#he really is only about four pigeons tall

[allinsideyourhead]

Pigeons plot in secrecy

London, May 1965

[fairyhaos]

. ˚ lost in this green (and in your eyes)

pairing: wood nymph!joshua x gn!reader

genre: fluff, magic realism, meet cute, besties!97z

word count: 2371

warnings: brief mentions of fainting

notes: i just. i just love wood nymph!shua a lot okay pls he'd fit the concept so devastatingly well

summary: you're lost in the forest, and it's terrible and terrifying and you're all alone but then... well, you meet someone, and suddenly you find yourself wondering if fairytales and myths really are just tales.

"Lee Seokmin, you are so dead."

You turn around in a circle, looking around for any recognisable objects around you, desperately trying to find a way out. When you see none that could possibly mark out this section of the forest as different to where you’ve been traipsing through earlier, you sigh, frustrated. 

This was all Seokmin's fault. Okay, maybe not entirely his fault, but it was all his stupid dare to get you to fetch him a squirrel from the woods (what sort of dare was that, anyway?) and now… Well, now you're lost. 

It had all started when Mingyu had abruptly announced that you should go on an outing for fun, and then Minghao, being Minghao, had insisted that all four of you take a trip into the countryside for the outing, smack-dab in the middle of nowhere for a 'healing day out' in a field surrounded by trees. It had been fun, for all of one hour before you'd devolved into a game of truth or dare that had ultimately led you to venture into the surrounding trees to go catch a squirrel for Lee Seokmin. 

Oh, that guy really is so dead if you manage to make it out.

"Seokmin? Mingyu? Can anyone hear me?"

The wind rustles the leaves in reply, almost mocking, and distantly there's the sound of some insect creaking. Everything around you is green and brown, and even when you look up, the blue sky and bright sun is covered by the dense foliage. This is a little bit terrible. 

Sighing, you continue on your trek through the woods. Not being the best with directions, you'd kind of lost where you were going about 5 minutes into the forest, and so you have no idea if you're heading back to the field or if you're going in an entirely different direction. You just hope you're not walking around in circles, because that would—

You pause in your tracks. For a moment, there’s only the sound of a pigeon cooing somewhere, but you listen harder, certain that it was a distinctive voice that you heard. And then, there it is again, louder, and you’re sure of it. There's a voice, calling for you, and it sounds a lot like Minghao. 

“Minghao!” Immediately, you’re scrambling towards the noise, running along the soft forest floor, accidentally kicking bushes and almost tripping over tree roots. “Minghao, oh my god, what took you guys so long?”

But abruptly, Minghao stops yelling for you, and the forest is silent again. The trees are tall, looming, now, and you kind of wish it was Mingyu’s stupid height looming over you rather than these dark, unresponsive trees. 

You wait, for several moments, straining to hear Minghao’s voice again. But when he calls, it’s in a completely different direction, so you curse to yourself and start running off again.

You’re deeper into the woods now, you’re sure of it, because the trees are denser and there’s less light and the sound of animals and insects have disappeared. The air is still as you run through the forest, still following the faint sound of Minghao’s voice, and when you stop, it’s as if the entire world is silent, with not even the trees making a breath of noise. 

Minghao’s voice disappears, yet again, and now you’re worried that your brain is playing tricks on you. The bushes you brush against are getting thornier, bigger, difficult to get past, and the trees look like they’ve enlarged and now seem to try and slap you across the face with their rough branches. 

You’re well and truly lost now. Minghao’s voice doesn’t sound again, and you turn around aimlessly in circles, hoping that somehow, you’ll magically find an exit. 

But then. In the eerie stillness of the forest, any sound and movement echoes through the trees, and you hear a branch snap to your left.

“Hello?” you call out, hoping it’s just Minghao or one of the others behind the bushes, waiting to jump out at you. “Who is it?”

There’s silence.

And then a bush rustles to your right.

You whip your head around. “Come on, stop playing. Just show yourself, I know you’re there.”

There’s a good chance, you know, that it’s just a woodland creature or something, but everything in this part of the woods seems so dead and dark that part of you is sure that it has to be a person rather than an animal.

Slowly, gingerly, you creep towards the bush. It rustles again, and you flinch, but then the distinct sound of Minghao’s giggles comes from the bush and you move forwards, and just as you’re peering over…

“Boo!”

A person jumps out at you, yelling in Minghao’s voice. His hair is long, his eyes are large, and he looks like he has little stars around his doe eyes and he’s smiling widely, wickedly, delighted.

You scream, and he laughs with Minghao’s laugh, and the last thing you see are his eyes suddenly widening in horror as the world fades to black and you fall to the floor.

All you can think is, ‘That wasn’t Minghao’.

————————————— 🌿

When you regain consciousness again, there’s a man leaning over you. His eyes are large and he has little stars around his doe eyes, too, and for a moment you’re sure that it was the person who had scared you who was now going to try and kidnap you.

You yelp, attempting to scramble away, but the man just shushes you, gently and firmly placing hands on your shoulders to keep you against the tree you’re propped up on.

“I’m sorry,” he says, chuckling a little. “Jeonghan is a bit of a menace, but he means well. He just loves imitating voices, and he didn’t intend to take the joke that far. He meant you no harm, truly.”

The man’s hands are now on your face, brushing your cheeks softly, making soft sounds to calm down your racing heart. Now that you’re properly looking at him, the man focused on dislodging a leaf that fell on your shoulder, you can see he’s not the same man as earlier. Not Jeonghan, or whatever this man had called him. But you stiffen up, still, unsure if you can trust him.

He looks up at you then, warm eyes meeting yours. His eyes are constantly turned up at the corners, you notice faintly. He looks like a baby deer.

“I won’t hurt you,” the man says. “I promise. No one here wants to hurt you.” He pauses. “At least, not intentionally.”

Well. That doesn’t exactly make you feel reassured.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He smiles again, and you realise that even his mouth is constantly turned up at the corners. 

He’s so pretty.

“Let me try again. I’m Joshua,” pretty man says, and he sits back a little to hold out his hand. “And I noticed that you’re a little lost here. I was wondering if I could maybe help lead you out?”

You look down at the hand, surprised to find yourself endeared by the action as you reach out to shake it. His hand is warm, too, as warm as his eyes, rough and soft in yours at the same time. Your heart is still racing when you release his hand, but now it’s for an entirely different reason.

“Y/N,” you reply, deciding that, at this point, you’re not sure you have anything to lose by following this pretty man. At least, if you die, you’ll die by the hands of a gorgeous stranger. “And I think any help would be much appreciated.”

Joshua smiles again, and takes your hand to pull you upright, swiftly walking off, hand still clasped with yours.

The woods are still silent, but it no longer feels as if every sound has been suffocated—rather, it’s a peaceful silence, and maybe it’s brought on by the peace you feel with a warm hand firmly holding yours, and a presence beside you that’s quiet and gentle and relaxing.

He’s silent the entire way, walking with you through trees as if he’s following an invisible path, pushing away branches for you and gently guiding you to one side to avoid tripping on roots. You can’t help but glance at him, often, because he’s so pretty and so calm and, in turn, it makes you feel calm too.

There are flowers weaved into his hair and they wave gently in the wind that has managed to come to life again. The forest feels lighter now, less terrifying, and birds now seem to chirp cheerfully in the trees above you.

One bird comes and lands on Joshua’s shoulder as you walk and you startle in surprise, but the man doesn’t even bat an eye, smiling down at it in greeting.

“Well, hello there,” he says. “What do you want now, you little rascal?”

Joshua’s tone is fond, affectionate, and when the bird chirrups, he laughs. 

“Yes, this person is very pretty, isn’t it?” he chuckles, and it makes you blush slightly. Nevermind the fact that he’s talking to a bird. “But unfortunately, they’re not here to stay. We need to lead them out.”

The bird trills, but Joshua just laughs again, and then it flies off.

You watch it go, curiously, and then look at Joshua, who seems completely unfazed by what would have been, to any other normal person, an incredibly weird exchange.

The stars around his eyes glitter as he turns to look at you. They don’t look like stick-on gemstones or even glitter patches, but look as if they’re embedded in his skin. As if the stars are part of him.

“What brought you here to my humble forest?” he asks, and you blink a little at the strange phrasing of his sentence. 

“Oh. I was… trying to catch a squirrel. For my friend.” It sounds ridiculous, when you say it aloud, but it manages to make Joshua laugh, sweet and beautiful and melodic, and you can’t help but smile.

He tilts his head, amused, and now his eyes are sparkling too. “A squirrel? Well, I think you may have failed at that. Unfortunately.”

You shake your head. “This is all Seokmin’s fault. He knows I’m bad with directions, and yet he sent me off into the forest. Alone.”

Joshua’s hand tightens around yours, secure. “Don’t worry. You’re not alone anymore.” He nudges his shoulder against yours, and the sun is now peeking through the leaves, casting a dappled golden shine over his face. “I’m here now.”

That makes you duck your head, shyly, awed by his beauty.

It takes a few more minutes, but eventually, the trees thin and you can see a road ahead of you, a road that looks awfully like the one that Minghao had driven down hours ago to get you to the field.

“Ah, it seems that we’re here,” Joshua says, and he lets go of your hand. When you look back at him, confused, he smiles a little sadly. “This is as far as I can take you. It’s too polluted there for me, and I can’t leave my home.”

“Your home?” you repeat, but he’s stepping forward again, and then leans in to press the lightest kiss on your cheek. It makes heat rush into your face, blushing at the sudden action, but he’s already stepping away before you can react.

“Goodbye, Y/N, and I hope you manage to get home safely.” He grins, lips turning up at the corners a little mischievously. “Hopefully you manage to catch a squirrel someday.”

You blink, startled, because suddenly he’s leaving even though he’d been by your side for so long. “Wait,” you call out, “what are you?”

Joshua laughs, and he’s already begun to fade back into the trees, the stars sparkling around his eyes. “Wasn’t it obvious?” he says.

“I’m a nymph.”

And then he’s gone, melted back into the forest, and you’re standing there alone, straining to see where he went, wanting to know what he meant, wanting to know whether he really was a mystical nymph that you only read about in legends.

You stand there at the edge of the forest for a lot longer, and are about to walk back into the trees again when there’s the sound of a car driving down the road, and someone honks the car horn loudly, making you jump and turn around.

Mingyu has rolled down the window of the passenger seat, practically half falling out of the car.

“You!” he yells. “We’ve been looking for you for ages! Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

And instantly, the memories of before you’d found Joshua come flooding back, and you run towards the car, yelling at Mingyu.

“There’s no service in a forest, idiot!” You open the car door and get in, only to be tackled by Seokmin, who’s sitting in the back seat beside you.

He sobs dramatically, wrapping his arms tight around you. “Why did you disappear like that! We thought you were dead!”

“No, I wasn’t dead, why—hey.” You frown down at him from where he’s buried his head into your shoulder. “It was you. You sent me into the forest to get you a stupid squirrel!” 

Mingyu laughs at that, looking back at you as Minghao drives off again. “Yeah, Seokmin, you sent Y/N in there.”

Seokmin’s eyes go wide as you wrestle out of his arms to shake his shoulders. “I’m going to kill you! This is all your fault!”

“What—! Hey, we found you in the end, didn’t we? Minghao! Help!”

“Hey hey, no killing in my car,” Minghao interrupts sternly, and he sounds genuinely serious, so you settle down. Not before balling your fist and shaking it at Seokmin, though. This guy really is dead once you get out of the car.

Minghao looks at you in the rearview mirror, eyes glittering amusedly. “How did you even manage to get out? You have literally no sense of direction.”

You don't even register the teasing, eyes going distant as you recall stars around eyes and flowers weaved in hair. You smile, feeling your face warm up, leaning back against the headrest.

“I found a nymph.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @minhui896 ,, @bunnyiix ,, @slytherinshua ,, @haowrld ,, @belladaises ,, @moonlitskiiies ,, @cinnamoroxie ,, @butiluvu ,, @wonranghaeee ,, @zozojella ,, @kawennote09 ,, @thedensworld ,, @a-wandering-stay ,, @abibliolife ,, @doublasting

[lilacthebooklover]

NPMD Incorrect Quotes

Grace: And then they ran into my knife. They ran into my knife ten times. Steph: You mean you stabbed them? Grace: They ran into my knife.

Ruth: Are pigeons drones? Richie: What? No, I'm trying to sleep. Ruth: Think about it. How come you've never seen a baby pigeon? And why do you never actually see a pigeon nest? Because they're DRONES! Richie: *Crying* Please let me sleep...

Steph: Ow! Pete: What’s wrong? Steph: I have this weird pain right above my eyebrow. Pete: It’s called a stress headache. I got my first one when I was four.

Richie: I have a question. Pete: Shoot. Richie: Is the S or C in scent silent? Pete: I’m going to be thinking about this all day. Steph: Okay well, cent is pronounced the same way as scent so I’m gonna say the S is silent. Richie: Okay, but sent is also spelled the same way. Pete: Google says that the C was added in the late seventeenth century, so I guess the S is silent. Ruth: Plot twist, both the S and the C are silent and the E actually makes the sss sound. Pete: Ruth is not allowed to talk anymore.

Max: You know, there’s only one person in this world who can tell you what you are. Richie: Me? Max: No. Max: Me.

Ruth: I desire moisture. Pete: Please just say "I want water" like a normal person.

Steph: You know, when I first met you, I really didn’t like you. Grace, after a moment: …I thought there was going to be another half to that sentence? Steph: Nope!

Ruth: I'm an empath. When I'm around hot gay people, I start having gay thoughts.

Grace: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine! Pete: How can you still say that? Grace: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

Steph: Pete, I got suspended from school… Pete: WHAT?!?! What did you do? Steph: My teacher pointed at me with a ruler, and he said “there is an idiot at the end of this ruler”. Pete: And…? Steph: I asked which end… Pete, unable to contain his laughter: Okay, you just made my day.

Kyle: Can I have some water? Max: *starts chugging his water bottle* Max: *chokes from drinking too fast* Max: *spills water all over himself* Max, coughing: I don't have any water.

Richie: A mosquito tried to bite me and I slapped it and killed it. Richie: And I started thinking. Richie: Like, it was just trying to get food. Richie: What if I went to the fridge and it just slammed the door shut and snapped my neck? Ruth: Are you ok?

Pete: Where’s Grace? Steph: Doing stuff. Pete: I don’t like the sound of that. Where’s Richie? Steph: Trying to stop Grace from doing the stuff. Pete: And Max? Steph: Trying to stop Richie from stopping Grace from doing the stuff. Pete: I see. And what are you doing here, Steph? Steph: I’m supposed to stop you from stopping Max from stopping Richie from stopping Grace from doing the stuff.

Ruth: Help! I’m drowning! Pete: Calm down. We’re only in six feet of water! Ruth: NOT ALL OF US ARE TALL!

Grace: Woah dude, premarital handholding? That’s just not cool or groovy.

Max on Monday: *glues a dime to the sidewalk* Heh heh heh. Max on Wednesday: *walking down the street* Ooh hey! A dime!

*Everyone is playing a board game together* Grace: I will put 'A' down to make 'A'. Richie: I will add onto your 'A' to make 'AT'. Steph: I will add onto your 'AT' to make 'RAT'. Pete: I will add onto your 'RAT' to make 'BIOSTRATAGRAPHIC'. Ruth: *flips the board*

Max: When Grace was born, the gods said, "She's too perfect for this world." Steph: Please. When she was born, the devil said, "Oh, competition."

Ruth: I wouldn’t put it in those words exactly. Pete: Why not? Ruth: Because I don't know what they mean.

Mayor Lauter: Well Stephanie, I have to say, I'm really disappointed. Steph: Well, you didn't HAVE to say it. You could've just thought it.

Max: I’m proud to say I’ve come over my fear of ghosts! Jason: Eyy, that’s the spirit! Max: *gasps* whErE???!!!??

Ruth: Make no mistake. Not only am I party rocking, but I am also in the house tonight. Richie: But are you shuffling? Ruth: Every day. Grace: What language are you two speaking??

[angel-of-the-moons]

Over The Moon

Khonshu x Reader

TW/CW: None

A/N: This is something that hit me and I'm hoping writing it will help knock me out of my funk while I take a couple days to myself (going on a trip with some friends). So enjoy this little blurb of the tall pigeon man!

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

It was time for the fireworks to start soon. The snow and ice chilled you to the bone, and you sat on a bench overlooking the Hudson River.

It was deserted, given the particular location of the bench, and the proximity to a one of the closed-down subway entrances, that housed the homeless.

Many people felt unsafe there, but you knew you'd always be safe at night. Especially around the homeless. They, like you, were under the protection of someone great.

Someone powerful.

Someone who... really needed to work on his people skills...

You turn your thermos in your hands, briefly passing the warmed metal into one palm while you checked the time on your phone.

Four minutes until the clock struck the new year; and the moon was as bright as ever. It was abnormally large as well, but it was beautiful and provided a gorgeous backdrop for the fireworks display that was due to start soon.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket and closed your eyes as snowflakes drifted down from the scattered clouds, a stray moonbeam peeking out here and there, always seeming to illuminate you and you alone; as if something--or someone--simply wanted to bathe you in the cool ethereal light of that lunar object.

You weren't sure how much time had passed until you felt the warm touch of someone's fingers grazing your cheek.

You open your eyes and turn your head to see the hulking, lithe frame above you.

His body was draped in linen and loose robes, a gold crescent moon secured to his chest. His colors seemed bleak, non-existent.

What completed his strange, otherworldly appearance was the dessicated bird skull that hung with some invisible force in place of what would be a human head.

His other hand gripped his staff as he leaned over the bench to peer at you with large, eyeless sockets.

"You are frigid." His voice rumbles through you.

You smile at him, sipping your hot cider. "Well that happens when it's only about 2 degrees outside, Khonshu."

"Hmph." He grunted, moving in a haze until he was sitting to your side, cross-legged on the ground next to the bench, his staff resting on his shoulder.

"Uh, Khonshu... There's a bench here..."

"I know."

"Then why--"

You were interrupted when his large hands encapsulated your waist and he pulled you down to him, firmly planting you in his lap, between his crossed legs.

You opened your mouth to complain about how he almost made you spill your cider--but the unnatural warmth his body exuded quickly snuffed the flame of your complaint as you sank against him with a contented sigh.

His body always carries the warmth of the deserts, the scent of sweet spices and just a hint of mildew. Most others wouldn't enjoy the combination of smells, but you enjoyed it.

He smelled... safe. You knew whenever you smelled him, no harm would ever come to you. That you would never be lonely.

"Better?" He asked, his voice almost condescending.

You stick your finger up, "This doesn't mean you won anything, old man."

"Of course it does. I am a god, Little Star." He chuckled, his arms circling around you to pull you close against his chest.

You chuckled back at him, bringing a frozen finger to caress the beak of his skull.

The texture was smooth, like a normal bone being sanded and smoothed down by endless days of being blasted by the sands of time.

"You're so full of yourself." You admonished playfully.

"Hmmh."

You jumped with a squeak when the first fireworks go off, casting blue-red glows down upon the two of you.

Your jolt of fear seems to amuse the god, and another warm chuckle rolls out of him, settling deep into your bones.

"Not funny." You huffed, trying to sound indignant but the smile on your lips betray your tone as you both lift your gazes to the sky at the bright lights booming high above.

You feel his arms tighten around your almost imperceptibly, caging you against him in a loving embrace.

Yes.

You knew, as long as he was here, you were safe.

And he was home.

[oh-no-another-idea]

15 question OC interview [Fynn edition] 🕑

Tagged by all the lovelies @ghost-town-story @fanged-solace and @willtheweaver -- thanks, guys! I love writing these they're so fun :) Today we're going to interview Fynn!! I'm very excited for this as his character recently got a bit of a behind-the-scenes makeover and has some new backstory. :)

Previously on, in case anyone wants to view, are Antonio's interview, and Paris's.

"We gather here today..." Antonio intones, holding his notepad and lantern as though he is the sole survivor of a doomed expedition in the jungle. "For a bold and momentous occasion."

"Speak for yourself," Paris says, leaning against the wall behind him. "Some of us gather for the entertainment." "Being me," Fynn says dolefully, trying not the clutch the armrests of his chair so tight that he ruins the fabric.

Are you named after anyone?

Not a terrible question to start off with, all things considered. "Yes," Fynn says. "My grandfather. He died when I was only a few years old."

When was the last time you cried? And a terrible second question. Fynn eyeballs Antonio, but he just looks normal. Which is to say, like an utter loon. Behind him, Paris and Velia knock their shoulders together. Only Lewis has some measure of sympathy on his face. Probably because he knows he'll be next before too long. "I don't remember," Fynn lies. He did remember. It had been the night before he'd decided to leave the city. Antonio raises an eyebrow but scribbles the answer down.

Do you have kids? "Booo," Velia says loudly. Antonio twists around in his seat to glare at her. "My older sister has children," Fynn says before either of them can start a fight. "I've only met the oldest two. They are some of my favorite people in the world."

Do you use sarcasm?

Fynn sighs. "Alas yes."

What's the first thing you notice about people? "I don't really," Fynn apologies. He tries not to wilt under the four confused gazes suddenly latched on him. "I'd make a terrible detective." "Not at all?" "Leave him alone, Antonio," Lewis says, and what do you know, Antonio moves on.

What's your eye color? "--I don't know," Fynn says, thrown. When has he ever noticed, or cared? Lewis scurries over and kneels before him. "Gray," he says. "Like steel beams. Or coal smoke." Fynn smiles down at him. Lewis winks.

Scary or happy endings? "I don't like endings," Fynn says honestly.

Any special talents? "No," Fynn says, frowning. "But I've skills. I'm a mechanic by trade, I know my way around an engine and the tools needed to maintain her, and a fair bit of carpentry as well." "And you're good with kids," Velia adds. "That's a skill alright."

Where were you born?

Fynn can't help but grin, thinking of home. "Norway."

What are your hobbies? Fynn frowns. "I'm a working man--" "Oh shut up," Antonio whines. "Live a little, Fynn. You're here with us, aren't you?" "Then you're my hobbies," Fynn says, just to see their faces. They don't disappoint.

Have you any pets? "I can hardly feed myself on a good day," Fynn says, realizing he's calmer now than he expected to be. "Can you imagine a dog trailing after me?" "How about a rat?" Paris suggests unhelpfully. "Since they're already your roommates?" "Or a pigeon?" Velia adds. Fynn rolls his eyes. The two of them, honestly.

What sports do you play/have played? "This is ridiculous," Fynn mutters. "Yes, ridiculous," Paris says, almost like he's been waiting for it. "Quite right, Fynn." Antonio shoots him a look. "I didn't invite you, you insisted on accompanying us. At least get out and leave us be." Paris leans down, grabs the notebook and reads off the next question.

How tall are you? "Fynn," Paris finishes, laughing a little. "Have you a measuring tape in your pocket?" "Yes, actually," Fynn says sheepishly pulling it out. He hands it to Antonio when he sees how large his grin is. Paris throws his hands up. "Might as well actually measure then." "Six foot one inch!" Antonio says triumphantly. "Good lord you're tall."

Favorite subject in school? "I stopped going to school when I came to America to work," Fynn tells them. "I can't say I miss it."

Dream job? "My job now," Fynn says. "With my family nearby and well and a steady paycheck." "And a flamingo," Antonio says promptly. Fynn stares. "Just to spice your plans up a little," Antonio elaborates. "Worry not, I will supply it." "You're going to make me steal from a zoo, aren't you," Velia says grimly. Antonio smiles.

Gentle tags for anyone who made it all the way through that, and also @zmwrites @revenantlore @reneesbooks @saltysupercomputer

@pertinax--loculos @sparrow-orion-writes and @penspiration-writing <3

[crazy-writer-101]

The Eyes of a Pigeon

For nearly three summers, four human kids visited the abandoned school. The school wasn’t dangerous. Sometimes,  I would fly above the worn building, but it was difficult since it was a very tall building. The school was surrounded by tall grass fields a long, long way from any other buildings. Once when it was really cold, some guys with bright hats tried to knock down the school, but the kids gathered a bunch of other kids and they staked out in the building for nearly two nights, stopping the glowy guys from taking away the building. 

The kids would go to the school almost every day around the middle of the day when the bright sun would cast an orange kind of glow on the blue right above. There were two boys and two girls. One of the boys would always bring small cans filled with color and after excessive shaking, he would point it at one of the walls and cool drawings would appear. Another boy in this crazy chair with wheels, would always be staring at these stacks of paper that were somehow bound together. One of the girls wore lots of shiny gems and would sometimes help the boy with the color cans, but she would usually be playing with scraps in the building, occasionally picking flowers or weeds. The other girl would pick up a rusty pole and jump around singing songs while dancing wildly. 

They were shorter last year. In fact they were very different from this year. The boy with colorful cans only brought a tall bottle of stinky liquid now. Even if the smell was unpleasant, the boy still drank it. The girl who used to pick flowers, only slumped into a dusty pillow, sometimes rolling some weird looking leaves into a little brown paper, sometimes holding the rolled paper up to her mouth and breathing smoke. The other girl who sang loudly, now sat in one place most of the time, her hands wrapped around her legs that were pulled up to her chest. Small tears rolling down her rosy cheeks. Something was wrong with them. 

It especially started falling through when the second boy stopped showing up. I stopped hearing the turning circles of his chair after summer of this year. The kids slowly began showing up less and less as soon as the leaves changed to a different color and the air got colder. On days they wouldn’t show up, I began to think they would never come back. Then they showed up individually. 

The boy would throw things around and break the windows that weren’t already broken, yelling words that I’ve heard mothers tell their children not to say. The girl who breathed smoke would only go there sometimes to ramble to air about how it ‘wouldn’t approve of her smoking’. Before any guilt can settle her features, she would laugh dryly before mumbling ‘but you’re dead’ and then falling asleep soon after. The girl who cried would go to the old school and only ever cried. Her beautiful hair was always tangled and her porcelain face was redden and drenched in tears. Pain filled her voice as she screamed into the wind things I could never experience and would never want to. I would try to coo to calm her down and sometimes it helped, but sometimes her cries were too loud. 

It broke my little heart every time I saw them be so different from when they were shorter. It was like they were completely different kids. Maybe they are. Are they? Are they different children from last year? Well, what happened to the other ones? No, no, these are the ones from last year. Because the boy used the last of his color cans to paint the other boy’s wheelchair that was empty of the boy who always sat in it. Because the girl bundled the last flowers she picked into a bouquet wrapped in a black transparent fabric. Lace, I think she said? Because the tear-stained girl sang a sad song to the fields. 

I was flying across town one day. I had just been bitten on the leg by a stray dog. He was skinny and looked hungry and if it didn’t end with me dying, I would’ve stayed and helped him find food. My leg hurt and I felt whatever I had eaten early coming back to exit my mouth. I swallowed it back down and kept flying even in pain. 

I flew to a familiar place that usually had a familiar smell; freshly baked bread. It came from the window of a small room in a tall building. I flew to the window that was cracked slightly open, not enough for me to fly through. Everything seemed normal except for the fact that there was no fresh bread and no one in the small room. An older woman, however, burst through the door, wailing and screaming. An older man rushed in after her and held her tightly as she slowly fell to the ground. Both of the people were familiar because they were the same people that were with the girl with the pretty voice every morning and every night. Except the girl wasn’t here. Hopefully nothing terrible has happened to her. 

I pushed off the ledge with pain and began flying again. The sun was barely setting behind the old building so the kids should be at the abandoned school now. I took two lefts and a right and before I took another right and passed the clean school where the kids went almost everyday too, I saw a lot of bright lights. Red and blue flashed rapidly and my mind hurt a little bit. I moved to get a better look at the unusual activity and almost crashed into a window. Kids were crying and more were shaking. I cooed a little in hopes of the crying to stop. Like times before, it did nothing. Before I could fly away, I noticed a familiar face. Two scary men were hauling out the boy that had colored cans. But now his hands are colored and stuck together behind his back. His eyes were tearstained and he looked so sad. So sad. 

He got shoved into the back of a box with wheels that flashed red and blue. He didn’t come back out after a second. And another second. I didn’t realize until later that was the last time I would see him. I flew up towards the orange up above and began making my way to the old school. The wind felt colder tonight. My feathers didn’t do me mercy like all the times before. I kept flying all the way to my destination. When I got there, only one kid was there. The girl who breathed smoke. She held the little magic stick in her hand as she sat against a wall. I fought against the silly little voices in my head, and flew down through a broken window. Landing a couple feet from the girl, my leg burned with pain. The girl looked down at me with glassy eyes and smiled softly. 

“You hurt, bud?” She muttered, reaching her hand out to me. I flinched and shuffled back a little. She looked at me sympathetically before putting the little stick between her fingers up to her mouth and breathing more grey smoke. 

“It’s okay. I ain’t gonna hurt you. I have no reason to. My friends are gone. I’m gone,” her voice was shaky and it looked like she might cry, but she never did, “I’m leaving this town. And all my memories with it. Including them.” 

She breathed and looked toward the entrance of the school that had no doors. You can see tall grass for a long time. I cooed softly. She let out a dry chuckle without looking away from the field. She sniffed and I could see tears threaten to spill from her eyes. Nothing fell though. No tears ever fell since the air got colder and the others slipped away. She needed to cry, but she never did. 

“I really wish we can go back to being little kids,” she muttered. Her voice cracked and she sniffled again. Some sort of darkness covered her features. Suddenly that same dark feeling pulled at something inside my chest. I had no idea what it was but it didn’t feel well. I wanted to make things better, but there was nothing I could do. 

After that dark day, I never saw any of the kids again. I spent many warm summers and cold winters going to the abandoned school, hoping they came back. I spent too many summers and winters, pretending they would come home. It hurt my chest each and every time they didn’t show up. They were gone and, after a long time, my leg stopped hurting. So did my chest. I felt happy. I flew, now, above the orange and blue. The air was no longer cold nor dark. I stopped worrying about the kids and the abandoned school when the boy in the wheelchair told me everything was okay. 

[dieu-mange-dieu]

Specific Character Headcanons: Donald "Jared" Dunn

His backstory is horrifying and complex so some of this may actually be canon I don't remember TW death

Real birthday is 16 December

Born in New York

Was over six feet tall by the time he was fourteen years old

Used birds as a beacon of hope during his time in foster care. He envied the freedom of such beautiful, fragile creatures and vowed to someday feel as free as they looked in flight

Was under the care of one genuinely kind foster family. A lovely elderly couple, Etta and John Hirsch, whose only son had died years before. He filled the hole in their hearts and they filled the hole in his

They both died in a car accident on an icy night in December

Got a partial scholarship to Vassar, worked as a prostitute to pay for the rest of his college tuition

Doesn't know his real middle name, so he changes his middle name to honour his elderly friends who have passed

Favourite bird is the Luzon Bleeding-Heart Pigeon

Favourite colours are yellow and light blue

Has gotten in many fights, but only lost two

Likes herbal scents, favourites are rosemary, lavender, and patchouli (he thinks patchouli is the closest you can get to the smell of petrichor)

Vegetarian

Is such a Mitski fan like you don't even know

Enjoys walks in the cold

Cries about EVERYTHING. Once cried in a supermarket because he was overwhelmed by the "beauty of all the fruits in the aisle"

Pan and demi

Has canonically fallen in love only twice:

The first time was a fellow prostitute he met in New York.

They looked out for each other, made sure each was getting enough to eat, and would have "picnics" on fire escapes, pressed together for warmth, legs dangling off of the side, talking about their days.

One day they disappeared without warning. Jared searched for them for a year and a half, often feeling like the only one who cared. Why did nobody else care?

He later found out that they had been murdered. They were not given a gravestone but Jared visits the park where they last saw each other every year.

The second time was Richard.

He never said anything, of course. How could he?

He tried to distract himself in any way he could, but he was a mere rock of space junk being pulled full speed into Richard's orbit

Favourite tea is Lemon Ginger

Thinks skirts are super comfortable and wishes they were more widely accepted at work

Doesn't like the show Friends but puts it on while at home to feel cozy

Cooking (or making things in general) is one of his love languages

Loves bubble baths

Writes poetry and short stories in his free time, used to write songs

Can sing pretty decently (was canonically in choir at Vassar)

Is a sucker for candles

Smell is his strongest sense

Runs the Pied Piper company Tiktok, makes really cringy but wholesome videos (think along the lines of Nursetok and Teacher/Office-staff tiktok)

A playlist for him

Spoilers (?) Ahead!

After Silicon Valley:

He kisses Richard on the roof of Pied Piper after it all, as the billboard is being torn down.

Richard kisses back, but they don't talk about it again

Goes travelling across Europe "with Richard," Richard doesn't quite know that they're travelling together

Quarantines with Richard

Both he and Richard volunteered at a nursing home on weekends before Jared applied for the job

Richard was grossed out by the bedpans and the general "like, elderly vibe"

They don't stay in close contact over the next few years but they stay in each other's circles

After ten years of unrealised pining and four dismally failed relationships, Richard asks him out at the hacker hostel after the filming of the documentary wraps

Jared cries.

They go birdwatching.

[thunderheadfred]

🦅Hawks HC’s🦅

This is SO unnecessarily long. Some NSFW. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

Has zero social life or hobbies outside of work. He knows it’s unhealthy, but like, who has the time?? Oh? Lots of people do?? Haha what are healthy work/home boundaries? He desperately wants to retire and always talks about a world without heroes, but the truth is he would have no idea what to do with himself if he got his way. Take him to a park at midnight and watch him turn into a giant repressed child on a swing. He’ll do a standing-360 and it will be terrifying.

Listens to music way too loud in his headphones to drown out wind noise. Probably half deaf at this point. His musical taste is wild; listening history all over the fucking place. Algorithms have no idea what to do with him.

That visor? It’s prescription. Wow is he far-sighted. He wears glasses. He’s not blind without them (rather the opposite) but they help him see things directly in front of him without massive eye strain. Yeah, he looks really hot in glasses.

Prefers communicating via text. Sometimes it’s a lot of dumb memes, but mostly it’s sincere. He can say what he means when he doesn’t have to put on a public front.

Smokes like a chimney. Self medicates with stimulants. Coffee, tobacco, sugar. Fidgety, likes things in his mouth or hands. Gnashes on toothpicks and popsicle sticks. He really should go back to therapy, huh? His teeth are sparkling white for the cameras but his breath could use some work. Chews gum a lot to compensate, and always does it really loudly with a big shit-eating grin.

Impatient as fuuuuuck. Rude about it. If you take too long doing anything, you’re going to hear a foot tapping. He’ll smile and laugh it off, never ever directly criticize you about it. But lord, the dramatic sighs. He WILL nudge you out of the way and take over in order to finish a task faster, and it’s truly fucking annoying.

LOVES food. Has the metabolism of an actual bird. Will seize upon any excuse to eat. No need to be self-conscious about eating in front of him; he wants you to enjoy it. Steals bites from you and talks with his mouth full. Prefers street food and take-out, usually eats while walking or flying. Sit-down restaurants are an invitation for gawkers.

He’s one of those celebrities that looks way taller on TV. In real life, he’s small and compact. So you’re surprised the first time you see him in person. He has a big head. Literally.

If you’re taller or bigger than him, he does Not Care. He treats everyone like they’re four feet tall, even Endeavor. Everything you do is cute. If you’re actually short, he’s going to carry you around all the time, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Collects big chunky overpriced watches. All the better to tell you you’re late.

Half his clothes are brand fucking new. Sometimes he forgets to take off the tags. (Don’t look at the prices, do NOT) He never seems to wear the same thing twice. He also never seems to go shopping. Brands just give him stuff, and he shrugs and goes “yeah okay.”

The other half of his clothes are old, faded, and patched up. Every item he acquires for himself has deep sentimental value. If you tell him to throw away that nasty ten-year-old pair of frayed cargo pants, be prepared to find out how wrong and evil you are for even suggesting it.

He doesn’t snore; he coos. Loudly. Like a fucking pigeon trapped in a megaphone.

- - - - -

Dating

Gift-giving is his love language. Bringing your favorite snacks. Leaving novelty magnets on your fridge. He found a copy of that book/game/movie you mentioned like a month ago, don’t you remember? If he has to go out of town on a job, he’ll bring back the ugliest possible souvenir, just to annoy you.

He likes gifting jewelry especially. Covering you in shiny baubles, little golden things. Not expensive, but unusual. Antiques or handmade, even bizarre vending machine crap. Gets really handsy if you wear or show off his gifts.

Since you’re the first person who has given him The Feels, if you are resistant to his advances (like, say, because he’s way too famous and you’re terrified he’s gonna break your heart) he’s going to go fucking nuts trying to woo you. Doesn’t have a single patient bone in his body but will wait as long as it takes for you to come around. He’ll act like he’s cool with just being friends at first, just hanging out, haha. Oh you’re busy today? That’s cool. Inside he’s shrieking like a tea kettle. Go ahead, make him wait.

Don’t bother giving him a key to your place. He’s coming in through the bedroom window or patio door. Just put out a damn welcome mat on your balcony... or a bird feeder.

A bit of a voyeur. He likes to watch you do your normal routine without interruption. He can see from miles away so if you’ve got your lights on at night, he’ll creep for a while before he comes in. It comforts him immensely, seeing a little slice of the world that isn’t constantly in need of saving.

Is super talkative and funny but a terrible communicator. Makes more jokes the worse he feels. Will almost never tell you what he needs. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know. You will learn to read between the lines and gradually notice his tiny unconscious cries for help. Back rubs make him emotional.

He shows up at your place at the weirdest times. All hours. You’re never ready. At first it was infuriating, because you wanted to look your best and have time to prepare, but you figure out pretty quickly that seeing you in your natural state is his favorite thing. He never gets to be around normal people, doing normal things. A boring, lazy afternoon is his idea of paradise.

He’ll pick through your things and ask a world of invasive questions. A medicine cabinet raider. He wants to know every fucking tiny thing about you, live vicariously through you.

He actually lives in a top floor penthouse. Because I mean, where else? Never spends any time there; mostly he seems to roost on the balcony. He has used the front door maybe once. He much prefers your place, and will only take you back to his after months of dating. It’ll take like, an entire emergency. You’ll end up in his bed by mistake.

Because when you finally come over, he’s embarrassed. Its sparse. White. Things in boxes. A new furniture smell. Like he’s not done moving in, though he’s lived there for years. He wants you to move in So Bad but doesn’t want to be pushy. If you don’t start leaving your stuff there, he’ll steal things from your apartment. Where the hell is your favorite t-shirt? Or that pillowcase you like? Dammit Keigo.

He’s a decent cook, a habit he made himself pick up because he thought it might make him feel more normal. It... didn’t. He never actually cooks until you give him an excuse. He’ll bring you breakfast in bed and watch you eat every bite with big hungry eyes.

He’s got a separate wardrobe for his hero costume and all his feathers. Yeah. His feathers. Because he can detach and control his feathers at will, when he’s alone at home he kind of just... shucks off his wings. The first time you see him do it, your eyes fall out of your head. He walks around in a tee shirt and boxers with these ugly little stumps covered in brownish, blood-red down. It actually looks kind of gnarly, like he got mauled by a bear.

He’s never dated until you. No one has ever been in his apartment until you. No one has called him Keigo until you. He has some bigass intimacy issues. Because. Y’know. The trauma. But god, he wants you in his life so bad, even if he has no idea how to make time for your relationship.

He’ll want to keep you to himself for a while. Once you go public he’s going to have an arm around your shoulders at all times. Publicly Displays his Affection way more than is socially acceptable in Japan, and gives precisely -100,000 fucks.

His fans either love you or hate you. There is no in between. He will immediately take your phone and threaten to drop it from a great height if he catches you reading shitty gossip about the two of you. Does NOT care about his public image anymore, doesn’t want YOU to care about it either. He’s gonna retire soon anyway, remember? That’s a lie.

Being a charming motherfucker is the core of his public persona, so you will get jealous. A lot. He will flirt shamelessly without realizing it. He will get photographed in compromising positions with gorgeous people.

Once you accept that he’s basically an actor 80% of the time and that Hawks and Keigo are separate identities, you’ll both feel better. When he comes home (to YOU) and falls over exhausted and stops being Hawks(tm), when he scratches his ass or burps in front of you, when he yells to you from the bathroom, when he groans childishly about his shitty day while laying face-down in your lap, you’ll know you have nothing to worry about. Keigo is all yours.

Boundaries? Never heard of ‘em. He’s either a million lightyears away or he’s glued to your hip. The whiplash is astounding.

Absolutely says “I love you” wayyyyyy to soon. It thrills you but scares you off at the same time, because there’s no way Hawks - The Hawks - can actually mean it, right? (He does)

Rings? Nah. When things get serious, he will make a necklace out of a feather for you, and if you ever take it off, you better be asleep or in the shower. Even then you’re on thin fuckin ice. If you’re not wearing it he knows. He’s never mean about making you put it back on, it just makes him nervous if he can’t feel your heartbeat.

- - - - -

SPICY CHICKEN NUGGETS

High sex drive. Horny like 25/7. Probably a symptom of having way too much pent up stress.

Often takes care of it himself when he doesn’t have the emotional resources for anyone else, even his S.O. Figures you don’t want him coming on to you as often as he would like to, but he’s too stupid to talk to you about it first. Morning masturbator.

Yes he’s fucked around a lot but he’s not exactly a playboy either. People have always thrown themselves at him, and before he met you he let them do it. Especially when out of town and staying in a hotel. Whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, etc.

He’d never be unfaithful to you though; his loyalty and dedication are frankly a little unsettling. Sometimes you feel like the only thing in his life other than hero work. Teach this man to knit. Make him join a book club. Christ. Anything.

Does in fact have seasonal mating patterns and it’s super embarrassing.

An underwear-sniffing perv. He’ll definitely hump your pillow.

Gets a sick thrill out of breaking in and startling you. Coming up behind you in the dark, sneaking into your bed. It’s probably his worst habit, and even he hates that he does it. If you get better at detecting him he’ll be so proud. Land a slap on him and he’ll be a horny mess.

Dog-whistles at you. Often from rooftops, and you have no idea where he is but you know he’s leering.

He will call you a lot of really stupid pet names. He likes the way you blush when he finds a newer, stupider one. Calls you angel when he’s really far gone.

Likes to scratch you with his stubble until your skin turns raw and sensitive. If it annoys you or hurts a little? Even better. Making you squirm is his new favorite thing. Especially when going down on you. Your inner thighs are always exfoliated.

His cock is average in every respect. This is not a bad thing. He knows how to please you with every totally normal inch of that cock. He has some kind of homing beacon installed on your sensitive spots.

Goes absolutely insane for blowjobs. Any time, any place.

Likes to bend you around in all kinds of positions with an assist from his feathers to hold up an ankle here, an arm there. Get used to floating mid-coitus. It just seems to happen.

Spanky.

His number one priority is making you feel adored and at home in his bed. Ohhhhh he likes to make you smile. But if you encourage him to get pushy and dominant with you, you will have a good, good time.

He’s switchy, and will lose his shit if you initiate or take control. Again, he’s always horny for you, because he can finally let go. Breathe in his direction and he’s hard.

Doesn’t moan much, but Babe, he’s a dirty talker. He’s not smooth or deliberate about it, it’s more like he can’t fucking believe you let him do whatever he wants to you. You like that huh? Like he’s in stages of shock. He’s singing your praises to high Heaven and muttering oh shit oh shit oh shittttttt and laugh-crying as he cums. He never talks about his feelings; he fucks about them.

After. Care. King. He loves pampering and clucking over you anyway, this is simply another excuse to do it. He knows exactly how much water you drink in a day. Can’t take care of himself for shit, but you? You’ll never have a need he won’t try to fill. What’s all that hero work for if not this? Yeah, soak it up. You deserve it.

[liibrii]

fem!Miya!Reader & Miya family

Part of the Third Miya Series

Synopsis: Three is a weird number. It's only two units bigger than one and only a unit more than two and yet it seems to be so much more, especially when the three in question are toddlers needed to be dressed for kindergarten.

wc: 2.1k

a/n: baby Miyas, the ultimate serotonin providers 🙃 if you wanna be tagged in future chapters let me know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

Mrs Miya has always trusted her gut feeling and in that moment it was telling her the bathroom was down the corridor, last door on the left, and, just as Mr Miya had told her that morning, eating leftover curry for breakfast was a dreadful idea.

Doctor repeats her words and Mrs Miya's neck becomes completely stiff. If it wouldn't she'd perhaps be able to look at her husband whose face turned ashen pale. “Triplets?“

Well, this will take buy one get one for free jokes on a whole new level.

Doctor's words are just buzzing and the soon to be Miya parents nod and smile and nod and hold on each others' hand as if there's no tomorrow. They're silent on the way out.

Mr Miya turns to his wife. “Do they even sell strollers for three kids?”

Three is a weird number. It's only two units bigger than one and only a unit more than two and yet it seems to be so much more, especially when the three in question are toddlers needed to be dressed for daycare.

You all wear the same colours because Atsumu would throw a tantrum if your jumper wasn't the same colour as his and you would throw a tantrum when yours was a different colour than Osamu's, who in turn would throw a tantrum because his jumper was now the same colour as Atsumu's.

Mrs Miya had read advices that one should always dress their twins (or, in this case, triplets) differently as it is good for their personality development; which is all well and good and a great advice, except that whoever wrote it forgot to take into account that two and a half out of her three children saw being dressed differently as their siblings as a horrific violation of their toddler rights.

Your parents tell themselves one day you'll grow out of this phase, but till then mom stitches little numbers one, two, and three on the edges of your clothes. She did start stitching your names, but with only two pairs of hands in the house and three little sprouts in constant need of attention there was never enough time to finish them.

“One,“ says Mr Miya and Atsumu raises his hands.

“Ichi!“ he proudly chimes.

“Two,“ Mr Miya grabs you before you'd crawl out of the reach of his arms.

“Ni!“ like his brother Osamu too raises his chubby fists, but only halfway.

“And three!”

“San!“ You hug your dad's neck, perhaps hoping that will get you out of having to wear socks.

And heaven forbid they ever messed up which jumper belonged to whom. It was beyond your parents' wisdom how you could tell the number stitched on the edge was not the same they said when counting your heads, but you could.

“Must be yer superpower,“ jokes Mr Miya while changing your sweater that has the wrong number on the edge. He barely pulls it off when Atsumu's chubby hands already grab it and begin pulling it over his head. He screams when his father offers to help, pouting even if he's completely lost between the left sleeve and the opening for the head.

“Alright buddy,“ muses Mr Miya and turns his attention to Osamu who already pulled his socks off so, naturally, now you've mysteriously lost one of your socks too. Mr Miya sighs. Maybe it's time to let his boss know he's going to be late.

Three is an enormous number, when the three in question are a feverish toddler in your arms and two more running around doctor's office. Perhaps it was time to ask the daycare to put you three into different groups. That will cause an outrage, oh ever since the 'One child, one pillow' incident Mrs Miya is well aware of that. But then again, better that than all of you throwing a tantrum when only one got to leave the daycare early.

“One, two, three,“ she counts your heads under her breath, then hurries over to where you just picked up a very interesting small stone that probably fell from the soles of someone's shoes, “San! I mean y/n, sweetie, that's a stone. See, it's rough and cold.“ You whine when she takes the treasure from you but still  listen closely to her words that spark Atsumu's interest too, and he trots closer to see what is happening. Thankfully feverish Osamu has fallen asleep in her arms. Really, the last thing she needs is his firm conviction the stone is just greyish candy. Mrs Miya still lets Atsumu take the stone in his hands. “No,“ she grabs his hand when he lifts it towards his mouth that is already curving into a grimace. “Hey, hey, no need to cry over it sweetie. Yer gonna wake up yer brother and he needs sleep right now.“

“Is he sick?” your tiny voice chimes in. Mrs Miya nods. “Because he ate melon seeds,“ you nod with all the wisdom of a 3 year old. “He's growin' melons in his tum-tum,“ you tell Atsumu whose wide eyes blink twice before he bursts into tears.

“One, two, three,“ Mrs Miya counts your heads while you play around the house. If you hide from her sight sooner or later screaming and crying alerts her something happened. A moment later Mr Miya returns to the living room with a very much red faced and screaming Atsumu in his arms.

“What happened?“ she asks, crouching down to console you, also crying because there's no way you'd let your brother scream his lungs out by himself.

“Ah the usual,“ he places the scissors on the counter, “wouldn't let him shred his shirt. Osamu, no!“ He quickly grabs his other son who also starts crying, shocked that his own father would take the lost sock from him before he got the chance to find out how it tastes.

Ah, just another Sunday.

The good thing about three children running around is they're never lonely. There are always games to play, fights to win, faces to colour. Most of the days all of you exhaust yours (sometimes apparently infinite) supplies of energy by the time evening falls. Mr Miya puts you to bed (one bed, because trying to make you sleep in separate cribs is apparently a disgusting violation of Toddler convention) before he collapses beside his wife.

“Asleep?“ she asks.

Mr Miya hums. “For now.“

The moment they turn the lights off slide door across the hallway open. Light steps cross the dangerous waters of the dark hallway, enter the bedroom and climb over Mr Miya to the safe haven between the parents.

“Bad dreams?“ asks Mrs Miya. In response Osamu sniffles and snuggles closer. Not a minute passes when two more pairs of legs pass through the darkness of the hallway and climb to be beside their brother. You shriek when Atsumu pushes his cold feet on your back, but dad's stern word makes you stop. A few moments later you're all asleep.  

“One, two, three,“ sleepily mumbles Mrs Miya, patting each of your heads.

“Four,“ says Mr Miya and his wife giggles.

Three is the number of band-aid packages your parents buy per month. Ever since you've grown for about a chopstick taller, well you only grew for about three thirds of a chopstick because nature thought it would be funny if you got outgrown by your brothers at the tender age of 5, it turned out the tall tree in the park could in fact be climbed, if you climbed on someone's shoulders and then pull them on the lowest branch. Sadly the branches aren't big fans of being climbed on but no amount of scratches and falls could stop you from trying.

“A champignon never stops tryin'!“ proclaims Atsumu after the failed attempt that left bark in his hair and Osamu laughing on the branch.

“What's a champignon?“ you ask.

“It's the person who's the best! It's what I'll be one day!“

Osamu snorts, firmly grabbing on the thin branch he's sitting on. “Champignon's a mushroom.“

“No it ain't!“

A mushroom, you make a little note in your memory, because no matter how much Atsumu protests you're more inclined to believe Osamu when it comes to mushrooms.

Your heads turn when you hear mom calling and waving, waiting for Osamu to climb down before running over to her.

“I win!“ announces Atsumu despite Osamu reaching her first.

“Why, because yer a champignon?“

“Are we all here?“ loudly asks Mr Miya before his boys could jump into each other's hair, “identify yerselves!“

“One!“ calls Atsumu.

“Two!“ calls Osamu, louder.

“Three!“ you call and jump, because being louder than them was never an option.

Four heads turn to Mrs Miya. “Mom,“ she raises her hand.

“Excellent!“ proclaims Mr Miya as three small voices cheer. “Then we can get goin'!“

“Where to?“ you ask.

Mr Miya picks up a stick and starts drawing lines in the sand covering the path. “It's a secret but maybe ya can guess, we'll go down this path-“

“A treasure hunt!”

“Almost. At the fountain we'll turn left, and what lies down the fountain path?“

“Pigeons?“ you try guessing.

Osamu bumps his fist on the open palm. “Ice cream stand!“

Mr Miya nods.

“Last one there's a loser!“ shouts Atsumu who starts running before even finishing the sentence. Osamu immediately follows, both ignoring your shouts to wait up.

Three is a funny number. It only works when the two and one have the third , because otherwise it's just one and two. Like a clover that got munched on by a picky rabbit that tried a leaf and then decided it doesn't fit its taste.

Volleyball sort of became the rabbit munching on the clover. One day teachers simply decided you're not allowed to play on the same team as your brothers anymore. And no amount of crying, screaming and sulking could convince the rabbit to give the leaf back.

“Maybe we can sneak ya in,“ suggests Atsumu one night, “all ya hafta do is wear our clothes. No one will know!“

So you try that and funnily enough, people do notice when one and two together make a three, and what surprises children even more is that parents also notice when they return late from school because they had to stay in detention. And as if cleaning the school hallways for a month wasn't enough, now they have to clean the house too.

It is however enough to discourage you from trying to sneak into practice again, so you stick with only coming to games and waiting for their practice to end so you can walk home together. From time to time some of their teammates stop to say hello or to complain to you about their shenanigans, but that's knowledge you hold to yourself, since you never knew when blackmail material might come in handy.

It's only when Osamu teases they get to go to a volleyball workshop and you don't that you get envious.

“It sounds stupid anyway,“ you try pretending you couldn't care less.

“It would be perfect for ya then,“ Osamu shots back and sprints away as you dive after him.

Maybe you are just a teensy bit envious, still as long as you get to play with them when they are home it's not that bad. After returning from their workshops you don't even let them take their shoes off before dragging them to the volleyball net dad set up in the garden. You stand where you always stand, by the net so you can throw balls for them to hit over.

Atsumu pushes you away. “No, this is my position now. I wanna be a setter.“

You don' mind, and throw the ball towards Atsumu who sends it back into a bit of an awkward place and you end up not even hitting it.

Osamu bursts into laughter. “Ya suck.“ He jumps to avoid the kick aimed at his knee. “We play with good players now so yer gonna hafta practice more. There was this tall player with a cool name! Right, Tsumu?“

“Tsumu?“ you repeat.

“Tsumu and Samu. It's our names but they sound way cooler now!“ proudly declares Atsumu.

Your eyes widen in admiration. “I want that too! What should I call myself?“

“Yer always copyin' us,“ complains Osamu but he gets ignored as the first name Atsumu suggests earns him a ball to the face.

“Oh I know!“ You bump your fist on your open palm. “I'll be San!“

Atsumu thinks it over with the same expression Osamu has when trying to decide which udon toppings to order. “San,... Y/n... San,... It sounds so cool! Whaddaja think Samu?“

Osamu shrugs. “San, let me show ya how to spike the ball properly.“

tag list: @espressons @trashy-simp @nachotrash​

[ratsoh-writes]

What would be the reaction of the skelebros if he saw SO standing on top of a very tall tree trying to protect a nest from the strong winds? Detail: SO is afraid of heights, but that didn't stop them. OT/HS/FSR/SF/FT

Pluto: “OHMYSTARS- Get Down!!!” Pluto is going to forget that he sucks at floating and in his adrenaline rush, he scoops you up and floats you down despite your protests about the nest. He’s back to jumpy Pluto once you’re safe on the ground though, and it takes him four tries to get the nest down safely. You two end up returning it after the storm

Jupiter: of course he’s floating up to carry you down, but he insists on leaving the baby birds there. If you two move the nest, the parents might not come back. Storms are pretty common here so the babies should be fine

Lilac: he can’t climb the tree after you, and the winds make it pretty dangerous to risk a shortcut. Lilac yells at you to hold on and goes to get basil to get you down. Basil rescues you and the baby birds, but lilac is distant for the rest of the night. He’s disappointed in himself for not being able to save you himself

Basil: it’s not really much of a climb for him. He just has you sit on his shoulders as he calmly scoops up the nest of babies. He’s positive the parents abandoned them to seek shelter. Looks like they’re your birds now. You two get three pet magpies

Lord: yes it’s dangerous, but he’s risking that shortcut anyways. Lord pops right next to you on the branch and nearly gets blown off. Luckily he stabbed a bone into the tree trunk to ground himself. He yells at you to grab his arm and will shortcut back into the house. You want the birds to survive, then convince his brother to climb after them. He can’t believe you would do something so unbelievably stupid. He’s pissed

Mutt: he’ll climb after you and instantly his eyes lock on yo the baby birds. Any anger mutt had at you is fine now. You’re only doing the lords work lol. He’ll gently get the babies situated in your hands, and he zips you up in his hoodie so he can climb down. The two of you end up hand raising the baby pigeons. Unfortunately only one makes it.

Mal: he’s the best shortcutter, so he easily blips up to you in one quick jump, and into the shower with a second one. Mal angrily lectures you on safety as you blubber about the birds. He thinks you’re ridiculous for risking your safety for some wild animals and won’t go back for them. Luckily the nest is fine in the morning

Cash: he runs to grab mal who is able to teleport you to safety. Cash is pretty shaken up after thinking you were going to fall. When you explain about the birds, he’ll be angry but will climb for them as long as you promise to not follow him. His claws make gripping the trunk easier. He only finds one even though you insisted there were four

Peaches: he climbs the tree expertly and calmly asks why you’re up there. Oh? Worried about the babies? Peaches shows you the spots on the nest that connect it to the tree and reassures you the chicks will be fine. They survive this every year. He does make you promise to get him next time you think an animal is in trouble

Rancher: he also shimmies up that tree like he’s Tarzan. The farm bros are good climbers. Rancher has a dilemma. On one hand, baby chicks in danger, on the other hand, these are hawk chicks. The same hawks that try to snatch his chickens- oh who is he kidding? It’s a baby animal. Rancher has you climb on his back and he carries you and his two new pet hawks home. Guess he’s a falconer now

[shadamyheadcanons]

Headcanon #190

Cross-posted on AO3 along with its prequel.

--

Team Dark rarely fails at missions, but they had to retreat from a base they needed to infiltrate because it was being run by a ruthless jaguar with impeccable night vision. The commander wasn’t impressed when they returned empty-handed, but Shadow softened the blow by suggesting G.U.N. should contract Amy for the mission, reminding them of how indispensable her invisibility was the last time she’d helped out. The commander agreed.

When the four of them arrived at the base, Amy examined the alert jaguar and calmly stated, “I can’t go that far.”

Shadow was visibly anxious. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “My invisibility won’t last long enough to get past him. I’d get caught.” Before anyone could speak up, she held up a finger. “BUT--I have a better idea.”

A mischievous smile graced her face. Something about it made Shadow nervous. Amy took a step forward, only to remember the protocol and turn back to Rouge instead. She whispered something in her ear. Rouge’s eyes widened, and her grin grew to match Amy’s. “Sounds like my kind of plan! Permission granted. Knock ‘em dead, hun!” She winked, and Amy nodded back with a cheeky smile.

With that, she strode openly toward the jaguar with no hesitation. Shadow panicked, but Rouge grabbed his shoulder to stop him from following her. She motioned to the right side of the base, her expression stern and uncompromising. He reluctantly followed Rouge and Omega to the side, though he kept glancing at Amy as he went.

Once she got close enough to the jaguar, Amy shrank down into a scared, innocent-looking slump and lightly stepped over to him. “Um...excuse me! Can you help me?”

The tall, muscular jaguar turned around. His paralyzing glare instantly softened when he saw Amy, and he uncrossed his arms. “I--uh...what do you need?”

Amy stood in a cutesy, pigeon-toed stance. She held her hands up in loose fists in front of her and gazed up at him with wide eyes, showing mock fear in her expression and posture. “I think I’m lost!” She pointed back to the woods behind her. “My friend ran into the forest! I tried to keep up, but he was just too fast! I got all turned around, and now I have no idea where I am!” Her eyes watered convincingly.

The jaguar panicked, clearly fooled by the fake tears. “It’s okay, it’s okay! We’ll find him for you!”

Her shrill, falsely terrified voice had drawn the attention of his troops, diverting their attention away from her friends. She resisted the urge to smirk. Perfect.

Off to the right side of the building, Rouge scaled the outer wall and peeked over the edge to make sure the coast was clear. While she did so, Omega turned to Shadow.

“ESPIO’S APTITUDE FOR INVISIBILITY SURPASSES AMY’S, AND HE HAS MORE EXPERIENCE WITH STEALTH MISSIONS. WHY DID YOU SELECT AMY OVER H--”

“SHH!”

Shadow whipped his head away to look at Amy again. Rouge glanced back down at him when she heard him let out a low growl. She could practically see the way his blood boiled. Her eyes shot wide open when he spat out, “That sleazy--!” Before she and Omega could stop him, he shot toward Amy like a rocket. Rouge swore under her breath.

Back in front of the base, Amy clasped her hands under her chin. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Really?! Oh, thank you, thank you! That’s so nice of you!”

The jaguar gave a toothy grin and puffed out his chest. “Not a problem! Let’s go see if we can find your, ah...boyfriend, you said?”

Inwardly, Amy scoffed. Really? You’re taking that approach? Real impressive, guy. On the outside, though, she played along. She acted confused for a moment, then laughed. “Oh, no, he’s just a friend! I don’t have a boyfriend.”

The jaguar’s grin turned wolfish. “Really? A pretty girl like you? No way.” He put an arm around her waist and led her away from the base. He scanned the woods with his acute eyes for her nonexistent friend.

Amy barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. She ignored his hand and giggled. “You’re embarrassing me!”

Unfortunately, not everyone was willing to ignore it.

“GET YOUR FILTHY CLAWS OFF OF HER!”

Thanks to Shadow’s foolhardy shout of rage, the jaguar had plenty of time to turn around and intercept his attack. He caught Shadow’s foot before it could connect and pushed him off balance. Shadow clumsily stumbled back a few meters from the strong shove. The jaguar stood between Shadow and Amy as if to protect her, still not seeing through the ruse. She actually did roll her eyes this time.

Two idiots.

She took advantage of the opening to smash her hammer down into the jaguar’s skull, easily knocking him out. She wasted no time in dashing forward, leaping over his unconscious body and racing toward the building.

“Amy! Are you--”

She grumbled and grabbed his wrist to pull him along with her. “There’s no time for that. Let’s go!”

With that, the stealth mission turned into a speed mission. Luckily, no one could keep up with the two hedgehogs, and Rouge and Omega had just gotten into position to cover them with bombs and gunfire.

--

The mission was a success, but it took far more luck than it should have. Rouge gushed about how easily Amy had fooled their adversary, and Omega was impressed with her physical power, but Shadow looked away, too embarrassed to say anything. Amy went home, and the other two waited outside the conference room while the commander chewed Shadow out for his reckless behavior. Rouge looked at Omega.

“You seem happy. Still excited that you got to shoot more robots than you expected?”

Omega’s eyes glowed. “YES...AND ALSO BECAUSE I HAVE FIGURED OUT WHY SHADOW RECRUITED AMY OVER ESPIO.”

Rouge facepalmed.

[condorclaw]

“Oi, Phil.”

Large blue eyes glowed in the night and turned to face the avian, who was trying to climb the tree higher. A quiet chirr emitting from the large, feathered beast. His ‘voice’ was soft, but clear. Hello Tommy. Do you need something?

As Phil’s voice echoed, the elytrian began to crawl down from the top of the tree. His wing-claws hooked along the lower branches with ease, allowing him to maneuver until he was directly in front of Tommy, hanging above the younger’s branch. His long neck craned around, allowing him to meet Tommy’s eyes with his own.

Phil was frightening in appearance, his long, pitch-black body often enwrapped in his four thick wings, making him an intimidating creature. Tommy didn’t see him as that, though. Humans saw Phil as some kind of nightmarish beast, who would swoop in and steal away their cattle and crops, leaving terrified farmers and destruction in his wake.

For Tommy, however, Phil wasn’t just some mindless predator, but his father. The avian used to run around the tall mountaintops at night, waiting for Phil to come home with a large meal. After dinner, the elytrian would wrap his wings around Tommy, holding his son close as the two were lulled to sleep by the sound of the wind.

Tommy didn’t have any friends when he was younger due to his secluded snowy home, his only companion being an imaginary friend who sometimes appeared to play, but wouldn’t stay for long. As soon as Phil caught on to Tommy’s loneliness, he decided to move, wanting his son to become more social and make friends.

The two ended up moving to where they currently were in the present, a nice, secluded forest with a big lake for drinking. Nobody appeared to be living there, but it was more accessible for potential travellers. Sometimes Tommy would see a dark creature quickly dart between the trees, but figured that it was probably a weird sheep. With this new location came new possibilities, and there was one thing Tommy wanted to do more than anything.

“Phil, will you teach me to fly?” Tommy asked, his hand moving to subconsciously rub at his small head feathers. “I know you said that I couldn’t, because I could get hurt on the mountains and all that. But we can try it here, yeah?”

Phil was silent, which wasn’t anything new since he liked to think before responding. As the elytrian thought, he shifted his body, slowly lowering himself down from the tree, to the ground. Tommy followed his movements, landing on the soft earth next to his father.

“It doesn’t have to be anything dangerous,” Tommy mumbled, hoping to convince Phil. While Tommy hated taking things slow, if it would mean learning to fly as cool as Phil could, he’d be able to wait a little longer.

However, Phil remained silent, not glancing towards Tommy at all. It frustrated the boy a bit, and he reached over to gently tug on part of Phil’s robe. “Dad?”

Tommy. The avian jumped a little, his feathers slightly ruffling in surprise. Go play for a bit, okay?

Well, that wasn’t a fair answer. Tommy huffed, letting his feathers puff up a little so Phil could see how he was feeling. His father didn’t acknowledge them though, so Tommy turned and stomped away in the opposite direction.

“That was a shit answer.” He mumbled, pulling an apple out of his pocket, and biting into it.

“I’m sure he has a reason for it.��� Wilbur murmured, causing Tommy’s feathers to puff up again, making him appear like a fearful pigeon.

“Gods, Wilbur! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” The avian groaned, trying to slap at the other boy. His efforts were useless as usual, as his hand went right through Wilbur’s face.

While Tommy wouldn’t admit it, he liked Wilbur’s visits. Even though he wasn’t real, Wilbur really did feel like he was his own person, which resulted in a lot of strange conversations between Tommy and Phil. Tommy had insisted to his father for several months that Wilbur was real, but Phil had argued against that, claiming that he couldn’t see Wilbur at all. Tommy eventually learned to accept that Wilbur was just a figment of his imagination, and not some kind of ghost.

“Apologies!” Wilbur laughed, his eyes sparkling. He began to phase through the ground, with only his head visible, which always made Tommy smile a little.

“I do believe Phil has a good reason for not teaching you,” Wilbur continued, Tommy watching the man swim through the dirt. “Maybe you can’t fly?”

Tommy scoffed. “And why wouldn’t I be able to fly? Phil can fly, and I have feathers and wings just like him! Yeah, they aren’t as big, but they’re big enough to fly at least a little with!”

Wilbur emerged from the ground, brushing himself off even though he wasn’t dirty at all. “Maybe he’s just planning how to do it right now?”

“He better,” Tommy paused, flexing his small wings behind him. They were big enough to carry him, he had tried it before and was able to lift off of the ground for a few seconds.

A stabbing word shot into his mind, Tommy’s hands immediately rushing to grip his arms tightly. He hated the thought of that.

I’m not defective.

-

Phil looked up at the night sky, the stars shining brightly. He could hear Tommy talking to himself, and waited until the boy’s voice got farther and farther away. Once he was sure he couldn’t hear his son anymore, Phil turned around and cracked a nearby boulder in half, letting out a shriek of rage.

Tommy wanted to fly. Of course he wanted to fly, he loved watching Phil do it, and there was nothing else in the world that Phil wanted more than his son being able to fly next to him. When Tommy was younger, all Phil could think about was showing his boy the sights above, wanting Tommy to experience the world how he did. The boy always wanted to fly, so it seemed like everything would go well.

And then Phil learned that Tommy would never be able to fly like he could.

Tommy’s feathers would never grow long enough to carry the wind properly, and his wings would be underdeveloped, only meant for gliding. Tommy would never be able to fly.

Phil needed to tell him. Phil needed to tell Tommy more than anything, but he didn’t want to hurt the boy in any way. Knowing Tommy, he would probably mentally berate himself for something he couldn’t control, and the thought of that just killed Phil. He would love Tommy no matter what, but Tommy could see it as something completely different, and would have to endure cruel taunting from potential friends.

Letting out a groan, Phil sat down on one of the halves of the boulder, covering his face with his wings, the thoughts bringing a few tears to his eyes.

He’s not defective.

[musehyacinthus]

Shoot Your Shot: Part 1

This is my first published work in over a decade, and I'm so excited to share it with everyone! Dash is my oldest and most treasured oc, and I'm so happy that I finally have the confidence to allow everyone else a peek into her life. This was originally supposed to be a short one shot, but is now going to be a 2(?) part series. I will hopefully be posting more work in the future that explores more of her background, as well as introducing some of my other oc's.

It was June, and the air was warm and sticky, which wasn’t ideal; the humidity made Dash’s hair all frizzy, and it always seemed to happen on a day when she wanted to make meringue.

This morning in particular, her eyes snapped open, bolting upright in her bed with a gasp. She had been having the most amazing dream, in which she was about to take a bite of the biggest, most beautiful lemon meringue pie she had ever seen. However, just as the fork reached her mouth, she woke up, returning to the sad reality where she did not have a mouth watering dessert in front of her. She smacked her lips, trying to recall what the pie had tasted like, but it was already gone. Tragic.

It was then that it dawned on her that she had the ingredients to bring that beautiful pie to life in the kitchen. In an instant, she rushed to her bedroom window. Maybe, if she was lucky, the weather would be on her side today. She pried open the window, a warm, thick breeze blowing against her skin. She groaned. No good; meringue wouldn’t peak in the humidity. No matter how good at baking someone is, they’re no match for mother nature. Pursing her lips, she pulled the latch shut, deciding to settle for banana bread muffins instead.

A couple of hours later, the muffins were nestled in her bag as she hopped off the trolley that crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Thanks!” Dash chirped to the driver, exchanging waves with the man before she bounced away, not noticing the large, gray clouds looming on the horizon.

She clicked her tongue rhythmically as she walked, matching the beat to her steps and scanning the docks for her friend, Twitchy. The purpose of her trip had been to return a book he lent her, but he was nowhere to be seen.

A group of four other teenagers had gathered nearby at the edge of the docks, crouching in a large circle on the ground. Curious, she inched forward, craning her neck to see what was going on.

As she approached, she could see they were surrounding a long piece of brown string that was tied in a circle, surrounding a cluster of marbles.

Her heart skipped a beat. She was fantastic at marbles! She always kept her own pouch on her in case of a marble emergency, which happened more often than one might think.

Now that she was closer, Dash knew the kids to be Newsies like herself from her other visits to the borough. Among the group was a short, round faced girl with glasses and hundreds of freckles who Dash remembered was named Abigail. Her curly, brown hair was pulled back into two braids, her eyebrows knit with frustration as she gazed down at the ring. There was also a pale, skinny boy with sandy, blond hair and brown eyes that Dash didn’t recognize, and a tall boy with broad shoulders and dark hair standing just behind Abigail and watching the game intently. The way he hovered over her, he seemed almost like a bodyguard. What was his name again? Something with a chuh sound…. Chuck? No. Chatter! That was it! She remembered now, she found it funny the first time she learned it because Chatter really didn’t say very much at all. He was a friendly enough guy, but he seemed to like observing and listening more than he liked talking. He and Abigail seemed to always be around one another when Dash saw them, their significant height difference almost comical. Finally, Dash’s eyes rested on the figure closest to her with their back turned. Their brown cap was pulled down low on their face as they knelt on the ground, but she could recognize those bright red suspenders anywhere. He was at an angle where she could just see that was holding a red shooter in his hand, weaving it through his fingertips thoughtfully.

Dash’s feelings toward Spot were… mixed; she could never stop herself from riling him up, and the two would often butt heads due to their wildly different personalities. Spot took himself so seriously, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. It frustrated her that he tried to make himself seem so high and mighty, and she knew the kids in Brooklyn respected him, but as far as she could tell, he was just… some guy. The way he constantly tried to have the attention of those around him was so silly, and just made him come off as a bit of a show off.

She hadn’t seen him do anything particularly intimidating, but the Newsies back in Manhattan would often go on and on about how nervous he made them. She just failed to see any real reason for their apprehension. Then again, she really hadn’t been living in New York all that long; his reputation had been around for a good while. Maybe they all knew something she didn’t.

In any case, as far as she was concerned, he was just a kid who wanted attention. That was fine, of course, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to tease him. It was fun to challenge him, and she found herself getting extremely competitive in his presence. Of course he wasn’t going to back down from a challenge.

Dash would come to Brooklyn every once in a while to exchange books with Twitchy, who she knew was pretty close with Spot. He never seemed to show any signs of being intimidated either, and was an even bigger culprit than she was when it came to pushing Spot’s buttons. He would go to great lengths to make him look silly, like the time he filled Spot’s pockets with bread crumbs and got the neighborhood pigeons to follow him around all day. There was also a time when he dressed up in the same clothes as Spot, and had bribed the other Brooklyn kids with candy to pretend that he was the real Spot for an entire day.

Dash watched as the boy she hadn’t recognized leaned forward, closing one eye and taking a deep breath. He flicked his thumb, his yellow shooter zipping forward and smacking into another large, purple marble. Both marbles rolled over the string, coming to a rest on the other side. The boy whooped with delight, and Abigail let out a cry of astonishment.

“That was a cheap shot, Sonny!” Abigail crossed her arms in front of her chest, staring daggers at the boy. “You know I just got that marble yesterday!”

“It ain’t my fault I got good aim!” Sonny grinned, shrugging and walking over to claim the purple shooter for himself. “Sorry, toots.”

Dash thought Sonny didn’t look all that sorry.

Abigail huffed, sitting back and crossing her legs.

“Fine, whatever. Your turn, Spot.”

Spot, who had been silent the entire time, was already leaning down to shoot his own red marble. He extended his arm, appearing as still as a statue as he aimed the little glass ball toward the center.

At that moment, an idea popped into Dash’s brain. Slowly, without making a sound, she crept up behind him, biting her lip to keep herself from giggling and giving herself away. Finally, just as Spot started to release the shooter, Dash exclaimed “HI, SPOT!”

The boy let out a rather undignified yelp and his hand jerked, the marble rolling into the ring and bouncing gently on one of the mibs. It hardly budged, and Spot’s shooter halted beside it. The other three Brooklyn newsies broke out into laughter, and Spot’s shoulders tensed, turning his head slowly to glare up at Dash.

Dash just smiled, waving down at him.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said hi.”

Spot grunted and rose to his feet, his hazel eyes narrowing at Dash. Despite his intense stare, her expression remained unchanged.

“I heard ya, I heard ya.” He grumbled, glancing her up and down. “You messed me up, y’know.”

“Golly, did I do that?” she feigned surprise, her eyebrows raising. “Whoopsie daisies. Can I play?”

“We’re in the middle of a game.”

“Actually, it’s just endin’!” Sonny chimed in from behind him with a smile. Spot glanced back and shot Sonny a look, who quickly clammed up.

“Aw, that’s okay.” Dash shrugged, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “It’s no big deal, Spot’s just afraid that I’ll beat him at his own game.” she looked back to Spot, and she swore she saw his eye twitch.

“No. I am not.” He replied firmly.

“Are too.”

“Am. Not.”

“Are tooooo.”

“NO, I am-” Spot’s voice had grown higher pitched in the heat of the moment, but he quickly paused, giving a sideways glance at his Newsies who were all staring at them. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, his voice now sounding much lower than it had a moment ago.

“Fine.” He said cooly.  “Fine, you wanna play? We’ll play. Clear the ring, Sonny.”

In a matter of moments, the ring was reset, thirteen mibs resting in the center in a cross. Dash fished her sack of marbles out from her bag, a little blue pouch that her father had fashioned for her out of some spare fabric. She had about a dozen shooters she had collected over the years, but there was a very special one she wanted to use for this occasion.

She rummaged around in the pouch for a moment before pulling up a shooter that was minty green and blue with little white swirls. Sonny whistled, leaning in to look at it.

“That’s real pretty.” He mused. Dash beamed, tossing it up in the air once and catching it.

“Thanks! It’s the first marble I ever won back when I was younger.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow. “You sure ya wanna use that thing, then? Seems pretty special to be usin’ in a game. Don’t wanna end up like me and have it taken from ya.” She glared pointedly at Sonny, who only grinned back at her innocently with large, doe like eyes.

Dash nodded. “Oh, yeah! This guy is my go-to shooter, he’s real lucky!” She held it up proudly, admiring the way the colorful swirls glistened in the light. “I’ve never lost a match with him!”

Spot was also staring at the marble, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Huh. Oh, well, it’s your funeral, girlie.” He stretched his arms over his head, shifting his gaze back to her. “You better say your goodbyes now, ‘cause that thing’s gonna be in my pocket real soon.”

Dash stuck out her tongue at him. She wasn’t nervous; her lucky shooter had never failed her before, and this game would be no different.

The two knelt on opposite ends of the circle, and the others sat off to the side as spectators. Spot motioned his hand toward her.

“Ladies first.”

Dash positioned herself in front of the ring with her shooter. Without any delay, she flung her marble forward, grinning at the satisfying clack it made as it smacked into one of the mibs, sending two of them rolling out of the ring. Dash whooped loudly, and Spot continued to watched in silence with a serious expression.

“Nice!” Abigail grinned.

Her shooter was still within the circle, which meant she was able to shoot her marble again from the inside the ring. She hummed, hopping to the other side and returning to her knees to the left of Spot. As she reached for her shooter, her shoulder briefly brushed against his. Spot jumped as if he had been shocked, scowling and moving a few inches to his right. Dash barely even noticed him, focused on finding the right angle to shoot her marble. She flicked it once more and the marble struck another mib, but it didn’t have as much force as the first hit. It rolled a few inches and stopped just before reaching the edge. Dash shrugged, flopping backward onto her behind. “Oh well. Your turn.”

Spot nodded, adjusting his cap. Dash saw him glance over at the other kids for a fleeting second, then returned his gaze to the marbles. He cracked his knuckles loudly, which Dash found rather unnecessary, and flexed his hands at his sides. He scooped up his red shooter, assuming the position. His eyebrows knit together and he bit his lip.

This was ridiculous; the longer she waited for him to make his move, the more restless she felt. She drummed her hands on her lap as she waited. After what felt like centuries, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Can’t you go any faster?” She huffed.

“I’m focusin’.”

“Focus faster!” she urged.

Spot’s jaw clenched, still not looking at Dash. He exhaled, finally releasing his marble. It hit two mibs at once, sending them flying out of the circle in opposite directions. Sonny cheered loudly and Abigail nodded with approval while Chatter clapped politely beside her. The marble stopped right where it hit its mark, meaning it was still in play.

Spot grinned, clearly pleased with himself as he turned his attention back to Dash. She clapped, nodding slowly.

“That was great, yeah! Hey, at this rate, maybe we’ll have a winner by Thanksgiving!” she teased. Abigail let out a cough that Dash could have sworn was a laugh.

Spot’s grin snapped back to a scowl, squinting hard at her. Dash smiled back. Sometimes it was just too easy.

Spot closed his eyes briefly, regaining his composure. When he opened his eyes again, the look in his eyes had changed.

“Oh, I ain’t movin’ fast enough for ya?” he asked, stretching out his arms and making a big show of moving into shooting position once more. Slowly, he leaned forward, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time. “That’s no problem. I can go faster.”

He set his eyes on Dash’s lucky shooter, and before she could even process what was happening, he shot his red marble straight for it.

Dash’s eyes widened in horror, and she gasped as the shooter crashed into her minty blue sphere, causing it to roll right out of the ring.

Her heart sank, realizing what he had just done. She looked up at him in dismay and was met with a smug smile.

“Oh, would ya look at that? Seems like ya lucky marble ain’t so lucky no more.” He snickered. “Oopsie daisies.”

The other Brooklyn kids appeared stunned at what their leader had done, exchanging nervous glances with one another. Sure, he had joked about taking the marble, but it didn’t seem like they thought he would actually take it.

“Spot…” Abigail started, but Spot ignored her, plucking the shooter from the ground and rolling it across his palm as he stood.

“You were right, Abby. She shoulda listened to your advice, don’t’cha think?”

For a minute, Dash was speechless. Did that really just happen? Was he being serious right now?

Her shock quickly turned to rage. She rose and stormed up to him, lunging toward the marble.

“No! That’s not fair, you can’t-”

“What exactly ain’t fair here?” Spot interrupted, snatching it away and holding her prized shooter high in the air. “I ain’t no cheater, ask anyone here! I won this here marble fair and square!” He looked over at the others for confirmation, daring any of them to argue. “You all saw it, right? No rules broken, yeah?”

Reluctantly, the three nodded in agreement, which only fueled Dash’s anger. She grunted and jumped toward his raised hand in an attempt to grab it, but he stepped back, barking out a laugh.

“Better luck next time, short stuff!”

Dash grunted, jumping up and down as she tried snatch her marble. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you! You’re barely three inches taller than me at most!”

“Still, it’s three inches you ain’t got!” he snickered. “I’m playin’ the game the way it’s s’posed to be played! When ya shoot your opponent’s marble outta the ring, you claim it! That’s the rule!”

They danced around one another, Dash hopping up toward his hand and Spot pulling away at the very last second. Dash could feel her cheeks burning. She grit her teeth and let out a loud groan. “Why are you being such a jerk?!” She exclaimed, taking another swing just as he jumped out of the way.  “You only shot at my marble to be mean!”

“I’m the jerk?” He scoffed, side stepping when she tried to snatch it again. “You’ve been pickin’ on me this whole time! ”

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“WAS NOT!”

“WERE TOO!”

“Hey, now,” Chatter spoke up for the first time, stepping forward. His voice was deep and soft. “Maybe we should all calm down…”

But Dash didn’t want to calm down. She was fuming, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Logically, she knew she shouldn’t be getting so worked up over a silly, little marble, but she couldn’t control it; she was livid! How dare he take something from her that he knew was special to her! How dare he hold it over her head and taunt her with it! The way he smirked down at her made her stomach bubble with anger. She wasn’t going to let him get away with this.

She lunged once more, but this time, she wasn’t aiming at his hand.

She reached for his head, plucking off the brown cap from his head in one quick swipe and scurrying backward with a triumphant “HA!”

Spot blinked in surprise, his free hand instinctively moving toward his head. His caramel hair was now in disarray, falling in wisps across his face.

“Ha ha. Very funny, girlie, give it back.”

“No.”

“Seriously? Dash, c’mon.”

Dash was already scooping up her bag of belongings and throwing it over her shoulder, a wild grin on her face. It was juvenile, sure, but it was the only thing she could think to do in the heat of the moment. She offered him a quick salute, then bolted from the scene of the crime, leaving a flabbergasted Spot behind her.

She was already halfway down the block before she heard an enraged bellow behind her:

“DAAAAASH!”

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

End of Part 1

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 9

First

Previous

Next

Chat laid back in his bed but, for once, he wasn’t tired.

He was set to go on patrols that night, so he’d pretty much done everything he’d wanted for the day earlier. He’d gotten all his sleep, watched every video, finished his skin and hair care routines…

Only to find out that, hey, he didn't actually need to do that because Hawkmoth had chosen today to akumatize someone.

So patrols were out of the question. Hawkmoth had a recharge time of a few hours it seemed, but he usually didn’t do multiple akumas on the same day. They were always less powerful when he did too many in quick succession.

Well, at least he could go fight the akuma, right?

Wrong.

Because it was quickly brought to his attention that he actually couldn’t go, because the akuma was Mr. Pigeon and he quite famously had a bird allergy.

So the three women had all headed out (Carapace had stayed behind to finish an essay) and Chat had been left behind.

He scrolled through TikTok for a while. The app was definitely watching him, because almost all the content on his For You Page was animal videos…

Not that he minded.

But he could only handle so much cuteness at once, so that only worked for a few minutes.

Next, he went on Twitter to see what everyone was currently arguing about. That was bound to be entertaining…

Unfortunately, it seemed everyone in Paris was more concerned with the akuma than anything else at the moment. He didn’t need action shots of his housemates or to know more about Mr. Pigeon’s new plan to take the birds to space or whatever so he can… feed them? What?

The only other notable app on his phone was Instagram, but he wasn’t about to go on that. He was supposed to be in Tibet at some fancy private school, if people saw he was active he’d have to come up with answers to the millions of questions he’d inevitably get.

Now what…?

He pushed himself up to a sitting position with minimal groaning and attempted to run a hand down his face despite his mask.

Screw it. He was bored. He’d go bother Carapace.

He shuffled two doors down. He knocked twice…

There was a scrambling sound before he got a yell to come in.

When Chat actually did so, he found Carapace fastening his mask to his face. He was sitting at his desk, the area around him littered with crumpled pieces of paper.

“Salut?”

Chat batted away some with his feet as he made his way towards Carapace. “Salut. Chloe would kill you if she saw how much paper you’re wasting.”

“Paper is biodegradable, isn’t it?” Said Carapace with a slight grin.

“True.”

“... is there a reason you’re here?”

Chat didn’t answer, instead he slung himself over Carapace’s lap and laid there like a giant housecat. Which he pretty much was.

Carapace wasn’t even all that surprised.

All of the miraculous holders were well aware that the miraculous had side effects for them. They seemed to have attributed his constant need to be in contact with others as one of the side effects.

Chat knew that wasn’t the case, he was just Like That, but who was he to tell them they were wrong?

Carapace reached down and gave his hair a tiny ruffle and then went back to work.

Chat pulled out his phone again and started scrolling idly through Twitter for something to do (also he was kind of curious about the space pigeons now). The sound of Carapace’s pencil on the paper and his tiny sighs and curses were the only noises in the room for a while…

His eyes slid over the room. The bed looked untouched, there were a few empty energy drink cans strewn about, but other than that...

“So, wait, is homework literally all you do when you’re in here?”

“It’s all I have energy for outside of working out and patrols most days. Why?”

Chat rolled over to look up at him. “It’s just… you’re so…” He tried to think of a way to phrase it nicely, but when he couldn’t he settled for: “boring…?”

Carapace frowned a little. “And you’re so annoying!”

Chat flinched. As most people do when someone insults them.

His face softened and he groaned a little. “... sorry. That wasn’t… I’m just a little stressed out about school. This paper is due at midnight and I don’t know what to write.” He cracked a half smile and motioned to all the wads of paper. “As you might have been able to tell.”

He relaxed as well. “Yeah. I hear school is stressful.”

“You hear…?”

He hesitated. They were supposed to keep most things about their lives as civilians a secret, but… there was no way he could figure out who he was from this piece of information, so: “I was homeschooled.”

Carapace raised his eyebrows, thought about it, then nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Huh?”

“You have sheltered rich kid vibes.”

“... thanks?”

“No problem,” he responded easily. He set his pencil down and stretched as much as he could with someone still laying across his lap. “So. You had to have had a good education. Have any tips for my essay?”

Chat yawned and closed his eyes. “Depends. What’s the subject?”

“Film history.”

“... I don’t know anything about that, I don’t think, sorry. Ladybug or Rena might, ask them when they get back.”

Carapace laughed a little. “I don’t need information, if I did at least then I could just look it up, I just don’t know how to… write?”

He blinked his eyes open and then looked at him. “I can help if you just need to get your thoughts in order.”

“Really?” Said Carapace, his face lighting up.

Chat groaned a little as he stretched out. “Sure. Let me get a whiteboard.”

“We have paper…?” He said, watching his housemate get up and start walking out of the room.

“Shhhh, it’s for the aesthetic.”

Chat walked to the fridge and grabbed the whiteboard and markers from it.

He took a quick picture of the board so he could put everything back on it when he was done. Rena had apparently been doing some calculations on it. He remembered, vaguely, that she had mentioned calculating Hawkmoth’s height…

Holy crap. That’s tall. Sure, Hawkmoth was tall, but was he really THAT tall?

He shook his head slightly and erased, then returned to Carapace’s room. He smiled as he held them up for him to see.

“Tada.”

“So… what are we doing?”

“You --” Chat pointed a marker at him. “-- are going to talk about everything you know on the subject. I --” He pointed at himself. “-- am going to put everything in categories and we can go from there.”

Chat very quickly discovered why he was having so much trouble getting anything down. Carapace was… let’s call it ‘passionate’. The moment he started speaking his words tumbled out so quickly that Chat had had to scramble to pull the cap off of the marker so he could start sorting.

But, really, it always is nice to hear someone ramble about something they’re passionate about. Chat had to fight an urge to just watch and listen to Carapace as he talked about how ‘absolutely insane the textbook is for not going that much into eastern theater when there’s so much to talk about about kabuki theater alone --.’

Two hours and many struggles to fit so much information into such a compact space later, Carapace had run out of things to talk about.

“... is there a page limit?” Said Chat as he tossed over a water.

Carapace caught it without even really looking and took a few sips before speaking again: “Uh… yeah. Five pages max. That’s… my main problem.”

Chat looked at the board. What was on there alone was probably two pages in itself and that was just the general names of the topics…

He tipped his head from side to side and then circled a part of it. “Behold. That’s probably around four, and then you can do a bit of extra plus an introduction and conclusion.”

Carapace looked like he was going to cry.

“Are you… okay?”

He sniffled and wiped his eyes. “Where have you been all my life?”

“Uh… being homeschooled?”

“Oh. Right.”

Chat slung himself over Carapace’s lap again as he got to work. He scrolled through his phone for a while.

He jumped a little when he got a text. Still not used to that.

He opened the message.

Ladybug: We’ve washed off and changed clothes so your allergies won’t be irritated. Heading home now.

Kittychat: Thanks :D

He got left on read by three people, but that’s fine.

“They’re on their way back.”

Carapace grinned. “Wow, they beat Mr. Pigeon? Shocker!”

When Chat laughed a little, Carapace’s grin got a little more mischievous.

“Seriously, though, imagine losing to Mr. Pigeon. Couldn’t be me.”

“I am allERGIC --!”

He was cut off by Carapace’s laughter and, after a moment, he joined in.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence…

Then Chat got an idea. A small smirk made its way onto his face.

“You said that your account was going to be showing the world that we’re all normal people under the masks, right?”

“Among other things…?”

“Want to mess with the others and get some footage?”

“You complete me. C’mon.”

Carapace snatched his phone off his desk and they headed down to the living room to prepare.

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @mialuvscats @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0

[angeli-marco-writes]

Elizabeth Debicki - Gorgeous

A/N & WC - Back again with Elizabeth and Taylor Swift. Reputation is my favourite album currently, with evermore as a close second. Two incredible women in one yes please. Listen to 'Gorgeous' while reading for the feel of it. 2.8k exactly.

Warnings - Legal alcohol consumption, mild cursing once.

Summary - Elizabeth is gorgeous, just look at her, the world can see it. A drunken night leads to some tipsy confessions, but does Elizabeth feel the same?

“YOU'RE SO GORGEOUS…”

“What was that?” Elizabeth swiftly cuts in.

Your eyes grow wide in an instant, looking down intensely at the black table, sticky with spilt drinks, and turn your attention away.

“Nothing…” you trail off. Frankly, you hadn’t realised you were thinking aloud, but if you said what you were thinking, then tonight's girls night out with your best friend is gonna be a whole lot harder.

“So as I was saying, this guy from Bumble, he comes and he looks nothing like his profile picture, right?” Her eyes are so animated when she speaks, her jaw agog in a remembering shock, she taps at her glass with ebony painted fingernails. “Like his picture was a solid eight outta ten, but in person, not even a four. But there was something about him, you know? That little twinkle in his eye, so I gave him more of a fair shot than I do other catfishes.” You hum noncommittally, not necessarily listening to the words, but the soft undulating animation in her beautiful accent is worth listening to any day, even if just hearing about her going on a date with someone riles you up intensely. “No personality,” she gapes, smacking her lissom hands down on the table with a slight thump, causing some of her wine to spill. “Absolutely none! It was like talking to a brick wall for half an hour. Can you believe it? And he asked what part of Australia I was from, and when I said Melbourne, you know what he said? ‘Is that in New Zealand.’”

She scoffs, and downs the last of her wine. Her magnetic field is so strong, so alluring, you can’t help but feel drawn to her even more. She really should think about the consequences of her charisma or else you might snog her and ruin everything before the nights even over.

“What a dick,” you play along.

“Ugh, I know. Refill?”

“Please. Whiskey—”

“On ice. I know, hon.”

She smirks, shooting you a wink before standing up and practically gliding across the room to the bar. Your eyes twinkle with hope, with sinful want, as you watch her, and you’re sure that with your wistful expression and flushed cheeks and the way your mouth suddenly goes dry the second she says or does anything that could be construed in the least bit flirtatious that she knows how much you like her. Your whole body tingles, your words and sense swallowed up by an intense fire the second she touches you, it’s beginning to make you furious that she’s able to make you feel this way and still acts so coy about it if she even does have the first clue how utterly besotted you are with everything she does.

Over at the bar, Liz has to hunch to lean her forearms on the countertop, kicking her feet back a little, her short dress showing off her long, shapely legs with grace. She looks so sultry, with her leather jacket shrugged so casually over her pale shoulders. But your mind and illicit thoughts plummet and die the second you peer around her and capture a look at the bartender she’s talking to. Tall and that muscular build of slim that only comes from years of sport, a pinched waist and full chest, tanned skin—perhaps of Filipina descent, dark inky hair falling in tendrils from her work ponytail, no makeup and she still looks stunning. And exactly like Shay Mitchell. And she's flirting with your Elizabeth. Not that she’s yours or anything, that would be absurd, unless…

This woman is gorgeous, and you’re already jealous of her, of the attention she’s receiving from Elizabeth; the suggestive touches, the coy laughs, the revealing tug of her dress, the tentative tilt of her head, the run of her slender hand through her choppy blonde locks. But because Liz is single, it’s actually worse, because she’s been a lot more open and experimental with her sexuality recently, not labelling it but trying more out, trying more partners out. And you don’t fault her for that for even a moment, but why she can’t experiment with you, a raging queer, is beyond your grasp. It’s almost undoubted that she’s going to be taking this incredibly scorching hot bartender home at the end of the night, and if you weren’t out with Elizabeth, you’d be making the same move. But Liz… she desperately needs to think of the consequences of her touching this romans hand in a darkened room. That should be you.

You can’t get too possessive, though, as Liz has done her fair amount of touching you all night on this signature girls pub crawl, but it’s not the same, it’s not… enough. She’s been holding your hand, hooking her arm through yours to do shots, hugging you with her lithe arm around your waist as you totter down the high street in heels too high. It’s all been too friendly, though. And now it’s getting late, your final destination of the night. You’re practically the only patrons with a conscience at this point. You’ll be turning in soon, the bar will be closing soon, it’s inevitable. Liz will have a warm bed, and you’ll be left to go home alone to your cats. She’s so gorgeous, you can't blame the bartender, but she can’t blame you wither; love made you crazy.

You’re busy brooding over the ice slowly melting at the bottom of your glass, condensation forming in droplets on the rim when Liz casts a glance over her shoulder, a bright beaming smile etched upon her face, every line drawn up to match her glee. She points a long raven-painted digit at you, and prompts you to smile back, which you do—without even half as much fervour—and ensure you incline your head towards the bartender, whose dark hazel eyes are now fixed on you, before turning back, pretending to have found something of interest on the table.

“That’s y/n,” she says in a happy, furtive whisper, “my best friend.”

With her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, your mind is all scrambled, and with the intense feeling you might sink and drown and die, you know you need to get it in order before she returns, so you push your own stool out and head to stand in the doorway, fresh air hitting you like a brick wall.

The smell of the city instantly prevents it being worthwhile.

The sun set long ago, and you can see vines crawling up the building across the road from you, even in the dim street light and shadows. Even in a tucked away corner of the city, down back streets in a quiet quarter, the incessant incense of exhaust fumes and chippy food and pigeon shit never quite leaves one alone.

Everything’s winding down, quietening, muffled by an indelible blanket of night. A soft mist fills the air, an impending storm infiltrating your senses, roiling you a little. The walk home will be made worse by the rain soon to fall, ire digging at you for more reasons than one.

Elizabeth… She can make you so happy with one simple look that it turns back to sadness the moment you see the flicker of friendliness in her eyes, never anything more, never anything deeper, not once. What can you say? She’s gorgeous, she’s everyone else's for the taking, whoever she deems rakish enough to take home for the night.

The silence of the night, of your thoughts, is hewn by a sharp siren whizzing past you, so you push your pain away, and sidle back through the doors, shutting the slow drizzle of rain out as you close the door behind you.

Once you return inside, your thoughts slightly more reordered, you see her back at the table, fiddling idly with the hem of her dress, her cheeks tinted a soft red.

“So?”

“I got her number,” she confesses, barely able to bite back a smile, even as her perfect white teeth graze her lower lip. “She gets off shift in an hour.”

You were right, then.

“That’s nice. She’s hot.”

“I know,” she replies dreamily, “and looks exactly like Shay Mitchell, can you believe it? I fancied her so much when Pretty Little Liars first came out.”

“Yeah, I did too.” you admit quietly, clasping your hands around your fresh whiskey.

“You okay? It’s getting late, we can head off now.”

“Nope, absolutely fine. In fact, I think I’ll have another. Tell me something.”

“But we haven’t talked about you all night, I wanna know how your life is going. Love life too.” she protests.

What, your life with the monotonous job and the zero romantic prospects so you spend all your free time sitting at home reading and the nights with your vibrator and Liz in your head? How the hell are you supposed to tell her that.

You simply shrug, and keep a mask of cold, hard resolve in place. “You know my life. I’m interested in yours. Go on.”

So she does. And you do order another whiskey after your first, to the point where you’re verging on the highest restraints of merely tipsy and if you have another you’re heading fast for straight out drunk, which you shan’t do. But you’re merry, and Liz’s words all sound weird, slurred a little from the alcohol, her Australian accent bending to accommodate the vowel sounds she’s making with the occasional slip of a Polish or French word in there. She gets like this when she’s drinking, and it’s one of her most endearing qualities very few are able to see.

“Your voice sounds really weird,” you chuckle, leaning back in your chair, “you’re talkin’ all funny.”

“No I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Am so not!” She’s persistent, she never did back down easy.

You half heartedly shrug, knocking your glasses into one another on the table. You tug your jacket further around you, and purse your lips readying for battle.

“You know, you really should take it as a compliment that I’ve got drunk and I’m making fun of the way you talk.”

She allows her precisely plucked brows to dance over her face in surprise, though quickly schools her features into a plain mask.

“Alright, what’s up?”

“Nothing, Liz. I’m fine.” you say adamantly, and take another swig from your drink, savouring the tang on your tongue. Your glass makes another thud when you slam it down with unplanned and unnecessary force.

“You see, your mouth says that, but your… mouth is telling me something else?”

Before you can help it, your fingers are clutching the edge of the table, your cheeks heating softly, “I haven’t kissed you yet, how can that be?”

A chill slithers down your skin as her eyes grow wide, her pale skin blanching a shade further. “I didn’t mean, um, what? I—” she breaks off with a cough. “I ju— just meant that, um, you’re… sulking.”

“Oh.”

You can’t ignore the way your stomach plummets into the core of the earth, embarrassment taking over every other rational thought within your mind and body. Your soul is already brittle, but this? Your pride has certainly taken a knock enough for you to down the rest of your whiskey in one gulp.

“I’m gonna take off,” you say at last, across the curious blanket of silence, ignoring the way her angular face—limned with hope—falls a fraction.

“Please stay.”

You don’t think you hear her correctly, if at all. For all you know, her words could just be a whisper in the blustering breeze beating outside, the storm you predicted arriving early. In the dim bar, you’re away from it all, sage, until the bartender gets off shift and snatches Liz away for yet another night.

“Beg pardon?”

“Please stay,” she repeats, louder this time, but her blue eyes don’t meet yours across the table. “Tell me what’s up.”

She’s not backing down, so you brace yourself, allowing brazenness to fill you with courage, allowing your alcohol to eddie around you, summoning the words at long last.

“Nothing…” you say at first, because really, it is nothing, but she cocks her head at you that authoritative way. God, she should be a teacher with her assertive glances. “Just that you‘re so gorgeous I can’t say anything to your face…” you snatch her cup across the table, and take a deep swallow before shrugging and casting your gaze outside to spare yourself the mortification of being rejected. “Sober at least.”

You’re met with a beat of silence, “Why?”

“Look at your face!” you shout, utterly exasperated. You’ve got a good mind to pull a compact mirror to remind her how drop-dead stunning she is. “I’m so furious at you for making me feel this way.”

“Why, baby? What way?” she croons.

Too caught up in your momentary lapse of judgement and rant, you fail to notice her edging closer to you, moving your glasses out the way, letting her forearms rest on the sticky table just so she can watch the way you lick your lips with nerves.

“Crazy, because you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts.”

“R—really?” she stammers.

You turn back to her, all thoughts evaporating with her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, driving you insane. Her pretty lips are all parted and awaiting, how much you want to kiss her… So instead, you pout, and begin to throw a strop in your tipsy state.

“Tell me more.”

“No.”

“C’mon,” she teases, a smirk toying at her mouth, giving her cheeks subtle dimples. “Don’t leave me hanging. “Tell me what you really think. How I make you feel. I wanna hear,” her voice drops to a purr, leaning over the table to husk in your ear, “every little thing.”

“Ok then,” you concede. “You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much.”

“I don’t see how,” she snorts, “but continue.”

Her attention never once fails you or turns away, enamoured with your every mere breath.

“You’re gorgeous. Your magnetic field is too strong for me to cope. Your energy draws me in. You’re all I want.”

“More.” she coaxes, a single word, but a whisper, and yet it stokes the embers of desire in the pit of your stomach, your forehead creasing to attempt to draw some concentration back from the depths of your mind where your fantasies about her saying that exact word in that exact breathy way linger.

Perhaps your adulation is excessive, but you don't miss the sparkle in her eyes at each compliment you dole. This is your final card, though, and you’re going to play it right, so you forget about the consequences of touching her hand in a darkness room, and simply intertwine your fingers, drawing your noses to meet over the table.

“You've ruined my life, by not being mine,” you profess, ensuring that your hot breath fans over her lips. You can feel her shudder. “And you know there’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have.”

“I’m all yours if you’ll have me.”

And just like that, the world stops turning around you. Your heart lilts, your mind prattles on about all you want to say, all you want to do. But then it stops. And all of a sudden, you’re intrepid, desperate to ravish her and ruin her for all other women, eager to kiss her voraciously until you can scarcely breathe, yearning to feel her words of reassurance wrap around you, if only she agrees to your proposal over that of the hot bartender.

“Well, I’ve told you what's up, so I guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats. Alone... unless you wanna come along.”

You push away from the table and stand with a slight shrug, turning your back on her, making strides for the door and the storm bristling outside. Only, you barely make it to the door before Liz’s slender hand is wrapped around your arm, and is turning you back to her, tugging you closer, chest to chest, nose to nose.

“Fuck yes, księżniczka. After that, of course I’m coming.”

Your lips meet in a fiery kiss, a desperate battle of will, and her tongue slides over the seam of your lips. You grant her entry with an open mouth, heat skittering over your skin as she holds you tighter, closer, with a deeper urgency you don’t hesitate to match.

Her crystal eyes simmer as she withdraws, her forehead on yours. Her lips brush yours as she breathes, and she grabs your hand, heading out into the night with Liz, at long last.

“For the record, you’re gorgeous and perfect and drive me crazy too. Everything you said tonight, I echo. What can I say?”

You’re gorgeous.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (37) || atz

You step onto dry land and for the first time in your life, you’re not sure whether you want to kiss it or hightail back to the ship screaming.

The rocks are slippery and slimy beneath your boots, the stone worn away by the ages and the relentless sea. You nearly slip and fall flat on your face, but Seonghwa is faster and manages to catch you right before you can faceplant the ground.

“Careful.” He mutters softly, clearly on edge as the rest of the crew are. The tension in the air is so thick you could cut through it with your cutlass, you can see it in their tightly wound shoulders, how their hands are resting on their cutlasses, as if ready for a threat to spring at them from any second.

Only six people have disembarked the Treasure with you. Seonghwa and San, who have been with you in investigating this mystery from the very beginning, your captain and Mingi, who refuses to let him go into the unknown without him and finally Jongho and Yunho as your guards.

But Wooyoung…

Ever since you had heard the sound of that musket shot, you had been on edge, worry for Wooyoung looming in your mind. What had happened? What did your captain mean by ‘mood’? You had wanted to run out of the sickbay to see exactly what had happened, but then San had wrenched you back by the arm, a grim look in his eyes as he gazed at the door forlornly.

You stared at him in shock and confusion.

“Master-”

“Let Hongjoong-hyung handle this.” San had murmured softly, shaking his head, but his words were indisputable. When you had opened your mouth to protest, your master had added on, in a quieter voice. “Wooyoungie… he wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”

That had just made you even more worried about him, the anxious butterflies in your stomach were more like angry pigeons now, tearing you up from the inside. Even after the ship had dropped anchor at the rocky outcrop that was supposedly the entrance to the lair of the sea witch and you’d finally stepped onto the main deck once more, you hadn’t spotted that head of vibrant purple hair anywhere.

Seonghwa had reassured you Yeosang was staying with him to calm him down while the rest of you left the ship to meet the sea witch. For a moment, you had wondered if Seonghwa and San were conspiring to give you a heart attack, because all they were doing was getting you more and more perturbed.

If even Yeosang had to be involved, what exactly had happened to Wooyoung?

“Chin Hae?” Hongjoong’s voice comes from somewhere in front of you, and you raise your head in surprise to see him glancing at you over his shoulder. He’s already standing in front of the cave entrance, a lighted torch in hand. The other guys have joined him as well, all waiting expectantly for you. “Let’s go.”

Well, even if you feel like you’re about to chew through your entire lip in worry, there really isn’t much you can do now. You turn back to look at the ship one last time, hoping your thoughts will somehow reach Wooyoung even from here, before you move towards the cave entrance, Jongho helping you up the last set of slippery rocks.

You’re about to see a witch.

You honestly don’t know what to expect from this. All you know is that you’ve made a deal with the sea witch, one that likely gave the body of a golem and erased all your memories in the process. At the very least, she might have some answers for you regarding your identity. It’s got to be more than whatever you have right now.

The opening to the cave is large, tall enough that even Yunho wouldn’t hit his head on the ceiling and wide enough to fit four men abreast comfortably. But it is dark and creepy, and from the way Mingi’s teeth are chattering loud enough for the sound to echo around the cave, he’s completely terrified.

Seonghwa turns to look at the quartermaster with a genuinely concerned frown. “Mingi-ah, you don’t have to come with us. We know you’re scared about this kind of thing.”

Hongjoong nods agreement. The dim light from the torch flickers and bounces off the walls eerily, casting strange, shifting shapes shadows on the slick walls and making your captain’s face appear to be a ghostly apparition floating in the air.

And you’re still only at the mouth of the cave, where daylight is still streaming in from behind you.

You don’t know how far in the cave is, but from the way that you still can’t see the end, it’s probably very, very far in.

Mingi looks like a spooked rabbit, ready to bolt his way out of the cave as fast as he can, but he stands firm, well, as firmly as he can with his knees knocking every few seconds. He meets his captain’s eyes evenly, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I’d follow you anywhere, Captain. Even into the depths of hell.”

You’re stunned by how devoted Mingi is to his captain, before you remember that the quartermaster had told you himself that he had grown up with Hongjoong by his side. His whole life has been dedicated to serving his captain in every way possible, the two of them closer than brothers in blood by the history they have written and the memories they have forged together.

Hongjoong smiles fondly, standing on tiptoes to pat the taller man on the shoulder. Mingi towers over his captain in height, but lowers himself to see his captain eye to eye as Hongjoong shakes his head.

“You know I don’t need you to come with me, Mingi.” Hongjoong tries to reassure him, but from the defeated smile on your captain’s face, he already knows what his lifelong friend is about to say.

“But I want to.” Mingi insists like petulant child, crossing his arms. “I can be brave-”

Then there’s the sound of something falling behind you and all of you flinch, but then Mingi shrieks and jumps into the air as if he’s on fire, clinging onto Jongho fiercely. The poor battlemaster claws at the long arms locked around his throat, flailing about like a jellyfish attempting to escape a net.

“Ack! Mingi-hyung! Song Mingi! Let me go! I’m dying-” The last word is cut off into a screech when the two of them topple over like a felled tree, crashing heavily to the rocky ground is a mess of long limbs. Seonghwa squawks in horror, the resident mother hen of the Treasure flapping around them in concern while the actual healer just bursts into uncontrollable giggles in the back.

You give your master an evil side eyed glare but San continues wheezing from laughter, his infectious chortles eventually pulling in the rest of the group as well. Seonghwa bends over the two of them to see if they’re hurt, but apart from the groaning coming from the ground, they seem to be fine.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Mingi grunts as he manages to get to his feet. Jongho sways behind him unsteadily, rubbing the bruise on his back with a playful scowl.

“Thanks, hyung.” The maknae mumbles dryly and Mingi automatically answers “you’re welcome”, much to your amusement.

To your relief, the earlier fear and tension has eased a little with their clumsy accident. You’re still terrified of walking to your potential death, but now, with them at your side, it feels a little easier to breathe.

Then you remember Wooyoung and for a lingering moment, you desperately wish he were here with you. Your pocket feels too large for only one hand, and there just isn’t the same warmth there without his. You sigh, turning back towards the darkness that lies ahead.

“Let’s go.”

The seven of you make your way forward, occasionally stumbling on the wet ground. The call of the ocean is left further and further behind you as you step deeper into the gloom, and the cave seems to be shrinking slowly in size because Yunho and Mingi have to bend down occasionally to duck beneath overhanging stalactites.

As you walk, you take the time to think about what exactly you want to ask the witch if you do see her. What do you want to know? And will she even be willing to answer your questions? You’re lost in thought as you continue to walk forward, when suddenly a shadow flickers across the wall right before your eyes.

You startle back, but before you can say anything about it, you realise you’re at the end of the cave.

Everyone stops in their tracks, your captain moving forward to inspect the wall carefully with the torch. He glances around, spotting two unlit torches at the side and hesitantly lights them with his own.

They catch alight slowly, burning a little before flames suddenly erupt into the air before you, the sheer scorching heat and blinding glare from the fire have you squeezing your eyes shut on instinct. Even through your closed eyes you can still see the intense light shining through, you feel like you’ve just stared into the sun itself in the eye.

Someone grabs you by the arm and pulls you back away from the fire. The fire seems to die down a little and you open your eyes to see your captain before you, fiercely staring down the raging flames, face cast in a flickering, hellish orange glow.

Mingi screams and you whip around to see him and the rest of the crew separated from you and your captain by a blazing inferno, the cave that was once damp and dark has transformed into a brimstone hell in a matter of seconds. Shock catches in your throat.

What the hell-

From beyond the wall of fire you see Mingi attempting to run to the two of you through the flames and terror almost swallows you for a moment, but Jongho and Yunho grab him by an arm each and haul him away from the flames. Relief sags in you, because you can feel that the fire before you is unbelievably hot, like nothing you’ve ever seen or felt before. It’s heat is so intense that the water around you seems to have evaporated, leaving the ground bone dry, and the very air that you breathe in scorches your lungs. There’s no way you could make it out to the other side alive.

Your own terror is reflected in your master’s eyes as he locks gazes desperately with you, so near yet so far, Seonghwa’s arms comfortingly wrapped around his shoulders.

You’re trapped.

You turn to stare at your captain in horror, but your captain doesn’t look fazed at all. Instead, he shouts very calmly over the roar of the fire.

“Everyone, leave the cave immediately and head back to the ship. Wait for us there till daybreak. If anything comes for you, be it sirens or storms or whatever that sea witch throws at you, survive.”

Reluctance is clearly etched into each of their faces, they really don’t want to leave the two of you behind. But they have no other choice, staying here waiting isn’t going to help you and Captain escape, it’s much smarter to get back to the ship and join up with the rest of the crew.

San meets your eyes across the wall of fire, his face bathed in flickering amber brilliance. His gaze conveys one message to you.

Come back safe to me, alright?

You know you can’t promise him anything, but you nod anyway. Fear is creeping over your whole body and you’re ever so grateful your captain is at your side, because his commanding presence is the only comfort you have in this place. The hand around your wrist keeps you close to him protectively as he continues to address the crew.

But Mingi grits his teeth, clearly unwilling to move an inch from his spot without his captain. “Hongjoong-hyung, I-”

But your captain cuts him off with one decisive sentence.

“Who is the captain, Mingi?”

The tall quartermaster falters momentarily in his tracks. You can see his internal battle in his eyes as he fights between needing to stay with his captain and his logical mind that’s telling him to follow Hongjoong’s orders. Hongjoong sees it as well, and continues to push him towards making the right decision.

“Get the crew back to the ship and keep them safe as my quartermaster, Mingi. That’s an order. Do you understand?” Hongjoong commands, his voice firm and unyielding. You’re actually shocked for a moment. You’ve never been able to understand how your captain can switch from a man so close and intimate with his friends behind closed doors, yet still maintain an air of such powerful authority over them when the time requires him to be.

Mingi swallows at such an indisputable command, before he bows his head, one hand over his heart. His loyalty to his captain outweighs any personal desire he might have, even if it is to stay with him. “Yes, captain.”

Then a small smile softens the hard line of your captain’s mouth as he gazes over at his oldest friend with fond eyes. “I will return to all of you. Now this is my promise to you as a friend. Do you understand?”

Maybe it’s a trick of light, but you see tears spill over Mingi’s eyes as he nods once more.

“Yes, Hongjoong-hyung.”

Then with one final look at the two of you, he turns around and ushers the rest of the crew out of the cave. Their footsteps echo down the flame lit tunnel, ghostly shadows dancing along the walls until even those disappear as well.

And you’re alone.

“Well, it was pretty easy to say all of that when they were there.” Hongjoong mutters softly as he slides to the ground. You glance at your captain in worry. “Captain…?”

“I wish Mingi were here.” He chuckles a little depressingly and part of you flinches. This isn’t what you expected from your captain. “I’ve never been without him by my side. Him and the other guys.”

Then it occurs to you that your captain, too, is afraid.

Kim Hongjoong is the Pirate King of the Seas, the unrivaled pirate, the undefeated one. He took a flogging for you and the crew without batting an eyelash and somehow saved the entire ship in the most hopeless of situations. He dove straight into the oceans without a second thought to save you from the sirens who had been trying to tear you apart. Your captain was small, but his presence to you had always been larger than life, fiercer than any storm and more terrifying than any enemy.

And yet, here he is, admitting to you that he is actually scared.

Something about your perspective of him suddenly takes a massive turn as you crouch on the ground beside him, taking his hand. The orange glow really highlights his face, making him seem like an unearthly, ethereal being born of the flames themselves, embers burning in his gaze. He looks up at you with defeated eyes, before shaking his head with a self deprecating smile.

“I’m sorry-” He begins to apologise, but then you look at him seriously.

“Captain, can I hug you?”

He freezes in surprise, staring at you confusedly for a moment. You don’t wait for him to reply and instead you embrace him tightly, basking in a heat that radiates from him, one that burns even more fiercely and intensely than the flames surrounding you. At first, he stiffens upon the contact, but then he eases into it relaxes, one hand coming up to rest on your back.

When you finally pull away, you smile at him, trying to convey all your gratitude to him in that one expression. “Captain, you literally sailed across the sea from Nassau to Eleuthera and then to this island all on a whim that I might find my memories here, put yourself and the entire ship into danger for me and now, you’re even stuck here with me in the sea witch’s lair. So please don’t apologise to me when you’ve done so much for my sake.”

Hongjoong stares at you for a moment before he starts laughing, shaking his head as he gets to his feet. You’re a little confused whether he got what you were trying to say or not, but then he turns to smile at you, that same, confident, self assured smile you see when he’s standing at the wheel of the Treasure, watching the oceans before his feet.

“I told you. We’re family, aren’t we? You’re part of my crew.” You nod as he pulls you up to stand with him, and then he gives you that boyish, cheeky grin you only see him wear when he’s with his close crew. Something in you warms. He really is very handsome. “And I told you before, call me Hongjoong.”

You return the smile with one of your own. “Yes, captain.”

He shakes his head in amusement and turns to face the wall before you, and suddenly you realise that contrary to what you had thought before, the rock face is actually a beautiful, elaborately done mural of a mermaid sitting upon a rock . Her tail one of intricately carved silver, a shade different from the sirens you had seen before with more brightly coloured jewel tones but not in the least more dull. In fact, this tail is the most beautiful one you’ve seen, tiny details on each scale resembling sea waves cresting and rising, almost as if it’s alive.

Hongjoong seems to think so too, because he reaches out to touch them, breathing out a awestruck “wow”.

“I don’t think I’ve seen art so magnificent in all my travels.” He whispers, and you tear your eyes from the tail to glance at the mermaid herself.

To your shock, her skin seems to be painted in a way that it seems translucent, like water. It reflects the light of the flames in a way that reminds you of fluid crystal. You feel like if you touch her, she’ll merely burst and disappear, so you refrain from doing so, eyes searching for hers instead.

They’re blue, but they’re also not. They’re the colour of the calmest sea on a summer day as the bright sun shines overhead, but at the same time they’re the colour of a raging ocean in the middle of a hurricane. They’re pitch black as sea when it reflects the night sky above it, sprinkled with stars and as clear as clean water running through your fingers. For a moment, your eyes hurt from looking at it, so you turn away and blink, wondering what has gotten into you lately.

Then Hongjoong lets out a cry of surprise, pointing towards the mermaid’s chest. Drawn around her neck is a long silver chain, dangling in the middle of her chest and resting against her navel, except there’s no ornament residing there. Your breath gets cut off when you realise what it resembles.

The necklace that you’re wearing.

You yank it off your neck, holding it to the painting of the mermaid. You feel like her eyes are gazing right into yours as you move forward with shaking fingers, pressing the crystal at the very end right where it should be.

Yes…

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then the stone wall before you groans mightily, and you yank the necklace back in shock as the mermaid seems to disappear into the stone wall right before your eyes. Hongjoong takes your hand protectively and pulls you behind him, his other hand drawing his cutlass from his belt, ready to face anything that comes your way.

But the stone wall merely sinks into the ground, revealing another dark passageway forward.

You and your captain exchange glances, before he grins at you, a determined glow in his eyes. Yes. You can face this with your captain at your side.

“Let’s go.”

The two of you step forward together.