstairs I think...in the lab.” You thanked her and walked up the steps. You pushed through nerds and geeks trying to reach your desk. A folder of your ideas carefully sealed with colorful clips sat in your drawer.

“L/n!” Turning around your boss was at the end of the hall stomping his feet,

“You were supposed to be in the lab by 7:30!” You glanced at the clock on the wall, 7:46,

“My apologies sir. I didn’t realize everyone would have a stick up their ass this morning. Besides traffic on the way here is always shitty.” You absentmindedly looked through your folder and took one page out pinning it to your cork board, until your boss grabbed your wrist and turned you towards him. His breath was heinous,

“Listen L/n, on a normal day I’d let you get away with being like this. But this is too important for you to fuck up.” glaring at you he released your arm,

“Get your shit together.” He spat. Waiting until he rounded the corner you groaned and tugged at your hair. Today just wasn’t your day. Taking a deep breath you smoothed out your shirt and walked to the lab pushing the door open and continuing inside. The colder air made you relax a bit. Hoping you’d be able to get some work done you sat down on a metal table in the corner. Crossing your legs and looking over blueprints for the next big thing in New York. The above ground bullet train. Sleek design and smooth riding on the rails...you hoped.

Kathleen walked in and shyly rapped your shoulder,

“Did you meet Mr Octavius?”

“He hasn’t come in yet.” You replied glancing her way, admiring how nice she looked even when she wasn’t trying,

“He’s right over there.” She points to a hunched over man in a red sweater. You got off the table and stared,

“That’s him? I thought he was like a janitor or some shit.” The man looked up raising a brow.

Fuck...probably said that too loud.

Waving awkwardly you grabbed Kathleen’s arm and dragged her over to the main table with you,

“Hello, I’m Dr Octavius. I believe we’ll be working together for the next few weeks.” He smiled sweetly and stuck out his hand which Kathleen accepted greatly,

“Actually Dr,” You chimed,

“You’ll be working with people from the east wing. They’re just letting you invade our entire office.” Kathleen stamped down on your foot lightly before turning back to the doctor,

“Y/n was just going to get me some coffee, do you want any Dr?” He nodded and you walked out making sure to slam the door. Stupid jerk, wearing a cute fucking sweater, trying to act all innocent. Trying to play god and mess with whatever sanity I have left. Pouring two cups of coffee you sighed, watching the steam spiral from the cup in a calming manner. Putting milk and sugar into one and nothing into the other.

Re-entering the lab Kathleen was no longer there. A disturbing silence made you want to turn on your radio. Octavius was still leaning over the desk writing things down. You held the drink infront of him,

“Oh, thank you sweetheart.” Your eye twitched. That was the final straw. You yanked the coffee back spilling it a bit,

“My name is Y/n L/n, I may not have your money or title but I expect the same respect you’d give any man on this team. Do you understand me?” He stood up quickly. You didn’t realize he was so tall,

“Now wait a moment Y/n, just a few minutes ago you were cursing and accusing me. Respect is about the last thing on my mind when I think of you.” Ah shit, he was kinda right. You weren’t mad at him. You were just mad at the world. Still you had bad energy in your system,

“But I apologize for calling you sweetheart. It was a crude mistake.” You set both coffees down gently and folded your arms looking at your boots. Saying sorry was the right thing to do, even if it sucked,

“I’m sorry for the way I acted Dr, I guess I’m just a little upset with the pay cuts.” He paused,

“They’re cutting your pay?” You nodded and sat down in one of the metal chairs,

“Everyone here who doesn’t work 24/7 alongside you for the next month gets their pay cut in half until you’re out of here.”

“But you didn’t choose to work less, that doesn’t seem right.” You sighed and rested your head on the table,

“Tell me about it.” While enjoying the feeling of cool table on your cheek you noticed one of his papers. You grabbed it and a pencil before erasing some of his math. You could feel him focused on you,

“Staring is rude.” You said not taking your eyes off the equations,

“You seem to be as well.” Chuckling a bit he sat down and tapped your hand drawing your attention to his soft features,

“I think I know what’s bothering you.”

“I already told you what’s bothering me.” He shook his head and clicked his tongue,

“No, not that. When you left for coffee, Kathleen and I had a small talk about your behavior” Jesus, he sounds like a high school principal,

“She told me that you act like this a lot around other people. And it’s my personal hypothesis that you are intimidated by others who you believe to be smarter or better. You’re afraid of losing your job and not being able to prove yourself. I’m assuming that started in your childhood, either with an absent father figure or bullies at school.” You sat in disbelief. No one had ever really laid out your problems and made them seem so simple. Your face heated up and you clenched your hands. Why did this make you feel so stupid? Why did he think he knew more about your feelings than you did?

Standing up you turned away. Once a demanding and harsh voice was now quiet and small failing to hide your distraught,

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

————————————————

The rest of the day was slow. Your desk felt like a prison where time never moved forward. Rethinking what he said. The repeated movie in your brain of him lecturing you, All of it slowly morphed into him not making noise at all. His mouth moved but no sound, it was wonderful. You just imagined him, dark eyes, large stature looming over you, soft hands....

“Y/n?”

“Fuck!” You hit your head against the wall and turned to see Kathleen. She leaned in to make sure you’re okay, her perfume hit your nose and you tried not to seem like you were enjoying the moment too much,

“What do you need Kathy?”

“Dr Octavius asked me to give this to you.” She handed you an envelope and hastily exited the room. The crisp paper unfolded in your hands. Reading the letter was like fiery kisses to your skin. Words pouring out like water from a faucet.

Y/n,

We obviously got off on the wrong foot. I do not think of you as a subordinate and I certainly hope you do not think of me as a threat. We both overstepped personal and professional boundaries today. I apologize sincerely for making you uncomfortable. What is science if not testing the waters though? To show my attitude towards a better future working together I invite you to lunch tomorrow downtown. I will pick you up outside at 12:30

All the best,

Dr Otto Octavius

Pinning the letter up next to your project on the cork board you admired it smiling. Perhaps second impressions will set you both straight.

[firefly-in-darkness]

Life on Hold

Pairing → Bucky Barnes x Reader

Characters → Marvel Characters

Summary → Y/N is pulled out of retirement by Fury, and Bucky is the one to break the news.

Word Count → 2.8k

Prompt → ‘You must be out of your goddamn mind’ for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ Hamilfilm Lyric Challenge 

SSB2021 Square Fill → ‘Where’s the fight?’ - @star-spangled-bingo

Warnings → 18+. Fluff, Angst, Smut. Swearing.

Betas → @daydream3r-xo​ & @fandomfic-galore​ // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → This is my first time taking part in a bingo card and what better way to kick it off than with our boy Bucky and the trifecta of angst, fluff & smut! Hope you enjoy - comments & reblogs are always adored!

Firefly’s Masterlist // Star Spangled Bingo 2021

Fury entered the conference room at Stark Tower with his usually authoritative, no bullshit attitude and the black leather jacket flowing behind him. The Avengers immediately halted their actions; Natasha and Clint gave each other a knowing side-eye, Bucky and Steve placed down their coffees while Wanda, Vision and Bruce stopped their conversation, mid-flow, to turn their attentions to the director.

“Where’s Stark?” Fury looked around for the billionaire, but he was nowhere to be seen.

A voice came through the speakers, “I’m here. Just not here, here.”

Fury turned to the camera in the corner, “Stark, I suggest you get in here now.”

“No can do boss, I’m a little tied up doing good for the community at the moment.” The Iron Man suit’s HUD display appeared in the centre of the room above the table with Stark’s signature smirk, “I’m listening.”

The holographic display changed with the flick of Fury’s hand; Stark’s face appearing in the top right corner while the other information appeared larger. A selection of blueprints for a fortified base, images of various Hydra agents and satellite footage of the surrounding area. Steve flicked through the same information on the tablet in his lap while the rest of the team continued to look at display or Fury for further instruction.

“As you can see, we have collected a lot of information about this particular base. The only problem is that we are struggling to infiltrate it. Our agents have explored every possible way to get inside but it’s becoming more obvious that whatever is happening inside that warehouse is something for the Avengers to deal with.” Fury continued as he walked around the room, hands behind his back.

“What attempts have been made?” Steve asked, the stern tone of Captain America coming through.

The Avengers watched the footage that enlarged in front of Nick Fury; a group of agents moving as one through the dense snow-covered forest until they were repelled back twenty feet.

“That’s the issue. We’ve tried to go through it, over it and under it. We can’t get in so I need the best on this,” Fury pointed at the repeated clip of the soldiers being hit with the force field, “Romanoff, Barton; get reading up on those reports, see if you can find anything that stands out. Maximoff and Vision, start looking into what that force field is and whether you remember it from your Strucker days. Stark, I need you back here for the final briefing by 1800 hours.”

The four Avengers nodded at the director and left the room. Stark disconnected and the hologram disappeared. Bucky remained silent, watching Fury’s every move while Steve reclined in the chair, spinning it towards the director.

“And what about us Sir?” Steve asked, his body tense and irritation not going unnoticed by the remaining attendees.

“I said I needed my best.” Fury pressed his hands against the back of a vacant seat, looking straight to Bucky. “There’s only one person that can help us with this one.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened and he barked in response, “No!”

“He’s right, Buck.” Steve turned to him with a small smile, “we’re going to need all the help we can get. Who knows what’s going on down there?”

“You must be out of your goddamn mind.” Bucky pushed the chair back forcefully and walked to the door, yanking it open. He paused looking back at Steve and Fury, “and I guess, I’m going to be the one to break the news, aren’t I?”

The bell above the door chimed as Bucky entered the florist; he was hit with a multitude of colours and smells that were incredible but the one thing that stood out most to him was the woman tucked between sunflowers and dahlias with an older gentleman. His heart raced at Y/N’s beaming smile as she gathered up the flowers and rang up the cost on the register.

Bucky preoccupied himself with the assortment of blooms and the trinkets scattered around the small shop while she continued to chat with the gentleman, he tried not to listen in to the conversation, but he had to gauge her mood before he approached her, not that she didn’t already know he was there.

“Mr Lee, you cannot make those eyes at me when you’re buying flowers for your wife!” Y/N laughed, “send her my best and that I’ll see her on Sunday for the bake sale.”

“You’ll realise that I’m the one for you sooner or later.” The man waved and passed Bucky, leaving the shop with another jingle of the bell.

Bucky had watched the man leave as he thought of how impressed he was with the way Y/N had settled into this town after a few months. He’d always been impressed with the woman that had managed to retire and find her feet so seamlessly. 

Without turning around, Bucky knew that she was now behind him and her hands would be placed on her hips, a sideways pout on her lips as she waited for him to pay her attention.

“Seeing as we only saw each other on Thursday, Buck, and if someone had died, you’d have called, what could you possibly need on this wonderful Sunday afternoon? Did you miss me that much?” She giggled but then she saw the seriousness in his face once he’d turned around. “Shop closes in an hour; I’ll be up in a bit.”

Bucky felt guilty for dimming the sparkle in Y/N’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, she was silent with a blank expression as she unlocked the door leading to her apartment. He’d never experienced the receiving end of the anger that was smothering the atmosphere. Of course, he’d witnessed it aimed at others but never at this level towards himself. 

Y/N kicked off her trainers and untied her apron, slamming it down on the kitchen table. Her fingers clenched around the fabric, and her jaw ticked before she turned to Bucky. He leaned against the door frame and explained how she needed to come out of retirement for a mission, giving her the details about the force field that the SHIELD agents were unable to penetrate.

Bucky waited for Y/N to speak, he learnt long ago that he had to leave her to process whatever it was that was racing through her mind. Y/N had her back to him, one hand gripping the counter and the other holding tightly onto the knife that she’d retrieved to chop vegetables. She turned around and opened her mouth, only for no words to come out and for her to continue preparing dinner. 

The pain and fear that flicked across her features were motivation enough for Bucky to get closer, he strode over and placed his hands on her hips. He felt the tension drop from her body at his touch, a sense of pride swelled as she leant her back into his chest.

“It’s been 113 days since I left. You can’t come here and ask this of me.” Y/N’s voice cracked, and her eyes glossed over as she waved the knife around in front of her, the peppers no longer being diced. 

Bucky’s fingers held her wrist to stop the kitchen utensil from turning into a weapon and rest his chin on her shoulder, “I know doll, but you know why I was sent and not Steve or Fury himself.”

“Yeah, ‘cos they know y’all sweet talk me ‘round.” She scoffed and dropped the knife down with a clatter, turning in his arms to look at him. Her arms wrapped around his neck and fingers threaded through the loose strands while a smirk crept up her face, “and they knew that I wouldn’t castrate you either.”

Bucky chuckled and nudged his nose against hers before their lips lightly brushed one another, a soft peck and Y/N unravelled and continued with prepping the food. Stirring the partly prepared sauce heating on the stove, Bucky watched her form soften but he knew that it would be short-lived.

“Where’s the fight?” She whispered, as if she already knew but didn’t want to believe it.

“Poland.” He slipped back and took a seat at the kitchen table, knowing that she would turn around in an instant with another burst of anger. 

And as if on cue, Y/N threw a tomato at the wall to her left, the juices staining the neutral paint as it slid down. She whirled around and pointed the wooden spoon at him, “I can’t believe those jerks! They don’t even have the balls to talk to me themselves and instead, they send my lovely, innocent and ridiculously handsome boyfriend to woo me into returning to the field.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call myself innocent.” Bucky tried to lighten the mood, but it had the opposite effect.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Y/N paced the length of the kitchen in a few steps before spinning around and walking back again. Defeated with the inevitable of visiting the country she grew up in, she collapsed on Bucky’s lap. “What about my shop? Do they not realise that I have a business to run? I’m not an Avenger, I'm just an ordinary civilian.”

“You’re everything but ordinary.” His arms pulled Y/N closer to him, her head burrowing under his chin, “It’s okay sweetheart, Diane can run the place in your absence, she knows what she’s doing. We’ll be gone a week at most. I made sure to get a month of vacation off afterwards so we can do this place up.”

Y/N’s head snapped up, bashing Bucky’s chin making him bite the inside of his cheek. The blood filled his mouth, but he swallowed it down and cupped her face at the sight of the unshed tears in her eyes.

“Really? Do you mean that? Because being with you for one night every two weeks is horrible.” Her bottom lip poked out and Bucky wobbled it with his index finger.

“Yes, of course, doll.” He smiled and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

“Hold up!” Y/N pulled away from him, her hands pressed firmly into his chest, “you’re sweet talkin’ me, aren’t you?”

“Nothing gets past you.” Bucky’s head fell back as the laughter rumbled through his chest and Y/N stood up. He swatted her butt cheek, “get a move on with dinner, we have to leave in an hour.”

“James Buchanan Barnes!” She spun around, a feigned look of shock and her hand clutched to her chest. Her agape mouth dropped into a smirk as she leant forward, rubbing her nose against his. “If you’re still into this sweet talkin’ thing…” 

Y/N spun on her heel and with a sway of her hips, wandered to the door. She looked back over her shoulder, “well, are you coming or what?”

Bucky was on his feet in seconds, chasing her down the corridor. Giggles filled the apartment as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her into the air. He fell backwards onto the bed, dropping her to his side gracefully. 

Both looked at the other, full of smiles and breathless from the short jog. The contrast of cold metal against Y/N’s warm cheek sent a shiver down her spine, and the way Bucky focused on her lips filled her core with want. The laughter died down and desire took over, as their faces inched closer and until they were ghosting over each other’s lips.

“Thought I had to sweet talk you, doll?” Bucky mumbled against Y/N’s parted mouth; his beard scratched deliciously against her.

In retaliation, she pushed on top of him, straddling his waist and feeling the rough texture of the tactical gear hidden beneath the hoodie, “well, what can I see, could never resist a man in Kevlar.”

Y/N ducked down and pressed a light peck to Bucky’s lips. He immediately took control, his hand holding the back of her head and deepening the kiss while his hardening groin rubbed against her clothed sex.

All thoughts of the mission and Poland disappeared with each item of clothing they discarded. Their minds focused on bringing the other to the edge of ecstasy with every kiss, lick, and stroke. Their bodies hummed with desire and need, entangled together above the sheets.

Bucky pinned Y/N to the bed, holding her hands above her head in his grip while he peppered kisses down her neck, and across her now beautifully exposed body. His hold loosened as he neared her sensitive parts, the mewling sounds above him sent repeated shocks of pleasure to his already stiff member.

Y/N couldn’t handle the wait any longer, her hips tilting up towards in demand of his mouth. It was oh so close but still far away from her bundle of nerves, “please Bucky, I need you.”

Not one to disappoint or let his girl beg for too long, Bucky teased her drenched cunt with his fingertips. She whimpered in response, pride swelled in his chest and pushed him to lick a stripe through her lips, tongue swirling over her clit.

“Fuck” Y/N stuttered out; one hand tugged on his locks while the other palmed her breasts.

Bucky moaned, the vibrations pushing Y/N closer to her orgasm. He continued to eat her cunt with ferocity. Bucky always marvelled at how he’d almost cum from the sounds of her moans and the taste of her pleasure. His cock ached as he rubbed the precum across his tip and gripped his shaft to hold off his orgasm until he felt the friction of her tight cunt, until he was deep inside her.

Kisses lightly pressed along her thighs and her stomach; Bucky didn’t miss a single spot, blemish or scar on her body. Her body glowed in the post-orgasmic haze, her fingers softly stroking through his locks as he hovered above her.

Bucky faltered when he saw her eyes glistened with unshed tears and the tremble of her lip, “Doll, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“Oh, sweet man,” Y/N cupped his cheek, his head resting into her palm, “of course not. I’m just scared of going back. Of losing myself to my past. Of losing you.”

Bucky let go of the breath he held, a small piece of him was glad that he hadn’t done anything to hurt the precious person lying beneath him but the rest of him filled with the need to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay. And that is what he did.

He rolled to her side, gathered her up in his hold and pressed soft kisses to the top of her head, “I can’t promise that it won’t be hard. Going back there, to those monsters. But I can promise you that you won’t lose me. I’ll be with you every step of the way, like you have been there for me.”

Y/N clung to Bucky’s waist; her legs entwined with his while she let the tears flow. Her fear subsided with each drop, the caress of Bucky’s fingers along her arm and the sweet nothings he whispered into her ear.

Y/N packed her bag while Bucky returned to the kitchen to fix her something to eat. Even though he had developed incredible hearing, he couldn’t make out the Ukrainian words that she mumbled in between ‘Steve’ and ‘Fury’ or the slams of the bedroom furniture. But what he did know was that they weren’t going to be any terms of endearment to her former superiors.

Minutes later, Y/N had returned with an outfit change and dropped the holdall to her feet. Bucky’s heart thumped against his chest and a blush heated his cheeks as she winked at him. Even after all this time, seeing her in the black uniform always sent his heart racing and Y/N knew exactly how he felt about the uniform.

They ate the meal in silence as Y/N scanned the details on the tablet, both now brought up to speed with the latest developments from Natasha’s intel; alien technology being sold across the black market. What’s new. Bucky rolled his eyes at the information, there was always some bad guy with a bunch of weaponry, that they didn’t understand, trying to use it for evil.

Once again, Y/N disappeared into other parts of the apartment while Bucky loaded his black truck with her holdall and waited for her arrival in the cab. She hopped into the passenger seat and appeared calm, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he should prepare to duck for cover when they arrived at the briefing room.

Luckily for Bucky, Natasha and Clint pulled him aside to go over their new findings. Not so lucky for Steve and Fury, who would have to deal with the wrath of the retired Avenger.

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[and-there-were-words]

A Spider Life: You don't belong here (Chapter 03)

Taking place after “Sleep Bug” but before “Dumpling Destruction”.

After a successful mission, there was no time for a long rest. Though, Syntax decided that a little bit of a break didn’t hurt anyone. He was foolish to think that Huntsman would let him be at peace. (Wordcount: around 1300)

---

Blue filled the entire main hall of the Silk Web Cave. The looming forms and shades of their new project towering over all. It was certainly odd to watch these new plans of a mech he hadn't designed himself. Something about it struck the scientist as odd, but he wasn't well versed enough in sorcery and ancient artifacts to really know which item was supposed to do what. It didn't help that basically nobody but the little Miss Mystery knew exactly how any of this was going to work.

But they finally did have a more tangible goal. And one more good thing came out of this whole treasure hunt – Syntax had not to do any research where to find said items, since the girl seemed to already know where they were.

As questionable as this was, his Queen did not raise any concerns about this knowledge, so why should he? Instead, he took the opportunity of free time to work on his own projects. He had to overhaul their Spider Base blueprints, repair some of the Spiderbots and… actually. On second thought, after his successful heist into the Cloud, he deserved an evening of rest. Just leaning back a little, kicking up the feet, maybe coding some new games and programs. When he wasn’t working on machines, he still could experiment with them. It was a blessing when one's job was also their hobby.

Walking deeper into the tunnel system of the lair, Syntax found the little niche that he had claimed for himself. Mostly to sleep and keep a few of his more important items safe. Not that he had many, but it still was a comfort to have a little bit of autonomy, away from all those watchful spider eyes. The scientist hummed, and with the lab coat off, he was officially clocked out for the day.

Sleeves were neatly folded up to the elbows, his utility goggles snapped away. Magic was so handy! He lingered for a moment, holding bright green glasses in hands. Syntax wasn’t entirely sure how or why, but he found himself oddly sentimental over them. Even though one of the lenses had a crack. His eyes were perfectly fine too, so anything looked blurry trough them, rendering them practically useless. With a shrug, he put them back into his little box of trinkets, turning around to his personal computer.

…..

There was not really any sense of time within the Silk Web Cave, not that it mattered much. Hours could’ve pass by and the only indicator that the world was still turning, was that his coffee always grew cold way too fast. Running another test for his current code, Syntax frowned as errors popped up where none had been before. He reached for his cup without looking, first confused about something not being right. It took him a few seconds to notice that he was grabbing into thin air. His cup was not at the spot where he placed it anymore.

“What’cha doing?”, a raspy voice required from his other side, making the scientist jerk violently, nearly falling off his chair. A groan escaped Syntax, slightly turning his head to confirm his apprehension. And indeed, it was Huntsman. With his coffee mug in hands. It was bothersome how he always managed to sneak up unnoticed and seemingly appear out of nowhere. The other spider was not even looking at him directly, just watching the screen displaying an endless amounts of lines with mock interest. It was clear that the hunter had no idea what he was looking at, and Syntax knew that trying to explain any of this to him would be wasted breath. Still, he thought himself better than that.

“Optimizing the behavioral pattern of the Spiderbots. So next time we can spread the Queen’s venom faster.”, he left it at that, starting to tip away on the keyboard again.

“Uh-hu.”, the spider demon mused, but it was clear that this wasn't the focus of his attention at the moment. Instead, he just sniffed at the drink in his hand, nose curling up a little. “...I have no idea how you’re capable of drinking this stuff. Gross.” And with that, the cup was back on the table within Syntax’s reach, but the scientist didn’t dare to touch it. This was obviously a trap, both of them knew. Huntsman never had been subtle about waiting for the other to make a misstep. Syntax wasn't sure what the taller man hoped to achieve, but there was a bitter taste at the back of his throat with how he was watched by this particular spider demon.

Tension filled the room, making the air as thick as butter, as both men were just analyzing each other carefully. It almost felt like a game of chess, one that Syntax didn’t like at all, being forced to play so damn defensively. He still wasn’t sure what he did to upset the hunter, but he clearly was out for his neck in some way or another. It was Huntsman who broke the silence, and to no one's surprise, he just unceremoniously kicked down the metaphorical door.

"You don't belong here.", the spider rasped, stalking awfully close, only to loom over the sitting scientist. Green eyes glimmering in the twilight of the cave, mostly illuminated by just the cold light of the computer screen. Syntax could only swallow, feeling caged like a prey animal under this intense glare.

"You're a disgrace to the clan, human.", the hunter continued his venomous words, "Do you really think you're important to the Queen? Nothing but just a tool, once you've done your purpose, you will be nothing but dinner." The demon cackled, and Syntax could feel his body going into a panic mode. Yet, his mind was still clear, rational. The buzzing crawling up his spine keeping him grounded.

Syntax simply clicked his tongue in a (what he hoped to come off as) unimpressed tsk. "Is that all? I am busy, Huntsman.", he was not going to give in that easily, even though the words were cutting deep, slicing into something that the scientist hadn't even been aware of himself yet.

The hunting spider frowned, letting out a soft growl. Only to grab the coffee mug again, giving it another glance. Apparently, he came to a conclusion in this moment. "You'll never be one of us, freak.", the second that followed felt like an eternity, before ceramic shattered into hundreds of pieces, cold coffee splattering all over the floor. A pang of some emotion shot through Syntax's chest, watching the mess on the ground. Somehow managing to not show a glimpse of this storm of feelings on the outside.

Huntsman almost seemed disappointed, but a breath later, he was showing off fangs in his ugly grin again. A hand reaching for the communicator in his ear as he was surely contacted by the Miss. "Now, this was fun and all.", he mused, crossing arms behind his back as he twirled towards the exit. "It seems that my special skills are needed once again. So long, cyberbug." With that, the hunter was gone, leaving the scientist finally alone.

So much for that rest, Syntax thought bitterly to himself, still staring at the floor. This evening or night had been ruined in every way possible. Now trying to make sense of why his limbs felt so cold and stiff, why his heart was beating in the rhythm of a scared animal while also screaming in anger. His hands clenched into fists, short nails digging into soft palms. Syntax knew all of this already. Knew that this wasn't his place, that he wasn't like the other spider demons. But he was part of this clan, and by the Queen's pride… he will prove that he was a better henchman than Huntsman could ever dream to be.

[secretsolenoid]

Gestalt Brain

A belated Secret Solenoid gift for @aethergeologist!

Prowl stared down at his datapad and tried, once again, to focus on the words in front of him. It wasn’t going well for him. His optics were working perfectly, he had settled himself into his seat, he was even topped off on energon. There were no distractions anywhere within the same building as him. He’d made sure of it by sending the Constructicons off to help with rebuilding on the exact opposite side of New Iacon from him. 

It should have been an optimal work environment, and yet he found he still couldn’t concentrate. Calculating defense strategies seemed impossible in the moment. He could focus on the datapad just fine, he could read every word of it. He just seemed unable to retain it. 

With a growl of frustration, Prowl pushed back away from his desk, and kicked the chair for good measure (if he hit the desk, it would disrupt the neat workspace he’d finally managed to organize to his satisfaction, after neatening up all of the corners of it that the Constructicons seemed to thrive in knocking ever so slightly out of place). 

Maybe if he went out for a drive, he would be better able to visualize the city. His autobot friends might still be out, but if he was driving, he could continue on past them without being rude, and if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t sure how to deal with Bumblebee, or Ironhide, or “Orion Pax.” He didn’t know how to deal with the crew of the miraculously-returned Lost Light, either, though in perhaps a more straightforward way. Most of them he didn’t care to bother with in the first place. Ultra Magnus or Ratchet might be a refreshing bastion of sanity, but neither particularly liked him for good reason, and he had plenty of disagreements with them right back (Megatron. phah). 

Maybe a drive along the outskirts of the developing city would help to stop his processor from looping in circles. With that intent in mind, Prowl left his office and made his way down to the street, shifting into his vehicle mode and setting off with a whine of tires.

Seeing the layout of the city helped. It was much easier to focus on the changes that needed to be made when he could see the haphazard clusters of ships that had landed as they came where there was space, and the hasty reconstruction that had sprung up between and around them in the ruins of Iacon. 

The outer wall needed repairing, of course. Although the wilds of Cybertron were slightly less dangerous without aerialbots and dinobots roaming in angry packs, it was still unknown, and even if Megatron was no longer a threat there were plenty of Decepticon forces out there who would not stand down on their leader’s order. The DJD, wherever they were, would be the prime example of that.

Some of the ships needed updates as well, if they were to fly again, or could be taken apart and put to use in more immediately necessary aspects of industry. Engines had all manner of useful parts, and energy shielding, which was a necessary component of any spacefaring vessel, could be repurposed as a solution for their wall problem, even if only as a short-term or emergency measure. And of course the buildings, though solidly constructed and intended to last for eons, all showed the devastating effects of both war and time. 

Today’s construction project was one of the examples that had fared far better through battles both ancient and recent. The constructicons had found the structure to be sound down to the foundation, with no rusting or deterioration on the beams. Their current goal was to strip the other materials, find other uses for them if they could, scrap those they couldn’t, and begin refurbishing the space into actual housing, so that they could begin to permanently settle Cybertron once again. The Constructicons weren’t the only one assisting with the project-- those who wanted a first stake at housing were invited to lend their assistance, and as such several crews from the shoddy rust-bucket ships were there to strip surfacing and cart rubble as needed. 

The building, as far as Prowl could tell, had previously been the headquarters of some sort of shipping company, and contained both space for storage and offices. Both would be easy enough to convert into habitation units, using the offices for the smaller spaces and dividing up the storage into slightly larger shared living units. 

Of course, problems will arise when those present to lend their assistance try to claim the most space, and end up arguing with one another over who gets what, even though the building should be able to hold more than those who showed up to help, but arguing them down will be a simple enough plan, and it’s a trivial matter to allocate spaces based on the preferred grouping assignments of the crews, and then to direct them to the restoration of those sections first--

“Prowl? What are you doing here?” 

Prowl jerked away from the building blueprints and looked up to see a very puzzled-looking Jetfire. 

“I--” 

When he looked around, he was surrounded by the Constructicons, and the construction crew. Which should have been across the city. 

He’d intended to work on plans for the defenses all day, not to be dragged into the Constructicon’s project, and yet, somehow, that was exactly what had happened. 

“I decided to take a break from the defenses,” Prowl said stiffly to Jetfire, who shrugged and deposited several large crates of materials before leaving, apparently unwilling to question Prowl. 

Prowl had some questions of his own, however. The constructicons seemed to sense this, if the way they clumped together when Prowl turned his attention toward them was any indication. 

“I was working on the defenses,” he said, his voice cold. “A vital task for New Iacon. Would you like to explain why it is that I find myself instead drafted into the job of a foreman?” 

“Well, it’s because you are,” Bonecrusher muttered. Mixmaster sneered and elbowed him hard, and Bonecrusher fell silent. Prowl continued to stare at them, and the Constructicons all began to fidget under his stare until--

“Well, it’s the Gestalt brain, of course,” Hook said stiffly. Prowl gave him a look, and he grimaced, but continued. “It comes out for the big problems.”

“It comes out when we are combined,” Prowl said with a frown. 

“Well, sure,” Scavenger said. “Cause that’s a big problem. But the more of us are focused on one big thing, the more it kinda… pulls in everyone else.” 

“All available resources,” Hook said. “And your processor is quite a considerable resource.” 

“What you mean to say is, unless all of us are working on entirely separate projects, I won’t be able to concentrate on my own work?” Prowl said. He could feel the angry tension building an ache in his shoulders and processor both. 

“Well…” Long Haul said slowly. “Not unless you want us to help.” 

“You, to help?” Prowl asked. 

“You know. More processing power,” Long Haul said. “That’s your thing, right? So if the gestalt isn’t focused on dragging around six frames in one body, there’s a lot of extra space for your calculating thing.” 

Prowl crossed his arms over his front bumper. He did not particularly like looking up and discovering that he had already spent half the day on a project completely unrelated to his own, and the feeling of his will slowly succumbing to another’s direction, even a gestalt, sat poorly with him. But, if he could use that processing power… 

His upper limit had always been calculating the trajectory of five hundred moving objects at once. Could he hit six hundred? One thousand?

Prowl looked down at the blueprints and the half-finished list of room assignments, then looked up at the array of Constructicons. “We are finishing this,” he declared. “Then we’re testing this. Understood?” 

Maybe it was the connection between their processors that happened whenever they combined, but Prowl could feel glee rolling off of the Constructicons in waves. “Yes, boss!”

[waveypedia]

My good fellow could I possibly request some *ahem* fenro?

you totally can my dude! tysm!

(Can’t Get You) Outta My Head

Three forty-two AM.

It is three forty-two AM and Gyro’s brain is completely blank.

He lowers his head slowly into his awaiting palms. Blueprints swim behind his eyes. Even in his imagination, they make no sense.

He bangs his head gently on the desk through his hands. He has no ideas. No ideas. No ideas. No ide….

“Dr. Gearloose?”

Gyro jerks awake. He fumbles with his glasses and smooths down the wrinkles of his shirt in vain in an attempt to appear somewhat functional. To pretend he hadn’t just been sleeping at his desk on the job.

Oh, who was he kidding. This is Cabrera, the duck who had seen him chug six consecutive Redbulls and two pots of coffee in an attempt to stay awake for a week during crunch time on a project. There was no point in pretending.

Still, Gyro’s pride demanded that he not fall asleep during the conversation, so he slowly spun around in his desk chair to face his former intern and did his best to not drop his head in his hands. “Cabrera.”

The aforementioned duck stands in front of him, hands clasped behind his back, nervous energy radiating off of him. “Dr. Gearloose, you look…”

“Horrible?” Gyro supplies dryly. “Like death himself?”

“Eh, Mrs. Beakley showed me a picture of Death after training one day. He doesn’t look too bad,” Fenton says, offhandedly. Gyro is too tired to fully process what that means.

Gyro is losing his internal battle. His eyelids are drooping. He props up his hand up on the arm of his chair, and his internal battle only rages for a few seconds before his head falls into it. (It feels like utter hours.)

Fenton pauses from whatever tirade he’s about to launch into and reexamines Gyro with a new fervor. “Dr. Gearloose?”

“Mmph?” Gyro replies, too tired to come up with a coherent response. It’s hard enough to form his thoughts into strings of words and sentences that make sense to everyone else on a good day. Today, he’s too tired to come up with words in the first place.

“Are you sure you’re alright to keep working?” Fenton questions, a little bit hesitantly, but he knows his boss well by now. “I can get out the cot. O-or drive you home?”

Gyro blinks hazily up at Fenton. “You can drive?”

It’s not really what he intended to say, but it gets the focus off him and his energy level. Besides, Gyro can’t drive, so he tends to assume no one can until proven otherwise. It’s not his best trait; it’s just how his brain works.

Gyro realizes while he’s been processing his thoughts to himself, Fenton replied, and he has no idea what Fenton said.

Maybe that’s for the best. It’s not like he would be able to form an eloquent reply anyway.

“Dr. Gearloose,” Fenton says, a little more firmly this time. Maybe whatever Fenton said was important. “Gyro.”

“Hmm?” Gyro replies. His eyelids are slipping closed. They can’t close, he has to stay awake, he has to stay awake-!

“Ooohkay,” Fenton mutters, more to himself than to Gyro. Gyro doesn’t reply. At the silence, Fenton steps closer, closer, too close-! and kneels next to Gyro’s desk chair. He slips an arm around Gyro’s middle and starts to help him up.

Fenton, pressed against him, is soft and warm, and Gyro might fall asleep right then and there if not for the spurt of internal panic and adrenaline that comes with Fenton’s proximity. His figurative internal processor restarts panickedly, but it sputters and won’t function. Gyro is left with panic coursing through his body but unable to do anything about it. He just stares at the hazy, soft figure of Fenton. It takes every ounce of strength in his body to not lean his head on Fenton’s shoulder, no matter how soft and warm Fenton is, and how inviting his shoulder looks.

Gyro somehow lets Fenton haul him to his feet, and they take slow, wavering steps over to the cot at the end of the lab. At some point during all of this, Lil’ Bulb had hopped off of his charging station, grabbed a pair of snap glowsticks (where the hell did he get those?), and is leading them over like a traffic conductor.

As they reach their destination, Gyro’s brain suddenly kicks into high gear as he realizes what Fenton’s intentions are. “Wait! Waitwaitwaitwaitwait! I can’t sleep, Cabrera, I have a job to do-”

“You and I both know Mr. McDuck hates that we stay in here off the clock,” Fenton reprimands him, not shaken at all, and Gyro feels heat rushing to his cheeks. Cabrera is significantly less bumbling than he remembers, and when the hell did his awkward little intern become so comfortable with him?! 

Akita never would’ve-

Wait.

I will not be like Akita. I will not be like Akita. Akita was horrible to me, and Boyd. He is not a good role model. I will be a better mentor for my not-intern. I will not be like Akita.

It is with that thought in mind that Gyro refrains himself from struggling as Fenton eases him onto the chaise, and ohhh the chaise is so soft, nothing like his uncomfortable desk chair, and suddenly Gyro’s not regretting this as much as he thought he would.

The one thing he misses is Fenton’s warmth as his coworker eases away. Gyro resists the urge to shiver as he slides his glasses off his nose and puts them down next to his head. He’s pretty sure Fenton picks them up and puts them in a more secure place (good thinking), but his eyelids are already slipping closed and the fight to stay awake is long, long lost. 

The relationship that Akita and I had is nothing like the relationship Fenton and I have, anyway.

Gyro freezes. Panic shoots through his body. All thoughts of sleeping are now gone.

Where the hell did that thought come from?!

It’s true. Gyro won’t contest that. But it’s… it’s weird to think about his relationship with Fenton that way.

But he does miss Fenton’s body heat. Yes, that’s it. He’s cold. The lab is underwater, and the sterile lights are blinding. Not a good environment for sleep. Not homey and cozy. Fenton is.

“Fenton?” Gyro mumbles. Without his usual sharp precision, it comes out more like Fen-uhn, the way Huey says it.

Between Gyro’s fatigue and lack of glasses, Fenton is simply a mere brown blur. Gyro almost misses how the blur stiffens and startles at the sound of his voice. “Yes, Dr. Gearloose?”

Gyro suddenly realizes he doesn’t have the energy to translate the abstract idea of what he wants into words. He doesn’t even know what he wants. Just… Fenton. Fenton’s presence.

When Gyro doesn’t reply, Fenton comes over, worried. “Dr. Gearloose? Gyro? Oh what am I doing, he probably fell asleep.”

Gyro grumbles indignantly at that, making Fenton chuckle. The scientist hovers awkwardly at the edge of the cot, unsure. Gyro isn’t sure either, but he’s too damn tired to doubt himself.

Fenton starts and yelps with surprise when an arm shoots out from beneath Gyro’s lump of body mass (that’s exactly what he feels like right now) and wraps ungracefully around his waist, like a petulant cat. “Umm… Dr. Gearloose?”

Gyro mumbles again and tugs the lump of soft and warm in his arms closer.

“O-okay… um… I guess we’re doing this,” Fenton mumbles, more to himself than to Gyro. He sits down delicately on the chaise, on the very edge as to not disturb Gyro. No longer pulling Fenton towards him, Gyro’s arms sag and flop into Fenton’s lap. He no longer has the energy to pull Fenton in, but his arms still rest around Fenton all the same.

For a couple minutes, they sit like that. Fenton perched on the very edge of the cot, ready to jump off at any minute, but as the time passes he slowly relaxes into Gyro’s arms. 

It’s not enough for Gyro’s sleep-addled sense, and slowly, oh so slowly, he tugs Fenton just a little closer.

He doesn’t want to disturb Fenton, but also he’s tired, so so tired, too tired to be polite. Fenton is warm and soft, and that’s what Gyro wants.

So when Fenton doesn’t respond to his too-subtle tugging, he sighs and yanks Fenton into his arms.

Fenton squeaks with shock, but Gyro’s too tired to notice the social faux pas he’s just made. With Fenton close in his arms, he promptly falls asleep, Fenton still entangled in his unbreakable embrace.

Fenton slowly twists his head as far as it can go, trying to gauge Gyro’s level of wakefulness. After successfully deciphering that he probably can’t get up without disturbing Gyro, he lets out a soft sigh and relaxes into Gyro’s embrace.  

It’s… surprisingly comfortable. Not surprisingly. Fenton doesn’t know why he would be surprised. It makes sense. It’s almost four in the morning and he’s curled up on a chaise lounge with someone cuddling him.

But that someone is Dr. Gyro Gearloose, and that’s panic-inducing enough for Fenton on its own.

Fenton’s eyelids are drooping closed, and as he’s slipping into sleep’s waiting arms he recognizes the irony of him trying to get Gyro to go to sleep and falling asleep himself as well.

Manny comes into the lab promptly at seven AM, takes in the picture before him, and promptly leaves. But not before phoning Mr. McDuck and taking Lil’ Bulb out for a boys’ night on the town.

As for Mr. McDuck, he borrows Launchpad’s phone to snap a couple blackmail photos (which inexplicably get sent to Della, no she has no idea how that happened) before banging his cane against the wall.

“Oi! Wake UP!!! I’m paying you to work, not cuddle!! Bless me bagpipes…”

Scrooge leaves to do his own job and gets back to haggling with the Board, leaving the two very flustered scientists to sort themselves out.

Gyro buys time by fumbling around for his glasses, trying to hide the bright blush that colors his feathers. Luckily for Fenton, he can’t see the matching one on Fenton’s face.

“Here,” Fenton mumbles, passing the glasses to Gyro. “I put them on your desk.”

“Thanks,” Gyro replies, stilted. “That was… nice of you.”

They both know he’s not only thinking about the glasses.

“Should we… I don’t know, talk about this?” Fenton guesses, rubbing a hand awkwardly along the side of his arm. His usually meticulously ironed tie is wrinkled and rumpled like he just got out of a fight or an experiment, but the day has barely started.

Gyro rubs at his eyes under his glasses, still blinking sleep away. “I don’t know… I barely remember what happened. I was at my desk, and… an’ you helped me to the chaise, I think…?”

“Yeah, that sounds right,” Fenton replies. After a beat, he continues, hesitantly and warily. “And then… you, you, um, hugged me. And wouldn’t let go.”

Gyro’s head snaps up, panic sparking in his gut. “I- Huh?”

“Yeah.” Fenton rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. He won’t meet Gyro’s gaze. “You’ve, um, got an awful tight grip when you’re sleeping.”

“I… um… thanks?” Gyro hedges. The cards did not cover this. 

He takes a deep breath.

“Listen, Cabrera,” he begins. “I… it’s not always easy to fall asleep here. Especially on that couch. It always feels so… exposed.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air for a few moments before Gyro continues.

“I guess… you made me feel safe enough to fall asleep. So… thank you.”

Fenton’s been working for and with Gyro far long enough to know that thank-yous, second only to apologies, are not easy for the scientist to get out. So it means even more. He ducks his head awkwardly, hiding his blush. “Um, you’re welcome. It was actually really nice.”

“Yeah,” Gyro echoes softly, fondly, then freezes, wishing he could take the words back. But when he chances a slow glance up at Fenton’s face, the duck doesn’t look all too bothered by the sentiment. 

“So… what now?” Fenton wonders, half to himself. None of his M’ma’s telenovas or his superhero comics from boyhood ever taught him what to do in these kinds of moments.

“Get back to work, I suppose,” Gyro shrugs, although he’s not very enthusiastic. Truthfully, he’d much rather spend his day cuddling with Fenton - which is saying something, since Gyro’s one true passion is inventing. “We don’t want Mr. McDuck to come down here and yell at us again.”

“Yeah,” Fenton replies, disappointed. He slowly turns away, gathering up his blueprints from where he scattered them a few hours ago. 

One of his blueprints is currently residing on Gyro’s desk. Fenton saves that one for last, not wanting to face more awkward moments. But once all the rest of his blueprints are safely piled on his desk in the former bathroom, he has to face the music.

Fenton takes a deep breath and strides up to Gyro’s desk.

Gyro had been massaging his temples, trying to fend off a headache, but he glances up at Fenton. He’s not annoyed like he usually is when Fenton interrupts him, but doesn’t look happy, either.

“Cabrera,” Gyro breathes. Maybe he is annoyed. “What do you need?”

To Fenton’s credit, he has every intention to simply grab his blueprint and go. Today would become a moment he’d tuck away in his brain, trying to forget it and cherishing it at the same time. 

But instead, some other desire takes over. 

When it’s done, he can’t explain his actions, but he doesn’t regret them, either.

Fenton reaches for his blueprint, which is right by Gyro’s hands. Then he stops. 

His hands turn to Gyro’s instead, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s pulled Gyro into a kiss.

It’s already happening when Fenton finally processes exactly what is going on. Gyro’s eyes are blown wide behind his glasses, but neither of them pull away. At least, not right away.

When they do, Fenton’s hair is ruffled and Gyro is gaping like a fish. His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

Fenton doesn’t say anything either. Neither of them know what to say. They just keep staring at each other.

Gyro was never too comfortable with silence, though, not like this. At long last, the inventor clears his throat. “Um. So.”

Fenton’s brain kickstarts at the sound of Gyro’s voice, hesitant and shocked, and immediately a million apologies fly to the tip of his tongue. But they never get a chance to see the light of day.

“I could get used to that,” Gyro mumbles, then immediately snaps his hands over his bill, slamming it shut. But the damage is done.

If the two scientists weren’t blushing before, they definitely are now.

“Me too,” Fenton replies before he can stop himself. The corners of Gyro’s bill quirk up in the faintest of smiles, just for a moment.

This time Gyro’s the one to grab Fenton by the tie and pull him close for a second round.

~

okay this is all over the place haha but i just kinda wanted to get it done! it was supposed to be for fenro week, but that’s over now, so oh well. i might try to do something for weblena week since that’s happening now but idk.

definitely projecting a lil on gyro here with the bit about not being able to directly translate your thoughts into words that other people understand all the time, and how it gets worse when you’re tired. gyro definitely reads as neurodivergent to me, and i hc him as autistic (projecting lol), so that’s how i write him! i had a conversation today with some friends about kins and hcs today and one of my friends reads him as adhd, which is totally valid too. he’s definitely neurodivergent coded.

idk where i was going with that lol but enjoy!

title is from outta my head by somi. it’s not really all that relevant to the fic itself but it just kinda stuck with me while i started the fic. anyway i hope you like it! @fenro-week

[undercoverwizardfanfiction]

A Winter Night: A ROTTMNT Holiday story

Rating:G

Word Count;2358

for: @snakeeyesdraws

Characters: Donnie, Leo, Kendra

pairings: [takes breath, pulls out sword] LISTEN

update; i accidentally uploaded the draft the first time ^^’ i fixed though this is the finished version

An overtly saturated neon sign of a Santa selling sandals catches him in the corner of his eye. He uses his forearm to protect his aching eyes as he passed the sign. When he passes the blinding neon of Santa, the turtle takes a deep breath, a soft mist escaping his mouth. Honestly, he is grateful the streets aren’t more crowded. But not for his slowly numbing hands. He stuffs his hands into his unlined pockets and moves forward. Grateful more than ever that he had updated Shelldon with a heating unit so he didn’t have to weigh himself down with a heavy coat. It was making the walk to Hueso’s a bit more tolerable. He’d have to remember to update his brothers’ gear to include a heating unit like his. Course knowing them they’d probably use it to heat up marshmallows in their pockets and that was a mess he was NOT going to clean up for-

He is so wrapped up in the nightmarish scenario of having to clean marshmallows out of circuitry when a loud shriek of anger followed by a trash can flying past his line of vision causes him to jump on one foot with a shriek of fear

“Stupid AIDEN!!”

It takes Donnie a moment, and another trash can flying by his vision to realize he is not the source of anger, or in danger. He blinks and peers down the alley before having to duck in time for another trashcan to get stomped in the middle with enough strength to crunch it in half before, in a mixture of amazement he blinks. “Kendra?”

In a feral rage Kendra stomps a trashcan nearly in half before swerving around and glaring at him snarling. Her thick purple hair twisted in half ragged tangles, her beret lay on the ground as though she had thrown it to the ground before deciding that wasn’t enough to help vent her rage. Her half-crazed eyes narrowed at him. “What do YOU want?!” she bites and for a moment Donnie wishes he hadn’t stopped, “Are you here to ruin my day again?! Wreck my plans?!”

“Um,” Don blames his lack of ability to come up with a snappy come back on his even more urgent need to survive the next five seconds, or at least not end up like that trashcan. ”Are you doing something that should be stopped?”

Kendra narrows her eyes at him. “NO.”

“Do you HAVE an evil plan that I should stop? Again?”  With a snarl Don worries he might have said the wrong thing.

But then she lets out an angry sigh, “No, not now.”

“Um.” He really didn’t want to end up a Donnie shaped hole in the wall, “Then, no?”

Kendra narrows her eyes at him, Donnie could barely see the little puffs of steam burst out of her nose like a bull trying to figure out if he was a matador worth charging. But then she lets out an angry growl, ”Fine, go away then,” she says, crouching down and yanking the trash can back into a standing position kicking at it a few more times to try and un-dent it. Donnie glances back at the trash cans in the road and sighs. He pulled off his gloves, cursing the fact that he didn’t bring any extra rubber gloves, and pulls one of the trash cans off the street. Kendra glares up at him before eyeing the trashcan in confusion, “What do you want?”

“To not see cars hit trash cans? Is that supposed to be a hard question?” he asks, again berating himself when Kendra narrows her eyes at him, but lets him stand his trash can next to the one she had ‘undented’, she doesn’t thank him when he drags by the other one too. But to be honest he doesn’t really expect it. But he does finally notice that, even though she traded out her leggings for sweatpants, she’s lacking her purple dragons' jacket and is wearing a dark grey sweater and boots. All signs indicated she had not been planning on being outside in December and is using all the anger she had been trying out on the trash cans to not shiver, “Where are you going?”

“What’s it to you?” she demands.

Donnie raises his hands in mock surrender. “Honestly? I was just trying to help but if you’re going to keep acting like a jerk, I’ll-“ he wasn’t sure how he was going to finish that thought. ‘Walk away?’ ‘Blog about it angrily later?’ But it ended with someone shouting ‘heads up’ and something hard slamming into the back of his head, his vision exploding in bright colors and the breaking of a snowball contacting with his head. Off balance he finds his world spinning and himself on his knees, hands holding his head trying to make sense of the pain and his disorientation.

“Hey!” Kendra’s voice was far away, but that could be ‘cause she had stormed over to yell at the kids who had thrown the snow ball. “The hells your problem?! That was basically an ice ball you weebs.” Don could barely make out their mumbled sheepish apology. He pulls off his hat and touched the soaking bandana underneath. Any hope that it had just been snow went out the window when he drew his bloody fingers off his head.

“Holy-“ Sounds like Kendra was back, his vision was spinning so bad that he assumed the spinning purple mass by his side was her. “Hey how many fingers am I holding up?!” she said holding out her hand. He could barely make out her fingers but gave a weak, “Four?” with strength surprising for someone her size, she took his arm and lifted him to his feet, pulling his arm over her neck, “Come on there’s a hospital nearby-“

“NO,” he answers quickly.

“Are you kidding me you’re HEAD is BLEEDING.”

“And I'm a giant talking turtle which do you think will matter more to a hospital staff?!” He often wondered how Yokai managed in the city without access to a hospital. He had been meaning to ask Hueso about-. He blinks, there was no way he could let Kendra take him home. But he was already close to the pizza place “I have a place I can go. But you can’t go with me-“

“Again, your HEAD is BLEEDING,” she snaps. “I’ll take you where you need to go but I won't get any closer got it?” Donnie knew she wouldn’t take no for answer and only answered with a sigh and a nod. She pulls harder on the arm wraps over her neck and took more of his weight. Despite their height difference he barely touches the ground which only added more to the feeling of being disoriented.

“Thanks,” he muttered weakly.

“Don’t thank me til we get there.”  Donnie struggles to keep his eyes open but his swirling vision forces him to keep his eyes closed, a hand slaps his face lightly. “Hey stay awake nerd.”

“Pot calling the kettle-“ Donnie bit off the end of his statement as he tried not to dry heave. He could feel Kendras frozen bare arms through his coat and feels even worse for being out in the first place. “H-Hold on,” he says, stiffening his legs up to drag her to a stop. He manages to pry her arm off him long enough to peel his coat off leaving him in his long sleeved dark pink Atomic Lass shirt. “You’re obviously cold.” As callous as he is sometimes, he finds it’s better to be honest than to dance around the subject, “Shelldon has a heating unit that’ll keep me warm.” Though it wouldn’t help his arms, he could handle a few blocks though. Thankfully his vision is returning to some extent, enough that he notices Kendra looking to his pack and for a moment Don struggles not to shift to put the pack out of her sight, “That’s Shelly right? Is he still mad at me for tricking him?”

“Oh definitely. He has a stack of crayon drawings dedicated to his revenge on you.” He feels the shoulders on his back tighten as though Shelldon was reprimanding him for revealing his secret plans.

Kendra lets off a small shrug “Yeah fair enough, I’d probably do the same thing” before smirking directionally at the pack, ”But for the record little buddy, blue prints are a much better way to plot out revenge.”

Don tries to grin before dizziness settles in again. Kendra must have noticed since she ducked under his arm. “Hold on nerd, keep talking to me.”

He manages a nod, mentally keeping track of their location. “Wh-what were you doing out here kicking trash cans?” he asked. “And who’s this Aiden guy who has you so mad? Not that it's any of my business, but I’m kinda hurt there’s someone out there you currently hate more than me,” he says with an added offended tone that makes her glare at him in confusion. ”I mean not to brag, but I sorta consider it a pride and joy to have an enemy worthy of my intelligence.”

Kendra narrows her eyes. “Please, he’s not worthy of my time,” she says through her teeth. “There’s this guy in the robotics club with us, Aiden. A loser who couldn’t tell a snickers from a soldering pen. There was a contest to submit the best blueprints, and who ever won would to be our project for the semester.”

“I’ve seen you build stuff on your own though. “

“That wasn’t the point,” Kendra lets out an angry huff, “I won, like I knew I was going to. But he got second place, I checked the points and he was twelve points away from wining. Twelve! The loser pretty boy who had his private tutor help him.”

“But you still won-“

“-He shouldn’t have gotten that close. I did all my work by myself. Didn’t ask for help, spent nights coding and drafting. I should have left him in the dust a broken swaddled nerd with broken dreams. But no. I made sure he knew how I felt about it, but the creep tattled on me. Freaking snowflake got freaked out because his blue prints ended up on his front porch on fire. Since when is that illegal.”

“I mean,” Don pauses, “I think always.”

“Anyway, I got kicked off the club and that’s why I'm out here.” She shrugs. “If my Dad or step mom saw me getting this mad then they’d make me do the ‘breathing exercises,’” she said with air quotations, “Being all ‘Kendra we’re worried about you’ ‘Kendra we love and support you we just don’t want to see you go down a bad path’ and ‘Kendra where do you keep getting access to all this fire!?’” Her frustrations forced her to kick out at a sign they passed but thankfully not hard enough to knock it over, “So as soon as I’m done helping you, I’m going to see my Mom. She’s the only one who gets me.”

Donnie blames his concussion on being so surprised Kendra had a mom but tried to keep it off his features. But judging by the quiet scoff from Kendra he hadn’t done a very good job, "How about you Greeny? Why did you come out here if you already had a concussion? Don’t pretend like you didn’t have one, I saw the bandages when I was checking your scalp. You already had a head injury before you got hit in the head.”

Figures his hat would blame him, and his own disorientation for forgetting that Kendra had checked his scalp. “It's complicated.”

“More complicated then plotting revenge on a spoiled white boy in a Vanilla Ice t-shirt?” she says in a tone that tells Donnie she’s trying to make a joke. And despite his best efforts not to, he snorts slightly, “No, I'll agree it’s not that complicated.” But it still feels weird to share with a certified enemy who once tried to steal the Spirit of Labour Day (don’t ask can’t explain). Thankfully she doesn’t rush him as he tries to collect his thoughts. “I got into an argument with my brother.” He still doesn’t want to let her in on too much information. “My brothers are all protective of each-other but he's’ protective in a way that makes me nuts. He thought it was too soon for me to go out with this whole situation,” he said gesturing to his head bandage, “And I disagreed. Except I didn’t really do it in the best way.”

“I think I know what that means,” Kendra says. “Did you say something bad?”

For a moment, it takes all of Don’s remaining mental energy to not think about Leo’s face, watching his concerned features fade away to one of hurt. So hurt in fact he hadn’t even called after Donnie when he stormed out. He lets out a sigh. “I did. I wish I had a reasonable excuse for it, but to be honest I don’t like feeling like I'm depending on people. I don’t like feeling like he’s always concerned about me. I especially don’t like him being right about it.”

“Sucks when it feels like you’re under-appreciated huh?”

“Yeah.” He could make out a familiar sandal store that housed Hueso’s alley. “We’re here,” he says.

Kendra looks around, and for a moment Donnie is concerned Kendra is going to insist on taking him ‘inside’ but she ducks from under shoulder. “You sure?” she asks, “I can take you further.”

“I’m good, thanks though.” He tries to give her a confident smile but his lips only twitch in response. She gives a half shrug before she starts pulling off his coat. “Keep it. You have a long way to walk and I still have Shelldon to keep me warm.”

“Thanks,” she says pulling the coat back on. “I’ll catch you later Greeny,” she says. She looks like she's’ about to walk off when she pauses. “But for the record, it still must be nice to have brothers who have your back.”

“It is.” Don nods. “And honestly Aiden sounds like a little bitch.”

For the first time since their strange encounter began Kendra put on a full smile. “Thanks,” she says before walking off.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

Leo didn’t snore.

So when his phone went off amongst his makeshift ‘pillow floor’ in the living room he did not ‘snort’ awake. He made a strangled noise before sitting up. Patting his sweatpants and hoody pockets before diving into the mass of pillows. Breaching a moment later like a whale with his phone in his teeth. Hueso’s ID is flashing across his screen. With a scoff he answers. “For the last time BONE man I don’t work today-“

“First of all, that is NOT how you politely answer a phone,” Hueso starts with a snap of his teeth. “Second that’s not why I'm calling. Your brother is here with me.”

Leo blinks, he blames his previous hibernated state on why it took him so long to remember which brother had left the lair. “Donnie? Is he ok?” he said already going to his room and looking for his sword under his bed.

“He is alright, but it looks like he got hit on the head pretty hard-“

That’s all it takes for him to charge out of his room, lingering only long enough to grab the toolbox he used for a first aid kit, and grabbing his portal sword from the kitchen (vaguely remembering he had used it to cut some cheese for his peanut butter and cheese grilled sandwich earlier) and slicing the sword down to activate a portal to Hueso’s office. Without saying bye, he hangs his phone up and jumps through.

The aforementioned skeleton, who had been glaring at his phone as though offended Leo had hung up on him, gave a shriek as the turtle appears by his side. “BAH! Leo, I hate it when you-“

Leo immediately tuned him out when he saw Donnie laying on Hueso’s couch with an ice pack over his forehead, he hurried forward and knelt down. “You ok buddy?” he asks.

Donnie looks up at him from under the ice pack with a weak smile. “I don’t know, are you really uglier than the last time I saw you or is that my head talking?”

Leo couldn’t help but grin. “I thought brain injuries were supposed to make people nicer,” he says. He turns to the toolbox and starts going through the first aid supplies inside. “Thanks for letting him rest. In your office,” he tells Hueso as he sets aside a pen light and some new bandages.

“Why wouldn’t I? Out of your brothers he’s most definitely my favorite.”

“Wait you have a favorite?” Leo looks to him. “Then who's your least favorite?”

After a pause, Hueso gives a wide and strained grin. “I will leave you two to it. If you need me just call me,” he says before ducking out quickly.  

It’s only then that Leo turns his barely contained worried energy on Donnie “What happened? Who did this? Do you have their address and sleep schedule-“

“Leo,” Don starts in a pained voice, “Please, my head feels like someone tried to split it with an ax. It was an accident. Some kids hit me in the head with a snow ball.“

Leo was about to start on another tirade of questions when he forced himself to take a deep breath, “Yeah, ok, I'm sorry,” he says. Also trying to ignore Donnie’s missing coat. He looks back to his supplies and pulls out a pen light. “I’m going to check your pupil dilation, but only if you're up for it.” He waits for Donnie to give a slight nod before he lifts the pen and carefully pushes the ice pack away from his eyes. Using his thumb to cover Don’s opposite eye without actually touching him, with a flash the pupil constricts and dilates as it should. He does the same process to the other “Well that’s good at least,” Leo says. “How’s your vision?”

“Spinning, but I think that’s from the pain.”

That would make sense. The red slider turtle rose to sit on the edge of the couch, carefully unwrapping Don’s scalp as gently as he can, checking his facial expression for any signs of increased pain before he lets out a sigh of relief. “It's just a surface bleed. It doesn’t look like the actual injury itself reopened.”

“That’s good,” Donnie says with a soft sigh. “You’re doing a good job.”

“I had a good teacher.” Leo made sure to give Donnie a soft smile that the turtle barely returns. “Let me just change the bandages and we’ll head home when you feel up for it. Maybe we can order some pizza; I've had a monster craving for anchovy and chocolate syrup pizza for days-“

“I was wrong.”

Leo blinks, pausing from unwrapping the new bandages with his hands. It takes him longer than he should to realize what Don’s apologizing for and when he does, he only returns to digging through his kit. “You were a little right,” Leo says quietly putting aside a bottle of alcohol, “I mean it's kinda right, right?? You're usually right-“

“No, Leo.” Donnie tries to sit up but fails to get up more than a few seconds before Leo’s grip on his arm forces him back down. “Leo I was wrong. I was angry, my head was killing me I would have said anything to hurt you. You don’t mess everything up-“

“Except I do?” Leo lets out a soft laugh. “I mean I do. Between the minotaur's pizza and Big Mama I'm surprised I get anything right-“

Don’s hand grabs his shoulders and before Leo can stop him, the soft-shell forces himself into a sitting position with pure grit alone (judging by the pain filled grimace on his face, “Would you listen to me?!” Donnie demands shaking him by the shoulders, “I shouldn’t have even said it but I would have said anything. I was angry at feeling so helpless and dependent. I was angry because you were right for trying to stop me from going out. I did need your help and I shouldn’t have been so difficult. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-“ his last sentence is interrupted with a sob that helps him notice the tears running down his face. Donnie lets out an aggravated huff as he presses the heel of his hands against his streaming eyes to help spare his dignity in some way.

He feels the couch shift as Leo shifts closer, wrapping his arms around him. “Ok, ok you were wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing Leo,“ Donnie manages to say from his brother’s shoulder. “I’m the one apologizing not you, idiot.”

“Alright, alright I apologize for apologizing. You were wrong I was right. Is that what you want to hear?” he asks. Don nods into his shoulder. Leo rests his cheek on Dons’ shoulder rubbing his shell for a few moments as Don’s erratic breathing finally starts to calm down.

After a few seconds Don lets out a small sigh, “Damn it, I was doing so good too. I can't even tell anymore if these are meltdowns or panic attacks.”

“As long as you don’t have to deal with them alone when you don’t want to, that’s all I care about.” Leo gives him a final squeeze before reaching up and taking Don’s shoulders, gently guiding him down to lay down again. “Ok buddy. I’m going to rewrap your head, and then I'm going to go order us some food and portal us home. You just relax ok?” He waits for Donnie to nod before Leo starts applying some alcohol to a cotton ball. “I’ll be honest though, I’m sorta surprised you made it here safely.”

Don for the first time since Leo entered Hueso’s office looks him with his tired blood shot eyes. A soft smile forming on his face as he relaxes. “Yeah,” he whispers. ”Me too.”

[eastofthemoon]

Manage to write this Ducktales fic for Halloween. Enjoy!

Title: Afterthought

Rating: G

Characters: Darkwing Duck and Launchpad

Summary: Drake is trying to make plans for Halloween, but doesn't realize how extensive Launchpad's are. 

Archive of Our Own

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“Almost there...just a bit more,” Drake muttered as he carved off the last bit of pumpkin. He grinned as he stepped back to admire his work.

His Darkwing Duck jack-o-lantern. He had carved every detail of the eyes, the beak and that ever-so-confident smile.

“Almost perfect,” Drake said aloud as he reached into the trunk and carefully lifted out the items required. “Just need to put on the final touch and voila!”

The small hat, mask and cape fit the pumpkin perfectly!

Drake took a photo to share with the DWD Fanclub, reaching for his coffee as it uploaded. “Much better than all those Gizmoduck pumpkins, if I do say so myself.” 

He took a sip, but spat it out moments later, coughing as he looked into the mug. Why had his drink betrayed him with its bitterness? The answer, naturally, laid in the abyssal darkness of the liquid before him.

“Ah,” Drake grumbled. “I always forget the milk.”

He muttered to himself as he went into his fridge and snagged the milk carton. As he added it to his coffee, he glanced to his calendar.

“Haven’t heard from LP for a couple of days,” he said aloud.

Launchpad had told Drake he was going to be busy with preparations and wouldn’t see him for a bit. That hadn’t bothered Drake since they had just spent a week marathoning the entire TV run of Darkwing Duck, trying out another fan's recommended watching order. 

Besides, Drake knew some people took decorating for Halloween seriously, and LP did like committing whole-heartedly to things.  He was getting a bit of a foreboding feeling from the plans, though; from what Drake had seen of Launchpad's crayon blueprint scribblings, this was going to be on a whole new level.  And much as he didn't want to bother him, it had been close to a week since they'd spoken.

Maybe giving Launchpad a call would help - and if anyone could appreciate his masterpiece for Halloween, it would be his literal partner in fighting crime.  Drake reached for the cell phone and hit dial. He heard the beeping as he took another sip of his drink and swallowed it in time to hear his partner answer.

His ear was greeted by the loud whirring of a chainsaw.

Drake nearly dropped the phone until the roar stopped and he heard Launchpad’s voice. “Hey, DW!”

“Uh, hey, LP,” Drake answered as he lowered his cup. “You okay there?” He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t crash into your toolshed while answering the phone again did you?”

There was a deep sigh. “I wish,” Launchpad replied. “Sorry, I was just finishing final preparations for..the night.”

Drake sipped his coffee again. “How is that going, anyway?  You've been keeping kinda quiet.”

Launchpad clicked his tongue. “Well, the inner barricade is pretty solid structurally.  I've got enough fuel to keep the burners going, but I think I need more metal sheets for the outer wall.”

Drake raised an eyebrow. Just how big was he planning to make this thing?  And - burners?

“Since I assume you’re staying put I figured I'd stop by your place once I was done patrol for the night,” Drake replied.

There was a gasp from the other end.  “YOU’RE PLANNING ON GOING OUT?!”

“Sure,” Drake said as he set down his mug, placing his  hand on his hip. “Crime doesn’t take a night off just because it’s a spooky night.  I mean, the new mayor is talking about having crime take a vacation, but that's just talk”

“Oh DW,” Launchpad said as it sounded like he was tearing up. “You’re the bravest hero I know.”

“Uh thanks,” Drake replied. 

He was of course brave - braver than Gizmoduck at any rate, and there weren't any other heroes he knew of around - but the enthusiasm was welcome.  It was a bit much, though; Drake was just going to make certain no one tried to do any pranks on innocent victims or steal some kid’s candy. It wasn’t that huge of a deal.

“I can pick up a pizza and we can relax with a movie?” Drake continued.

“If we survive the night,” Launchpad replied in a dark tone.

“You...really get into the spirit,” Drake replied.

“What do you mean-” Launchpad started but then cut himself off. “Oh, wait, got to go. Delivery guy is here with the barbed wire. Got to go!”

Drake barely had time to say bye before he heard a click and put his phone away.

“I really don’t get the theme he’s going for but at least he’s dedicated,” Drake muttered.

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

“You jerk! Give it back!” a kid dressed up as a cupcake yelled.

The Beagle Boy laughed as he began to rummage through the kid’s treat bag.  “Finders keepers squirt!”  

“You didn’t find it, you stole it,” the kid dressed as a fire truck said as he tried to yank back the bag.

“Still found it, still mine,” the Beagle Boy replied as he shoved the kid back. “Now scram before I-”

“I AM THE TERROR THE FLAPS IN THE NIGHT!”

The Beagle Boy and his victims all froze as they looked around.

“I AM THE CANDY CORN THAT LIES AT THE BOTTOM OF THE BAG FOR MONTHS!”

“Blackarts?” the Beagle Boy said aloud. “That you?  If this is a prank-”

“I AM DARKWING DUCK!” 

The Beagle Boy was greeted with a kick to the face. He grunted as he fell back and tossed the candy bag in the air. Darkwing flipped, caught the bag and tipped his hat at the Beagle Boy.

“If you want candy, you’ll have to go trick-or-treating like everyone else,” Darkwing Duck cried. He held up a fist. “So leave these kids alone or else.”

The Beagle Boy grunted and glared. “Or else what?”

Darkwing Duck grinned and brought his face closer. “You want to find out?”

The Beagle Boy sweated, trying to stand his ground, but then growled as he began to step backwards. “He didn’t have any good candy anyway.”  He grumbled under his breath. 

The kids came closer as they watched the Beagle Boy retreat and then joyfully looked up to Darkwing. 

“Thanks, mister,” said the cupcake kid.

“You are welcome,” Darkwing said triumphantly as he handed back the bag. “Anything to help a citizen.”

“You got a great costume too, but I thought it was supposed to be red,” said the fire truck kid.

Darkwing halted and forced a smile. “Um..this isn’t a costume. I am Darkwing Duck! Avenger of the weak and...what are you doing?”

Both kids reached into their bags and held out a piece of candy out for him.

“Here you go,” the cupcake kid replied. “Only fair you get candy too!”

Darkwing decided to let the correction go and took the candy. “Thanks, kiddos! Now you'd best get home before it gets too late.”

“Okay, we will,” said the fire truck kid as they waved and ran off.

Darkwing sighed as he unwrapped the candies and popped them into his mouth. “Fourth time tonight,” he muttered. “Oh well, at least they kind of appreciate me.”

Suddenly his phone rang. Darkwing reached for his phone and saw it was Launchpad’s number.

Didn’t think I was running that late, Darkwing replied as he answered. “LP?”

“IT’S A HOLIDAY!” Launchpad shouted so loud Darkwing had to pull the phone away from his ear. “IT’S JUST KIDS DRESSED UP IN COSTUMES! AND THEY GIVE OUT CANDY AND-”

“Whoa, whoa, LP slow down,” Darkwing replied. “What are you talking about?”

Launchpad quickly told him the summary of his night and with each passing word Darkwing could only blink dumbly.

“Let me get his straight,” Darkwing said as he found a bench to sit on. “You thought this whole night was cursed because you read an ‘ancient scroll’ which was actually a candy wrapper and that all the trick-or-treaters were demons.”

“Yeah, funny huh?” Launchpad said with a laugh.

Darkwing was flabbergasted. Then suddenly the conversations the past few weeks flew into his brain and they took on a different meaning. 

“I really need to practice my detective skills.”

“Say again?” Launchpad asked.

Darkwing shook his head. “Nothing. My patrol’s almost done. Want me to stop by your place?”

“Sure! I’m just going to get this free candy from Mister McD, but I’ll meet you at my place.” Launchpad laughed. “Man, it’s a relief to know I don’t have to fight off eldritch horrors in October.”

Darking chuckled. “Yeah, I’ll bet-”

“Now I just have to worry about the flying archers in February,” Launchpad said darkly.

Darkwing went silent. “Come again?”

“It happens every winter.  Crimson streaks everywhere marking the resting places of the fallen, hunters around every corner seeking out new prey,” Launchpad continued. “I'm starting to suspect they're assassins - their targets marked with the design of the beating heart they seek to still.”

Darkwing clicked his tongue. “Launchpad, have you ever heard of a Valentine?”

“Valen-what?”

DW rubbed his forehead and made a note to have a long chat with him.

[katsukikitten]

The fact your ask box says "love" makes me swoon over (◍•ᴗ•◍) Could I have yandere!Shinsou Hitoshi with a darling who forgets that he needs a lot of attention sometimes? Maybe she's in the support course and is worse than Mei and works 24/7?? Love the shigaraki x yandere reader and the content you post(人 •͈ᴗ•͈)

Oh thank you so much bb!! I'm glad you enjoy my content. That shigi post was actually my very first yandere piece! Have a nice background of your papi that I made! Um also it implies a little bit of smut please forgive me.

Cool cat eyes rove over your form as icy rage stirs in a normally empty chest. The gaze goes wholly unnoticed by you as you work day in and day out in the cramped, too hot lab with a much too friendly male partner.

He grits his teeth, nails biting into his palms as you yet again stand him up for what is normally your meeting time. 9pm.

Sharp.

Or there would be consequences, heavy consequences.

He tried to be understanding of your need to work long hours on your project for the upcoming university festival but to miss an appointment for the sixth week in a row, on top of working through your lunch break was entirely unacceptable.

He knew that you wouldn't know what was best for your health as he watches your tank top rise up much too high for his liking as you teetered on the top rung of the ladder. Rage blooming in his chest but never his features as he watches through the large window.

Eyes glued to the white lollipop stick that hangs from your mouth, tongue moving the sweetened candy from one side to the other. He does not need to be in the room to hear the sound of the hardened sugar clatter against bone.

His cock twitches as his eyes drink in the sight of you pulling it out, a small string of cherry red saliva connect to your darkened tongue and the pop before it breaks.

His eyes fly to the beta male in the room, who stares and tries not to palm himself.

The amethyst haired man begins to see red as he swallows thickly, reminding himself that murder is frowned upon among upcoming heros.

Still, what the fuck were you thinking darling? Wearing your cut off denim shorts that ride up the curvature of your ass, that he always, always always dicks you down in. Paired with a much too tight and much too low tanktop that shows off the tops of your breasts and lacy bralette.

"Imma head out Y/N!" The overly friendly asshole calls out to which you barely hum in his direction, meanwhile his eyes are glue to your ass as you reach higher.

Shinsou's fingers twitch at the thought of a thick column beneath them, pressing into tender flesh until bruises bloom in the shape of his palm and long digits.

Until that ever fragile larynx is crushed beneath the weight of his ire, of the onlookers audacity to even glance at what clearly does not belong to them.

Were the fucking blind? Did they not see the intricately woven eggplant rope that sat snuggly around your throat with a midnight purple pansy dangling from the front.

Did they think you wore it for fun?

No, darling, you wore it so other's would know.

But maybe you weren't educating them enough.

The moon rises high in the sky as time paces quickly for you but slowly for him as eyes remained fixated on the one thing he has ever given the time of day. The only thought that ever runs for his head long enough that it makes his heart flutter instead of the normal languid beats.

You

Youyouyouyouyouyouyouyou

YOU.

His heart pounds in his chest as another hour slips by as you tinker on that project.

That fucking project that he tries so hard to remind himself is what will help define your career, carve the path to greatness you deserve.

But you watch you so absorbed as you pop, yet another lollipop into your mouth, probably running off of the sugar alone, his stiff body is beginning to beg him to move.

Especially so as your phone lights up with his text, going forgotten on the desk as the upper half of your body is bent over inside of your giant mechanical project.

Your ass on display in front of the whole window, in a lab with great lighting but no survalence cameras and doors that are either always unlocked or can be picked easily.

A rare growl leaves his throat as anger gets the best of him. Feet finally uprooting his rigid body to stalk after you.

He tries the front door to the lab and as he thought it is unlocked.

He cool handle gives way to his command as his twists, pushing it open before shutting it quietly. Repeating the process until he reaches your door.

A keypad for "extra security".

"What a fucking joke." He scoffs to himself as he let's his fingers dance over the obviously worn keys figuring out the combination as the others look brand new. The door beeps a flashing green and he wonders if it will alert you. When it doesn't he shuts it softly behind him and waits.

Twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes your peach was in the air for all to fantasize over causing him to grind his teeth.

And the worst part that he spies is that you don't even have fucking headphones in to excuse the fact that you could not hear your phone.

Hear the door.

Or hear him.

He thinks to grab one of your many disorganized tools to tap against the table to grab your attention but he cannot trust himself that he won't make said tool a permanent fixture on the dark wood top.

His eyes flicker to you as you're reaching, again, for something just out of your reach instead of moving the damn ladder.

Here you stood top of your class and would be top of the OSHA violations.

The ladder tips too far in one direction causing you to jerk instinctively in the opposite direction over correcting causing the metal to slip beneath your converse.

This was it, this was how you went. Your project a few bolts and a test from completion only for you to lie motionless with either a twisted neck or in a puddle of your own quickly cooling blood.

You squeeze your eyes shut, damning yourself for having such a small useless quirk before you feel a set of strong arms catch you. An extremely familiar scent wafts of sandalwood and lilac waft your nose before your eyes snap open.

The world outside of your machine finally giving in to gravity as you fall head first from the clouds.

Staring up at cool, unforgiving eyes has your heart pounding agaisnt your sternum, demanding to be let go.

With the look he is serving isn't out of the ordinary for him considering he always has RFB. But you see it. The small difference, the rage burning deep beneath that icy glare, the twitch of his lip and the harsh grip on your arm as pads of capable fingers dig into your frame.

A large part of you wishes you had just fell. Just snapped your neck clean in two on impact.

As anything was going to be better than what was about to come to you.

Fuck what time was it?

What day was it?

Seconds of silence fly by before your stunning brain finally catches up with your body.

"Wha..what are you doing here Shin-kun." You stammer as he screams the answer with his seemingly bored gaze.

You're late! In all caps from amethyst eyes.

You subconsciously finger the ceramic petals of your necklace.

"Its only eight thirty! I have half an hour still." You plead, honestly have no concept of time. Having lived in the lab for the past three days.

"Try again." He says coolly causing your stomach to fill with chaotic butterflies. His tone carrys with it hints of venom causing you to gulp. When you cannot answer he openly clenches his jaw.

"It's almost one thirty in the morning darling." Fear seizes your bones, freezes your muscles until you're as stiff as a board. Your eyes flicker between the two loves of your life, the blueprint come to life in the form of honed metal and him.

He who you promised you wouldn't neglect, he who you promised you wouldn't neglect yourself either.

He sure would take once glance at you, hair matted and thrown in a messy bun, white tank top stained with oil and grease, having had nothing to eat save black coffee and endless bags of various kinds of lollipops. Whatever the hell brand your lab mate brought in really.

And then there was his literally saving you from death.

It was busy for the two of you to meet and by the looks of his civilian clothes he might have possibly taken time off.

Oh.

Oh no.

Is written all over your face as his screams the opposite.

Oh.

Oh yes.

You knew exactly what he was thinking, what his next moves were as the scarves around his throat seemed to move on their own accord.

Your core and stomach tighten as the rough fabric weave around your wrists and ankles all the while your heart and mind scream for you to run.

Who knew when you'd be able to leave the confines of his large penthouse apartment. Barely able to sit on the balcony on his roughest days.

Panic overrides your desire to be held captive. To give in to his every demand and be safely locked away in his tower.

"W...wait wait...." Glistening eyes soley fixated on the metal, "I..I'm almost done. I can finish t...tonight!"

He stares down at you for a long moment debating if he should just take you anyway.

If he should steal you away to a place he knows you'll be properly cared for.

Nourished.

But smelling the desperation that comes off of you in waves has his stomach twisting and his hero heart yelling at him to do the right thing.

Suddenly your redden wrists are free as the strips of fabric find themselves neatly settled around his neck once again.

"Fine." Your heart soars as he sets you to your feet. Implying what you had hoped he would allow all along.

You were close. So fucking close to being done, to needing a session of being locked away in his care for awhile.

But this had to be done first before you became his princess once more.

He pulls up a stool to watch you, perching atop it like a swishing tailed cat. Eyes lazily half open but undeniably focused as you hesitantly got into the mindset of working again. His gaze and smirk carry some malice as he speaks, your attention wholly on him a final time.

"But after tonight you're going to be with me for awhile darling ."

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb: Ch 3 - Will You Help Me?

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary:  “Will you help me?”

It was a question you thought he’d certainly heard before, but it seemed to shock him. He stared at you, unblinking, for an uncomfortably long moment before blowing out a low, even breath and nodding.

C/N:  Nothing crazy here. Just shaking off the cobwebs.

Word Count: 3.7k

The sky darkened, accompanied by a ghostly wind to punctuate the gravity of what had just transpired.  You gaped at the decimated altar, unable to tear your eyes from it and commit to the path you’d forged.

Silent, he watched you. You could feel the density of his gaze as he waited for you to change your mind and try to flee. How many had made similar offers only to abandon them when confronted with such a stark reality?

You drew a fortifying breath far, far into your lungs and closed your eyes.  As though they’d been waiting just at the perimeter of the moment, the words leapt into your mind.

I can do all things through the Balance. Strengthened by them, it strengthens me.

Bolstered by prayers you never thought you’d recite, you stood and turned to face your fate. He was a more beautiful fate than you’d ever expected for yourself, but he was far more terrifying than any you had. You had no idea what came next, but you would be true to your word, having been raised to keep it above all else.

He turned and made his way back into the treeline whence he came. You followed behind, picking gingerly through the brush on bare feet but knowing better than to complain. Every stinging step you took broke twigs and crunched leaves, but The Ren left no evidence of his crossing. No part of his world was disturbed as he moved through it.

It was only you who did not belong here.

The realization socked you in the gut. It was profound — this knowing that you belonged nowhere and with no one.

Tripping on a vine, you crashed to the ground on a yelp. Pressing your hands to your chest, you tried to get yourself under control, to slow your haphazard breathing. He already thought you weak, and you did not want him to think you any more foolish. 

But it was useless. You were only human. Exhausted, skirting mania, you wept and shuddered. You were alone in the Galaxy with the only creature in existence who was, by design, incapable of feeling, of empathy. He was made to be the uncaring end of all things.

Long moments stretched as you tried to compose yourself. This wasn’t simply sadness; it was a mortal response to the reality of immortality. It is one thing to believe in gods.  It is something entirely different to know they are real.

Whether it was pity or impatience, this particular god turned back for you. In only a few strides, he was at your side. He tucked the book and blade against your chest and crossed your arms over them. You stared at his profile, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he lifted you into his arms effortlessly and resumed his path.

Despite how much you wanted to walk, to follow him like a willing adult and not be carried like a child, you wondered if he ferried everyone who died like this? It was hard to believe he was capable of tenderness, but the act of carrying you was, itself, tender.

Like nothing you’d ever wanted before, you wanted to study him, to absorb every detail and blister it into your memory. You also wanted to push against him, twist out of his embrace, and show him you could do this. In what you felt was the wise choice, you fixed your eyes upon your own ruddy fingers and leant your head against his chest.

Mysterious forest gave way to quiet vale and a new, delicate scent. He was moving too fast for you to take in very many details, but you knew better than to ask him to slow down. You discerned that a steel blue moss covered the sloping hills, and tiny, white, bell-shaped blooms and bright red mushroom caps decorated the pathway.

Too soon, the valley was crossed, and you disappeared into a yawning mouth carved into the base of a haunting mountain. You felt small compared to The Ren; and in the face of this mountain you knew he had made, you were positively dwarfed and shrank into yourself.

You didn’t notice that his dwelling wound down into the ground instead of up into the sky. Nor did you notice how sparsely it was decorated or how dimly it was lit. You only registered that he stopped moving and sat you upon your feet at the edge of an opulent pool of water.

Benumbed, you slipped into a wholly unfamiliar kind of overwhelmed. Your brain could not process any more of this world, and you crept nearer and nearer towards a fractured psyche.

He divested you of your things, eliciting an immature whine that you instantly hated. Chidingly, he gripped your chin and tipped your head back so he could look down upon you. You lost yourself to his freckles and the gentle echo of waves at the bath’s walls.

“Get in the bath. I’ll come for you soon.”

You looked from his stern eyes to the bath and furrowed your brow. You only just noticed that the contents of that ornate fixture were stone black, shining like oil. Forsaking your injuries for what you felt was good sense, you met his stare again and shook your head, too far gone to exhaustion for words.

“You’re injured.” A vice grip circled your upper arm, and he dragged you closer to the well. “Get in; or, I’ll throw you in.”

The irritation in his voice brought tears to your eyes, but you couldn’t articulate your anxiousness.  He made every single thing in this world to be as deadly as he was, and you didn’t trust that this bath wasn’t exactly the same. It made perfect sense to you that the black water was murderous, but you couldn’t say it out loud.

It was all too much, and you sunk out of his grip and onto the floor with a thud. Rocking back and forth, you pressed your fists into your eyes and wrestled with this innate fear you couldn’t shake.

Thunder cracked when he snapped his fingers, and your eyes shot back up to find him glowering at you. He pointed at the bath again, and you swallowed your own spit, trying to moisten your mouth and throat as though you had something to say, but it was only a ploy to lengthen the moment, to put off whatever came next.

“Will you help me?”

It was a question you thought he’d certainly heard before, but it seemed to shock him. He stared at you, unblinking, for an uncomfortably long moment before blowing out a low, even breath and nodding. You intended to look away as his nimble fingers made quick work of his clothes, but you found you couldn’t even do that.

Your breath stilled. Your mouth fell open on an inaudible sigh. Captivated, too tired to be ashamed, you drank in every detail.

They said men could not, should not, look upon their gods lest they be disappointed, but you could fathom no one being disappointed at the sight before you. Ever.

He was perfect, all broad shoulders and muscle. His beautiful skin was dusted with beauty marks at such places you thought were the exact right spots for kissing. He pushed thick fingers through raven black hair, edging it back away from his face. You lingered on abs, on hip bones, on ankles; and at each one, you found yourself surprised. There was no part of him that was unattractive. 

He was built like a man, but it was as though he was the blueprint from which man came.

Long and lean, he left you in your dirty crumple and stepped into the bath. He disappeared beneath the surface for only a second, only long enough to blacken his already ebony halo with the tainted water. He stood in the very center of the pool and lifted his hand to you.

It was the single best come-hither gesture you’d ever seen in your life.

“I’ll not do it for you, lamb. Come.”

You had been so certain before, so sure that you could do this if he helped you. But now? Now, he was naked and waiting for you, and you stuck to the floor as though it cemented you there. Your heart rate skyrocketed. Sweat dampened everything, everywhere. You could hear the increased pace of your anxious breathing.

Your body made the decision without any mental involvement.  On auto-pilot, you slid the ruined robe to the floor, pushed to your feet, and reached for his hand. His touch sparked electric current racing to your most intimate parts. The surge dipped into your heart, your spirit, and you willed yourself to not jerk away. He took another step toward you to strengthen your balance, and you dipped your toes into the pool.

Consternation knit your brow as you stepped further in and reached to brush your fingers through the liquid, assured it would sting, bite, burst into flames. Instead, the water was neither too cold nor too hot. You expected a strong chemical or crude odor, but it didn’t smell bad at all.  Rather, it smelled like lilies.  Besides being so dark it obfuscated your toes, it was slippery and tingly, and you swore it all but coaxed you deeper in.

Like a womb, the water enveloped you, warming to your exact body temperature. The further you sunk down into it, the more you accepted it, the more it practically vibrated around you. Beneath the surface, something of a current lapped at aching muscles, pulling loose an appreciative groan.

Head tipped back, mouth slightly parted, you were almost there, almost at relaxation when you felt it. Staring at his face, you blinked rapidly while trying to talk yourself out of what you thought. 

Surely, there was nothing else in this bath with you. Surely, he didn’t lure you into this complacency to feed you to some demon from the deep. Surely…..

The slide against your legs came again, though, scaly and undulating, and you launched from your lazing faster than you could even register. A volley of shrieks echoed in the chamber; and somehow, you climbed The Ren like a tree in your terror.

“What’s in the water!?”

It was his curse that broke through the haze right before he physically unwound you from his neck. You cinched your legs tight around his middle and scratched at his biceps, trying to hold on and resisting being plunged back down into the bath. Strung tight like a bow, you clung to him.

“Flowers.” He reached into the inky abyss and pulled up a drenched bloom. “They enrich the water.”

You turned away, eyes shut impossibly tight and not caring that what he said made sense. You were beyond the point of comprehension and could only see in variances of anxious, bewildered. Nothing in this place was safe except this spot right here.

“Please.” 

Your voice was softer, more fragile than you ever remembered it being before. His beautiful mouth pursed, and he relented. Shifting so you were face to face, he wrapped your legs around his hips, splayed both hands across your back, and lowered you both into the water. 

He lifted a thumb to brush away mud and caked blood from your face. You swallowed any further objection, but your eyes stayed round as moons. You looked over one shoulder and then the other.  You looked over his shoulders, too, searching for how this bath was going to kill you. It was irrational but unstoppable. 

Tinted by your fear, the water’s heat dropped away. It responded to every nervous chirp and twitch. Soon, your lips were blue, and your teeth chattered.

“If you don’t calm yourself, you will die.”

The almost affectionate way he murmured it was disarming. In your fugue, you followed the line he was making for you but very, very slowly. Your face crinkled with confusion. He had stopped you from dying before; hadn’t he? Isn’t that how and why you were here at all? In the middle? As though he could hear your questions, he lifted your arm from the water and brushed his thumb through the bloody loop.

“I’ll not keep saving you from your own stupidity.”

When your brain caught up to your body, you snapped your mouth shut hard and nodded, forcing your jaws together to stop the clacking.  You were causing yourself further distress by wallowing in that distress. Intent upon steeling yourself into some measure of calm, you counted the freckles on his face. You’d moved on to his throat when the tension in your back eased and your shoulders dropped.

You didn’t notice that he had slowly waded you out into the middle of the pool; but when you did, your eyes darted around quick and uneasy. He folded you further into his embrace, tucking you against his chest, and hushed your discontent. Grateful and giving more, you slid both arms up around his shoulders and pressed your breasts flush against him. The pleased noise he made soothed you, as did the way he nudged at your jaw with his nose.

“Better.”

Satisfied that you were coming back around to sanity, he rubbed at your calves, ribs, cheeks. There was a frisson of something every place his fingers touched — a pinprick, an impossible hook, a sizzle under your skin. Coupled with the strange alive-ness of the water, you were quickly lulled into a peaceful quiet. You vacillated between watching his face as he bathed you and laying your head upon his shoulder to simply feel it.

You pretended that he was comforting you over the loss of your family, that it was benevolence driving his soft touch and not preparation. Silent tears slid down your nose to roll along his skin; but if he noticed, he said nothing.

This was likely the only kindness you would get from this creature, and you didn’t want to ruin it.

“Turn this way.”

Stress barreled back into your body at the interruption of his voice, and you dug your nails in when he tried to move you. Having just learned the lesson, however, that the water would adjust to your mood, you held your breath and leaned back to look where he was instructing.

“Are you not healed?” He gripped the thigh he’d sliced open as proof to the claim. When you hadn’t been paying attention, the water was undoing some of the day’s damage. “Open your mouth.”

The look that crossed your face must have betrayed your initial impulse to refuse because he hooked a finger underneath the obsidian collar to keep you from wriggling away. You all but pouted, wondering if he would reduce you to feeling like an infant every single time he spoke. Caught like a fish, you closed your eyes to hide your embarrassment and obeyed. Barely.

It was faint, so far beneath his breath you nearly believed you’d made it up, but part of you was so certain you heard him say ‘good girl’ that you looked at him just as he slid his thumb along the inside of your cheek.

Slowly, seductively, he rubbed the pad of his thumb against the bumpy ridges you’d made by chewing the tender skin. He dipped his hand into the water and repeated the effort on the opposite side until you squirmed. He checked your gums and the roof of your mouth for what you assumed to be cuts from the athame hilt. 

He crooned and rubbed something against the very center of your tongue, which pulled an involuntary noise from deep in your throat. It had a rich, copper taste, but it was so fleeting you convinced yourself it was just more of the magic water.

“We will have to find better uses for this mouth, lamb.”

He tugged upon your lower lip, and you flushed from head to toe. He walked you towards the pool’s edge, and you assumed he was finished. The kindness bubble burst; bath time was over. Your shoulders sunk in defeat, and you nodded even though he didn’t directly ask you anything.

He stopped short and unhooked your legs from around his middle. Half in and half out of the water was cold, sending goosebumps darting across your heated skin.  You folded your arms over your chest, but he wouldn’t allow it. Turning you to face the wall, he wrapped your fingers around the tub’s ledge and pushed in against you.

The doting man who was just bathing you was gone, replaced by someone, something hungry. Those large fingers wrapped around your ribs, holding you in place just where he wanted. You tried to look over your shoulder at him, but righted your face forward at each attempt.

“Where else were you hurt? Do you remember?”

He crowded you into the wall and pushed against you, wedging what could only be an impressive erection into the cleft of your ass. Your brain short-circuited because of course you remembered. How could a person forget being fucked on The Ren’s altar by their own damn blade? There was a great divide, however, between your memory and your brain’s ability to form words — particularly when his fingers traveled the length of your body.

Both demanding hands squeezed your breasts hard. He rolled your nipples between his fingers and tugged until they throbbed from swelling. Dipping his head down, his husky, gravely voice was dangerous, and it set you to quaking.

“Here?”

You bit your just-healed lip and shook your head, feeling the ache begin deep inside your core. You closed your eyes tight shut because you weren’t convinced you wouldn’t beg him for some kind of relief if you saw the way he had to be looking at you.

His knuckles dragged down the length of your spine to disappear beneath the slick surface. You jolted onto your toes when the pad of his finger rubbed against the tight bundle of nerves between your buttocks. Up and down, again and again. Your toes curled with the effort to be still.

“Was it here?”

Pressing your lips into a hard line to contain the whimper, you shook your head again with more urgency, but he continued to stroke that delicate spot until you couldn’t keep the gasp in any longer. Anticipating, hopeful, eager even, your legs shifted further apart to give him room.

His touch dipped lower, two fingers sliding around your pulsing opening, and your head fell back on an obscene sound. He teased the area, never connecting with anything more than the outer rim. Back and forth, he rocked your entire body by this, your new center of gravity.

“Here? Tell me. Be specific.”

Your eyebrows pinched together tight, and you tried to keep yourself from rocking and bucking into his hand. He’d never let you wiggle your way onto his fingers. It was his way or nothing at all. Scowling, both in defeat and in concentration, you shook your head again.

Because the cross guard of the blade wasn’t the thing that left tears in its wake.

“Ah.” He said, pushing two thick fingers up into your cunt with no further pretense. “Here then.”

You cried out in surprise. Your eyes flew open, and you scratched at the tub’s ledge. He held you against the wall with a weighty grip at your shoulder and gave you exactly no amount of time to acclimate to his fingers. He pumped and twisted them until you shuddered. He pushed in as far as your body would allow and curled and wiggled his fingertips through your groaning and gasping.

The water he fucked up into you tingled and cooled your overheated core, a deliriously magnificent sensation when accompanied by the thick intrusion. You wanted more, and you nearly crawled over the pool’s lip to lift your ass higher so he could sink his cock into you; but just as swiftly as it began, it was over.

His fingers withdrew, and you were empty.

Deciding you would not humiliate yourself further by begging, you sniffled and rubbed away tears. Turning, you looked at him through fat droplets and clumping lashes. Latching onto you by your new accessory, he tugged you to him and chased away your hurt with a sudden kiss. He cupped your cheeks tight, thumbs squeezing your cheekbones. 

His lips were plush and firm. His tongue was greedy, and he explored every bit of your mouth. He swallowed every squeal and whine, and he nibbled at your lips until they, too, were puffy from his attention.

And through it all, you only had one coherent thought: He tasted like candy. Sweet cyanide.

“You’re not ready, little lamb.” To your surprise, he smoothed away the wrinkles from your confused forehead. “I will hear you beg for my cock, but not today.”

[jace-todd]

Late Night Cherry Tea

@convexed-parallel you asked for Hitoshi and Shouto and so I'm delivering! Trying to get more comfortable with writing and publishing said writing.

possible spoilers??? i don't know, i gave canon the middle finger

Word count: 2155

read on ao3 here

Shouto was hoping this wouldn’t become a new habit. But for the third night in a row, he’s found himself sitting on the counter in the kitchen, a bowl of soba cradled in one hand. The clock above the oven flashes 2:52 am, illuminating the room every time. He didn’t bother to turn on any lights when he came down, just reached into the back of the fridge for his food and crawled onto the counter. It wasn’t proper etiquette to be sitting here, and if Katsuki or Momo (or Fuyumi) were to see him, they’d tsk and tell him to get off. For a moment, he wanted them to be here, standing in front of him, their arms crossed, talking to him about how late-night habits. Then he’d glance down at his hands and rethink it.

Sleep and Shouto have always had a fickle relationship. After trainings with his father, Shouto found sleep to be a blissful release, taking him somewhere better than reality. All the ache in his bones, the exhaustion that hung off him like chains, the shaking in his hands and the ever-present taste of vomit would disappear as he slept it all off. Sleep was a warm embrace, gently moving your head down to their shoulder, fingers brushing through your hair and rocking you to sleep. Sleep was faint memories of his mother holding him, from before, her cold hands holding him up as she moved through the house, Natsuo and Fuyumi following closely and talking softly while Touya stood silent further away.

Then they’d have nights like these. Shouto would lay in the dark for hours, twisting and turning, chucking the blankets off, and then pulling them back on not a moment later. He would listen to one of Fuyumi’s sleep playlists, close his eyes and pray to whatever deities were above that he’d be granted at least two hours. Sleep would kick his ass, coming only to give him horrible nightmares of burning water, a towering figure, blue fire. Sleep was the cold embrace you felt when it was winter and you’re underprepared, frost nipping at your nose and fingers, still present even after you rub your hands together. Sleep became his tormentor, a false promise of protection, allowing him in to stop it all only to hold him down and force him to remember all of the worst times.

During anniversaries like this week, it was the latter. Touya’s death anniversary was coming up – though he wasn’t sure if that was still true. Echoing words of Dabi’s ‘that’s sad Shouto Todoroki’ wouldn’t leave him, a sense of familiarity lacing the way he said his name. He knows he’s grasping for straws, some sort of conclusion, an answer to years-long uncertainty involving Touya. But if there’s any possible chance, Shouto wants to think about it. Maybe if they have just an answer, Natsuo won’t be as distant, as angry. Maybe if they had just something to work off of, Fuyumi could breath a little easier, let her shoulders untense. Maybe if Shouto could find any trace, his Mother would be happier about their family, sleep better at night knowing all of her kids were alive and okay.

Maybe he’d be able to get some sleep.

Shouto sighs, looking back down at the cold noodles. He isn’t any less awake than he was an hour ago, heterochromatic eyes blinking slowly as he forces himself to untense his shoulders. The noise from his slurping is comforting, masking the rumble of the fridge and the clicking from their broken wall clock after Izuku slammed his shoulder into it during one of their movie nights that turned into rough housing. He wonders if it’s too late to turn on something on the tv and settle himself there for the night. The last thing he wants to do is wake anyone else up.

“You good?” The baritone voice startles Shouto out of his thoughts, originating somewhere near the entrance of the kitchen. He jerks his head up to see who it is and the sight of his newest classmate greets him.

Shinsou doesn’t look any better than he feels, eyes half-lid from accustomed exhaustion, one hand on the back of his neck and the other hiding in a pocket. His purple hair is down for a change, covering most of his face and neck. It’s a weird sight. He’s been in the class for a couple of weeks now, ever since Mineta’s expulsion. They haven’t interacted much outside of training sessions or Izuku dragging them out. Though, from what he’s heard Shinsou hasn’t been interacting with anyone since joining outside of forced encounters.

It’s strange for anyone else to be up this late, even Denki has tapped out by now. Fumikage is the only exception, the bird’s insomnia a pain in the ass to beat that Shouto often finds him when he’s awake. He’s good company when Shouto can feel his mother’s hands holding him down and hear a sizzle of a kettle long since put out.

Shouto twirls some more noodles, “I’ve been better.” The night finds him more vulnerable and open that the teen normally is. Shinsou hums in acknowledgement, making his way further into the kitchen to start gathering things from the fridge and the cabinets. It’s odd to share a space with someone this late at night. It’s odd to be living with anyone at all. Living back at the house, it was mostly cold and lonely. Fuyumi’s got herself a girlfriend so her presence isn’t a comfort Shouto can turn to. Natsuo has long since moved out to college. His father has never been warm and comforting. Going from that silence to a dorm with twenty other teens had been a lot to handle.

The clock now says 3:28 when Shouto finishes his soba and puts the container in the sink to clean later. Izuku and Katsuki didn’t wake up for training for another two and a half hours, and Shouto didn’t have anywhere to be until ten am. There was time to go upstairs and try again for sleep or there was time to start that show Mina was talking to him about. Neither happened when Shinsou spoke again. He had nearly forgotten the other male was there. Shinsou was awfully quiet.

“Here.” Shouto finds a mug being shoved into his hands. It’s hot and Shouto lets frost cold his hand down as he holds it, looking up to see Shinsou jumping onto the counter across him, holding his own mug. He isn’t used to this either, someone looking out for him and making him things when he can’t sleep. Fuyumi tried her best but Shouto always shoots her down so she can sleep. He loves his sister dearly but her sleep was important.

It’s tea, that much he can tell by sniffing, though there’s some sort of cherry addition to it. He shrugs and takes a sip. It’s good; warm and sweet on his tongue and happy memories blossom with it. Natsuo’s cherry syrup on his pancakes and waffles, him flipping Shouto off when he had teased him about it, Fuyumi’s disapproving voice telling them to cut it out. Touya’s red tongue as he sticks out, a free hand holding a cherry lopstick, hoarding the candy to himself, a slight pinch of a smile visible. Fuyumi’s cherry chap-stick she buys every time she runs out that always ends up in Shouto’s bag. Shouto can’t help but inhale the scent and cradle it close to his chest.

“Nightmares?” Shinsou speaks softly, as if he’s afraid he’s going to be yelled at for talking this late at night. There’s a grumble to it that makes him think of Aizawa-Sensei and Shouto’s half-tempted to ask if they’re related.

“No. Just old memories.” Shouto takes another sip from the mug, a soft smile irrepressible as he kicks his feet back and forth to do something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He’s been asked that before. When his mother burned him. When she was sent away. When Touya died. When Natsuo screamed at their dad and he ran to hide in his room. When Fuyumi told him that she was going to be around less. When he’d wake up screaming and crying. Shouto hates that question.

“No. What is this?” He lifts up the mug and Shinsou nods in acknowledgement.

“It’s a tea concoction my sister used to make me when I couldn’t sleep. Makes you real sleepy, just wait.” Shouto didn’t know that Shinsou had a sister. Though, Shinsou probably doesn’t know anything about his family either. He wonders about the past tense. Did she move away? Like Natsuo did? Was she dead like Touya? Or did Shinsou shoot her down like he did to Fuyumi?

Silence lapses between them again as Shouto thinks. Shinsou sits perfectly content across the kitchen, his own legs tucked under him, scrolling through his phone as he sips from the mug. The lightning makes the purple look black and when Shouto gets caught staring, the purple eyes look black too – just a ring of it swimming in pure white. He holds the gaze, though Shinsou just chuckles and goes back to his phone. It seems easier to breathe with the company, the oppressive weight Shouto had easing just a bit as Shinsou’s quiet reactions and them drinking fill the air. Shouto observes his new classmate and drinks the tea.

When it’s done, he finally talks again. “My brother’s death anniversary is coming up and I can’t stop thinking about it. He died when I was a kid, I barely knew him, but he meant a lot to Fuyumi and Natsuo. Father still has photos of him in the house though I’m not supposed to know that. Touya was the blueprint for everything that I am. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why we weren’t close, because my Father threw him to the side when I manifested my quirk. I think Touya took pride in his quirk and being a hero but it changed when I came around. I guess that’s why I’m so transfixed over it.” Shouto lifts his gaze. Shinsou’s phone is nowhere in sight and the empty mug is sitting next to his thigh. Purple eyes are locked on his. Undivided attention.

“It’s stupid but… when Katsuki was kidnapped, when I tried to get the marble back from Dabi, he said something. He said my name, my full name, and I can’t shake this feeling.” Shouto clenches his fist, “This feeling that there’s something off about that guy. I just want closure for Touya and I think that Dabi has something to do with that.” If Izuku were listening, he’d insist that they’d dig up everything they can. Izuku would overanalyze and ramble about that fight and everything little detail about Dabi. If Katsuki were here, he’d smack Shouto’s back hard and tell him to stop thinking so much, they’d catch the bastard and Shouto would get his closure – all of it in his own way.

Shinsou slides off the counter, softly walking over to stand in front of Shouto. “It’s not stupid. I’d give anything to find out who killed my sister. Closure helps you move on and sleep at night. It makes everything just a tad bit better, though it may not seem like it. You want to know even if the answers aren’t desirable because at least its an answer, at least you know. You want to be able to finally tell your family you know what happened to your brother and sleep the entire night. There’s nothing stupid about that, Todoroki.”

A firm hand sits on his shoulder, “We’ll find out what happened to your brother, Todoroki. We’ll solve this mystery, okay?” Shouto stares into determined eyes and finds himself nodding. Shinsou’s ambition got him into the hero course through it all and it reminds him of Izuku. A lopsided smile overtakes Shinsou’s serious expression, the hand disappearing to take the empty mug from his loose grasp. “Now go the fuck to sleep.”

The faucet is turned on and Shinsou gets to work with cleaning the evidence they were ever down in the kitchen. Shouto jumps off the counter, heading towards the elevator. The tea did it’s job, his eyes are heavier, his limbs relaxing without his permission and the fog of sleep starting to drift in. He stops though, turning to look at Shinsou over his shoulder. “Hey, Shinsou?” There’s another hum and the other student looks at him. “Thank you.”

“Any time. Next time you can’t sleep, come find me. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Maybe he can’t climb into his mother’s bed after nightmares. Maybe he can’t turn to his eldest brother to show off his accomplishments. Maybe he can’t click with Fuyumi or Natsuo anymore. But he does know that maybe next time he can’t sleep, he can find some comfort in the brainwasher. Shouto takes a deep breath and presses the up button on the elevator.

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Possessed Part 2 Chapter Four: Discussion

Back in the lab, the boxes were placed haphazardly all over the floor. E. Gadd was already sorting through them while Polterpup chewed on a bone in the corner and Gooigi seemed to just be sort of standing around, watching. They looked up and lifted a hand in a small wave as Luigi, King Boo, and Mario entered. King Boo even let Luigi return with his own wave. It was nice to see Gooigi again, though Luigi felt a bit bad about having not thought of them much the past however long King Boo had been possessing him for.

“Did you tell him?” E. Gadd asked, looking up from his work to swivel around in his chair to face them. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he had to mean.

“Yes,” Luigi said. He would’ve still preferred not to but there was no way they could’ve kept it a secret for long no matter what.

“Good. I already explained to Gooigi so you don’t have to worry them.” That was one worry off Luigi’s plate at least. Whatever Gooigi felt about the situation was impossible to guess but that was how it was always was with them.

“You can fix it, right?” Mario asked, walking around the boxes to stand by E. Gadd at his desk.

“I don’t know yet but I’m going to try. I have to adjust the KBE blueprints some and might need to send you four out for more parts to build it. So it’s still days if not weeks away from being done. And I don’t even know if that time frame’s going to be an issue or not. How fast does it take for two souls to become one? At what point does separating them become impossible? There’s so much we don’t know.”

Neither King Boo or Luigi had thought to consider that before. What if they’d already reached the point of no return? If not how far away were they from it? It could potentially take weeks for E. Gadd to finish the KBE, that was a scary amount of time when under an unknown time limit.

“You two,” E. Gadd said, pointing at King Boo and Luigi, “You haven’t said anything about it but you must’ve noticed symptoms of what’s happening with your souls by now. About how long ago did they start? If we can pinpoint about when the process began, we might be able to calculate approximately how fast it’s occurring.”

Both of them thought back to when they’d first started becoming more aware of the other’s thoughts and emotions. They both came up blank though; their memories from before their trip to the Boo Kingdom were foggy and indistinct. Neither of them were even sure how long King Boo had been possessing Luigi for.

Which is your fault. If King Boo hadn’t been running around injecting Luigi’s body with every chemical he could find they would know more. Also, he would’ve gotten bored of the game sooner, possibly resulting in them not being in the mess in the first place. Or heck, if he just hadn’t possessed Luigi in the first place, things would be better for both of them.

‘How was I supposed to know this could happen? If anything, it’s your fault for making defeating you any other way so difficult.’

In the interest of keeping what little peace they could have Luigi wasn’t going to reply to that. “Longer than two weeks ago,” he said out loud instead.

“Much longer?” E. Gadd asked. “Or about two weeks?”

“Uh… I…” Luigi began before King Boo cut him off. “We’re not entirely sure because most of our time was spent experimenting with every inebriating substance we could get out hands on. As a result, we were barely aware of much of anything a lot of the time, let alone our thoughts getting closer, and we certainly can’t remember any of it well. So we can’t say when it started, only that it was longer than two weeks, probably by a fair bit. Before we found out about it was fun though, drugs, alcohol, and the ability to sleep are the only good things the living have.”

Why’d you have to tell them that? Luigi had had no control for any of it but he still felt ashamed and would’ve preferred no one ever knew of it. … Which was exactly why King Boo had told them.

Mario glared but as he opened his mouth to speak, King Boo cut him off.

“Before you get all mad at me about that, let me share just one more thing and ask a very important question related to it.” With an evil smile, he pushed back against Luigi’s attempt to make him shut up because mentioning that wasn’t necessary. Luigi didn’t want to think about it ever again. … Too bad, King Boo wanted to know why it had happened and there was a chance it might be useful information to E. Gadd. “On the day we discovered our predicament, I tried multiple ways to fix it myself. I only came here as a last resort after all. But the way that definitely should’ve worked but didn’t for some inexplicable reason was death. I tried to kill the meat suit but it wouldn’t die.”

“You did what?” Now Mario was really mad as he took a menacing few steps closer.

With an evil chuckle, King Boo pulled down the collar of suit, better revealing the mostly healed wound on Luigi’s neck. “I slashed his throat,” he said as he ran the thumb of his other hand over it, sending a shudder down Luigi’s spine. “Deep too. He couldn’t breath and he bled what seemed to be most of if not all his blood out. I even stopped his heart. And yet, he wouldn’t die.”

“You bastard!” Mario grabbed King Boo by the shirt and shoved his back roughly against the wall. He reared a fist back for a punch but seemed to catch himself just in time to punch the wall next to Luigi’s head instead of Luigi himself. “How dare you?”

With in inward chuckle, King Boo surrendered control to Luigi. Mario pushing him against the wall was suddenly the main thing keeping him up right as he shook from just the memory of that incident. It made him nauseous but he could almost recall what it felt like to lie there, bleeding out but not dying, not even passing out.

Mario jerked back with a stricken look. “I’m sorry Luigi, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” Luigi interrupted. “I uh… just don’t want to think about… that.” He wanted to say more but…

Having had his fun messing with Mario, King Boo took control back; steeling against the trembling and even pushing down the growing panic and forcing away the memory of it which Luigi wholeheartedly welcomed and assisted in. He then put a hand on Mario’s shoulder to push him to the side a bit to stroll past him. “Why did that happen?” he asked he strode over to stand in front of E. Gadd. “Why can’t the meatsuit die?”

E. Gadd looked shocked but quickly recovered, shaking it off before replying. “Hmmm… well I can’t say for sure without more data but my hypothesis would be that it has something to do with your souls merging. One of your souls is dead while the other is not, together you’d be something that’s sort of in-between, right? Meaning you’re neither fully alive nor fully dead and thus you can’t die. Oh uh… you may have actually discovered the secret to immortality, congrats! Hmm… I wish I could run all sorts of tests and experiments on you but… I can’t. My lab’s in shambles and there are lines I won’t cross even for science, letting a friend’s soul merge with someone so vile is one of them. I need the prioritize finished the KBE above all else.”

Luigi could’ve hugged him for that and with all he’s been through lately, he probably would’ve if King Boo wasn’t there to restrain him. … That hug with Mario had been more than enough for the day, King Boo refused to tolerate any more. So Luigi had to settle for a shaky, “Thank you,” instead.

E. Gadd grunted an acknowledgement as he spun his chair back to face his desk. “Speaking of that, I have work I need to get back to. Revealing your… stunt reminded me just how urgent his is.”

Unhappy but satisfied with that answer, King Boo turned back around to grin at Mario who was back to looking mad. “As soon as you’re out of my bro’s body, I’m gonna make you pay for everything you did to him,” he said, making it sound like a promise.

With an evil chuckle, King Boo raised an eyebrow. “Really? And how do you plan to do that? We’ve fought before, remember? Three times now. I won easily every single time. If it wasn’t for your bro here, you’d still be wall art.”

“I don’t care. You’re going to pay.”

Luigi wished he could take comfort in that but… he just couldn’t. Mario didn’t stand a chance against King Boo; three times were certainly enough to prove that. Maybe if he had a Poltergust he would but even then, he didn’t know how to use it, did he? It didn’t match his style of combat at all.

‘If he tries anything, he’s doomed.’ … So hopefully he wouldn’t. If he did, Luigi would have to try to convince him not to. But that was thankfully something he didn’t have to worry about right now, getting free of King Boo came first.

 -

Over the next however long, they sort of just hung out at the lab. E. Gadd worked, only occasionally calling Gooigi over to help with something. He called King Boo and Luigi over once for one more scan just for the sake of it and to see if anything had changed; it hadn’t. Other than that, none of them had anything more they could do right now but seemingly nowhere else to go.

It was Mario who eventually pointed out how late it was. Neither Luigi nor King Boo had noticed beyond taking note of Gooigi falling asleep in the corner but it was nearing midnight. King Boo’s magic and seemingly the whole half dead, half alive thing reduced their need for sleep – and other life sustaining things like food and water – making it easy to lose track of how late it was.

“Rest is for those without coffee,” E. Gadd protested upon the suggested he should rest and continue tomorrow.

Mario frowned at him. “While I agree, this is very important and needs to be done as soon as possible, it’s probably better if you rest.”

“I agree,” King Boo said. “If you fuck this up because of sleep deprivation or any other reason, I’ll make you death a slow one.” As much as he’d like it if E. Gadd could work on it 24/7, even he knew that the living needed sleep or they didn’t function properly. He’d rather it take a little longer to ensure E. Gadd did it right then rush it and probably result in something in it not working right and thus the whole thing failing.

E. Gadd groaned and complained in a way that was almost funny before finally spinning around and hopping off his chair. “Fine whatever. Let’s all get some rest. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Mario said as E. Gadd walked off. He then turned to look at King Boo and Luigi, still leaning against a wall to the side. “You want to come back to the castle with me? It’s a shorter drive back here than to your old place. And we can car pool.”

“You… really want me coming back with you?” Luigi asked because anywhere he went, King Boo went too and no one in their right mind would invite King Boo over to their house.

‘Wow, rude! I’m perfectly good company.’ … That was so blatantly untrue it wasn’t even worth a response. … ‘When I want to be I am.’

“Of course I do, your my bro. Even if you got an uh… unwelcome passenger right now, you’re still welcome over.”

“Let’s go then,” King Boo said as he stood up. He was bored and sleep sounded nice right about now anyway even if they didn’t feel much need for it yet.

 -

Mario didn’t live in the castle itself – though he did have a room there that he stayed in sometimes – but a house very near it. Luigi had lived with him there until a few years ago when he’d decided to try to be a little more independent. Which actually was part of what had led into the original haunted mansion trap so maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

Regardless, the place was almost exactly how Luigi remembered, the red couch in front of the outdated TV, the kitchen doorway to the right, and the hall leading to the bedrooms, except messier. Mario had never cared much about tidiness the way Luigi did. … King Boo preferred tidiness too. … Finally, something they had in common so at least when their souls merged, whatever kind of person they’d become would still be neat and tidy.

‘No need to be so pessimistic.’ It dampened King Boo’s confidence that this would turn out fine.

Can you blame me for being pessimistic when you’ve been making my life a living hell for however long we’ve been like this? Honestly, as bad as the idea of their souls merging into one was, it would probably be better than continuing to exist with King Boo in control of his body. So I think I’m allowed to be as pessimistic and negative and whatever else I want however much I want.

‘You should really stand up for yourself more. It’s more exciting than your whimpering and cowering is.’ Though part of why it was exciting was that the whimpering and cowering had gotten old after being exposed to it for so long.

Fuck you too. Even if he wasn’t physically tired, he was mentally and he just wanted this nightmare to be over with already. He’d reached the end of his rope a long time ago. That earned a chuckle from King Boo, before he could properly reply though…

“You okay?” Mario asked, stepping in front of them.

“No,” they said out loud together because it was impossible for them to be okay in these circumstances.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Unless you’ve been hiding a way to get me out of this meat suit, then no, you can’t help,” King Boo replied.

Mario glared at him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“It’s fine Mario,” Luigi cut in before King Boo could reply with a snarky taunt. “I’ll be fine… hopefully. I trust the professor, if anyone can fix it, it’s him.” What if he couldn’t though? What if it was too late already? Or too late by the time he finished the KBE?

“Yeah, you’ll be free of King Boo soon, I’m sure, just got to hang on a bit longer.” Mario gave him an encouraging smile. Luigi had always been a little jealous of his confidence. “Let’s go to be now, huh? It’s been a long day.”

Ignoring him, King Boo strode past him towards the bedroom. For the sake of getting along… ‘Which room is yours?’ He was tempted to head for Mario’s room to mess stuff up but it would accomplish nothing.

The one on the right. Luigi wouldn’t have let him mess with anything anyway.

“Uh… goodnight then Luigi,” Mario called after them as King Boo started down the hall. “Sweet dreams.”

“’Night Mario,” Luigi returned before King Boo could close the door.

[meet-the-clown]

prompt: how they meet pierre

word count: 2,245

“Alright, that’s it. Out.” Dell puts the brakes on, hard enough it sends Scout sliding out of his seat and into the dash. The hazy structure of the main base is only barely visible in the distance, but they’ve gone through the old broken down barbed wire fence and passed the stack of rocks that marks the start of the Respawn Zone, so it’s close enough.

“What? Come on, man. It’s still way out dere! I don’t wanna walk all d’way out dere!” Scout’s already hooking a hand around the strap of the backpack shoved between his feet, though, and when Dell gives him a pointed look, he kicks open the passenger door, too. “Dis ain’t fair. I didn’t even do nothin’.”

“Boy, I have had you in this truck for the past three days straight, and the last two of them without even stoppin’ for the night. It’s about time you get yourself on outta here, make those legs’a yers useful, and hike yourself the rest of the way,” says Dell. “It ain’t too far out there. Shouldn’t take more than a good half hour.”

Scout sucks on his front teeth and squints at the hazy shape in the distance. “Bet I can make it dere in fifteen.”

“Doubt it,” he says, because there’s nothing that motivates Scout into doing something quicker than a challenge.

“Nah, I totally can make it in fifteen. I bet I’ll get dere before you. I mean, seriously, you drive like someone’s granny. Out here in da middle’a da desert and ya never even make it up past fiddy.”

“We were on a curving cliff, for one, and for another, you don’t get no say in how I drive,” says Dell. “Last I checked, you don’t even got a license.”

“I kill people for a livin’,” grumbles Scout. He shrugs his bag over his shoulder, adjusting the straps of it. “I should totally be able t’drive without a license.”

“Well ya can’t. And if ya keep standing out here all day runnin’ yer mouth, there ain’t no way that yer gonna be able to get all the way to the base before I do.” Dell puts the truck back into gear. He’s hardly gotten it pushed into second before Scout takes off, hot-trotting across the dusty expanse of red sand.

Dell hasn’t been out to Stovepipe Wells since the first team up and vanished. It looks like Mann Co hasn’t been using it for anything since then, either. There are remnants of the last match scattered around; scorch marks on the grounds, big twists of metal that’s been blown apart. An old water tower has been knocked into a sharp angle about three miles to the east, one leg twisted out under it.

The base itself doesn’t look to be much better. Medic’s van is already parked up front, though it looks like he’s gotten himself distracted by an old, half-rotted coyote that manage to get itself trapped under a gnarly bit of metal. He pulls around to one of the side doors, pulling the pack of blueprints and paperwork out of the dashboard.

“Alright,” he breathes out, pushing open his own door. “Might as well get this done and over with.”

* * *

The inside of Stovepipe Well is even worse than the outside. Classic came long before Miss Pauling was in charge of the mercs, and it looks pretty much like whoever came before her just let them run wild. From what Dell knows of the group – arguably, mostly information that Francois has managed to sweet talk out of Miss Pauling’s briefcase – they didn’t really follow any of the sanctions that come with the job now, or the basic moral code that most people use to function.

It takes a special sort to function in their line of work, Dell won’t argue on that front, but the first team Mann Co employed had the bad tendency of taking things about twenty steps too far. The inside of the base is trashed, wires pulled out of the wall, furniture have blown up. There’s a hole melted in the doorway of what Dell thinks must have been used as the med-bay once upon a time; a room that unfortunately directly attaches to the only place suitable for his own workshop.

Dell likes Ludwig well enough, but the man is loud and distracting.

He steps over the hole in the floor and into the room. There are similar holes pit marking the rest of the room from whatever concoction must have been spilled. Classic must have left Stovepipe in a hurry; long-festered experiments are still strewn out on the various tables shoved into the room, and there’s a corpse that’s mostly nothing but bones half peeking out from under a bloodied sheet.

It’s been here long enough that the stink’s completely gone.

It’s going to need a lot of cleaning, but Dell would bet a pretty penny that Scout will end up doing most of the work for the doc.

“Let’s hope the shop ain’t in worse shape.” Dell sits his tool box down on a counter with a heavy thump. Something rattles. He eyes the counter, half expecting the whole thing to just give in.

There’s another rattle.

It’s not coming from the counter.

“Better just be a coupl’a rats,” grumbles Dell. “I’m not lookin’ to have any live experiments running around.”

No sound for a long few moments, and then the harsh puff of a whistle.

Not rats, then. Dell would have much preferred the rats. Scout’s good at killing rats, and Jane’s good at moving the bigger critters. But they don’t whistle.

Dell squints, giving the room another once over. There’s an even longer stretch of silence before it comes again. Is that coming from the fridge?

“Drats. Couldn’t just be a quick clean up.” Grumbling to himself, Dell walks over to the fridge and makes to pull the door open. It’s stuck. There’s something thick and gray at the bottom of it, pooled under Dell’s boots and sealing the door shut.

He takes a step backward, has to pull his leg so hard it makes his knee pop just to get his boot picked back up.

Grumbling even louder, Dell rubs at his knee, grabs his tool box, and heads for the workshop.

Something to be dealt with later.

* * *

The workshop might be in even worse condition than the rest of the base. Dell spends about twenty minutes trying to clear off a single counter, and then decides he just doesn’t have the patience for it today. The ride out here has left his back a mess, and his patience is just about run out. There’s no power, no lights, no air, just a bunch of broken mechanics.

Ludwig hasn’t shown up yet, and Dell needs to get something completed before going to bed or it’s going to drive him up the wall.

The smallest, easiest task seems to be that fridge. He grabs a half gallon of hexane out from under a pile of trash, and his wrench on the off chance whatever’s in that fridge needs to a swift disposal.

This time, Dell takes care not to step in the slime. He presses the top of the bottle to the slip of seal between fridge and freezer, just dousing the whole side of it. The foul but familiar scent fills the air, burning the back of Dell’s throat. It hisses, the rubber and slime both melting off of the door.

Dell counts to thirty and then gives the handle a good, solid yank. This time, it pops open with a wet, schlick. Unlike the room, the fridge has kept the scent of rot and decay sealed inside. With the power off, it’s hot, and wet, and everything from the beakers to the old glass trays have just sort of festered.

The head sitting on the otherwise empty top shelf, however, has not rotted.

It blinks at him.

Dell jerks backwards, fingers curling tighter around the wrench. The head is gaunt and pale, with bands of dark discoloration around the neck, right above where it’s been sliced off and burned shut. He has the biggest urge to check if the corpse on the other side of the room might be missing a part, but isn’t dumb enough to look away from a blinking head.

“What in the - “ Dell squints. The head looks very familiar. “Exactly how alive are you?”

The head stares at him for a moment. His lips are cracked and scabbed over. A tongue darts out and licks at them. “Debatable.” The voice is a hoarse, creaking sort of rasp. “Qui êtes vous?” And then, voice crackling even more, “ ‘ho?”

“Well, shit,” says Dell. A talking head in the fridge.

Somehow, this feels like a disaster jammed inside three other disasters.

He should have just gone and fixed the power, instead.

* * *

It takes about fifteen minutes for Dell to wrangle in Ludwig, and Scout comes along like the doe-eyed thing he’s been the last three weeks, and then they all sort of just stand in front of the open fridge like a couple of teenagers gawking over a dead cow.

“Zat is absolutely a head,” says Ludwig, cheerfully.

“Fucking gross,” says Scout. He sucks on his teeth. “Is it alive?”

“Oui,” rasps the head. He looks about twenty shades of unimpressed with all of them. Everything about him looks faded, the color drained out of his hair and his skin and his eyes, all grayed out and fuzzy.

“Aw, man, it’s French. Gross,” says Scout. He knocks his elbow into Ludwig’s side. “You wanna take it back and toss it? Bet if I catch it with my bat we could make it hit the fence line.”

“You will not,” says Dell, firmly.

Ludwig reaches in and picks up the head. He holds it uncomfortably close to his own face. “Hallo, mein kleiner körperloser Freund! I am ze Medic. Und who are you?”

Another long, slow blink. Another flick of the tongue over his lips. “A spy. Décomissionné...I think.”

“Ohoho, and very thirsty I would imagine! Come, schatz, let me get you a drink!” Ludwig sweeps off to the other side of the room, head in toe.

Scout says, “so, uh, dis is weird, right? I mean, even for us?”

“Yes, scoot,” says Dell, dryly. “This sure ain’t normal.”

He shifts from foot to foot. “What now?”

“I suppose...now I go call Miss Pauling.”

* * *

“I’m sorry. Can you, ah, run that by me one more time?” Miss Pauling’s voice crackles. The mobile phone hook-up is in Medic’s van, for a reason that Dell has never fully been able to understand. He can practically hear her tilting her head.

“There’s a talking head in the fridge of the med-bay. Haven’t gotten much outta him yet, but he says he’s - “

“A spy, yes, no, I actually got that part. It’s more the talking head bit I was stuck on. You are, ah, being serious, right?”

“Aren’t I always?”

“Right, right, no, you are. Alright, this is – really not something I was expecting. Alright. I have papers, I’ll get them to you by tonight.”

Dell ventures, “papers that explain why there’s a talking head in the fridge?”

“God, no. I have no idea how that’s possible. No one’s used this base in years. By all rights, it should have starved. But I guess it doesn’t actually have a stomach? Not important, right, the papers. I believe they should explain who the head is, or was, or at least what body it belonged too. Whatever term you want to go with.”

There’s the sound of something suspiciously like a gun shot, and then a wet thump of a body hitting the ground.

She continues, “I can’t say much over the phone, but considering that our Spy is accounted for, and the others are all very much dead, I know that personally, mind you, there’s really only one spy it could be. If it even is a spy and not, well, a literal spy.”

Dell rubs at the bridge of his nose. “And who would that be?”

“Pierre Dubois. The last spy hired on with the, ah, original team of mercs hired by Mann Co, before the factions were split.” Another gun shot. Another wet thunk. “He went missing about six months before the rest of the team was decommissioned.”

“Missing.”

“Missing. As in, no one, including their handler, could locate him. We’ve looked since then a few times, but haven’t been able to pick up a trace. Engineer, picking up the trail is literally one of my jobs. The best we could come up with was that between his skills, company assets, and help from the old handler, he went ghost.”

Sometimes, Dell really hates his job.

He says, “but now yer thinking it’s less that he went ghost and more that he’s been sitting here like someone’s leftovers.”

“Exactly,” says Miss Pauling. “So, papers. I’ll have them to you by tonight. I’ve – really got to get this taken care of first. Just make sure that Scout doesn’t turn this into a mess.”

No promises on that one. He did leave Scout and Medic together, without any adult supervision. Lord knows they both need it.

Dell says, instead, “I’ll certainly try.”

A heavy sigh. “Thank you, Engineer.”

And then the line goes dead.

[damienthepious]

this has been a difficult week! also for the bouquet here whoops.

Going Through Changes, Ripping Out Pages (chapter 6)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ao3] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ch 10] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, (uhhhhh sorta), Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (WE WILL GET THERE…… EVENTUALLY)

Summary: Lord Arum wakes to discover that some things have changed while he slept. Namely, there is a human in his bed.

Chapter Summary: There are some tried and true methods, when it comes to curse-breaking.

Chapter Notes: this chapter beat me up out by the dumpsters. but hey! happy LKT! ;3c

~

Arum brings them to his workshop. Rilla isn't sure if she should be more relieved or worried about that, but the fact that the room looks turned over is leaning her more towards the second option.

"Okay," she says slowly as he leans against one of the worktables (his own, she notes) and stares at the both of them with an edge of suspicion. "You want us to convince you. How exactly can we do that?"

"What will it take for you to believe us?" Damien echoes, his voice a little uneven.

Arum wrinkles his snout, but he doesn't quite look angry, now. Mostly he just looks uncomfortable.

He reaches and lifts one of her recorders from on top of a small pile of blueprints, scrawled over in his handwriting as well Rilla's, and he frowns lightly as he fiddles with the controls until he plays the entry he's apparently interested in.

Research log, Entry 4485. We're going to need to adjust the dosage slightly on the treatment regimen we've worked out for the Keep. Its reaction has been positive, and it certainly seems like we're making strides helping it recover from the long-term damage sustained from the Moonlit Hermit incident, but it's experiencing some side effects and I think we can work out a better ratio that should prevent the added drowsiness and pseudo-cramping while still helping to restore its structural awareness and reduce the internal scarring. I think our best bet is-

Arum stops the recording, still frowning, and then he meets Rilla's eyes.

"I thought you said that we solved the illness afflicting my Keep," he mutters, though he still doesn't sound angry.

"We did," she clarifies. "But by the time we did solve it, the Keep had been suffering from sleep deprivation - you had too, by the way - and a magically modified fungal infection so bad that it was nearly necrotic for something like two weeks at least. We figured out the problem, but that doesn't mean that the Keep didn't take some long-term damage in the meantime. And even after that-" she laughs, helplessly, "after that, the fear monster set the entire swamp off, so it's not like the poor thing got a break before you and Marc and it had to struggle through a full-blown assault."

"Marc," Arum hisses, looking away. "The Keep mentioned another… hrm."

"Is this… does this have any particular bearing on our current situation?" Damien asks, his tone very careful, and Arum sighs.

"The pieces of this obnoxious puzzle seem to be falling into place," he says slowly, grudgingly. "And the pieces seem to… corroborate a certain version of the events of the last year."

"A certain version?" Damien echoes, his hands clasping in front of his chest.

Arum sighs again, his snout wrinkling before he looks up towards them. "Your version. Which-" he waves a hand in front of himself when Rilla and Damien glance towards each other in surprise. "Do not misunderstand. Your story is still ridiculous, and I still do not understand, and everything you have so far claimed is decidedly in the realm of the impossible. But-" he grimaces, and then he reaches for the recorder again. "But I am… I am more aware than most," he grumbles, "that the impossible is perfectly within reach. For me, at the least."

He presses down the button, and a different entry plays. Rilla doesn't remember exactly when this one is from (she records her logs so thoroughly so she doesn't need to keep that information in her head, honestly), but she can hear from the very first word that she's completely exhausted in the recordin.

-ter version of the salve. The last three trials have completely tanked, and until I can get my hands on some mo-

She interrupts herself, the edges of a wide yawn crackling through on the tape.

- more, Saints. More of that specific subspecies of dayshade, which is a pain in the ass to source, I'm limited in the number of trials I can actually do. I've got maybe enough for… four more attempts? So I need to pick just four formulas to try and just hope that one of them-

A rustle and a gasp, and then Arum's low rumbling laughter on the recording.

Sneaking up on me again, Arum-

I do not think I could have approached you in any other way, Amaryllis. You have apparently been utterly single-minded on this task since sundown. You … you aren't avoiding sleep again, are you?

No. No, I just- lost track of the time. Is it actually that late?

If you go to sleep right now, you might just pass Damien as he wakes.

A laugh, Rilla's own this time, and then another rustle that ends in a soft hum.

So what are you doing awake, then?

Looking for you, of course.

Another laugh, bright and warm, and Arum looks away from the device with his frill flared high.

Arum-

Come to bed, little doctor. It is … it is never quite warm enough without you.

Alright, okay, okay you big- oh. Whoops. Experiment will continue tomorrow, I guess? End of log.

Arum clicks the button, preventing the device from playing the following log, and then he swallows and frowns even more deeply before he meets Rilla's eyes again.

"Evidence," he hisses. "Everywhere I look, every stone I turn. The pair of you have sunk your roots in here, however you've done it, and… and I know my own voice. I know- I can recognize-"

He snaps his teeth together, and then he exhales a hiss between them.

"I do not understand how. But the pair of you are apparently a part of this. Part of the life that this-" he pats his own chest, his lower hands with the dulled claws thumping off of his scales, "this version of myself has built, over the year that has been stolen from me. I cannot… I cannot imagine that the both of you are… are such impeccable liars as would be required for this to be…" he clenches his teeth, eyes flicking back and forth as he searches for the words.

"Arum," Damien murmurs, and the monster's frown eases, just barely.

"I am beginning to think," Arum says slowly, "that this curse was meant to harm you, just as much as it was meant to harm me."

Rilla can't help the relief, can't help the way her shoulders sag, and Damien clings to her arm. Arum watches them both, but- he doesn't seem surprised by their reaction.

"If- if that was the intent," Damien says breathlessly, "I think it is safe to say it quite succeeded."

"Hm," Arum says, and it sounds a little bit like an agreement.

Rilla, for her part, is running back through exactly what Arum just said, because-

"Wait. You said- curse?"

Arum's frill settles, and he turns, jerking his shoulder to motion the pair of them closer.

"You said before that you do not believe I have had any correspondence with the monster Senate since… since almost the time that I can remember currently. I've found some evidence to the contrary. Look."

He gestures, and Rilla looks past him to see the carefully reconstructed remains of the letter.

She steps closer, and Arum rattles uncomfortably as she and Damien read through what they can. Damien's breath goes sharp, and Rilla needs to read it three times, because she's almost too angry to internalize the words on the first two tries.

"You are going to destroy them," Damien echoes, his horror completely clear in his tone. "They thought- they wanted you to kill us. They thought that you would-"

"I nearly did," Arum murmurs, his tail flicking irritably. "They certainly wanted me to. Or, failing that, they believed that one of you would kill me. I find myself far less favorable towards that first idea now that I know I was being manipulated into it. I am the puppet of no creature, no matter how much of my mind has been scraped away."

"So you think-" Rilla cuts off, the anger flaring again. "So they cursed you. That's what you think this is?"

"That would not be unheard of, for a punishment laid down by the Senate," he murmurs, looking away.

"This… this is because of us, then," Damien says quietly, blankly. "It is our fault, that they have done this to you."

Rilla jerks her head to the side to look at Damien, biting his lip and pressing a hand over his heart in obvious despair, and she opens her mouth to deny it, but Arum gets there first.

"I would say, little knight, that if the Senate did this to me, it is their fault." He growls lightly, tapping his claws off the table beside the remains of the letter. "Besides, did we not just agree that this was meant to harm you as well? Now that we have at least some hint as to what has caused this debacle, we can begin to take steps towards reversing it."

"You have an idea, then?"

"I have several," he grumbles, and then his chest puffs up as he stands a bit straighter. "I have broken curses before. I will break this one as well," he says. "Keep. The scroll room."

The Keep obeys without a please this time, and as the portal is forming beside the monster he turns to Rilla again.

"If you and I… perform research together, as is apparent from… the majority of this room, and from your notes as well as my own… I will allow you to assist me."

Rilla snorts a laugh, and then she takes Damien's hand. "I'm not your assistant," she says quickly as they step past him through the portal. "And you aren't mine either," she clarifies when his expression goes sour behind them. "C'mon. Just show me which journals we're starting with and we'll compare notes in an hour."

~

Damien helps for a while, mostly just fetching books and running to the kitchen to grab water and a small meal for the three of them, and then assisting whenever Rilla asks, but she's not entirely surprised when she glances over to ask him to grab one of Vetch's older journals and she finds him completely passed out in the chair beside her own.

She manages a smile. This is the calmest she's seen him look all day.

Arum doesn't mention it, but he works more quietly after that. She pretends not to notice when she catches him staring at Damien in his sleep.

Eventually, she leans back in her seat with a long sigh, pushing her hair out of her face. They've hit on a few different curse-breaking methods that seem to come up repeatedly- one that Arum says he's used before is pretty straightforward, but unlikely to be useful to them in this case: killing the creature who created the curse. Usually, he says, that will solve the issue immediately, but there is a slim chance that it'll just leave the curse behind, depending on how it was created. Besides that, though, the chances of the four of them figuring out which member of the Senate created this curse and then actually getting close enough to kill them- well, it's a risky idea at the very least. Probably impossible, if she's being honest with herself.

Another potential solution that keeps coming up in Rilla's research is- well. Mostly it's just more fuel for the fire of Rilla's distaste for the way magic works. It sounds more like a bad joke than a real solution, but it does keep coming up, and… well…

"Do kisses actually break curses?" Rilla asks eventually, quietly, and she feels absolutely stupid, but she's been with Arum for long enough to know that if this question has a real answer, he would know it. "Or is that just another dumb misinterpretation-slash-mistranslation of some herbal component or something?"

"They-" he pauses, flicks his tongue, and his expression goes distinctly uncomfortable. "They have been known to. Historically. Though- though the magic is, of course-"

"Inconsistent," Rilla finishes with a frustrated sigh. "I know, I know. But-"

"It would not be… unheard of," he mumbles, looking decidedly away from her. "If… if a- a powerful sort of- of connection were involved."

Rilla grits her teeth, resisting the urge to groan. "So. True love."

"Ugh," the monster grumbles, and Rilla can't help but agree.

"Look, I know it's stupid, but so is magic and if there's even a possibility it might work-"

"Magic is not stupid," he spits, and her human insult sounds charmingly ridiculous in his voice. Like it always does. She tries not to think about that.

"Just inconsistent and almost deliberately contrary," she says, and then she glances towards Damien's still sleeping-slumped form and lowers her voice. "I just- I know it's a long shot. I know you barely believe us. I know it'll be-" painful, she doesn't say. "Awkward. But- if it works, then it's just a few seconds of- awkward and then you'll have the whole damn year back, right?"

"So you would like to… kiss." He pauses, his hands flexing and clenching. "To kiss me. That is what you are saying."

"I'm not saying I would like to," she corrects quickly, because the idea of Arum not knowing, not recognizing, not remembering while she puts her lips on him makes her feel- it makes her chest feel tight and awful and she thinks that she might want to just scream a bit, but- "I'm saying there's a slim, slim chance that it might just fix this, and I think it'd be stupid of us not to just test that incredibly low-risk theory and see what happens, if anything. And if it doesn't work-"

He stares at her, his frown turning nearly into a pout as she tries not to think about the curiosity in his eyes.

"If it doesn't work?"

"Then we…" she sighs. "Then we just keep looking for something else. No great loss beyond a couple of seconds of time."

That part feels like a lie. Rilla- Rilla always wants to kiss Arum. She loves kissing Arum, loves the way she can make him smile, make his whole frame soften so damn easily-

It feels like a pretty fucking substantial loss, though, to give a kiss to Arum while he barely even knows who she is.

But if there's even the slightest chance it might bring him back- Saints, she's starting to sound like Damien. She sucks in a breath to steady herself, then presses her own lips into a frown as she waits for Arum to respond.

His hands flex again, and then he seems to remember the coded journal in danger of his claws, and he sets the tome aside as a thin rattle whirs from his throat. He meets her eye- and then he glances away too quickly, snake-strike fast.

Rilla saw, though. She saw the look in his eyes. He's already made the decision.

"… very well," he says eventually, still not looking anywhere near her. "If… if you believe we might unravel this magic… if we are to each other what you say we are… that sort of magic is rather old, and rather… potent. I imagine this curse must be powerful, but…"

"You agree that there's a chance?"

"Slim," he hedges. "With magic, there is a chance of nearly anything. With magic as old as a curse-breaking kiss… a slim chance is still a chance, I suppose."

"Okay," Rilla says slowly. "So… so you're okay if we… try this?"

"I'm not going to get my hopes up," the monster mutters, and then he flicks his eyes up to meet her own. "But… yes. If there is a chance… yes."

Rilla clenches her fists hard at her side, trying and trying and trying not to think about the mingling hope and curiosity she can see the monster trying very clumsily to hide.

"Alright," she says, and then she takes another step closer to him. "Okay. If you're sure-"

"I'm not going to say it again, little human."

"I'm just gonna," she says by way of warning, and then before her hands can start actually shaking, she lifts them to cup his jaw, her heart stuttering when he stiffens at the contact. He swallows, his eyes widening as they flick between her own, and she gives a weak sort of smile. "Close your eyes?"

She's half expecting him to change his mind at that. Instead, he just watches her for another moment, his hands flexing at his sides, and then she feels him nod very slightly as he lets his eyes slip closed.

She could almost pretend, like this. While he isn't looking at her- she could almost pretend.

Almost.

She leans up, going on her toes so she can reach his mouth more easily, but when she's at the right level she pauses first.

"I… I know you don't want to hear this right now," she whispers, and Arum inhales sharply as her breath tickles his scales, "but I think- I feel like… maybe I should."

"What…" he keeps his eyes closed, his shoulders stiff. "Go on. Say what needs said and just-"

"I love you," she murmurs, and the shocked noise he makes is too much to stand, so she closes her own eyes as she lifts herself the last little bit to kiss him.

It feels exactly like a first kiss, which Rilla decides she should have expected. He feels stiff against her, he doesn't even raise his hands to hold her, he just- stands and gasps against her lips and allows her to hold his face with as much gentleness as she can muster.

His chest rumbles as her thumbs brush across his cheeks, as her mouth moves against him. She can tell that he's just as breathless as she is, and she feels burning and wild as she thinks, told you that you purr, you big liar.

Her eyes flutter open as she slowly pulls away. She exhales, one long sigh, and then she looks up into Arum's eyes.

Her heart stumbles, and then it sinks.

Arum's violet eyes are wide, and stunned, and wanting-

And still without a flicker of memory.

She tries to hide her- her disappointment, tries to hide the way her entire body feels suddenly cold and distant, but when she closes her eyes again she can hear the small noise the monster makes in response, and after a moment, two of his hands reach awkwardly to grip her own.

"I… Rilla…"

"Don't- don't call me that," she manages, and her voice sounds strange in her own ears. It's almost worse, hearing him try to say the wrong name so damn gently instead of just hissing at her. "You never call me that."

"I'm… I'm s-" he pauses, and she can feel his hands flexing uncomfortably against her own. "I do not know what to say. I thought- for a moment, I almost believed that perhaps-"

"Knew it was a ridiculous long shot. You said so yourself," she says, before he can finish the thought, and his hands drop away from her. She wants to grab his wrists and pull his arms around her, wants to run until her legs give out, wants to shove him and scream in his face, wants to kiss him again and again and again until she snaps this curse in half-

She opens her eyes, and turns away from Arum's confused, yearning face, back to the pile of books. She pulls one towards her, peeling it open with fingers that feel wooden and strange, and she forces herself to focus on the words in front of her.

"We'll keep trying," she says, and after a moment she sees him nod out of the corner of her eye.

They'll keep trying. Rilla will keep working. Until they fix this, until they get him back-

There's nothing else she can do.

[->]