#he’d try to communicate with them somehow but they just go back inside their shell

[shewhoeatssand]

I want to adopt a 3 inch tall Kaneki so I can keep him in a small tank with several hermit crabs for roommates, I’d give him a separate food and water dish and a tall bottle cap to do his business in but I wouldn’t do anything to stop the hermit crabs from knocking it over or stealing his food. He’ll just have to deal with it

[octo-cutie]

Bokuto Koutaro is an influence to many if not all young volleyball players including the son of Y/N, a single mother who tries her hardest to make ends meet while providing the perfect life for her son. When Bokuto offers to help her out at the request of her son, how else is it supposed to play out?

TW: Violence against reader, Fighting, Pain infliction, Police involvement, use of the word whore, use of the word slut, light bleeding

I cannot stress this enough: MIND YOUR TRIGGERS AND PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!

Chapter 7: You're Nothing EVERYTHING!

Bokuto and Y/N had been in semi-constant communication since that night when he met them for the first time. He’d traveled from Miyagi to Tokyo in order to stay with Kuroo but that didn’t mean that he hadn’t tried to see Y/N and Kaoru before he’d left for Osaka, but Y/N still had work and Kaoru still had school.

He did swing by the day before he left which had resulted in some tears from Kaoru who wanted Bokuto to take him to school. However Y/N had explained to him that if Bokuto went to school with him then Bokuto would have to answer lots of questions from people and then they wouldn’t be able to hang out before class time. This had somehow registered in Kaoru’s brain as “Bokuto can’t drop me off at school or else everyone will take him from me” which led to them skipping the morning rush and bringing Kaoru in late. Y/N didn’t have to be in for her job until 12:30pm giving them ample time to visit with Bokuto before he left.

It was a very sad drop off at the station however. Even with the promise of seeing him again after the volleyball game next week Kaoru firmly believed that Bokuto wouldn’t be seeing them again. Y/N weakly apologized to Bokuto who thought that holding Kaoru would be the best option but as it turns out it led to both child and adult crying and Y/N trying to keep as much attention away from their little rag tag group.

“Kaoru sweetheart, we’re going to see him in a week for the game.” Y/N cooed as she pried her son from the arms of Bokuto who nodded trying to wipe his own tears away from his eyes without Kaoru seeing his moment of weakness. Y/N offered a handkerchief to Bokuto as she cuddled Kaoru into her torso.

“Have a safe trip ok? We’ll see you in Tokyo next week. Wave goodbye Kaoru.” Y/N said gently as they waved to Bokuto who had entered the airport and was waving out the window to both mother and son. Yet Bokuto couldn’t help but feel the pull of his heartstrings begging him to stay.

He’d built this bond with Kaoru and Y/N even if he’d only known them in person for a week. He’d spent enough time with them in order to gain Kaoru’s trust completely and he was slowly working Y/N out of her shell.

Something about her just made him feel all… mushy inside. Her gentleness compared to his oafishness caused him to feel somewhat protective over her? Like how he feels for his older sisters! That must be how he feels because he’s only felt this way for his sisters and his mom!

Bokuto sighed as he made his way to the airline gate and boarded the plane. Thankfully the flight attendants knew of his status and made sure to let him onto the plane without too much hassle from the surrounding crowd. Any other time and he’d be willing to sign autographs and take photos but he wasn’t feeling as energized. It was as if he’d poured his heart and soul into energizing Kaoru and Y/N.

His fingers hovered over the keypad wanting to text said woman to let her know that he’d made it to the plane. Bokuto hesitated though and instead clicked on Akaashi’s contact and told him instead. A few moments later Akaashi’s chat bubble appeared and told Bokuto to have a safe flight but it didn’t feel the way he wanted it to feel. Bokuto sighed loudly and stared up at the ceiling.

Bokuto pulled his hood up and slipped his sunglasses back on as people started to enter the plane. A small commotion drew his attention to a family who was boarding the plane with their small children. In the mother’s arms she held a tiny baby who she was shaking a rattle in front of making the infant coo happily while the father held the hand of what looked to be an eight year old who was trying to question his mother with facts about some show about turtles.

Bokuto snickered quietly as they passed remembering the other day where he had been the one being bombarded with questions about volleyball but when he looked over at the mother holding the baby he sighed and his mind wandered to a little alcove where he allowed his imagination to imagine his life with a wife and kids. His kids would have his salt and pepper hair mixed with Y/N’s eyes and-

He shot up in his seat jostling the person in front of him. Where had that thought even come from?! He and Y/N were just friendly acquaintances and nothing more! Sure Bokuto was paying some of her bills and spending time with Y/N and Kaoru but that didn’t mean he should be imagining a life with her! He was just tired… Yeah he was just tired…

Bokuto plugged his headphones in and waited as the plane slowly ascended into the sky as they flew to Osaka.

Y/N sighed to herself as she pushed her chair back from the information desk. It was a very slow day at the museum except for one school trip that was being led by one of her snarky blonde coworkers. Not even a minute into meeting him Tsukishima had snapped at some of the middle schoolers about not touching the displays of the dinosaurs. Y/N had profusely apologized to the teachers and assured them that he was one of their best tour guides and that he was just extremely passionate about the dinosaur models.

It was growing quieter now with the sounds of the middle school field trip leaving. Y/N could hear the annoyance radiating off of Tsukishima from the breakroom. Sure enough her towering co-worker threw the door open with the nastiest scowl she’d ever seen plastered on his face.

“Rough tour?” Y/N asked as she took a bite of her sandwich. Tsukishima swore loudly and slammed his lanky body against the couch, throwing a hand over his eyes. Y/N hid a snort behind a gulp of water as Tsukishima started to complain to her.

“Is it to difficult to do their fucking job as a teacher and keep their kids from touching every. single. thing. in the museum?!” Tsukishima growled. Y/N couldn't help but giggle quietly as he droned on and on about how he'd had to stop their tour halfway because a teacher noticed that a few students were missing. Somehow these students had made their way towards the aquatic center of the museum and were being detained after climbing into the touch tanks.

"So now I have to stay late and finish paperwork that should be done by security but NoOOoooOOOooOoo!" Tsukishima finished with his tell tale grain of salt.

"How'd they even get in the touch tanks? There's like eight staff members watching it." Y/N asked pulling out her phone. There were a few notifications including a voicemail from Bokuto and a reminder to pick up the dry cleaning. Tsukishima rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I don't even know ok? Did you bring any cake this week?" Tsukishima said pulling himself off the couch and walking towards the refrigerator where lo and behold was a slice of strawberry cake that Y/N had picked up from the bakery near her house. It was a back and forth thing that had started after she had picked up his overdue paperwork one evening, Tsukishima had brought her tea the next morning which she felt compelled to repay with cake.

As Tsukishima angrily ate his cake, Y/N pulled up the voicemail from Bokuto and put it close to her ear in order to listen. However this being her first voicemail from the athlete she had no idea how loud he was. The moment he spoke, Y/N hastily pulled her phone from her ear, slipping and pressing the speaker button.

"HEY Y/N!! ITS ME! BOKUTO AH WAIT YOU KNEW THAT! I'M SORRY!!! OH RIGHT OK SO I LANDED IN OSAKA AND I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW! YOU DIDN'T PICK UP YOUR PHONE THE FIRST FEW TIMES I CALLED IT SO I GUESS YOU'RE AT WORK BUT I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU AND KAORU IN A FEW DAYS!!! OK WAIT OK I GOTTA GO BUT CALL ME LATER!"

The voicemail ended abruptly and Y/N looked over hesitantly at Tsukishima who's fork was midway to his mouth. Instead of finishing his bite his mouth curved into a snarky grin.

"So... thats the 'mysterious' person you've been calling and texting everyday? The great Bokuto Koutaro?" Tsukishima chided.

"Wait how do you know him?" Y/N asked quietly. For Bokuto to know two nobodies from Miyagi seemed weird. Tsukishima pushed his now empty plate away from himself and shrugged his shoulders.

"When I was in highschool I met him at a volleyball training camp. He was a pain in my ass along with a few other guys." Tsukishima stated bluntly. "Sometimes he likes to tag me in posts from years ago which just brings me more attention then I need or want. He's such an attention pig."

'I like pigs.' Was all Y/N thought before typing out a response to Bokuto.

Y/N sighed in relief as she locked the information services door and started to walk towards the train station. Her phone was abuzz with updates from Bokuto and she couldn't help but smile as he sent another GIF or a mini video of him and his friends on the team. It was facsinating to her that he allowed her to look through this looking glass into the world of famousness.

Her smile didn't fade when she opened up an email from her landlord stating that her three months of over due rent and the next three months rent had been payed. Instead it only made her smile more. Bokuto was really coming through on his promise to help and she couldn't be happier. This meant that Y/N and Kaoru would have some spending money when they travelled to Osaka in a few days. And since Kaoru's birthday would fall on their trip, she'd be able to get a real cake for him this year.

Y/N walked with a skip in her step towards the school where she was due to pick up Kaoru. And she needed to apologize to Sugawara.

It was Monday and they had had their little spat on Friday. So of course she'd had the weekend to stew in her guilt and every night since then she'd picked up her phone with her finger hovering over the contact reading Sugawara Koushi but not being able to bring herself to call him.

Y/N stopped outside of the classroom where normally, anyone should hear "After Classes" going on. Gently knocking on the door, Y/N waited for Kaoru to run into her arms like normal but instead his cries could be heard from inside the classroom. Sugawara held Kaoru in his arms as a gaggle of mothers where berating both teacher and child.

"Just because you've got a hard on for this bastard's mother doesn't mean we'll allow you to treat her better than us!" Amelié spat with a menacing growl in her eyes. Sugawara looked around the room sporadically looking to get Kaoru somewhere away from the women eventually landing on Y/N's trembling form.

Amelié's foreign eyes followed his gaze and soon she turned her cannons towards Y/N with a smile that would make even the oldest of ancestors turn in their graves knowing her hatred walked the Earth.

"Oh look ladies!! The whore has come to pick her bastard son up! What's wrong slut? Did you hear what I said?" Amelié asked storming up to Y/N and roughly grabbing her by her chin and forcing the poor woman to meet the hellish gaze.

"P-Pl-Please! Let me- let me go!" Y/N whimpered with beads of water falling from her eyes. She tore her gaze from Amelié's and towards Sugawara who was fumbling with his phone and trying to keep Kaoru from squirming out of his arms to run to his mother.

"Awww is momma gonna cry?? You're setting a terrible example for your bastard child over there! You like whoring around with every person who crosses your path?!" Amelié spat in Y/N's face forcing Y/N to look into her snake eyes once more.

"Momma!!" Kaoru cried out as Sugawara left the room calling for help down the hall as another mother roughly grabbed Y/N by the scruff of her shirt collar.

'Help me...' Y/N thought on repeat begging and crying as Amelié layed into her. Said woman wrenched her hand back and struck Y/N across the face with each of her massive rings cutting into Y/N's skin marring it with a light trickle of blood. Y/N screamed at the stinging sensation that filled her face as Amelié and her little group howled with laughter.

"Face it Y/N. You are NOTHING. Remember that before you decide to try and better yourself." Amelié hissed in her face before motioning for the other ladies to follow her out of the school but not before stepping on Y/N's hand with a painful crunch.

Y/N's mind only allowed her to do one thing which was curl into a ball, clutching her shattered hand and sob. All traces of happiness had vanished and instead where replaced with an empty mind and the howling of laughter from her conscious.

'YOU ARE NOTHING'

'YOU ARE NOTHING'

'NOTHING'

Y/N registered very little as the muffled sound of a cop car pulled up in front of the school accompanied by an ambulance. Her ears could hear nothing that the EMT's said as they helped her up and checked her hand out before bringing her to the entrance and helping her into the ambulance. Her pain receptors in her left hand felt nothing as the EMT poked and prodded at it trying to ask her questions. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Sugawara explaining everything to a muscly armed cop who was taking notes and looking over periodically towards the Ambulance. Slowly but surely he walked over along with Sugawara and Kaoru in tow.

Kaoru's eyes watered and he reached out for his mother with a scared "momma" coming from his mouth. Sugawara carefully and gently handed the whimpering child into Y/N's arms allowing him to snuggle into her chest with rapid fire hiccups. Y/N blankly pet his head with no emotion on her face. Her senses returned to her as she felt the warmth of her child wailing into her chest. The police officer introduced himself as Officer Sawamura and pulled out his notebook.

"We're gonna help you ma'am. What can you tell me about the attack? Can you name your attacker?" the burly man asked calmly trying to ease Y/N's nerves.

Y/N nodded slowly and took a shaky breath as she envisioned the attack that happened only moments ago.

"Her name- Her name is Ri- Riyoma Amelié." Y/N whispered quietly holding her son closer to her chest.

"And did you have any relationship with her? Any issues before hand?" Officer Sawamura asked scribbling away in his notebook. When Y/N nodded both officer and school teacher looked taken aback.

"She's the wife of my child's father."

Authors Note:

Hello everyone. This chapter is definetly one of the sadder ones I have planned. I'd like to take a moment if you don't mind to assess the situation of what has just transpired.

1: I do NOT condone any sort of violence or acts of aggression towards anyone for any reason. In this chapter Y/N is belittled and attacked by Amelié for what seems like no reason but it will all work itself out in due time.

2: I have nothing against the name Amelié so if I have offended you please please let me know.

3: This chapter deals with depression and views against single mothers. I have done my research to ensure that I am learning as I write. I am not a single mother however I have been in abusive and toxic relationships which I am using when I describe Amelié and when I eventually describe Kaoru's father.

Thank you so very much for bearing with me and allowing me to create something to bring forth a light that we don't often see in fanfiction.

If you'd like to learn more about what you can do to help single mothers/single fathers/single parents, look for opportunities at your local foodbank, homeless shelter, and after school care groups.

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[skellebonez]

okay i know you probably have lots of prompts already but. listen; 28 and 41 with my Phantom Thief MK AU (well its more of a phantom thief everyone au but yeah)

So I maaaaay have been a smidgen inspired by one very specific post you made about this AU and Sun Wukong's first successful heist... I couldn't resist, it was just too funny.

You call this luck? No, this is all skill./Can you teach me how to do that?

"Can you teach me how to do that?"

The question wasn't an unusual one between the two of them. MK had asked this of Sun Wukong on more than one occasion as successor to the Monkey King as the Monkie Kid himself.

No, what was unusual was that the question came from the opposite person.

"Teach you... what, exactly?" MK asked, trying not to feel too smug about the swap in roles between mentor and apprentice. After all...

Someone had to teach Sun Wukong the finer points of Phantom Thievery.

"You know what," Wukong said with a half scowl, gesturing to way that his student (or, for the moment now that the question was asked, his teacher) was rolling an large pendant between his fingers. "Not the... you know, what you're doing now, but what you did with the pendant on your last heist where you threw it at a guard and it kind cracked in the middle with the smoke and light and stuff."

"OH," MK laughed out, tossing up and catching the coin in his opposite hand. "That's not really a trick or anything, just some incredibly strong flash paper, and other stuff, that's activated when you open it the right way."

In demonstration the young Phantom Thief did something in the way he held the pendant and one end slipped up with a soft cracking sound. Then he did something else and it open like a clam shell. He held it out to the elder, letting him see the inner workings and how it had latches and some kind of folding wall between the two sides.

"Opening it causes a chemical reaction between the two compartments. The real trick is getting everything inside without accidentally activating it on yourself, practicing the opening motion, knowing when to open it, and aiming it just so that it blinds your target at just the right moment. You know, this is probably just the right time to teach you how to use lines to keep this stuff in your sleeves and retract them too! So..."

As MK launched into a lengthy explanation on how this particular bit of his Phantom Thievery repertoire worked he failed to notice the slowly growing smirk on the Monkey King's face.

~

"What, uh... what ya got there?" MK asked, very obviously trying to keep an impassive and non-judgemental expression. And failing.

"... smoothies," Wukong answered, absolutely not hiding what he was holding in his tail behind his back as he offered one of the two drinks in his hands to the younger.

It was a poor attempt at lying, which was odd because MK knew that Sun Wukong was pretty good at lying. He had managed to convince the other that he had no idea his successor was a phantom thief for so long after all. But why in the world he seemed to be hiding a... pillow of some sort behind his back was anyone's guess.

"Why'd you bring smoothies?" He chanced asking instead, and he watched as the other's face lit up in pure victory and jubilation.

"They're victory smoothies, Bud!" Wukong exclaimed, shoving one at MK until he took it from the other. "I just completed my first successful heist! And I did pretty well, if I do say so myself." The Monkey King smirked, puffing out his chest in a show of confidence as he took a sip of what was obviously a peach smoothie. "Oh yeah, tastes like a job well done."

"Really!?" MK exclaimed, his own pride welling up knowing that he had a hand in this since he was the other's mentor in thievery. He'd told the other to start small, something that would be missed but not something that would gather immediate attention from the whole city just in case something went wrong. "That's great! What did you steal?"

"I'm not telling."

This made the younger pause, raising a brow as the elder not so subtly tossed the pillow into a nearby bush.

"... should I be concerned?" MK asked, knowing that with Wukong's reputation... he may have bitten off far more than he could chew. This was the immortal who went on a spree through Heaven that ended up with him eating a ton of immortality peaches, drinking immortality alcohol, and taking immortality pills. Among other things.

"No way!" Wukong assured, chugging more and more of his smoothie with seemingly no regard for the possibility of brain freeze. "Trust me, bud, this went off without a hitch. You have nothing to worry about."

~

Those words came back to to bite Sun Wukong in the ass.

Or, rather, they came back to throw Sun Wukong through MK's window at "way too early for this o'clock" in the morning right after he had finished sleepily getting ready for another day at work and accidentally nodded back off on his bed.

The weight of an immortal stone monkey slamming into you was much more effective than any alarm clock he'd ever used before.

"WHATWHOWHERE!?" MK wheezed out once the Monkey King climbed off him, looking around in confusion until his eyes finally fell on a third party in the room. "M-Macaque!?"

"Where's my couch you wanna be Phantom Thief!?" Macaque yelled, completely ignoring the person who's house he had just inadvertently broken into. He brushed bits and pieces of broken glass and window frame out of his fur with a scowl of anger. "I actually paid for that."

"You really think I would tell you where I stashed it?" Wukong snarked back, smirking wide as he crossed his arms. "A Phantom Thief never reveals the location of their treasure trove to their marks."

"Wait wait wait-" MK said, holding up his hands and finally grabbing the attention of the two fighting immortal monkeys. "You just crashed through my window... because... You were his first heist mark... and Monkey King's first successful heist was your couch?"

"Got it in one, Bud!" Wukong said with a laugh, not seeming to care that Macaque was slowly stewing in more and more anger and frustration. "I wouldn't have even been noticed if he hadn't come home part way through either, he's normally out later than that."

"You sent me a calling card you dumb ass!" Macaque yelled, falling into a fighting stance. "Just because you got lucky enough to get away last time-"

"You call this luck?" Wukong yelled back with a laugh, smirking as he pulled something out of his sleeve and tossed it at Macaque. "No, this is all skill!"

MK barely had time to register what happened before Wukong grabbed him and covered his eyes and a tiny explosion and a pained yelp sounded behind them as they jumped out his broken window.

"SUN WUKONG YOU GET BACK HERE BEFORE I CAN SEE AGAIN OR ELSE!" Macaque yelled, right before another pained yelp was heard. "Holy shit, Kid, why do you have so much stuff on your floor, who lives like this, I can't even WALK in here!"

MK never got to answer or be offended at the immortal before he was tossed over Wukong's shoulder as he made a break for it running through alleyways at breakneck speed before Pigsy's Noodles was no longer even in sight.

They stopped eventually, the immortal monkey putting MK down before looking around to make sure they hadn't been tailed by the other immortal. After a couple minutes it was clear that Macaque had either not followed him due to the blinding effects of the flash paper or had not been able to catch their trail. The two of them each breathed a sigh or relief, looked at each other...

And immediately burst into laughter.

They couldn't help it! It was just... so ridiculous! All that over a heisted couch. Pigsy was sure to be upset at the damage to MK's apartment but given Mystic Monkey Business and all he was certain that the fact it was only a broken window this time would be a decent balm on the damage.

"Macaque is going to get you back for this," MK managed to get out through laughs. "We lost him and now he's going to find another way to get you back, I know it."

"What's he gonna do, steal my couch?"

~

"HE STOLE. MY COUCH."

"How'd he even get to the mountain?"

"HE. STOLE. MY. COUCH!"

"I think you're missing the bigger issue he-"

"HESTOLEMYCOUCH!"

"I KNOW STOP YELLING!"

MK slapped a hand over Wukong's mouth, only barely cutting off and muffling the scream of disbelief and frustration that the Monkey King let out at the state of things.

"Why are you focused on the fact that Macaque stole your couch and not the fact that he somehow got into the part of Mount Huaguo that we have to let someone into, BROKE INTO YOUR HOUSE. and for some reason he ONLY stole your couch?"

"Oh, he's broken in before," Wukong answered once he pried MK's hand away from his face. "But I can't believe that asshole! I stole his couch as a joke, stealing mine back is just petty."

"What do you mean he's broken in before?" MK continued, voice tense and high and totally not at all feeling suddenly very anxious about this new knowledge. "Macaque's just been able to come and go as he pleases this whole time?"

"Yeah, kinda. Not exactly as he pleases but he can just come in I guess."

"These are the kinds of things you need to tell your student- I thought we talked about proper communication as one of our first lessons!"

"... oops?"

~

"When did you get a new couch?" Red Son asked with a raised brow, watching as the immortal monkey lounging on it swished his tail back and forth in contentment.

"Heisted it," Macaque answered with a smirk. "Totally worth it. But next time I'm stealing Peach's tv too, this is so comfy I could use some proper entertainment."

"YOU STOLE SUN WUKONG'S COUCH???"

[ohheyitsokay]

sleep

pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 2.8k 

warnings: 18+ for mature audiences only!! sexual content (lots of grinding and kisses and dry humping, there are so many words and somehow no actual sex sorry about that), implications of PTSD/trauma, lots of cuddles and intimacy and fluff

summary: sleeping with someone in a non-sexy way is as intimate as sleeping with them in a sexy way, at least for Francesco. You make him want both, despite the vulnerability

>>

The first time you slept in Francisco’s bed it was an accident – and not a post-sex exhaustion one, either.

In fact, he hadn’t even stayed with you, opting instead for his too-small couch , despite the fact that you were already dating. It had been a long night helping one of your friends through a breakup, and you’d shown up at his door needing to be held. He’d been happy to see you, and more than happy to wind his arms around you, to make you a warm drink and let you not fix things for once, but … he didn’t push it. It would have been easy to kiss you, let you lose yourself to feeling of the cushions on your back and the solid shape of him above you, but it never came. It would’ve been easy to tuck you into his side and keep you there, to give into the need for physical closeness and caring and comfort that most people craved.

So when you padded out to find him on his couch, his long limbs dangling off the edges and curls a mess, you didn’t push him either. Instead you ran your fingers through the hairs along his jaw, kissed his cheek, and waited.

It didn’t take long - a few days at most, before he gathered the words to talk to you about it, in his truck, his dark eyes fixed on the horizon.

It was one of those things that was simple on the surface and indescribable on the inside. Enough pieces from his past had come your way, it made sense that he didn’t sleep well, and even more that nights were something he was apprehensive to share. The way his hand fit into yours was more than enough.

-

“Hmm,” the noise you made involuntarily was happy, utterly content.

Frankie didn’t respond – he was too busy pressing slow, adoring kisses on your temple, the shell of your ear, and the curve of your neck.

His chest was pressed against your back, fully encaging you in the warmth of his arms and body as the two of you sat crooked on the couch of his small apartment. Your hands ran over his legs, on either side of yours, squeezing the thick of his thighs occasionally when the feeling of his kisses was too good not to acknowledge.

It was deliciously unhurried, tender and sweet, and that made you stop, for a moment, your body protesting as your mind searched for a thought.

“Francisco,” your voice was quiet, so quiet, almost as if you didn’t want him to hear you. That was a ridiculous hope, he tightened his grip on you, rumbling against your skin, and you tried again.

“Francisco,” you wiggled, trying to turn as you felt him sigh behind you. “What’s going on with you?”

It was late, the movie long over, your window to choose either starting something or going home narrowing rapidly. Frankie knew this – he was the one who’s hand had been sweating in yours, his chin on your head, and asked you to take things slow.

There was stillness for a moment, his eyes closing as he held you against his chest. The thoughts in his head were almost audible, but you didn’t mind waiting, despite your confusion. You were following his lead – happy to trust him enough to communicate with you.

“Would you…” you could feel the soft hairs of his beard as he wet his lips, jaw moving as if he was searching. “Would you want to stay?”

Was it his heart pounding, or yours? They were so close it was hard to tell.

Wiggling again, you turned so you could look a him properly.

“Would that be okay with you?” your eyes held his, knowing he couldn’t help but be honest with you.

His face bumped into yours, nuzzling, as he responded, “I need you, baby,” and you almost caught on fire. It was heavy with implication, so much more than carnal need, and thick with vulnerability.

There was a carnal need too, though, as he was returning to kissing you in earnest, hands wandering with a surprising amount of impatience. As your heart ached happily, Frankie’s mouth was slotting against yours and you decided you didn’t need words to respond – just to sink into it, and he would know. This took no effort at all, he seemed more than happy to pull you back into him.

It was wonderful. Quick kisses and cuddling and feeling his palms against yours was good, great even, but you’d never felt him give in to his desire alongside his tenderness. It was different, so intoxicating you barely noticed he was tugging you onto his lap, letting you straddle him, until he let out a groan against your mouth.

You shifted, settling on top of him, letting yourself ride the sparks of nervousness alongside your arousal. Another noise rumbled in his throat and you were almost in awe of the hard length of him through his jeans, pressing right into you.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice somehow deeper than before. You hummed in affirmation, feeling another warmth in your heart at him verbally checking in with you. Strong hands gently tugged at your shirt and you pulled it off before tossing off his hat and sinking your fingers into his curls. It felt impossible to stop kissing him, when his touches were filled with electricity and adoration.

Despite his eagerness for you, Frankie wasn’t able to resist worshiping you, a little bit. He felt like he couldn’t get enough of you: the bumps of your side, the softness of your stomach, all of it. Now that he had given himself time, he wanted to memorize every part of you that you would let him, tuck them away for his dreams.

That thought jolted him, something ugly roaring inside his stomach, reminding him that he never got good dreams like that.

He stamped it down, trying to focus instead on the feeling of you pressing down on him, fitting against him perfectly even through the clothes. It worked – he bucked into you carefully, once, twice, and again, lips parting from yours as you both gasped. Catfish was abundantly aware how much he had been aching for you, in that moment, and he didn’t want to stop but also he want to take you to his bed, love you like you deserved. Images of that potential flooded his mind: you riding him for real, head thrown back in bliss, or you under him, clenching around him in your pleasure.

Frankie felt another shot of apprehension when your hands began to try to take his shirt off – they were fumbling in the darkness. Remembering how late it had gotten was too unpleasant for how good everything else felt – so he shoved that thought into the back of his mind, hoping it would disappear.

He ground up against you, holding you down on him and gently sliding further down on the couch. It made your legs open wider and you made a noise that filled him with pride. The action opened you up to more sensitive nerves and the friction was incredible. Damn you were gorgeous, partially bare and running your fingers along his chest, kissing him when you could spare a breath. It was perfect, the way your back arched into him as you pressed together.

“You have anything you need to tell me?” he whispered – ever the gentleman – as he trailed kissed along your collarbone.

“Nope, you?” you replied, breathless and honest, thanking your stars for it as your hands traced the muscles of his broad shoulders.

Frankie was almost too distracted to answer you, thrusting his hips up into yours again, but then the question hit him like a ton of bricks. He stilled, your confused whine twisting in his gut with everything else.

“No,” he said, slowly, at war with himself. Sensing his hesitation took no time at all, and you pulled back. It took all your willpower to move off of him, but you slid back to sit on his thighs, searching his face.

“What is it?” you believed him about being clean, but clearly there was something holding him back still – something he needed to tell you.

“I asked you if we could take it slow,” he said finally. “I thought I was ready but,” he shook his head, looking frustrated with himself. One of you hands gently, gently covered the space over his heart.

“Still pretty anxious?” your voice was quiet, but even still he couldn’t hear any judgement, or even disappointment.

“Yeah.” The word fell from his lips, bringing with it a rushes of relief and guilt. When your lips found his, they were slow, and sweet, which helped.

“That’s okay,” you murmured, mouth moving to his cheekbone. “Do I need to go?” Making him feel safe was your top priority, overriding every other need you had in this moment. He had never failed, even once, to do that for you, after all.

Frankie’s eyebrows drew together, head shaking before he could think it through. He didn’t like the sound of that, not at all. It took him this long to open up these doors, he didn’t want them closed again.

“I still need you,” he said thoughtfully, almost to himself more than you.

“Baby, querida, what if… would you stay and just let me be near you? Could we try getting used to that, first?” Even in the dark his eyes were irresistible, nervous and hopeful and determined.

“Sure, Catfish,” you said, smiling, surprised at how genuinely good that sounded. His forehead rested on the top of your shoulder and he sighed, relieved.

After a long moment, he shifted and you took the cue to stand up. There was enough stuff for a passable night routine in his bathroom and you changed into one of his extra shirts and over large pajama bottoms. You had to pull them up to your bellybutton to stop them from dragging.

It was silly, and the laughter worked wonders against the atmosphere, even healing someone the unresolved ache between your thighs. Francisco led you into his bedroom and suddenly it was exciting and you felt like you maybe understood why the two acts of intimacy had to be separated.

Your heart was more than full as he untucked the military corners of the blankets for you. It felt symbolic, letting you into a side of him he didn’t often share with others. Before he flicked off the lights, you saw something new in his eyes as he gazed at you in his space, his bed, sheets pooled around your waist.

When he climbed in next to you, his hand found yours and with a squeeze you understood to give him space, this time.

You learned quickly that Frankie used blankets either to fully burrito himself or they were nothing but a vague suggestion. He wasn’t used to having someone else in his bed, and it would’ve been funny if you weren’t still awake after he’d started twitching and cold.

But he was tossing and turning and you took pity on him, hating that even in his sleep there was a crease between his eyebrows. You coaxed the corner of the blanket from under him, gently tugging, your tired movements clumsy in the dark. Frankie stiffened when you let go of his hand to move his arm and he grabbed at you, eyes wide but not seeing you, panicked but not awake.

Kicking yourself mentally, you made soothing noises, whispering that it was just you and everything was okay. His clouded eyes slid shut again, but his hands didn’t release you, instead pulling you into him. After a moment of calming your racing heart, you realized he was bit steadier, too, and you allowed yourself to relax against him fully. It was lovely and strange, being held by Frankie, and feeling him so close.

Hours later, you awoke cold again, and realized he’d rolled over, away from you. His breath was coming out in labored puffs as if he was having trouble breathing, and fear settled into your heart. Unlike before, he wasn’t thrashing, he was still as stone. He’d warned you – nights were bad for him, but it was one thing to know and another to see, and to feel. You reached for him involuntarily, needing to do something.

Aware of the boundaries, you ran your hands up and down his arms and side, trying to gently coax him back to life. Frankie twitched, sudden and sharp, and you could’ve cried when his jaw unclenched and his breathing evened out. His muscles untightened alongside the knot in your heart. With a burst of courage, you pulled the blankets again, and tucked yourself behind him like a backpack. You pressed your face between his shoulder blades and as you drifted off the only thought in your mind was that you hoped this was okay.

-

Why was it that even the smallest gap in the blinds always happened to allow sunlight in right onto your pillow?

It was too early for a Saturday, too bright and the birds had no business being so loud. A small grumbling sound escaped as you went to move, but your tired brain finally registered that you couldn’t.

There was a warm weight across your whole side, leg to shoulder, and one of Frankie’s arms was around your stomach. He rumbled in response, pressing a slow kiss into your neck before settling back to sleep, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning. It wasn’t perfect – some nights were quite awkward still, but you’d started keeping an extra blanket nearby and rolling with the punches, and it was worth it.

Besides, he’d only pushed you off onto the cold, hard floor once in the last few months, and he had more than made it up to you.

You drifted off, half dreaming of that morning, when you felt your lover shift again.

“Good morning, querida,” he whispered, and when he pulled himself up, he moved on top of you, and you caught a glint in his eye.

“How long have you been awake?” even though it was rough with sleep, your tone was thick with suspicion. He was trailing his lips down your throat, and his hands were grabbing at your thighs, pulling your legs up around his waist.

“Long enough,” he said, rubbing himself against you. Your mind blanked for a moment, overcome with the sudden awareness of his hard cock against you. It seemed like he was trying to distract you from answering, he was pulling off your clothes and grinding into you with such purpose.

“What?” you eventually gasped. His own mind was beginning to short circuit from the pleasure, so he’d slowed his movements for a moment, giving you a window to form a thread of comprehension. 

Frankie kissed your mouth, then, deep and slow, before a smile broke the touch.

“I woke up from dreams of you,” he said, simply. Hands on the band of his sleep pants stilled and you stared at him. All words were vacant from your mind, but not because of the physical pleasure.

Months of carefully learning each other, restless nights and nightmares and all of it had passed. You were sure it wasn’t over but you had been resigned to the fact that this moment may never come. But it had.

It had, Frankie was telling you himself, his eyes clear and honest despite his arousal, and your heart felt fit to burst. Your gazes held each other’s for a moment, before he busied himself again with undressing you. It made sense, in its own way, his extra excitement fueling him. Only Catfish could turn his personal growth into a reason to adore you.

You wondered momentarily how long he would ride out the hunger of his dreams, but the thought was cut short because... well, he’d never quite been so hungry with you. Frankie was pushing the blankets aside impatiently, tossing the bunches of your discarded sleep clothes onto the floor, and trailing down your stomach with hot licks in-between his kisses.

As his hand found your core, rubbing you with steady strokes, you got your answer.

Pushing yourself onto your elbows, you all but whined when he slowed down, already unreasonably close to your high. There was something soft in the look on his face and he pressed a chaste kiss onto the inside of your thigh.

“Will you move in with me?” he asked, almost shy, as if he wasn’t inches from your exposed core, moments from making you come against him. Your hips pulled away from him as you sat up, hands detangling from his hair to pull him up towards you.

Words eluded you again. What was with him – having these serious conversations in the middle of getting you off?

Your smile was wide, despite it all, as a tear or two popped out of your eyes.

“Is that a yes?” He asked, concerned, feeling almost as emotional as you, in his own way. Frankie hadn’t meant to ask at such a time but this morning was already too good to be true- it had just burst out of him.

And all you could do was hold on to him, surrounded by his sheets and pillows, and nod.

>>

taglist?:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost

[hotwings0203]

This is so utterly stupid but I have a few HC’s about Muslim Dabi(again obv this isn’t canon I just think it’s funny)

-Dabi would def be the type of Muslim dude who claims to be super religious cuz he never eats pork and “goes to the mosque to pray”(which is actually just code for hitting a blunt in the back of the parking lot w Hawks and Shigaraki💀), but yet smokes^^ and still has hella sex with like every other girl who bats her lashes at him from across the dining hall

-he also is a big cat lover, he claims since the Prophet Muhammad had cats of his own it’s sunnah to keep one

-on Eid namaz he’s the most dripped out one at the session, I’m talking black kurta dress, nice ass watch, slicked back hair...but funny enough, no one has actually seen him in line for the prayers themselves

-if he were back at home with the rest of the Todoroki’s, he’d most definitely be THE MOST spoiled one. Fuyumi would get on his ass for not cleaning the dishes, but he’d wave her off and tell her it’s training for her to be a better housewife for her future husband(cue a soapy sponge thrown at his head)

-Snitches.Constantly. Bro like this dude catches Shoto on his phone when he’s supposed to be doing a dua? Boom, instant callout followed by a long ass lecture about how he’s straying away from his religion and how he’s going to hell just because he spent one measly moment on his device instead of praising da lord

-Hes also always telling fuyumi to cover up her sleeves that come just a bittt before her wrists, claiming that she’s showing too much skin(especially when Hawks is over, that fucker’s got his eyes on every single one of his family members). But she’s quick to point out his secret tattoos, piercings, and hair dyes. He just scoffs and pulls the “women were created lesser than men so it’s okay for me to act a fool but not for you” card🙄stg I can’t stand him

-Since he’s the closest to Natsu, he’s always giving Eid money to him the most. The dude will slouch against his favorite brothers’ door, watching him play 2K. “What do you want?” Natsu asks with no real malice, not taking his eyes off the changing screen, furiously clicking away on his controller. “Mom says you gotta iron your clothes, Fuyumi’s doing her own so she can’t do yours as well. Oh, and Eid Mubarak by the way.” Natsu pauses him game and stands to stretch his arms above his head, groaning at the tendons popping in place on his back. “Yeah man, you too-what’s that?” He points to a fat parcel in Touya’s hand. The white-haired boy grins and chucks the bulging package at him, which Natsu catches easily. His eyes widen when he tears open the cream-colored paper envelope and reveals dozens of bills exceeding the usual 5-10$ family limit. “Yo, what-how-thanks Touya!” He sputters, throwing the package on his bed and throwing an arm around his brothers’ back in a man-hug. Touya rolls his eyes and barely suppresses a smile at Natsu’s excitement,(something he’s always wanting to be the source of) pounding his back to let go before he asphyxiates. He lets go and Touya smirks before heading towards the door, calling out over his shoulder, “Oh, and I’d thank Sho-turd as well while you’re singing my praise.” Natsu stops in his tracks and looks suspiciously at the withdrawing slender figure. “Why?”. Touya’s voice is distant as he moves to close and lock his door. “‘Cuz it’s his money after all.”

-The two brothers are always waking up at Sehri the earliest in Ramadhan, just so they can scarf down a majority of the food in the fridge and go to sleep without having to interact with the rest of their family at sunrise. And in the case that their family DOES wake up in time to see them chomping down food made for a WHOLE FAMILY and not just two boys, Touya is quick to grab his keys and jacket and cackle that him and Natsu are going to iHop to eat some more. Natsu ofc is quick to follow pursuit, throwing an apologetic grin towards his parents and other siblings.

-When they’re at the mosque and Enji has somehow bullied him enough to sit the hell down and actually ATTEND the lectures for once, Touya still has one up his sleeve. Planned out strategically, he always simpers to Rei that he wants to donate to the mosque, causing her eyes to water and a handful of cash thrown his way, her voice wobbly as she praises her son for actually taking the foundations of his religion seriously. Unbeknownst to her however, this just means that he’ll take a little bit more than he gives. Hawks will be standing at the front of the hall, bowing his head and using his silver tongue to graciously thank the many men and women who come forth to drop their allowance into the money basket. When he sees his best man approaching, he has to stop the smug grin from reaching his ears, instead slanting his brows and holding the basket out to the now black-haired thief. “Glad to see you’re taking eternal damnation seriously, for once,” Keigo flashes his perky whites and Dabi drops Rei’s money into the donation basket, dipping his hand a little lower for a second. “Glad to see you’re still standing here like some busboy peasant, as usual,” he fires back, the two boys catching each other’s eyes and stifling their cackles as the patched hand withdraws, a copious amount of bills in his hand, more than what he put in.

-100% steals shoes. Usually you hear about older men doing this, but age aint nothin’ but a number to Dabi, baby. “Nice kicks,” he nods to a boy Natsu’s age, noting the blue and black minimalist patterns adorning the shoes. The boy recognizes Dabi as one of the most revered figures at the mosque (and the most featured by adults. Who’d want their kid hanging out with the eldest Todoroki as an influence?) and bobs his head excitedly, spewing out the manufacture and release dates of the shoes. Dabi looks at the fanboy amusedly, continuing to lean against the shoe rack as more people crowd around and start to push the boy inside. “See you later Dabi!” The eccentric kid calls out as he’s pushed into the hall by grumbling uncles. The ravenette snickers fo himself, “Yeah, but you won’t be seeing these shoes anytime soon.”

-A notorious playboy in the community. Uncles glare at him, unable to scold him outright for his shenanigans due to his father’s close presence, and aunties steer their children away from him at dinner parties. Speaking of, Dabi’s at a dinner right now. He’s lighting up a joint in amongst 3 mesmerized girls sitting on the floor in front of him and 2 jealous dudes his age in a locked room, away from all the screaming little kids. “Wow Dabi, doesn’t it burn?” The youngest of the three girls asks him with imploring eyes. He smiles a charming smile down at her and he thinks he sees the other two swoon. “Nah, sweetheart, you get used to it after a little while. Don’t be like me though, keep yourself pure and clean,” he shoots a wink at them and they giggle, faces turning red. The other two boys sitting at the far end of the bed scowl at his successful flirting, but Dabi doesn’t care for any of them, honestly, they’re just target practice. Right as he inhaled the fumes of another puff, a little body throws itself at the door, banging its fists on the wood. “It’s time for food!” They all jump at the intrusion and chuckle as the intruder runs away, containing to scream about food being served. The group gets up to leave and exits through the door, but Dabi takes his time. He wasn’t done with his joint, and he has to waft the smell away anyways when he leaves. He’s opening a window to let out some air when he heads a soft shuffle from behind him. “Shows over guys, go eat-“ but when he turns around, the oldest girl of the three stands before him, fiddling with her hands and looking at the floor. “Um, Dabi? I know you said not to try it out by ourselves so...I was wondering if you could-if you could teach me how...?” She looks at the half-used roll in his hand, and he looks from the blunt to her face. He looks behind her. A closed door. Perfect. Taking a step forwards, he relishes in how she takes a hesitant step back, the breath in her throat catching but she still doesn’t back down. She looks to him like he’s a god, and he feels like one right now. And so he steps closer until she’s backed against the wall, his lids lowered to her wide ones, and he placed a hand next to her head. “Didnt your mom ever tell you not to take things from strangers?” He ghosts by the shell of her ear, and she shivers. “She never told me the strangers would be this hot,” and he has to laugh a bit at her tenacity. He pulls away and flops back on the bed, signaling for her to join him. “Well come one then, I’m hungry, better hurry up before I change my mind.” And 5 shotguns later, Dabi barely wipes off her bright pink lipstick from his face and straightens his kurta along with his hair before bounding down the steps, eager for food. At his command, she comes down a minute after him as to not cause any suspicion, but it doesn’t stop Rei from shooting him a knowing glare from the living room as he piles his plate with food. He shoves a veggie roll in his mouth as he turns to join the boys in the dining area, but his path is blocked by a large woman. “I know you’re up to no good. The children told me what funny smell was coming from the room upstairs, and I know you’re to blame, Touya Todoroki. I respect your mother a lot so I won’t make a scene here-“ he interrupts her, mouth half full with a roll, “-I mean, you already kinda are,-“ but she continues her tirade. “-I don’t think you’re a good influence on these kids, especially your siblings. What self respecting family would be okay with their son acting like a hooligan, having piercings, smelling like weed?” He smirks and swallows before swerving around her. “I don’t know Aunty, why don’t you ask your daughter? She didn’t seem to mind my, ah, influence.”

-When they were all younger, there was a time where End*avor wanted the boys the toughen up a bit and stop messing around so much. He brought the family up to the mountains in a nice cabin, purposefully choosing an area with farms nearby. It was around the time of Eid-e-Adha, so naturally goats and sheep’s were going to be sacrificed for the family feast. Touya already knew what was going on, so Enji left it up to him, a scrawny preteen boy to take over the initiation. Fuyumi wanted to come to the farm too, but Touya glared at her and told her to stay home because “girls are too emotional for this.”(he really did think that, but above all he held a secret soft spot for his only younger sister). Natsu and Touya both started heading down to the field to pick out a goat, and ofc little Shoto wanted to come along to. He begged and begged for his older brothers to bring him along and to not leave him at home for once, and with a sly glance to Natsu, Touya relented. He leaned down to Shoto’s eye-level and asked with serious eyes, “You sure?”. Shoto nodded eagerly, standing straight up as to look more solemn and mature. Natsu held back a snicker and grabbed Shoto by the collar as they dragged him out to the pasture. Oh, the little boy was in heaven among the bleating sheep and fluffy coats. “Go ahead, pick one out!” Touya said eagerly, nodding to the clueless toddler to choose a sacrificial sheep. And so the heterochromatic child pointed to one, looking to his big brothers for assurance, to which they gave an excited nod. Shoto yelped with glee and spent the rest of the afternoon frolicking with the soon-to-be-mutton chops, completely oblivious to its grim fate and creating a bond with the animal. So when it was finally sunset and the time came to start preparing for the feast, Touya walked over leisurely to Shoto, pushed the grubby hand away from the animal’s collar, and started pulling the creature towards the chopping block. “W-what’re you doing?” Shoto asked uncertainty. “Well, we gotta eat, right? Thanks for picking out such a fat sheep, ‘wonder how it’s gonna taste,”. The eldest grinned with malice at his youngest brother, who started to sniffle and ball his fists. “You’re lying! Leave it alone!” He cried out. “Nope, m’not lying, ask Natsu.” Natsu turns to Shoto and shrugs his shoulders without any real regret. “You’re the one who wanted to come along, right? Think of how proud dad will be of his favorite-he finally sacrificed his first sheep!”

-the first time he was ever asked to lead the namaz, Keigo and Tomura kept kicking the back of his legs so he would fall over while trying to recite the prayers, and in turn he’d immediately whip around in the middle of the whole damn hall and shoot fire at the two howling boys. Needless to say, he was never asked to read again

(one would think since Dabi knows sooo much about being a gOoD mUsLim and how to follow the rules he’d take some of that advice HIMSELF)

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

Hey! How do you think they boys would try to win their s/o back after a really big fight? verge-of-breakup kinda fight? Your headcannons are great, btw <3

Thank you so much, doll! <3

Leo

so you got into a huge fight and you’re not sure where you stand with each other anymore

you decide it’s best to give him his things that he’s left at yours in case he wants them back so you come over to the lair

when you get there, there are candles everywhere and he’s stood wearing his best clothes and holding a bouquet of red roses

he wants to talk this out and tell you how much you mean to him

that he would be a shell of a man (no pun intended) if you left him

he tells you to take his stuff back to yours because he isn’t ready to call it quits yet

and if you’ll have him, he’d like to continue what you have

because there’s no him without you

Raph

it was the biggest fight you’ve ever had

I mean you guys squabble fairly often but this was something else

then you hear a knock at he door

Raph is standing there looking very sorry for himself

normally he stands so tall and strong but he’s cowering

he tells you “yer know I’m not good with words, but, yer mean so much to me and I’m not ready to let you go yet”

he holds out his hands and gives you a little locket that he found that’s in good condition 

there’s 2 photos inside it, one of you and one of him

“So yer never forget me” he says

of course you tell him not to go

there’s nothing the two of you can’t work out together

Mikey

Very rarely do you and Mikey fight

and if you do, it;s over something silly that can be worked out easily 

but this was big and you both don’t know what to do next 

that night, you hear stones being thrown against your windows

you look out and see Mikey standing in your back yard holding a boom box

it’s playing all of me by John Legend

he climbs up to your window, tears clearly in his eyes and before either of you can talk he starts blubbering 

he just breaks down and starts talking at a million miles per hour

all you can make out is “sorry”, “please don’t leave” and “stay”

you start crying too

this is clearly his grand gesture to show you how much he cares

and it’s working

you invite him in ad through a lot of tears you both work it out and end up saying sorry

Donnie

Donnie and you never fight, he’s too open and communicative for that to happen

but somehow it still did

and it was a massive fight

he tells you to come over to the lair so you guys can talk about it and when you get there everything is set up

he’s recreated your first date, right down to the outfit he was wearing

he sits you down at he table where he’s made the meal you both ate from scratch 

he tells you why and how he feel in love with you 

and how he falls in love with you even more every day

that he’s not ready for this to be over

“So if you can please find it in your heart to forgive this stupid turtle, please do...”

of course you can do that

[aomine-ryo]

hiii! i love your writing so much!!! i was wondering if you could write some headcanons of the gom with a very shy!s/o but they really like to cuddle and kiss?? thank you, i’m sorry if that doesn’t make sense:)

No it makes sense dw! Hope you like it :)

Headcanons: GOM with a shy s/o who likes to cuddle and kiss

Kuroko

Kuroko found your shyness to be quite adorable

He was quite good at reading into people’s mannerisms, so it made sense for him to be with you

You were too shy to ask him for kisses and cuddles when you wanted them

However, he soon began to understand your habits and small signs that you wanted his affection

For example, you’d always fiddle with his sleeve whenever you wanted to hold hands

You also had this look in your eye whenever you wanted a kiss from him, which he thought was adorable

Even though he knew that you wanted a kiss, he would always ask you first

“Would you like a kiss, Y/N-kun?”

He just adored how flustered you’d get whenever he asked

Kuroko really enjoyed watching movies with you

You’d always lean closer to him when you wanted cuddles, which he immediately complied with and wrapped his arms around you

Although he thought that your shyness was cute, he did try to get you to open up a bit more

“You know, you can always ask me when you want something, right? I’m always happy to give you what you want,” he told you in a soft and encouraging voice

You did your best to voice your needs, but it wasn’t that easy for you

It was fine though, because Kuroko understood you better than anyone

Kise

How you and Kise even began dating was beyond you

He was so lively and outgoing whilst you were quiet and shy

That’s what he loved about you though

He thought it was cute how shy you were

Every girl was jealous that you got to date him, which made you extra shy when it came to going out in public with him

He’d always hold your hand when you’d go out, which earned you a few stares

When he notices you getting nervous about it, he’d steal a kiss from you in order to divert your attention to him

Somehow it always worked

You enjoyed his kisses so much that you’d just get caught up in the thought of it for a while after it happened

Being with him got you to come out of your shell a bit, but you were still quite reserved

Kise loved to shower you with kisses, so you rarely found yourself needing to ask him

He noticed how much you smiled whenever he’d kiss you so he understood how much you liked it

You loved it when he cuddled you too, though he only ever did that when you watched a movie together because he’d often be up and about, trying to take you to all kinds of places

So whenever you wanted to cuddle with him, you’d just ask if you can watch a movie with him

He quickly picked up on it though

“Y/N-cchi, this is the third movie we’ve watched in the past two days. If you want to cuddle you can just ask,” he smiled at you before wrapping his arms around you

After that, you began to ask him for cuddles more directly, but you didn’t ask that often

However, now that Kise knew that you enjoyed cuddles, you’d be receiving them non-stop so you didn’t even have to ask

Midorima

Since Midorima is constantly surrounded by loud and chaotic people (*cough* Takao), being with someone like you was quite comforting to him

You had a very calming aura which he couldn’t help but be drawn to

He understood that you were shy and didn’t feel comfortable going out too often, which was fine with him because he’d much rather be alone with just you

Midorima wasn’t one to show too much physical affection, opting for expressing his feelings through words instead

The only thing he’d do often was holding your hand, which you loved

However, you did also kiss and cuddle with him every once in a while and you wanted more but you weren’t sure how to ask

“Um, Shintaro, can I, um, can we cuddle?” you nervously asked him one day while you were studying at his house

He obviously agreed and he wrapped his arms around you keenly

Upon seeing how happy you looked when he did so, he finally realised how much you enjoyed cute physical affection like this

Although he wasn’t very familiar with things like that, Midorima made an attempt to kiss and cuddle you a lot more

Soon, he became quite addicted to kissing you

He just loved how much it made you smile after

Aomine

This boy would pounce on you any moment he got

Aomine loves showing you physical affection; he couldn’t help it, he thought it was so cute whenever you’d get flustered

He had a very striking and bold personality, but he always became soft around you because he knew that you were quite reserved and he didn’t want to overwhelm you

He knew that you weren’t comfortable with PDA, so he did his best to avoid it

However he’d steal a kiss from you every now and then when people weren’t looking, which always made you smile like an idiot

He’d sometimes take you to hangouts with his friends, but if you ever got overwhelmed, he’d immediately notice and take you back home

He liked spending time alone with you because he could kiss you as much as he wanted without having to worry about people watching you

He also really enjoyed cuddling with you ever since he noticed how happy you got while you were in his arms

You just felt so warm and loved that you’d grin with glee

He always felt the need to protect you for some reason

Like, if you were at a restaurant together, he’d ask you what you want and then place the order for you

It was a small gesture, and you could’ve done it yourself but you appreciated it because you knew that he did it out of care for you

Murasakibara

It was good that you enjoyed cuddles and kisses because this boy is clingy

You’d spend an endless amount of lazy afternoons cuddled up with him and eating snacks

You were a really shy with him at first, but you soon became quite comfortable with him

He always spoke his mind so you didn’t spend too much time worrying about what he was thinking

He was like a big cuddly teddy bear

He didn’t like going out too much as he’d much rather stay inside and spend time with you

He would cuddle with you all day if he could because he found you so adorable

He also really likes kissing your neck and shoulders

He didn’t realise how much you liked it too until you asked for them one day, out of the blue

He happily gave you what you wanted and you’d receive an abundance of kisses like that since then

Akashi

Akashi knew how to communicate with you better than anyone

He always said the right things at the right time

And he quickly picked up on any hints you’d drop when you wanted his affection

He was also very polite with you so you never felt any pressure in the relationship

You loved his kisses and cuddles, and he knew that

However, sometimes he’d obstain from giving them to you because he liked it when you asked him yourself

You’d be quite nervous every time you asked him at first, but he never disagreed so you started to get a bit more confident about it

There’s nothing he wants more than for you to be happy so seeing how a simple kiss would change your entire mood was quite cute to him

When you first started dating, you didn’t see him as much of a cuddler, but you were pleasantly surprised by how much he liked to cuddle with you as your relationship went on

His cuddles were so loving and delicate

He’d sometimes play with your hair while you cuddled too

You swore you could stay in his arms forever

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 22

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19 , part 20, part 21

Hope everyone is keeping themselves mentally/physically well... here’s the next update in your adventure. Please safely read from home ;) 

The sun moved slowly up my window, illuminating the dancing dust in the air. Even though I knew dust didn’t have feelings, it all still looked very peaceful, suspended there in space. 

 I wanted to be suspended, floating, with no obligations or pressures. 

 Instead, I watched time slip by, slowly, as the shadows stretched along my floor and I lay still, wrapped in a giant Winnie-the-Pooh sheets burrito.��

I called in sick the past three days to work and to all my classes, my lack of attendance probably dropping me a letter grade in a few classes. Instead of checking on my academic scholarship, I begged Renny to drop off Dr. Rhinecuff’s papers for me. She did, lamenting about how his office smelled like roast beef and how she probably needed a nose job from it shrivelling up from the stench. Tired, I sent her three hearts, ignoring all of her calls and voicemails. 

 In a random bout of restless energy, I looked up the University of Oxford in England. No one would know me there. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing when you didn’t even know yourself. I stayed on their site for an hour, avoiding my take-home assignments, and speculating which classes I could take in the spring semester. My eyes grew tired though, and even if I were accepted as a transfer student, it wasn’t like I could ever afford it without scholarships. 

 I closed the computer. 

 It’d been cloudy, rainy. The random storm that’d come in from Mexico lasted longer than the usual morning fog that’d roll in and out by the time it was 9 AM. This storm lingered, heavy, full clouds looking to burst and unleash a steady rain for three to four hours before the clouds rested, storing up all they could until the next downpour. 

 My parents didn’t question me when I came in, used to my random visits. But when I went straight to my room without saying hello, rain-plastered hair covering puffy eyes, my mom basically collapsed at the sight. 

 She followed me to the bed, trying to see my face, but I buried it in the pillow, ignoring the way the purple fringe tickled my nose. 

 “What’s wrong sweetheart?” 

 I just groaned. Her voice was too gentle, too well-intending for the dark thoughts sitting in my mind. She’d be heartbroken if she heard them. 

 She huffed, not out of annoyance, but distress. “What’s bothering you?? Is it Renny? Did you breakup with Harry?” All those reasons were too simple. She ran her hands lightly along my legs, but I cringed away from her touch. It was something I rarely did. She paused. “You can tell me anything...” 

 I shook my head against the pillow, my last attempt to tell her to leave without speaking. She waited a moment longer. 

 “Okay,” she said. And that was it. 

 Father didn’t ask questions, not even when I was here for the third consecutive day. Mom had probably come to her own conclusions, and shared them with him. 

 “Mom said you aren’t feeling too well,” he said over cereal one morning, confirming my suspicions. It was the first time he’d broken our three-day spree of comfortable silence. 

 “What else did she tell you?” 

 He shrugged his shoulders, his usual buoyant self replaced with a quiet voice. He looked at me, and all I saw was pity. If I were him, I’d probably look at me the same way. I hadn’t showered in a while. “Well don’t let anything get you down. You’re too smart for that.”

 He’d tried. He’d put in an effort. I just nodded, scooping up another spoonful of cereal. He followed suit. 

 And that was that.  

 A week passed like this. 

 But overnight, the clouds had blown away, and the sun came back full-force this morning just in time for the weekend, renewing my guilt. That traitor. 

 I’d cried all of Monday and Tuesday, but when the last tear was shed in the middle of a New Girl episode, I was empty. My tears didn’t leave anything to replace them with. 

 On Wednesday, a phone alarm reminded me I had a therapy appointment. I hit snooze multiple times. It was only when I got up to pee, and I hated what I saw in the mirror that I threw on an oversized sweater to go over my pajamas and headed out the door. 

 “Is it good?” I asked. 

 Her hands reviewed my wants list.  

 “That’s just a coffee stain on the corner..just...ignore that bit,” I added. 

 She surveyed it briefly, not really focusing on it. “Were you honest?”

 I nodded.

 “Then there isn’t good or bad. It’s just your truth.”

 “But I still feel… I don’t know. I don’t think I know what that is. I don’t feel like I’m… progressing. Doing anything towards that,” I said. 

 She looked at me with a level gaze. “Then that’s your truth. And that’s okay for right now.”

 I shot her a glance.

 “I see a common struggle with people your age. They feel this….” -She adjusted, quirking her head- “immense pressure to be perfect, to figure it all out, to achieve success so early.” 

 “Everyone’s doing it,” I began. “They’re getting internships, keeping up their grades, involved in ten clubs, doing community service…” I could’ve droned on, but didn’t. 

 “You have an internship, your grades are good, you’ve joined a sorority, and up until recently you’ve been involved in tutoring. Those are extracurriculars.” 

 I couldn’t argue with her. 

 “Is it too much?” she asked.

 Too much. It was everything I’d been feeling until I’d felt nothing. But hearing her list off what was waiting for me just beyond her doors made me feel the weight of it all over again. 

 “I’ve just been overwhelmed.” 

 “Who have you been thinking about?” 

 She noticed I started picking my hangnail. 

 She started gently, knowingly. “Has it been Harry?” 

 “Ow,” I cursed. A bit of blood prickled up where the hangnail used to be. 

 “He seems to be a major stressor in your life. Would you agree?” The clock ticked behind her, filling the silence. Her hands rested in her lap, while mine swiped away the bit of blood. I could never remember my therapist’s name, but somehow it wasn’t important. 

 “Yeah, but … I mean …. there’s a lot of stressors.”

 “Like his friends?”

 His friends, in the abbreviated story I’d told her, stood in place for the gang. I’d used terms like … intimidating, mean, basically painting them as bullies who didn’t like us together. I wasn’t expecting to get much therapy from a lie. “Out of curiosity, if I were to tell you something… would you be obligated to report it to the police?” 

 “Not necessarily.” Her legs crossed, creased brows zeroing in with a laser focus. “Has something happened to you, Y/N?”

 I swallowed hard, the truth lodged in my throat. But I had gotten too used to the weight of the secret. “I was just curious…” My mind raced to change the subject, and I blurted about Zayn’s art show. 

 “Do you think this panic attack was induced by this heightened sense of scrutiny from Harry’s friends?” 

 “Probably.” 

 “You said there were others. What are your main stressors?’ 

 I settled in, more comfortable with this question. “There’s financial stressors, for one. And it’s exasperated here.” 

 “You’ve been dealing with financial difficulties for a while, now. Have you been feeling this anxious the entire time, or has it been recent?” 

 My foot tapped impatiently. We both knew the answer.

 “Your panic attack was a first,” she explained, gently. “Some new factor in your life pushed you there.” 

 I picked at the hangnail, wincing. It was gone. My skin was raw. 

 “Maybe it all links back to Harry.” She waited a moment to see if I’d speak. When I didn’t, she leant back, and pulled out a new sheet of paper, scribbling something down. “I want you to write a pros and cons list about your relationship with him, for next time. When your feelings are overwhelming, it helps to get everything on paper. In a list. Puts things in perspective.” 

 I drove home, her words had pushed themselves into my empty shell and now they clinked around, jostling up my insides like a pinball machine and giving me a headache. 

 Just because I hadn’t left the house all week didn’t mean I didn’t feel guilty for ditching work. God, I did. It killed me. I knew I was lucky to get that internship. Harry had mentioned how people killed just to get on the waitlist, and I didn’t doubt it. An OC internship with, if not the top, at least the most publicized private practice? I mean, I was typing in appointments next to a Southern Stanford grad if that speaks to the competition here. 

 And here I was, retreating back to my house, too drained to face the world. 

 As for Harry, after what I’d said to him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t want to talk to me ever again. 

 I’d been so cruel. 

 I was weak.  

 I felt guilty for feeling this way at all. 

 And then I would watch the dust again.

 It was a cycle. 

 About three blocks from my house on my way back from the therapist session, a familiar car passed me. It happened suddenly, unexpectedly, like most things do. We made eye contact before he passed, and my foot instantly lifted off the gas when my eyes connected with my brain. I whipped my head around but the matte black maserati sped up, disappearing from sight. 

 What was Harry doing this far from campus? 

 My heart beat erratically as I pulled into the driveway, and it was only seconds before I made it into the house. Father held up a hand in Grandpa’s old room. Phone call. Trudging silently to my own, I wrapped myself in a blanket burrito. 

 I’d been avoiding my phone, but I caved this time, checking J’s social media to see if he’d posted anything about being in the area to prove I WASN’T crazy and DIDN’T just hallucinate. Nothing. I tossed my phone on the other side of the room before I spiralled.  

 It didn’t matter. I was in my room. Alone. Safe. I focused on the dust. 

 Two little knocks disrupted my exciting mind game - which dust particle would fall further than the other. 

 “You’re turning ripe,” Father noted. His briefcase was still in his hand and he was coming startlingly close to my depression burrito. 

 “What are you doing-!?” I protested. But it was too late. He ripped the sheets off, exposing me in the t-shirt I’d been in since Monday. “Your mood won’t change if you don’t make an effort.

Come on.”

 “Where are we going?”

 “You’re coming to the water with me.” He hesitated at the door. “Shower first.” 

 In the car, a sense of comfort washed over me. He’d been right. Clean wet hair smelled nice and felt good slicked around my head. Even if Mom would complain I’d “catch cold,” it felt good to feel something. Dad’s speakers switched between classic rock and reggaeton as I sipped on the chocolate shake we picked up from the Shake Shack. It was a short drive away to the harbor, and once parked, a shorter walk to the public docks. 

 Our feet dangled above the water. It was too cold to go swimming this time of year, but my body buzzed with yearning despite the goosebumps on my skin. I wanted to feel encompassed by salty water. I wanted to be submerged, where everything was muted, a barrier between me and the world. Between my wet hair and the icy shake, I could pretend my body was as cool as the water below me. I could just…. dissolve. 

 “So what’s going on?” he opened up the conversation. “You having a hard time at school?” 

 “I don’t like the sorority.” 

 His brows raised, not expecting me to be so honest so soon. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, don’t you hate that shit?” 

 I looked at him, almost shocked he’d agreed with me. 

 The boats squeaked as they rocked with the rolling tides coming in from the ocean. I watched as a duffy boat wandered to the end of the jetty - where the harbor opened to the ocean. I took another big gulp of my shake, feeling the cold run down, freezing my esophagus. 

 “I liked frats, but sororities are different,” he mumbled, spooning his shake into his mouth. He’d gotten his usual Neapolitan, and it’d somehow stayed solid on the drive over. We hadn’t been to the Shake Shack in years, but I guess seeing his daughter waste away beneath her comforter was enough to break the dry spell. 

 “Why? Because its girls?” My lips were breaking into a smile without my consent. He didn’t make sense. 

 “They’re more catty.” He shrugged his shoulders. 

 “Dad! That’s verging on sexist.” 

 “Eh, I don’t know. I’m just saying things. Did you tell Mom you want to quit?” 

 I shook my head. 

 “Yeah…” he looked out at the boats, a quiet understanding passing between us. “She was really excited for you to join.” 

 “It’s not all bad…” 

 “Well if it’s not making you happy, don’t do it. Your mom doesn’t want you doing anything you don’t want to do. I was in a frat to shoot the shit with friends and it was something fun to do instead of study. If it’s not something fun for you, drop it.” 

 I could hear the words he was telling me, but it was like they were rolling off my shoulders, not really penetrating. He made it sound so easy, but it seemed like it was a million times harder than that. Everything was entangled, just as Harry had said. Not to mention Renny. If I quit, I felt like I’d lose her forever, too. I knew I could use a better friend, but that couldn’t erase the years of memories we had together. Losing Renny would feel like losing a part of myself. Not that I knew who that was anymore. 

 “Dad?” I asked. The question that'd weighed on my mind ever since I got home rested on the tip of my tongue. 

 “Yeah?” 

 “This is going to sound weird, but did you see Harry today?” 

 “Yeah. He stopped by,” he said, casually, spooning another mouthful. 

 I practically choked. “What? Why?! Weren’t you going to tell me?” 

 “Y/N, I’m working. I have a thousand things bouncing around in my head all the time.”

 “And?!!?”

 Harry couldn’t reach out to me beforehand? He drove by but- what? Didn’t even want to see me? 

 He sighed, not understanding the urgency. “He just stopped by, said hi. That’s all.” 

 My brows stitched. “Why would he say hi to you? What’d he say, exactly?” 

 “Oh, come on, I don’t know. I can’t remember-”

 “Dad!” 

 “All right, all right. Hi, how are you…” -his brain tried to remember- “he asked if you were doing okay. Then he left. He was nearby for a family brunch or something.” 

 “He asked about me?” 

 “Yeah. I mean, he didn’t go on and on, he just asked a question. He was in a rush.” 

 The shake froze me from the inside, and the breeze froze me from the out. But while I shriveled into myself, my guilt grew. “Dad?” 

 He hummed. 

 “Why are people so fake?” 

 He looked out at the harbor, peaceful for a winter’s morning. Only one small fishing boat headed towards the harbor’s edge, the sole fisherman at the helm facing the wind with the grace of a husband dealing with a temperamental spouse. 

 Father looked to our shoes as a random swell came, the water rising perilously close to our soles. Then, with all the untapped wisdom I seldom remembered parents had, “People are fake because they don’t know who they are,” he said.

 He got a call from the restaurant and drove us home. 

 In bed the next day, I ignored the pros/cons assignment, watching New Girl and making collages of Oxford in a word document until my eyes were burning from blue light exposure. I knew I was pushing it staying this long away from school, away from my problems. I was pushing myself, seeing how far my apathy could go. I woke up Thursday night at 2 AM from the rain pouring against my shutter and anger pricking my insides. 

 Harry was the reason I was in this position. As well as Viv, who fucked Harry. And Kiki, who gave me a DG Pretty Please, that just so happened to involve Harry. 

 I wanted him, but I wanted him to fuck off. Nothing was changing. Nothing was getting better. 

 It was all Harry, Harry, Harry, and no matter what, I ended up feeling insane.  

 At one point, I was going to have to choose myself. 

 I rolled over, blindly reaching for a pen, and scribbled in the dark. 

 If my therapist wanted a list, she’d get one helluva list. 

 -----------

“I’m glad you’re going, honey.” Mom released me from the lung-crushing hug. 

 I’d created enough Oxford collages and daydreamed about a new life until I couldn’t think of any other imaginary scenarios (or postpone collegiate life any longer). 

 The Friday sun had set. The game had already started. I thought about the crowd, all the people I’d see… 

 “Can I just stay the weekend?” 

 “Oh.” Her arms dropped from my sides. “Didn’t you promise your friends that you’d go?” 

 Renny. I’d promised Renny. Singular friend. My hand was in a fist, thumb rubbing anxiously over my fingers. I didn’t listen to her voicemails, there were seven of them. But she’d texted me fifty times in the past twenty minutes, declaring that she’d Venmo me gas money if I’d come to the game. 

 I’d been in my hole long enough. 

 “Yeah, I did.”

 “Well, you COULD stay-”

 I broke away, shaking my head. If I let her coddle me another minute, I think I’d crumble all over again. 

 “I love you,” she reminded me. “You’re my precious angel.” 

 From the living room, the muffled applause from the game show Father had fallen asleep to faded further as I left. 

 Momma’s robe-bundled frame waved on the driveway, her sad smile burning in my mind long after she disappeared from view.

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

 Come on, come on, come ON. 

 The path to the stadium took forever. No shame, I was full-on running, braless, fresh pit-stains on display as I booked it to the gate. 

 It was completely dark now, and the usual fleet of cop cars seemed to have all but disappeared the week I’d been gone. Only one passed me by, and the rest of the student body probably all congregated around the stadium. 

 When I saw the art studio, I slowed. It was completely dark, except for one entry light. The paintings would still be displayed... My pounding heart told me to keep running, and I hesitated, listening to it for a moment before walking to the door. I tugged on its metal handles, parts of me seizing up as it opened, giving way to my touch. 

 I crept into the space, feeling like an intruder as I walked through the exhibit. 

 For some reason, I expected it to look differently, to see it blurred together as I’d seen it before in a panic. 

 I was still hanging amidst the vines, but this time the paintings looked less threatening. Maybe it was the fact that I was alone, maybe it was because I’d already felt the worst of it. 

 Each piece was sold. 

 I looked over my shoulder a couple times before letting out a small shout. A tester. 

 It echoed in the space. 

 I did it again, louder, at my full about-to-be-murdered capacity.

 I must’ve looked absolutely mental, but as I heard my shout reverberate around me, at least I felt something.  

 Five charcoal sketches in particular ran horizontally together. 

 Lust / Longing / Love / Lost / Loss

 Had he seen all of this in me? He’d certainly seen other bits I hadn’t shown him. 

 My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out. Renny. Without thought, I started her stream of voicemails.

 Y/N where the FUCK are you!? Zayn’s concerned and I’m concerned and you’re not in the room-

 Next. 

 Are you really sick? Or is this just some BS excuse. Or is this real and Harry gave you tonsilitis or something. I want to hear your voice. Ilyyyyy. 

 Next. 

 It’s meeeeee. Niall’s busy and you’re sick and I don’t know what to dooooo. Housewives isn’t as fun without-

 Next.

 BABE WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING ME CALLS DO YOU HATE ME, AND YES I MEANT TO SAY ME INSTEAD OF MY I HOPE YOU’RE LAUGHING-

 Next.

 DUDE. You will not believe what just happened- Harry just stopped by. 

 My thumb paused, letting it stay. 

 I was avoiding his texts because I think he’s a dick. Well, he IS a dick, even if Niall said he was going through a lot. It’s still not an excuse. But Harry LEGIT found me on campus, like not even when I was with Niall at the house, but at our APARTMENT...I-hold on. Ew, pastrami professor just passed me. What are the odds? OKAY BUT SERIOUSLY, I almost punched him when I opened the door because remember last time he basically told me off. But… I don’t know. It was different this time. He seemed… so concerned. Frazzled. I don’t even know the word to describe it. Ugh, if you were here you would be able to TELL ME what the word is. I miss you. Come back. 

 The voicemail rolled into the next. 

 I’m just pretending to talk on the phone right now because the boy I hooked up with last year is staring me THE FUCK down right now-

 A creak in the pipes startled me, and the voicemail was all but forgotten. 

 My heart beat fast. 

 It was very, very quiet. 

 With one noise in the dark, the art pieces turned menacing. An oil painting in the corner of the room morphed into the Styles’ portrait. It wasn’t here. It couldn’t be here. I squinted, blinking through the dark. The portrait I thought I’d seen was just a painting of two silhouetted men facing each other. My heart still beat like I’d just ran a marathon though. I wasn’t about to be a part of the next horror movie “art comes alive.” 

 I booked it out faster than I came, answering Renny’s call on the way. 

 ---------

“Thank fucking finally,” Renny huffed, leaning over Lynn to draw me in a hug.

 “You didn’t miss much,” Lynn said, looking past me towards the game. I sat on Renny’s other side so she was in the middle, but when I looked at the scoreboard - Home, zero. Guest, two - I knew it was a done deal. Some people had already left, but half the stadium was still here, either hoping for a miraculous recovery or refusing to put their tails between their legs for pride’s sake. I noticed a group of parents in Chapman gear huddled together, waving their flags. No Mary or Lionel Styles in sight. 

 “How’s he been?” I asked. It’s like my head already knew where to turn, because as soon as I looked to the field, I found him. On the bench, elbows on his knees, head bent over.  

 “How’ve YOU been?” Renny asked. “I was seriously about to drive over to your house and check on you.” 

 Someone beat you to it. The thought was sour. For as much as Renny could claim her undying love for me, I was struggling to see the actions to support it. Everyone was disappointing. 

 “He’s been playing like shit,” Lynn answered.  

 “Brought back some...” His sentence died. Of all people, Zayn stood there, stopped, popcorn in hand. “Hey, Y/N.” 

 Felix stood behind Zayn, giving me a small wave. Zayn was clearly waiting for me to make the first move, but I turned away to the field. I didn’t know what to say. 

 From my peripheral, I saw them sit down by Lynn. 

 As soon as he did, it hit me like a flashfood. I knew what I was feeling. Anger. Discomfort. Shame. That he could expose me so easily, that he’d looked through my clothes in a way I never permitted. That he could sit down so comfortably without apologizing, as if nothing had happened. 

 Renny leaned in. “Are you okay?” 

 “No.”

 She flinched at the abrupt answer. “Do you want to leave?” 

 I stopped myself from saying yes. I didn’t want to have to climb over Zayn to get out of here. That would be more than uncomfortable. 

 “No, I’ll tell you later.” 

 I didn’t speak the rest of the game, pretending not to hear him cheer or laugh or make a snide remark to Felix every other second. Like the annoying click of a fan when you’re trying to fall asleep, Zayn’s every move made anger shake my bones. Lynn gave me sympathy looks every once in a while. It wasn’t like me to be this quiet, and even with our friendship being as new as it was, she knew that much. 

 The crowd didn’t roar this time. They were silent as the clock hit zero, staring blatantly at its twin beneath Home. The Guest team’s few Minnesota supporters jumped like little beans on the other side of the field, but their cries were faint. 

 We’d lost. 

 Everyone stood, and Renny linked her arm with mine. A familiar habit. “We’re going to Viv’s for some post-game depression drinks now.” 

 But I stopped her. 

 “I think I want to go back to the room,” I winced. 

 “Come on, PLEASE? It’ll be fun, you were barely here for the game.” 

 “I don’t know, depression and Viv in the same sentence… You really know how to sell a party.” 

 “Aren’t you coming, Y/N?” Lynn made moves to follow the rest of the crowd that was funneling out of the stands.  

 I shook my head at the same time Renny nodded hers. 

 She huffed. “Why not? It’s going to be chill. We lost. It’s not going to be like the usual ragers.” She popped her hip, completely deadpanned. “You haven’t seen another college-aged person in a week.” 

 “Yeah and there’s a reason for that.” 

 Concern washed over her, voice lowering. “Tell me.” 

 As if on cue, Zayn and Felix stopped their descent down the bleachers and looked up at the girls, waiting for them to join. It was all I could do to not scream at them. 

 “Later,” I said. “You’re leaving now.” 

 “I don’t have to leave right now, it’s not starting yet...” Renny began, but Lynn gave her a look that said yes, they were leaving now. 

 “She wants us to help set-up,” Lynn explained. 

 “But it’s a small thing, right?” I teased Renny. 

 My bestie rolled her eyes, lips pinching. “Are you SURE?” 

 I nodded, sitting down on the cool metal bleacher again. Renny took a step towards me, a sad look on her face, but I held up my hand. 

 “I’m fine,” I said, when I felt anything but. “I just want to wait until the crowd leaves.” I picked up the popcorn bag she’d left behind and threw a handful in my mouth with a cheesy, hopefully convincing grin.

 She grimaced, briefly looking back to Lynn who was anxiously waiting. “Fine. But we’re still talking about this later. I friggin miss you.”

 She left with the others, funneling out towards a party she’d probably stay at until the early morning. 

 I didn’t want to go back to the room. I didn’t want to go anywhere. 

 The lights were so bright on soccer fields. Bugs flew in and around, racing each other faster than the dust in my room. It wasn’t until the janitors walked past me that I realized I’d been sitting there for too long. I reached in the popcorn bag, but my hand came up empty. They’d gone overboard on the salty butter, but somehow, I’d still managed to eat all of it. 

 Even with everyone off the field though, I didn’t feel alone. An older Hispanic woman taking out the trash saw me walking down and opened up the bag. 

 “Thank you,” I said, smiling. 

 She just smiled in return, nodding her head as she continued down the aisle.

 Leaving the field’s gates, I was prepping for another mini run-for-my-life-and-back-to-the-dorm anxiety episode, when I heard someone shuffling. There were faint groaning noises, and I sped up my pace. 

 For a flash second, I thought someone was winning the “sleep in the locker room” bet, but when I tossed my head-back mid-run, I stopped so quickly, I almost tripped. 

 “Harry?” 

 There, in the dark, barely concealed by the shadows, he stumbled out. His abdomen looked… glossy? But then the light reflected crimson. 

 I ran to him as he fell, his white jersey stained with blood. “Oh my God, oh my God…” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “What happened?! Are you okay!?” 

 He pushed me back. “M’fine.” But his voice was strained. He stumbled again, and I reached out before he fell. 

 I thought the blood from his shirt had fallen from a bloody nose, but his hand moved to my arm in a vice-like grip, revealing a gash in his jersey, I saw more liquid pool out from his gut and I almost gagged. 

 “You are BEYOND fine. You aren’t fucking fine!!” 

 “We have to leave. Have to… get out of here.” He grimaced. His face, his beautifully chiselled face was swollen on one side, his lip cut from impact. 

 “Okay. OKAY. I need to call the cops. The cops. I’m going to call them.” Shaky hands took out the cellphone, but he threw it down. “HARRY!” 

 “Take me to the physical therapy room?” 

 I looked at his chest. “You’re bleeding. A LOT.” My free arm reached for the tossed phone, but he tugged me back. 

 “No. They’ll write a report. I can’t have a-” he winced, sucking in a breath, and I reached for the phone again. “DON’T. Fucking hell. Don’t call anyone.”

 My eyes racked his frame again, and I immediately applied pressure to his ab area, right where the gash was. He sucked in a breath, unleashing a string of curses I couldn’t hear right now. “Oh my God,” I breathed. 

 “Answer me,” he growled. 

 My mind scrambled for his question… he wanted me to take him to the physical therapy room.  “YES! Yes. I have the- fuck, yes, I know where the keys are.” I looked at him again. What the FUCK.

 “Stop freaking out,” he grunted, but he weakened the next second, his eyes fluttering before coming back to me. 

 “Okay, hold on. Hold onto me. Keep applying pressure.” 

 The physical therapy room wasn’t too far, bits of blood that’d fallen to his shoes marking our path.

 “Why aren’t all the cops here?” 

 “They’re on rotation. The parties... they’llbestationedthere-JESUS.” We paused, letting him catch his breath. But it was shallow. Too shallow. 

 “Can you wait here for a second?” I asked.

 He nodded, resting against a lamp post. 

 I hurried to the lockbox located behind the planter, punching in the code and unlocking it at lightning’s speed. 

 I didn’t know if there were cameras. I didn’t know if this was illegal. 

 I didn’t care.

 We made it through the doors, and he was just about to sit on the table when- 

 “WAIT!” I ran to grab several rags and laid it beneath him before heaving him up. The soft cry he made when sitting down was like a knife through my own chest. 

 I grabbed scissors, cutting his t-shirt. I didn’t have time to linger, I didn’t have time to notice the way his tattoos were completely concealed by a red current. There were two wounds. One, deeper, the other, more shallow. Both in the lower left abdomen, just above a prominent v-line.  

 I wiped around the area, pausing above the gashes. “This is going to sting,” I warned. 

 There wasn’t fear in his eyes. He watched me, and I, him, as I pressed it against the open skin. He trembled, wincing, mouth opening in silent exclamation.  

 “You’re doing good,” I whispered. 

 “So are you,” he gritted out. 

 I swallowed, reaching for the butterfly bandages. But as soon as I did, more blood rushed out. I held a rag to him. “Save your breath. You need it.”

 The thin white bandages seemed too little in the wake of his wound, and just as one bandage was placed, he cringed away, regretting his decision to move almost immediately.

 “Fucking hurts,” he groaned. 

 “Stop moving! I need to close the wound up. You’re bleeding too much.” 

 “Y/N, just take me home. Call Lionel,” he panted. 

 “I’m calling 911 if you don’t let me at least attempt to close this wound because if we leave now you’ll bleed out.” 

 “You’ve done enough, please-”

 “STOP. TALKING. I’ll call him after.” He saw a flame behind my eyes, and quieted, too weak to protest much more anyway. I came closer, and this time he didn’t flinch. The butterfly bandages at least minimally shrunk the open gouges. 

 With no other choice, I left him there alone, running across campus to my car and driving back in less than five minutes. It was illegal to drive through student walkways, let alone drive 60 mph, but there wasn’t a choice. I kept picturing Harry passing out, his limp God-like body, turned mortal, weak, bleeding out all over the training room floor. My foot hit the gas pedal harder. I could’ve been a damn marathon winner/race car driver. Let the cops add “speeding” to the file they already had on me. 

 Once we were both in the car, I looked over at him every two seconds. An entire roll of tight gauze around his abdomen kept the wound from bleeding out, but it was still turning pink. It was the second time blood would have been on my car. 

 Of all the revenge daydreams I’d had, I would’ve settled for Harry seeing me make out with Andre on the dancefloor over THIS. Would he die in my car? Would I be responsible?? I looked at the cheesy Angel pin my mom had given me for my car mirror. Never Fly Faster Than Your Guardian Angel Can Fly. Where was my angel now?? 

 “Where are we going?” He asked, between fading in and out.

 “To your house.” 

 His hand grabbed mine on the wheel and I practically swerved into the center divider from shock. 

 “HARRY!” 

 “We need to go to my house,” he said suddenly, panicked, as if I’d told him the opposite. 

 I placed our interlocked hands above the console. A safe distance away from the wheel in case he lurched again. 

 “Don’t worry, we’re going there. We’re going to your house. You’re just in shock, it’s okay,” I cooed, but it was desperate. And it was definitely not okay. 

 “They’ll ask… less..less questions...” 

 His grip was unbearably tight for three long seconds before it relaxed. 

 “Stay with me. Stay awake,” I urged. Harry’s lids kept drooping and I was desperate, blasting the Air Conditioning to an uncomfortable temperature. 

 Lionel picked up on the second ring. 

 “It’s Y/N. I think Harry’s been stabbed-” 

 “What?!” 

 “- I told him we should call the cops, but he was adamant we call you instead.” 

 “Seal the wound with whatever you can-”

 “I did that. Not well, we didn’t have wound sealant- Okay, I’m rambling. I don’t know what to do, but he needs to see a doctor. Immediately.” 

 There was a long pause. 

 “Hello?” my voice wavered. 

 “Bring him to the practice.” The voice over the other line was that of a doctor, matter-of-fact, somber. 

 Hoag Hospital passed me, a nagging thought telling me that’s where we should be going - where there was paperwork, evidence, some legitimate accountability. But I wasn’t his father. I wasn’t responsible. 

 “On my way. I’m getting off the freeway now.” 

 The call ended, and as I looked at Harry, fading dangerously out of consciousness, my hands trembled more from fear than cold. Out of all the reactions, I hadn’t expected this one. The voice on the other line hadn’t seemed surprised at all. 

come talk to me about the chappie or just about how you’re doing! now’s the time to stay connected :) 

[moral-turpitudes]

Deal with the Devil: Ch. 1

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Mentions/Heavy Descriptions of Death, Murder, Gore, Blood, Guns, Knives, Fires, PTSD, Angst. All Explicit/18+ Content is indicated by (**).

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Isla Maxwell (OC)

Word Count: 2,142

Plot Summary: With nowhere to turn after the failed assassination of Oswald Mosely, Thomas Shelby accepts the help of a covert assassin with a knack for nabbing fascists.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | *7* | 8 | 9 | 10

“Authorities Puzzled as Third Man Goes Missing” read the headline of the local newspaper.

“In the span of one month, three men have gone missing from Birmingham and surrounding areas. They were last seen entering the a meeting for the fascist party. No suspects have been brought in, nor have any witnesses reported seeing suspicious activity around the building. Please use caution when going out, and report anything of concern.” The column read. The paper was wrinkled at the ends, the ink fading in spots where rain had fallen too hard. The pictures of the three missing men posted under it with stoic expressions on their faces.

Not many people cared as to why they were missing it seemed. The police’s lack of involvement and general chatter around town made clear of that. But the one thing everyone wanted to know was who caused their disappearance? considering they had the guts to take three men in broad daylight from a highly publicized event.

The news made Isla chuckle as she flipped through the paper, her eyes gazing lazily at the scene before her. Not many people knew her name, but the ones she caught were sometimes lucky enough to hear it before taking their final breath.

The three men from the photos sat before her tied to chairs, stripped from head to toe of all clothing. Weary looks graced their faces as their jaws slacked from the exhaustion of holding their ties in their mouths.

Isla’s heels clicked on the ground as she reluctantly got up from her desk. Looking at each of the men as their tired gazes followed her.

“So....You lot thought you could take me down aye?” She asked, lighting a cigarette as she leant against her desk. They hesitated before shaking their heads, fear evident in their eyes as she stalked closer.

“A little birdie told me you all were going to. All for your beloved Fascist party right?” She remarked, stomping her cigarette out on the groin of one of the men. His groans erupting from clenched teeth as she reached under her dress, the men watching nervously with their hands tied. She felt the cool handle of her knife hidden against her thigh as she lifted her foot off him.

“You should know better than to follow someone blindly, gentlemen. The sheep are often led to the slaughter.” She said, retrieving it and slitting the men’s throats with an easy flick of her wrist. A small smirk playing at her lips as their blood sprayed about. Their eyes fixed in a permanent state of shock as they fell limp before her.

Un-phased, she quickly wiped her hands of the blood and silently walked back to her desk to finish the letter she’d been writing only mere hours ago. The three faces on the newspaper staring at her as she swiftly moved her pen to sign one initial: “I.”

She kept most of her business to herself and her closest informants, only using the initial as her signature, along with the bloody thumbprints of her victims. Thinking it would give them a more “personal” touch.

As she pressed the third mans bloody thumb onto the bottom of the letter, she sighed, knowing she’d have to clean up her mess after sending it out.

The dimly lit room made her silhouette dance along the walls of her office. The flames from the candles flickering brightly as she counted down the minutes on the clock, waiting for her informant to arrive at midnight. It was always evident that she had a method to her madness, that was for sure. The people she employed knew that their fate was not only in her hands but in her wallet. They knew that if they failed, she failed. And if she failed...they might as well offer her their necks.

As the clock struck midnight, she heard the distinct knock on the door. The numerical tapping signaled that it was her informant, Jay, with cash from her latest job in tow. He quickly handed her the cash and she gave him a small smile before handing him the letter wrapped in a black envelope.

“Thank you. You know where to send this. Have it out by tomorrow morning.” She said, closing and locking the door behind her.

Jay swiftly headed down the dark hallway and out the door, the rain finally letting up as he made his way to his car. The destination was written on the envelope with gold ink, shining brightly as the street lights illuminated her thin handwriting.

As he headed to his destination, she began cleaning up the mess. The clothing the men wore hours ago reduced to ash in the fireplace.

With a loud huff, she stuffed their bodies into large flour sacks she’d taken from a certain “bakery” around town, known for its bread, pastries, and illegal business ventures.

Along with her interesting choice of connections, Isla always did her dirty work at night. Making it easier for her to evade capture. But one of the grimmest parts were disposing of the bodies, so she called in her other two informants to help with the task. Therefore, many nights were spent in her car under the guidance of the moon. Not many women drove around at night - let alone with men’s bodies in the backs of their cars - but she figured someone had to do it. And given the life she chose, it had to be done one way or another. After all, it was her best chance at keeping people off her trail.

As the tires skimmed along the damp roads, she saw the cemetery in the distance. Knowing this was the last stop for the month-long job.

Despite her small circle of connections, she had one outside person she could trust: the mortician. Along with his weekly salary, she paid him hush-money from her hits to incinerate the bodies of the men who crossed her. It was the easiest way for her to get rid of the evidence in her case, knowing authorities would have to spend days upon days trying to find any clues, especially in the ashes.

“Thank you again. I’ll let you know when I’ll be back.” She said, watching him throw the bodies into the flames with ease.

“And thank you for the money miss. It’s really helped me out.” The mortician said, fidgeting with his glasses.

“I’m glad. Keep up the good work.” She said, tipping her hat and walking quickly to her car.

When she arrived back home, the two other informants were finishing up scrubbing the floor. Making her finally realize that she too had blood on her. It was trapped in her hair, and splattered on her face in a morbid constellation. It was often on big hits like tonight, that she’d forget she was covered, becoming accustomed to the metallic smell and sticky feeling of it on her skin.

“We’ve finished boss. What’s the pay?” One of them asked, wiping their hands on a bloody towel before throwing it into the fireplace.

“No one gets paid until this job is completely done. Tomorrow morning Jay will be back, but until then you’ll have to wait.” She said sternly. They too only went by short, fake nicknames. Her head informant and messenger was Jay, while the other two went by Nick and John. This was done so that if they were captured and interrogated, none of them would know each others real names, making the trail leading to Isla herself all the more complicated.

As the months passed since she’d begun her work, families grew fond of her skills, and that was especially so for the wealthier ones in the community. They resorted to hiring her for protection from the men like the ones she killed, and she used that money to pay herself and her informants as they took on new jobs.

These men she targeted weren’t just any average trouble makers though. They had close ties to the emerging fascist party. A party that turned against some people and turned towards others. A party who brainwashed their followers with money and empty promises. And for her, it was a party that killed her family.

As she excused Nick and John, she locked the door behind her once again, heading off to her bedroom that was adjacent to her office. She was never one for extremely lavish houses. Preferring less stuff around just in case she had to leave town abruptly. Despite this, amongst her tough outer shell, she was still wounded on the inside as the memories of her family plagued her mind.

An old picture hung on the corner of her bedroom mirror. It was a family picture of her mother, father, little brother, and her all sitting by the big oak tree a few miles out. It was the one thing she was able to save before the flames spread around her. The old rafters of her house coming down as she lay there in fear. Her mother’s screams echoing in her ears as she tried to protect her son from the flames. Her father somehow running through the fire and picking her up, ushering her out the door before collapsing from the smoke. The flames engulfing the small wooden house in minutes.

She remembered hearing her neighbors rushing out from nearby to help as she grabbed her arm without registering the pain. She had been in shock for most of the ordeal, knowing that even the physical pain she was in couldn’t top the pain she felt seeing her family perish before her eyes. She was only 20 at the time, and she had no family to go back to.

Fortunately, she worked her way up after her recovery. Living in abandoned houses and singing in the streets for money. She even ran into a friend of her fathers by mere luck, who took her in and told her the truth. He’d said that her father had gotten in the way of a deal between some of the early fascist party members, trying to stop them from antagonizing some of the families in the area, which they didn’t appreciate. In turn, they punished him by punishing his whole family, not knowing they’d left her behind.

As Isla stared at her now 30 year old reflection in the mirror, she let a tear slip as she brushed her hand over the scar on her arm. Hearing her mother’s voice telling her, “You have to take what you want in life my love, because the only thing we’re guaranteed to get in this life is death.”

She shivered at the memory every day, but heeded her mother’s advice nonetheless. She gathered information and took lives, but it wasn’t easy.

Over the years since the fire, she learned to fight from her dads friend, and learned to shoot as well. Eventually earning some good money from hunting for families near them. When she got tired of shooting birds though, she upgraded to humans, often joining hit men on their travels to gain experience and information. Seduction was also a facet of her plan, but she eventually made enough to end that part. Earning enough to buy the quaint apartment that she stood in now, alone with tear filled eyes as the water in the sink ran red from the blood being washed away.

Though through all the pain and training, she managed to gather a plethora of information over time. Leading her to finding the whereabouts of some of the fascist party members. For the last two years she’d been scoping out their meetings, taking note of the problematic ones and bribing vulnerable party followers with hush-money for more information. Slowly taking their power away from them one by one as she built up her empire.

But when news of the recent rallies came to light, she knew she had to lay low and act fast. Knowing other powerful people had an eye on her throne while the party gained traction at an alarming rate. It was during this time that Jay snuck into one of the rallies, overhearing the three men they’d captured, talking about the big meeting to come with a certain Oswald Mosley. And since his life depended on it, he reported it to her. Knowing he’d be paid a decent amount for the information.

Mosley’s life was the one thing that she genuinely wanted to take, given what happened to her family. And by taking out the leader, she hoped to take down the whole system before they hurt more people. She promised herself that she’d stop at nothing to take down the man who started the fire. But she’d have to make a deal with the devil himself in order to do so, and that devil was a man named Thomas Shelby.

[prettyflyshyguy]

Ok here’s Chapter 2!!! its unfinished but I have to go to bed but you can have it anyway!! Like last time if you have critique please hit me with it. I am not a writer. I am simply a fool with two wolves inside me, one craves comedic relief while the other is grabbing a knife from the kitchen. (Chapter 1 if you missed it)

Here’s an indication:

The night air was still, in the distance the sound of helicopters and sirens blaring was the only thing to disturb this empty side of the city, evacuation of all citizens long passed. The orange haze of distant lights and fires lit up the otherwise cloudy dark sky. The crack of crystalline and resin structure splitting broke the silence atop the Research Centre. A cocoon spilled out of the split in the hardened shell, flowing and bulging and wriggling out as something churned and shifted beneath the surface. Rapidly the form of a figure started to appear, breaking free, reaching upwards towards the sky until it slipped and fell backwards. It flopped onto the concrete with the grace of a beached whale, and slid a few meters back.

His lungs kicked into overdrive, gulping deep breaths of air to combat the fear, disorientation and adrenaline that shot through his body. Everything was dark, his eyelids felt glued shut. He was hot, too hot, why was he so hot. 

Crudely wiping whatever was gunking up his eyes, he began to take stock of the situation. He quickly scanned the area, he was alone.

Except for the cocoon.

‘Shit-’

He instinctively tried calling out but a faint rasp was the most he could muster as he scrambled away still on the ground. He reached for his sidearm holster.

Except it wasn't there.

He felt cold concrete on his back, he pushed into it. It was the only thing he knew was real. It was tangible. He looked back towards the cocoon, a trail of viscous liquid stretched between it and himself. He sat there, frozen. Eyes fixed on the cocoon. Tracing its outline, the way it looked like a figure reaching forward. Forward towards something small that reflected the light, sitting just out of reach of the cocoon on the ground. The huge, gaping split down the back that the trail of fluid lead away from. 

Perhaps if he was able to sit completely still he wouldn't be able to feel any of it. The fluid dripping down his hair, into his eyes. The way his arms felt too long. The way his skin felt too tough. The way he felt wrong.

Except he hadn’t forgotten what happened. It was his cocoon. 

His heart rate shot up, he started breathing faster shorter breaths. 

Leon wasn't particularly afraid of much. He tackled any new situation he was thrust into pretty well, actually. Like his brief time as a cop back in Racoon City when the first outbreak of the T-virus happened. Evicting the ‘monster under the bed’ when he’d babysit Sherry when she was younger. Being injected with a parasite egg by a twisted cult in Europe. Accepting Claire’s challenge of who could eat the most hot cross buns last Easter.

The cocoon in front of him made him afraid.

He focused on his breathing, slowing them down, taking in more air in each breath. His pulse began to calm.

A minute or two had gone by before he realised it was getting cold. The exothermic reaction of the cocoon process had ended quite some time ago and he was no longer receiving the benefits. If you could even call them that.

He thought about it again.

‘Ah. That’s right. The cocoon process.’

His memories were intact up until a point, he remembered the flames and how he tried to scream. He remembered the sensation of his skin boiling. He remembered his joints seizing up and everything going dark. The only person he’s seen come out of a cocoon looking ‘normal’ was Ada, but she must be different. Some kind of twisted facsimile that Simmons cooked up. The Ada Wong that infected him was surely not the real deal, at least he hoped.

Ultimately there were only two choices in his current situation. Continue to stare in abject horror at the cocoon or instead, stare in abject horror at whatever it did to him.

Sharply inhaling, he slowly let his gaze fall from the cocoon to his feet. 

At least the assumption was that they were his feet. They looked more structurally like primates but with thick leathery scales or plating running along down from his legs. Not to mention the claws.

‘Ok. Could be worse.’

‘Time to try standing up.’ he thought.

He shuffled into a kneeling position and placed his hands out in front of him on a bare patch of concrete that wasn't covered in goop. Thankfully they still resembled human hands. Just with more scales and claws. 

‘Could be worse.’

Very slowly, with plenty of weight on his hands, he attempted to figure out how to stand up. He quickly realised his feet were more comfortable with weight being fully placed on the toes. Like a dinosaur. Maybe he could get a job as a monster in the next Jurassic Park film. In trying to find a silver lining the brief mental distraction meant he almost toppled over, as his legs were quite shaky. Using the wall behind him for stability, he found he was able to stand comfortably if he bent his knees slightly more than he was used to. 

Carefully, despite wobbling significantly, he made his way without the aid of a wall towards and around the cocoon, to where he had dropped his communicator after Ada… Fake-Ada, had infected him.

He knelt down and gently picked it up, praying that maybe somehow the flames hadn’t damaged it beyond working. The glass screen was cracked. It was unresponsive. 

‘Fuck.’

He had no way of contacting Helena. No way of telling her that actually he’s ok. He had left her to run after Ada and now she’s out there, alone, up against Simmons and his personal security army after everything-

‘FUCK.’

He was so stupid, he let his personal feelings get in the way when he should have just let Chris handle it-

He froze.

‘Chris was just outside the door when it happened. He probably saw the cocoon-’

His thoughts were interrupted as the glass of the communicator shattered as it hit the ground. His stomach convulsed as he began to throw up. He hadn’t eaten in hours but the acid burned away at his throat nonetheless. Tears started to well up in his eyes. The full gravity of the situation hit, everything he put his friends through, everything that’s happened to him. What would happen if he finds them again? Would they recognise him? Would they shoot him? Would he even find them? What if something else found him first?

Shoving all that aside, he pulled himself back into the moment. There was nothing he could do for either Chris or Helena if he just sat here, and the risk of a military cleanup unit passing overhead and seeing him was not one he was willing to bargain on. 

-

The balcony door, left open, creaked slightly as the ocean breeze drifted through the city. It would have been nice if not for the smoke and the eeriness of the place left cold and empty. It didn’t take Leon long to find an apartment that had an unlocked door or window, long forgotten about. The infection came with its advantages, namely making it much easier for him to traverse buildings vertically which meant he avoided streets with military patrols, Ja’vo or worse. Cautiously searching, in case he wasn't alone, he swept through each room quickly before entering the bathroom. The sludge that was left over from the cocoon had started to try like mud all over him, a shower might help relieve the stress. Closing the door and looking around, he caught a brief glimpse of his full figure in the bathroom mirror. He turned away sharply, not ready to tackle that just yet, instead focusing on the uncomfortable fact he could see very clearly despite not turning the light on yet. Once again trying to find something he could root himself too, he sunk his feet into the softness of the bathmat. The cold of the tiles. 

He leaned with both arms either side of the basin. 

‘Please don’t throw up again.’ he thought.

Without giving himself time to chicken out of it he flicked his head upwards and stared dead on into the mirror.

‘Could be worse.’

His face was still somewhat recognisable, it might have been even more if he didn’t have two mandibles protruding from both his top and bottom jaw each, beginning near his ears and wrapping comfortably around his face. He was able to see them in his peripheral vision so far but preferred to pretend they didn’t exist. Forced to reckon with it now, he toyed around to determine what level of control he had, if any. The top two folded up neatly alongside his cheeks and the clawed tip bent downwards towards his mouth, while the bottom ones extended along his jawline and pointed up at his chin. More concerningly in each corner of his lips there was a line, almost like a split that ran up his cheeks either side. Tentatively he flexed his jaw and opened his mouth slightly he snapped it shut upon seeing canines that were probably a little too long. Among other teeth that probably weren't there before. At least the BSAA had good dental.

Examining the rest, the same plate scales, more like chitin or carapace, ran up his arms, legs and back. Splits down the sides of his arms and legs had more normal softer skin along with his chest, although these including his face were still stricken with splits and scarring in the skin. Much like how Deborah, Helena’s sister, looked after she emerged from her cocoon. At this point he noticed something shifting behind him, twisting slightly revealing in the mirror a set of thin spines that ran down his back. They twitched and shifted higher the more he stared at them, the more his heart rate elevated.

Not bothering to turn on any lights still, he shoved himself into the shower and doused himself in water as once again, he felt his heart rate climb. 

Sinking down to the floor he leant on his knees and pushed his fingers into his hair as the water enveloped him. 

‘It could be worse. It could be worse. It could be worse. It could be worse?? I’m a BOW now I’m a fucking BOW I’m a bio organic weapon I’m a B O W  I’M-’

Pulling his hands down his hair and over his face, he took a deep breath to try and calm himself.

‘Ok this is bad, but you’ve been through worse Leon.’ he considered.

He stared blankly for a moment.

‘Ok maybe you haven't been through worse but at least this time you’re in control of yourself. No mind control parasite cults involved. Look on the bright side.’

He looked down at his feet and the water swirling endlessly into the drain.

‘You’ve traumitised Helena right after the same thing happened to her sister, you have no way of contacting anyone for help, and even if you did, you have no guarantee they won’t just try and kill you.’

He slowly looked up. His entire face, mandibles included, drooped as the water cascaded down.

Pressing his hands into his face and leaning back he let out a deep, long groan while he internally wished he could just scream. God knows if he did, if it would even sound human still. 

Debora’s wails and cries still echoed in his mind. Recognisably human in origin but alien and twisted. Would he sound like that too? Like a monster?

(Hi hello its Editing Shy here, sorry this is all I got. I haven't finished it yet, this is the unfinished bit.)

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

Prae Dolore

Summary: As Will returns home to Y/n after being almost guttered to death by Hannibal Lecter, he finds out that some things are not overcame so easily. 

Pairing: Will Graham x reader

Warnings: angst, mental and eating disorders, suffering

Word count: 1726

A/N: Yes, I am still obsessed with Will Graham. Is that a surprise? Anyways, I wrote a oneshot where the s/o was tough and was eager to fight Hannibal if he ever came after her (I'll Be Ready), so I thought about writing as well a oneshot where the s/o wouldn't get over the events so quickly and would struggle very hard. That's pretty much it, hope you enjoy. Friendly reminder that English is not my first language, so… You know the drill.

Will drove fast. He wanted to get to Wolf Trap as soon as possible. He was deeply worried about Y/n, it's been a month since she last visited him at the hospital after the events of that night he hated remembering about. He blinked hard, picking up his phone eagerly, typing Jack Crawford's number. He'd spoken with Alana earlier, she was a close friend of Y/n, and she was also concerned with the lack of communication. She went by Will's house the day before, knocked, but no one answered. The dogs barked a lot, her car was there, but Y/n never showed up. Alana said the curtains were shut, the doors were locked and she heard some noise inside, but since she was still recovering herself and using a wheelchair to move around, that was all she could do at the moment. Y/n wasn't answering her phone, as well. The last person who'd seen her was Jack, and even so, it had been almost a month ago as well. 

He tried calling her phone, calling his house. He left thousands of messages she'd never replied. Will was desperate. All he could think about was Hannibal, if Hannibal got her… He could do that now, he knew that. So, as soon as he felt a little better, he checked himself out of the hospital and rented a car, driving as fast as he could to Wolf Trap.

"Will." Jack finally answered the phone, making Will sigh hard. "You shouldn't be driving. Are you there yet?"

"No. I'm close. Did she answer any of your messages?" Will asked with concern in his voice, feeling his forehead starting to sweat. "Alana stopped by yesterday, but she didn't come out. She's there, I know it. What I fear is…"

Will couldn't even put it into words, but Jack knew what he meant. The feeling of expectation. Hannibal had become a ghost in their lives, an imminent threat. He was close, now. Almost arriving. Everything would be alright. He had the key, he could open the door. He'd find her. She would be just fine. 

"Call me when you get there, okay? I'll be waiting." Jack hesitated as if he seemed to wish Will good luck, but he just hung out, and Will threw the phone on the passenger's seat. He was close. Almost there.

Finally, after a few minutes, he parked the car in front of his house. Alana was right; Y/n's car was really there. A feeling of unease twisted Will's stomach and, for a moment, he felt a sharp pain on his guts, right where Hannibal stabbed him. He growled lightly, pressing the almost healed wound as he walked in quick steps to the door. He took the keys outta his pocket, hesitating before he could open it. Would he be ready for what he was going to find? Please, don't allow it to be a corpse. Not her. He wouldn't bear to lose anybody else. 

He turned the key in the lock, pushing the door, but it stopped harshly half way through, showing more locks were added from inside. Door chains. That made him worry a little bit more.

"Y/n? It's me" He called, trying to squeeze his hand through the small space left. "Please, open. I'm worried about you. I need to see you."

The dogs were barking like crazy, and he hoped she could hear him. He waited a few seconds that felt like hours, until he could see an indistinguishable figure inside. The house was dark due the closed curtains. He felt a shiver go down his spine. Something was off. Terribly off.

"Y/n?" He called one more time. The figure seemed to move. "It's okay, it's Will. Open up."

Will tried to force the door, but it was hopeless. It only made his wound sting a little. He muttered a curse under his breath, his face contorted with the pain. 

Noise. She unlocked the door. Will, taken by surprise, hesitated to enter, and by the time he could open the door, the dark figure fled to his bedroom. He petted the dogs to try to make them calm down. Despite of the nervousness, they seemed physically fine, which gave Will hope. The Y/n he knew would never let the dogs get neglected. He walked cautiously​ to the bedroom, finally being able to spot the figure. He still couldn't see her straight, but could distinguish her hair, her body. 

"Y/n?" Will called in a soft voice. He didn't want to fright her more, she looked like a cornered feral animal.

He raised his hand to flip the switch of the bedside lamp so he could see her better. As soon as the light showed him her conditions, however, he wished he didn't.

The first thing he noticed was how skinny she was. Several bones were appearing in her fragile body. Her eyes were very wide, as if they had been like this for some time, and looked very dry. A lot of white hair filled the top of her head, as if fear made them turn that way. Her hair was a mess, dirty, like she'd spent some days without brushing it. She looked so fragile. So broken. That made Will's heart break, his eyes watering up. He couldn't avoid to think it was partially his fault. He dragged her to his world. It was his responsibility. 

"Y/n… what's going on?" He tried to come closer​, but she receded, almost hitting her back on the wall. Will stopped, raising his hands in a sign of surrender. He couldn't bear it. 

"Please don't touch me. I don't feel well when people touch me." She nearly begged, a frightened​ voice tone. "Did you lock the door? Did you? We have to lock the door. If we don't lock the door…"

She held her body to feel instinctively protected, hugging her knees and hiding her face on them. Will was devastated. He tried to see the Y/n he knew on that broken figure, but he found no traces of her. Will hid his face on his hands, trying not to cry. He had to be strong. Strong for both of them.

Something that sounded like a branch hitting the top of the roof made her raise her head abruptly, her eyes so wide, her pupils dilated. 

"What was that? That's him? That's him!" She moved so fast Will couldn't stop her, and her body slid under the bed, darkness engulfing her. 

"Y/n." Will called, lying on the floor with his chest down. "It's not him. Hannibal's long gone. He won't come back."

He didn't know that, but he would say anything to make her feel better. Safe. He needed to bring her back. 

Will held out his hand, not touching her, but being near her.

"I won't let him hurt you. I would never allow Hannibal to harm you. You need to know that. You need to trust me. I need you." He tried to come close to her, but his wound stung dangerously, and he moaned low in pain.

Y/n seemed to snap out of it as she saw him hurting. She sobbed a little, covering her mouth with one bony hand.

"You shouldn't be here yet, Will. You need to heal. You should be at the hospital." She hesitated, but touched his hand lightly. He kept still, afraid that any kind of movement would fright her away again. "There's no salvation waiting for me. My damage has reached the core. I'm a broken thing waiting to be discarded."

"We've been through a lot the past few months. I brought this to you. I allowed all of that to happen. I'm to blame. You're suffering, Y/n. You've been suffering for a long time. I should've seen that. Forgive me. Let me take care of you. We'll be fine. You'll be fine." She was sobbing freely now, her body trembling with the effort, but she was still touching his hand. He tried to stretch his body to fit under the bed with her, but a sharp pain made him stop. He could feel his shirt getting slightly wet. Shit. 

"Stop! Please, stop. You're hurting yourself!" His face was filled with sweat, he breathed heavily. The physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional one. He felt like he was shattered in a million pieces.

Y/n left the space under the bed through the other side, rushing to Will and turning his body upwards. She lifted his shirt. The cut had barely opened, a few drops of blood staining the tissue and his abdomen. 

"We were exactly like this. That night. I found you bleeding out, Abigail was standing right next to you, her eyes wide open. You were struggling to breathe. Before that, I had to leave Alana alone outside, not even being sure she would survive, because I had to see if… if you had gone. With him. But I don't know, maybe I wish you had, if it would mean you wouldn't be hurting like this." Somehow, he knew she didn't mean only physically, and not only because of that moment. She meant his darkness. His urge to go with Hannibal, even if it meant leaving her. It has never been out of the table. "I see his face every time I close my eyes. He came here a few days after that night when you were at the hospital. The way he spoke… he's out of his shell now. His words felt like daggers. He didn't do anything to me, he only meant to terrify me. And he succeeded. He got inside my head. He's still here. I can feel him like a parasite. Modifying my brain."

Y/n was speaking faster, starting to hold her head, and Will knew another panic attack was coming. He sat her on the bed, trying to touch her as gently as he could so he wouldn't make things worst for her. He held her tenderly, kissing the top of her head as she nested on his chest, holding his shirt while she cried, and cried. And Will cried with her, knowing the pain wouldn't go away as the tears that wet their faces and dropped on the floor, disappearing from sight.

[limjaeseven]

This is Not a Love Song

Title: This is Not a Love Song

Pairing: Taehyung X Gender neutral OC

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 3,032

Summary: Taehyung got so lost in his own world that he didn't realise the he broke the one person who put him back together

Warnings: Alcohol consumption

[a/n]: This fic is part of the April Showers Bring May Flowers Collab with @bangtanscenery. It was an absolute pleasure to write, though the concept is different from what I usually write. I hope you enjoy it! (Also a big shout out to @sope-and-shine for proof reading this fic)

If there were two things that Taehyung couldn't live without, it was his music and his love. The two were intrinsically linked because the reason music was such a big part of his life it was because of his love.

They had met each other on what was probably the worst day of Taehyung's life. He was beaten down and tired, tired of his own life. He felt like he lived a life without meaning and direction. The only thing he ever did was wander aimlessly, looking for what, he didn't know himself.

And when his feet refused to carry him any further, he found the closest bench sat down. One sob, two sobs, three sobs before the dam broke. The tears never stopped as he wailed and weeped on that lonely bench. But fate had other plans as he felt a tap on his shoulder.

A stranger sat next to him on the bench when he looked up. They were offering him a handkerchief which Taehyung took and wiped his tears. No one had ever been kind to Taehyung like that. No one had offered him help when he was down even if it was just a handkerchief.

A broken thank you left his lips but the stranger just smiled. They spent what felt like hours like that, a comfortable silence shared between them as Taehyung clutched the piece of cloth in his hands tightly.

It had been long after the sun had set that the person next to Taehyung got up and left. By that time he had fallen into a deep slumber. It was the first time in months that he had slept peacefully.

When he finally woke up, the warm rays of sunlight kissed his face, making him feel an emotion that he could call happiness. A jacket was draped over his slim frame and the white cloth was still in his hands.

The walk back home for Taehyung was different that time around. Not once in the previous few months had he felt like himself, a person with a mind and a heart. He had barely felt like a person when he woke up each morning.

It was a whole month before their paths crossed again. Taehyung had made a habit of carrying the jacket that the stranger had left with him whenever he left his house in hopes of returning it to them. To him though, the thought of returning the jacket was connected with the thought of seeing that person again and that's all he honestly wanted.

The month since he had met that person both dragged on and sped by. Taehyung spent his days thinking about them, the way they didn't utter a word but still moved him to the core. For the first time in twenty three years, Taehyung had felt like he wasn't alone.

But thinking about them in his waking hours wasn't enough for Taehyung apparently because he spent his nights dreaming about them. Though he did acknowledge the fact that the simple gesture had probably meant nothing to that person, he couldn't help but cling onto the one bright moment of his life like it was the only memory he wanted to remember for an eternity

They met the second time on the crowded subway. Taehyung was wandering as usual and had enough money left on him to take a subway to nowhere and walk back home. They had been standing and looking down at their phone, their face slightly concealed by the hat they wore but Taehyung recognised them almost instantly.

It took two stops but after a while, he was standing right in front of the stranger. The person in question looked up and smiled in recognition as they placed where they had met Taehyung before.

Wordlessly reaching for his bag, Taehyung pulled out the jacket and offered it to the stranger and they smiled at him before accepting it. After mustering up enough courage, Taehyung finally asked for the person's name which they gave to him with a bright smile.

They both got off at the same station and walked together, engaging in small talk and getting to know each other. They hadn't known each other for more than a few hours but Taehyung felt a connection with the person next to him.

It was almost midnight when they parted ways, this time Taehyung had both a name and a number. They spoke to each other via text and phone calls often, talking about anything under the sun.

Taehyung felt like he had found a lighthouse in the distance in the middle of the past ocean. The closer he got to it, the less uncertain he felt about getting lost again. It was the most wonderous feeling he'd felt in his entire life.

It took a while for Taehyung to finally ask them to be their significant other. They just as usual gave him the brightest smile and said a simple yes. Their relationship was a lot like that, few words shared and more communicated through silences.

They had been together for three months when Taehyung's lover introduced him to the world of professional music. They had been friends with the founder of a label and had offered Taehyung to try out at the company since he was planning to leave his job anyway.

Taehyung had played a few instruments growing up and loved coming up with songs off the top of his head but he had never considered doing it for a living. After a series of interviews and discussions, the company gave him a chance to try out as a producer and it turned out to be a life changing opportunity for Taehyung.

Within months he had become the most sought after producer in the industry, all big names dying to work with him. He learned quickly and made songs that broke record after record. He also became popular internationally through the artists he worked with.

A year after Taehyung joined the company, he started to put his work before everything. He rarely came back home to his partner, opting instead to spend time in his studio and neglected his personal life for his professional one.

His lover supported him through everything but couldn't help but feel forgotten when Taehyung spent weeks without talking to them. They tried to talk to him but he wasn't used to having conversations. The two people who had learned to communicate through silence had become a victim of that same, but now deafening, silence.

A single word from his lover's mouth would send Taehyung into a bout of rage that would end up in broken decor and lots of tears. As time went by, Taehyung was becoming less and less like himself, yet again.

Taehyung had thought that finding a partner and a job would have been enough to make sure he would be happy. He later thought that his career was all he needed to keep him going. After a while it became less about the music itself and more about the fame and power.

Everything started going downhill together for Taehyung. His songs started declining in quality leading to a lot of backlash from his fellow artists, fans and company alike. He got frustrated as he sat in front of his keyboard and nothing came to him.

Unfortunately, that frustration was released on his significant other not in the form of open venting and communication but in the form of harsh words and lots of shouting.

A point came where his lover couldn't take things anymore. He didn't see it coming, even though he should have, months ago. The realisation hit him the day he returned home from work to see a half empty house.

A lot of the stuff was gone and it looked like someone had reset the place to how it was before he met his partner. Their belongings were all gone. The only things that were left was a white handkerchief and a small piece of paper folded in half.

Taehyung didn't realise his hands were shaking when he picked the paper up and read the words inked onto it. The words were clear but the words felt hazy. The only things that kept repeating in his head were "I can't do this anymore" and "don't look for me".

Taehyung was a man who didn't like alcohol much but somehow it was the only thing that could fill the whole in his heart. You, the person who found him and made him who he was, was gone. Taehyung was devastated to say the least.

His lover had written about how much Taehyung had changed but truthfully, the love he had for his other half, his significant other, his life partner had never changed. Yes, he had gotten blinded by success and didn't see that the only person he truly cared about in the world was suffering and that too, all because of him.

Taehyung had never despised himself more in his life. It was as if there wasn't a person worse than him. He stared at the picture the two of them had taken together on their first date. The smile that adorned his partner's face and the genuine glow on Taehyung's features. It felt like such a distant memory to Taehyung, as if it was all a dream.

He drank and drank and drank till he couldn't remember his own name. Somehow he got home and cried for what felt like years because half of his bed was cold. He had once more become the man that he was before he met them, just a shell of a person.

After a few days of sulking at home, Taehyung finally had the courage to go to his studio again and the first thing he did was deleted all the songs he made last. He knew that those songs were bad and that they were practically useless. He randomly started going through the folders in his computer and found a folder called "Love Songs"

The tears came before Taehyung could process the words on screen. He opened it and found a single project inside it that he had started the day he joined the studio. It was meant to be a gift to his partner but he never got around to finishing it.

The next three days were spent holed up in the studio as Taehyung poured word after words onto pages of loose leaf paper. He recorded the song himself, singing about the sorrow he felt that the one person that he loved more than his life was gone.

He asked his friends over at his label if he could release just the one song. It had to be out there for Taehyung to get closure. After a lot of convincing, they finally agreed and let him release the song under the label. They dropped it without much suspense of promotion, Taehyung just tweeting about it the night before.

The song was an instant success even with the limited preparation. Fans talked about how the real Taehyung had returned and how his music was more like it used to be before. What most didn't know was that Taehyung didn't care about what anyone thought. He just wondered day in, day out if that one person had heard the songs and what they have thought about it.

"I wanted to make a love song just for you

I wanted you to hear it"

First day in the studio, Taehyung was getting used to the equipment in front of him when an idea struck. He wanted to give back to the one who gave him all that he had and so he promised that the first song he would make would be for them.

"Our happy memories

I wanted to write about it

On top of a pretty melody"

He worked hard on it, spending every free moment on it, even when he was given other projects to work on. The melody was perfect he thought, it reminded him of the feeling he had the day he woke up after meeting them for the first time. The tune was soft and pleasant, soothing to the ears.

The lyrics he wrote down were of the days they spent together, the dates, the moments, the way he fell in love with them. He wrote of the way his heart beat in his chest whenever they smiled at him.

"But there’s no one to listen to this song

So I’m just singing by myself"

Standing in the recording booth was new to Taehyung as someone who had stood on the other side of the glass for as long as he had worked in the industry. He had a good voice that lacked training but was good enough to pull the song off.

His heart hurt with every word he sang. He knew that it was all his fault and he had now way to fix it. The words felt foreign coming from his mouth as he thought of them. They were his entire world and now they were gone.

"This is not a love song

There’s no love song after you left me"

The irony weighed heavily on Taehyung as he eyed the 'Love Songs' folder on his computer. He felt the hole in his heart grow bigger as he chugged down the beer in his hand. Alcohol failed to help him anymore. It just made him more miserable but he didn't know what to do.

"This is not a love song

I’m singing by myself and it can’t ever reach you"

Taehyung was well aware that releasing the song wouldn't do much more than ease his own heart. He knew that regardless of whether his love heard the song or not, it wouldn't make a difference. They weren't going to come back to him and that was the truth of it all.

"I’m better I’m better but

It’s hard without you

Yeah, it’s too hard without you"

Months after they had left and the song had become a big success, Taehyung still felt broken. He had started sleeping on benches again because he didn't have it himself to go back to his empty house again. Everything reminded him of them, he stopped traveling in the subway, and always carried the handkerchief that he still had wherever he went.

"Just by looking into your eyes, just by touching you

I felt like I had the world, that’s what I miss the most"

Taehyung couldn't concentrate on anything. All he could do was think about them. It was as if his world had stopped now that they weren't in his life anymore. He felt like he was breaking again. He tried his best to hold onto the memories of them the way he did after the first time he met them but knowing that they would never come back made him feel lost.

"I long for you and I regret but

Now there’s no use, I have to leave it as a memory"

It took two months for Taehyung to finally quit his job. People tried their best to convince him but he knew he couldn't continue anymore. The only reason he was where he was, was because of them and it reminded him too much of them. He decided that the only thing he could do now was to leave them in the past, even if it meant leaving the other thing he loved the most.

"You’ve already left me

But this song still remains"

Driving to his new office, Taehyung turned up the volume of the radio to distract himself. He was starting a new chapter of his life. But it seemed like fate didn't want that because it was his song that played through the speaker of his car. His familiar voice filled his ears as tears filled his eyes.

"After this song is over

I should get over you too"

Taehyung felt a sort of relief when the craze around his song diminished. The audience had already found a new artist and a new song to listen to. He finally felt a bit better when he stopped hearing his song on the radio every time he went to work. He was a lot better than he was when they first left.

His new job was good, with normal work hours and a modest pay. The office was crowded and he had made friends with people in the cubicles around him. They went out for coffee and movies together.

"If you’re still here, if you’re still by my side

I’ll sing for you endlessly"

Starting anew didn't mean he stopped thinking about them. He often dreamt about singing the original version of his song to them. There wouldn't be one day had they been with him that he wouldn't tell them how much he truly loved them.

"This is not a love song

There’s no love song after you left me

This is not a love song

I’m singing by myself and it can’t ever reach you"

Taehyung moved from his old apartment to one that was close enough to his office that he didn't have to drive and could just walk to work each morning. The last time he was at his old place to finish up some paperwork, he left the handkerchief on the dining table and walked out.

"I’m better I’m better but

It’s hard without you

Yeah, it’s too hard without you"

A year later Taehyung was a lot happier. He had found someone else who he loved unconditionally and made sure to remind them everyday that he did. He still missed his previous lover sometimes but he felt the whole in his heart filled with new love, love that was appreciated and reciprocated properly. He finally had the courage to leave behind his old love as a collection of memories. Memories that he wouldn't forget, but as memories nonetheless.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole).

Words: 3,445 Warnings: Anger issues, Talk of JDC, Over-Apologizing, Food, Talk of Cryptids, Death Mention, Blood Mention Characters: Roman, Patton, Virgil, Thomas Universe: Dreaming While I Wake Genre: Family Fluff, actually

Chapter 22

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

   Roman mostly fumed for the drive home, and Patton let him do so without a fuss. He also let him take a nap. Roman was certain he ended up falling asleep at some point. He was awake when they got home, but the music changed to classical and he didn’t remember that happening. It also happened much faster than it should have in theory, not that Roman had any understanding of time. He was thankful for the space to process. He was mad about having to leave Remus again, but the ride home helped him get through that so he wasn’t as bitter anymore. Stupid anger issues. Stupid being resentful about being angry. Emotions were dumb.

   He accepted Patton's assistance to the couch, and with as much as his feet hurt, he didn’t bother complaining. Patton looked a little shell-shocked himself as he sat down near the corner of the couch, honestly. Roman wasn’t entirely sure what about, but the whole experience was both shitty and amazing, so he couldn’t blame him. Roman was somewhere between happy, sad, angry, and just straight vibing.

   Patton examined Roman for a moment as he settled down on the couch. “So, kiddo… I can’t say I followed all of that. Because somehow you two broke some kind of weird time barrier along with using fake words, jumping subjects like hopscotch and cursing as if you were sailors. But I think there are lots to unpack there,” Patton intoned, being careful with his enunciation.

   “Let’s throw out the whole garbage bag,” Roman shrugged, kicking out of his shoes to put his aching feet up on the couch. He didn’t feel like discussing it. He only just calmed down and wasn’t sure he could work down from being pissed off again.

   “I’d ground you for that language, but you are sort of already stuck at home and that feels uncharitable to take away video games or something,” Patton said off-handedly, looking a bit defeated as he leaned forward on his thighs.

   “See, too nice for your own good,” Roman chuckled, motioning with his arms towards Patton. Patton just blinked at him for an awkward moment.

   “I have literally never seen you so alive and animated. Ever. Even when you were sprinting with Lita,” Patton said, looking somewhat baffled. He scrunched up his lip to the side and kept staring unnervingly at Roman. “Also, I had no idea anybody could talk that fast,” Patton added, sounding a little impressed.

   “Remus and were always ‘if you stop moving you die’-type individuals,” Roman replied, fiddling with his jacket sleeves. He didn’t understand why he was being watched so closely. Did he do something? Was he supposed to do something? Roman chewed on the inside of his lip apprehensively.

   “I’ve just never seen you be that… high-energy. I mean, I knew you were energetic, but that was a whole other level. It was kind of overwhelming,” Patton stated, leaning back into the couch with a sigh.

   “Sorry,” Roman muttered, looking down at his lap.

   “No, no! I think I get why you were having so much trouble with following your homework yesterday if it’s always like that in your head. And why you act restless so often,” Patton held up his hands and shook his head. “You don’t have to say sorry,” He added gently.

   “I don’t follow what you’re saying, either,” Roman looked at Patton in confusion. “Am I in trouble for cussing?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows in concern and still chewing his inner lip nervously.

   “Yes, but I don’t think it’d be right to punish you over it. Just try not to do it next time,” Patton said considerately with a small shrug.

   “I was 100% not thinking before speaking at JDC. I barely have that capacity in the first place,” Roman rolled his eyes and leaned back against the couch arm. He didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep.

   “Well, that explains how you can talk so fast,” Patton chuckled and shook his head. “Seriously, you boys cussed more this afternoon then I’ve heard all year,” Patton said weakly, sounding kind of disappointed in Roman. The tone almost hurt, and Roman winced a little and played with his jacket zipper.

   “Sorry, I don’t have much of a filter,” Roman apologized dourly, tugging his zipper up and down.

   “It’s something we can work on, I guess. That kind of language doesn’t fly in the real world,” Patton said firmly, holding up his finger.

   “We were at Juvie. If there’s anywhere to cuss like prison inmates, it’s with the prison inmates,” Roman said and signed ‘inside prison,’ while he rolled his eyes.

   “That doesn’t mean you should do it,” Patton frowned at Roman. “Oh, hi Virgil,” Patton smiled towards the staircase. Roman signed hello as well.

   ‘Chips,’ Virgil signed, passing by. Roman blinked twice at Virgil actually explaining what he was up to, which didn’t happen that much. It was strange to see Virgil do non-cryptid of insults-like things. Unless maybe he was just powered by salt. What does a sodium-powered insult cryptid look like? Probably some kind of gangly demon. Virgil needs red eyes or something. He has bright hazel, but he deserves to be more of a cryptid in real life.

   “That whole event has me very confused. But first thing’s first, why didn’t you mention you had an identical twin?” Patton asked and shook Roman from imagining the various ways Virgil could look if he was skulking through the woods as a supernatural entity. Roman blinked and sat up straighter, his eyes shooting to Patton.

   “I didn’t realize the state hadn’t told you! You said you knew I had a brother. I didn’t realize you didn’t know we were born 17 minutes apart,” Roman threw up his arms. “I figured you’d find out soon and really wanted to see the face you made,” Roman explained sheepishly. Patton sounded upset at him about it, and it put Roman on edge a bit.

   “That’s kind of dishonest, Roman,” Patton chided, frowning at Roman. Roman scratched at his finger for a moment, feeling bad.

   “Letting the situation speak for itself isn’t dishonest. It’s shady at worst,” Roman shrugged slightly, trying to excuse himself. He didn’t understand why it would be a big deal. Virgil walked back into the living room munching on a bag of chips, looking interested. He placed the bag on the top of the couch.

   ‘Damn. Photo?’ Virgil signed while he stood behind the couch.

   ‘No phones allowed,’ Roman signed back the reason he couldn’t get one. He wanted a photo, too.

   ‘Shit,’ Virgil signed and snapped, looking disappointed. He came around to sit on the opposite couch arm while eating salt and vinegar chips by the handful.

   “There’re lots of things that I think I heard that just make me more thankful you’re already going to be talking to someone. I have to admit I feel awful that Remus has no support system in there knowing what I do now,” Patton said a little shakily. Roman stared at him incredulously for a moment. He was not entirely sure what Patton was going on about still until his brain caught up.

   “Oh! Well, he’s probably got friends if he’s teaching them our made-up twin language,” Roman replied with a slight shrug. “I don’t think anybody who doesn’t like him would put up with it. It’s a hard one,” Roman signed ‘impossible’. It was nearly a bitch to learn because of all the contextual words, so anyone putting up with that probably liked him. Patton hummed, not sounding that satisfied.

   “Do you know why he wants boxers?” Patton asked carefully after another pause of Roman fiddling with his zipper and the crunch of chips from Virgil.

   “Yeah, I heard about that,” Roman drawled in distaste. “They have communal underwear. The state doesn’t buy them any separate clothes,” Roman explained. Patton shivered in disgust. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but he had a visceral reaction to the idea no matter how he looked at it. He has known some revolting dudes in his life and would rather go commando than share cleaned underwear with them.

   ‘Fucking gross,’ Virgil signed and shook his head. Virgil must have agreed with the sentiment because he also stuck out his tongue and grimaced.

   “And, um,” Patton shot a glance to Virgil. “I think he said you were bi?” Patton asked quietly.

   “I mean, we can’t all get assigned gay by J. K. Rowling. Some of us have to settle on our twins maybe being the less repressed ones. I said I’d consider it, don’t go throwing me a pride parade,” Roman said dismissively. He didn’t wish to speculate about it, he didn’t want to deal with it, he wouldn’t prefer to hear a single slur from his dad’s mouth in his head again, so he’d just rather… not. Maybe later. Maybe. Is hermit a choice? Hermit sounds nice.

   ‘I got assigned gay by Nintendo , loser,’ Virgil fingerspelled with a teasing expression.

   ‘Lucky,’ Roman signed back, shooting Virgil a sarcastic grin after he scrunched up his lips. Well, there’s his confirmation. Virgil just ate his chips smugly.

   “I’m still very confused,” Patton creased his eyebrows and looked at Roman.

   “I’m saying I don’t know,” Roman motioned widely with his open palms as if motioning to all the shit he didn’t comprehend.

   “Okay, that I understand. I support you no matter what,” Patton said with a small reassuring smile. He appreciated the acceptance and all but considering Patton married a man, it was kind of a given.

   ‘Barf,’ Virgil signed with a grimace and his tongue out again. Roman couldn’t help but chortle at Virgil’s ridiculousness.

   “What if I come out as an asshole? Would you support me then?” Roman asked an absurd hypothetical just to make Virgil laugh.

   “What? No!” Patton objected and put his face in his hands, shaking his head slowly. Roman chuckled at Patton’s over-the-top reaction.

   ‘Owned,’ Virgil signed and snickered silently before shoving another handful of chips in his mouth.

   “I think I need to go process this with Thomas. Would you mind slipping your gloves back on?” Patton asked, sounding weary. Roman sighed dramatically and pulled them out of his pocket, making a big show about putting them on. “Thanks, kiddo,” Patton got up from the couch and went to Thomas’s office and closed the door.

   ‘How was the slammer?’ Virgil signed curiously.

   ‘Bullshit. There go our diabolical plans,’ Roman fingerspelled with a small eye roll.

   ‘Curses. Plan B, then. Attract vampires. Gay ones,’ Virgil signed back with a smirk and bounced his eyebrow once.

   ‘Perfect. Plan C is metal limbs. Now is Minecraft time,’ Roman signed, getting up to grab the laptop.

   ‘I’ll join you. BRB,’ Virgil signed and got up from the couch and headed upstairs. Roman sat back down and laid across the couch with the family laptop, elevating one foot against the arm of the couch. Virgil came back down with his laptop and sat on the top of the couch with his laptop in his lap. Like, join him in the living room or playing Minecraft? Did Virgil play Minecraft? Did he want to spend time with Roman of his own free will?

   ‘Make a world to join,’ Virgil signed. Roman shrugged and created a new world with a random seed and opened it to LAN. So Virgil played Minecraft. He didn’t strike Virgil as the sandbox type. And he wanted to play with Roman. That was unexpected. It wasn’t like he hadn’t played with foster siblings before, but he just hadn’t expected Virgil to want to do anything with him that didn’t involve watching TV and insults.

   Virgil’s demon avatar popped up a few moments later and immediately started punching trees. Roman joined him in the massacre of the local flora right away. He had set up a small house for them to wait out the night by the time the sun finished setting. However, Virgil was perhaps too feral and ran into the night with a wooden sword. Roman built the house close to the spawn point, so there wasn’t much harm in crafting up some wooden swords and joining him. Virgil played much differently from Roman. He just ran off and murdered until he ran out of supplies and then came back to the base Roman was building up with materials. He messaged for help sometimes, but just seemed content running headway into hoards of spiders in caves. He was clearly terrified of creepers, but who wasn’t? Everything else he wanted to murder without exception. Keeping up with Virgil’s need for torches was an event in itself.

   It was nice playing with someone that wasn’t a little kid, though. Roman got to focus more on the building when he preferred to and had someone to back him up in the caves when he would rather explore. They also insulted each other incessantly. Roman had been called a ‘ball-brained hamster’, a ‘sock full of hot go-gurt ’, and ‘hysterical trilling inanity’ in the last few minutes alone. He called Virgil a dark void where dreams go to die when Roman suggested a new addition to the base Virgil didn’t like. Virgil created a sign for the chest Roman kept filling with mining and murdering materials with that very name he liked it so much.

   “Boys, it’s past noon. I made lunch for everyone since you were playing games together. Get to a stopping point and come eat,” Patton called from the kitchen while Roman was harvesting a vein of gold. His inventory was nearly full, so he may as well turn around and head back to base. Roman retraced the trail of torches back, where he joined Virgil in setting stuff to smelt while they were eating. Virgil got up and Roman followed him into the kitchen.

   “The food smells good, Patton. Thanks for cooking for us when you didn’t have to,” Roman said, sitting down at the table and joyfully serving himself some broccoli-chicken mac-and-cheese at the plates already set. It smelled marvelous, and Patton hadn’t seasoned it oddly like that food last night.

   “I didn’t want to bother you. Plus, it’s an excuse for a bonus eat-together time!” Patton smiled, though he still looked exhausted. Virgil grabbed the salt and vinegar chips he was eating earlier and crumpled them up on the top of his serving of mac-and-cheese. He held the bag over for Roman and raised an eyebrow. Roman shrugged and took a small handful of chips to do the same. The crunch and bite were pretty good on the creamy mac-and-cheese when he tentatively tried it.

   “Oh, that’s awesome,” Roman nodded and Virgil smirked, putting the bag down on the dinner table between the two of them. It wasn’t like Virgil to share his salty potato products, so the gesture weirdly flattered Roman. His standards for flattery had gotten low, it seemed. Thomas came into the kitchen and smiled at Roman.

   “Comfort food, Pat?” Thomas asked, arching an eyebrow at the food on the table.

   “ Roman is fine, but I’m not,” Patton said somberly as he served himself some mac-and-cheese.

   “Hm?” Roman looked up with his mouth full of mac-and-cheese when he heard his name and swallowed. “I’m sorry?” Roman apologized, but he did not understand what was happening.

   “No, Roman, you didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have to apologize,” Patton held up his hands and shook his head.

   “I heard my name and the fact that you’re not okay, so I think I kinda do ?” Roman said carefully, furrowing his brow nervously.

   “Do you remember what you talked to Remus about?” Thomas asked mildly, sitting down at the table in the remaining spot.

   “Uh-” Roman thought for a moment, trying to remember. “Um. Frozen, gayness, juvie, killing each other through a mirror universe… my family, I think,” Roman listed off. “Probably some other stuff, we were there for an hour,” Roman shrugged and took another bite of mac-and-cheese. It was a weird question to ask, but it’s not like he and Remus were talking about bad things, so he had no reason to hide it.

   ‘Can twins kill each other through a mirror universe? Metal,’ Virgil signed, looking darkly excited at the concept.

   ‘Only if they’re perfectly identical,’ Roman put down his fork and signed back while he chewed.

   “Agreed, he’s probably fine. Comfort food is excellent, though. Thanks for cooking, love,” Thomas rubbed Patton’s shoulder appreciatively.

   “It helps me process things, but there’s never a bad time for mac-and-cheese,” Patton said sagely, nodding and rubbing his chin wisdom.

   “Maybe not so much if you’re lactose intolerant. Unless it was your last meal, then it’s the perfect time for mac-and-cheese,” Roman provided with a small shrug. Virgil looked considerate and also nodded after a moment, chewing his food.

   ‘Poisoned mac-and-cheese would be a good method to die,’ Virgil signed. Roman raised his eyebrows and considered it, then tilted his head and nodded enthusiastically.

   ‘Only with bacon and serranos,’ Roman added. Virgil nodded in agreement, looking satisfied.

   “I really hope that’s table appropriate talk,” Patton narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

   “We’re just talking about variants of mac-and-cheese,” Roman provided dismissively. It wasn’t wrong, but he assumed Patton didn’t want to know that one of those variants was poison.

   “Pre-digested, right?” Patton asked carefully, pointing with his fork.

   “Gross!” Roman shot and Virgil stuck his tongue out. They both grimaced at Patton. “We’re not animals, geez,” Roman muttered bitterly and shook his head.

   “We discussed lactose intolerance. I had to be sure,” Patton said seriously as he looked between the two of them.

   “Well, you brought that part of the issues up, not us,” Roman rolled his eyes and slumped back in his chair dramatically.

   “Are your feet okay after having to be on them today?” Thomas asked, clearly in an attempt to change the subject. Roman could respect that since he’d rather be able to eat his food without feeling disgusted.

   “They’re not bleeding, I don’t think? They just hurt,” Roman replied, sounding just as unsure as he felt. He didn’t exactly check them when he got back. Bending down to do that hurt like a bitch and they didn’t feel weirdly hot or anything like that.

   “I’m not sure about you walking to school still on Monday,” Thomas deliberated, sounding concerned again. Thomas and safety, geez.

   “A proposed compromise: I call you if they start bleeding again,” Roman offered. Thomas seemed to like compromises, and it was reasonable in Roman’s opinion.

   “How about we check if your feet are okay in the morning and then make that the agreement if they’re healed enough?” Thomas suggested back an alteration to the compromise, and Roman narrowed his eyes and chewed his cheek for a moment.

   “You know I’ll be too out of it to argue with you in the morning,” Roman objected, stabbing at his mac-and-cheese.

   “I’m counting on it,” Thomas smiled knowingly and Virgil silently snickered at Roman.

   “ Hey ,” Roman glowered mildly at Thomas, pulling his lip to the side.

   “If they keep opening up and bleeding, it’ll just take longer to get back to your regular life, Roman. They need to heal fully,” Thomas reminded him, tapping the table with his finger to punctuate his point.

   “It’s just that one on my right foot that doesn’t like staying closed. What if I hop there?” Roman asked facetiously, rolling his eyes dramatically.

   “I’d love to see you try while not hurting your broken rib,” Thomas said glibly.

   “Okay, you know what?” Roman replied faux-angrily. “That’s fair,” Roman finished blithely and snickered. He reached in the chip bag and crumpled up one more chip on the remaining mac-and-cheese.

   “You had me going there, kiddo, not gonna lie,” Patton chuckled nervously after a second.

   “Sorry,” Roman apologized. “I was just having some fun,” Roman said sheepishly, curling in his shoulders.

   “I thought it was funny,” Thomas laughed lightly. Roman relaxed a little and continued eating, glad he wasn’t upset. Patton settled down too, though he was still eating much slower than his usual vacuum pace.

   ‘Want to continue playing after food?’ Roman put down his fork and signed at Virgil. Virgil scooped some more mac-and-cheese out before signing.

   ‘Father, I crave violence,’ Virgil signed back with an evil smile, and Roman laughed, not anticipating that response in any sense, and got a smaller portion of seconds for himself.

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[the--sad--hatter]

Mischief, Meet Your Match - Chapter Five (Loki x Reader)

WARNINGS: Violence, Swearing, Smut, Loki

SUMMARY:

Sam would say your liking for bad boys has gone too far.

Tony would kill the God of Mischief with his bare hands.

Steve would lock you in your room and never let you out.

Natasha would probably just throw you off the roof.

But there’s just something about Loki that draws you to him, and you couldn’t help it even if you wanted to.

MASTERLIST

By the time you reached the outskirts of the city Loki had taken to ignoring you, annoyed by your constant barrage of questions. Not that you really noticed, you were talking at a hundred miles an minute and he wouldn’t have been able to get a word in if he’d tried.

 “How am I going to you know… talk to them? And what are their customs? Mischief what if I offend them?” You asked with considerable concern.

 This was your first foray into Alien territory, you didn’t want to screw it up and upset anyone.

 His fingers closed around your wrist and he pulled you backwards, spinning you so you were facing him.

 “What are you doing now?” You sighed.

 He only smirked and stepped in closer, his arm wrapping around your waist. The once steady beat of your heart picked up until your heart was thrumming like a trapped hummingbird against your ribs.

 “Mischief?” You choked out in a whisper.

He dipped his head until his lips were just a mere breath from yours and against your better instincts your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. He whispered something against your lips, something you didn’t understand and a cool tingling started in your lips, spreading through your body like an electric shock. Your head felt clouded and heavy.

 Abruptly he released you. It was so sudden you almost fell over and scrambled to regain your balance as he turned on his heel and strode away.

 “There, now you needn’t worry about the communication barrier.” Loki said over his shoulder.

 “Wait, what?”

 “Allspeak Kitten. You can understand and be understood by almost any being in the universe now.” He elaborated.

 Your fingers brushed over your lips as you frowned. It was a spell, he had enchanted you, not kissed you.

 “Wait, you’re saying I can talk to Aliens? I’m going to be able to talk to them?” You gasped.

 “You are aware I myself am what you would class as an Alien? As is my brother.” He said dryly, taking the time to look back at you like you were an idiot.

 “Thor’s not an Alien, he’s a puppy.” You scoffed as you caught up with him.

 “And me?” He probed.

 “I could spend a lifetime trying to figure out what you are and not have any answers.” You told him.

 “What a waste of a lifetime, especially since yours is so short.”

 “Don’t worry Mischief, I wouldn’t really waste my life on you…...”

 You trailed off mid-sentence because someone walked out of a doorway and across your path. The person was about 4ft tall, green, had a trunk with a snail-like shell around it and two eyes raised on stalks above it’s head, and didn’t appreciate you staring it.

 “What the hell are you looking at?” They snapped.

 “You.” You said dumbly.

 You hadn’t meant it to come out rude or antagonistic but they seemed to take it that way, ducking their head down and hurrying away.

 “Oh. Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that.” You said, looking after them forlornly.

 “Ciegrimite, native to this planet.” Loki supplied helpfully.

 “Cool!” You said, awestruck.

 The further into the city you got, the more that awestruck feeling grew. It was a cluster of new sounds and smells, some you could find similarity in, some completely foreign. There were aliens that were indistinguishable from you and Loki, though some had blue, green or purple skin. There were various beings though that were absolutely nothing like you as well though and everytime you saw one, you got a little giddy.

 “Who’s that?” You asked, tugging on Loki’s sleeve like an excited child.

 “A Calurnian. I’m not personally acquainted with her though so I can’t tell you who it is.” He said with only a hint of mocking.

 A small furry brown creature that came up to about your waist saw you peering at it and before you could look away before offending it, it waved at you. You waved back enthusiastically, ignoring Loki rolling his eyes beside you.

 “Druff. Idiotic things, they possess no more than a childlike intelligence and have an even shorter lifespan than you do.” He whispered.

 “What? How long do they live?”

 “Three years, give or take.” He shrugged.

 You looked back at the small being sadly. Three years wasn’t long at all, no wonder they had childlike intelligence, they never even grew up.

 “It’s not all beautiful after all is it?” Loki taunted.

 “Beauty isn’t measured by quantity Mischief.” You snapped.

 He seemed taken aback by the sudden souring of your mood.

 “Enlighten me then Kitten, how does one measure beauty?” He challenged.

 “You don’t.” You said simply.

 If he needed it explained, then he was never going to understand. You kind of got it though, when you lived for millenia then things lost their charm and excitement and your standards got higher, being raised as Royalty probably didn’t help either. You were actually glad that you would never live long enough to become that numb to things.

 “This is one of the seedier taverns in the city, well know to be frequented by pirates and mercenaries.” Loki said, nodding towards a one storey shack.

 Even if this world was unfamiliar to you, you could tell that the tavern wasn’t a nice place. It had a very bad vibe and the raucous yelling and sounds of fighting coming from it put you on alert even before Loki had pointed it out.

 “What are you doing now?” He sighed in exasperation when you didn’t follow him but started scoping out an alleyway instead.

 “I though you were like the King of Sneaky? If I watch from here, I have a clear view in through the windows. It’s better than stomping in and attracting attention.” You explained, perching on top a railing so you could see the whole inside of the tavern from your vantage point.

 Loki might have argued if it weren’t for the brisk professional manner you had taken up. You had slipped into mission mode.

 “Yes, it’s better if you stay out here. You can be my secret weapon.” He agreed with a slight nod of his head, acting like he had come up with the idea.

 “If you need me, scratch your right eyebrow. If you need me to get ready, scratch your left.” You ordered.

 “How droll.” He sighed.

 “Ok, counter offer, I’ll wait for somebody to stab you. Soon as I see you bleeding, that’ll be my signal to come in.” You offered.

 “Everytime I think we’re making progress you say something like that, I’m starting to think you don’t like me.” He quipped dryly.

 “I like you.” You said with a casual shrug.

 He narrowed his eyes and waited for the punchline but there wasn’t one.

 “Even after I kidnapped you and forced you to play bodyguard to me?”

 “An alien waved at me, I’m pretty over the kidnapping thing as long as I get home soon. And you’re not the worst company in the world.. or the universe.” You informed him with a teasing smirk.

 “So there’s hope for us yet then.” He deduced with a grin.

 He leant on the wall so he was towering over you with his considerable height, his eyes twinkling and his lips upturned.

 “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I like you but I don’t trust you. I’d say I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you but I think I could actually throw you quite a bit further than I’d ever be able to trust you Mischief. You’re still the god of lies, and fire and chaos, and you tried to take over my planet and attacked my family. I’m working with you because I have no choice but don’t forget that I’m still and Avenger and you’re still a villain.” You said, reminding yourself more than him.

 Everything you had said was technically true. He was the bad guy and you were trying your best to be a hero. You were helping him because you were essentially his prisoner. Neither of you could afford to forget that. You guessed Loki wasn’t pleased with the reminder because his expression went cold and he turned around and walked into the tavern without another word.

 And if you felt guilty for hurting his feelings then it was just weakness on your part and you needed to do better. Making friends with Loki was not on the agenda. All that was on the agenda was getting home.

 You needed to get back home, to Steve.

 ~~~Two Hours Later~~~

 Loki exited the tavern furiously. He had been forced to threaten his way out, leaving at least two bodies in his wake and you, you hadn’t deigned to show up. He stormed over to the alleyway he’d left you in and as he suspected, found it void of your presence. There was a slight chance you had been taken but he suspected that if you had somehow been unable to fight off an attacker you would have at least made such a scene that he would have heard it. No, he knew what had happened. You had abandoned him.

 Ire coursed through his veins at your unreliability and callousness. He thought you had reached an accord and you had scuttled off like a cockroach the second his back was turned. You were really arrogant enough to believe you could survive in this place without him, lightyears away from your home and your precious Avengers without any backup.

 He bit down a groan of frustration and began searching for you, trying to think like you would to figure out where you had gone. He searched all through the marketplace assuming you would be entranced by the stalls of shiny worthless junk but he turned up no sign of you. He could just leave you here but that was too close to mercy and he wanted to make you pay for your betrayal. He’d been kind and this is how you repayed him.

 So what if he had kidnapped you, you had tried to trick him first. In fact, you were the reason he had been captured in the first place. Even if you thought you had just been defending the little hunk of space debris you called a planet you had no right. And he hadn’t hurt you, he had even let you attack him without repercussion. He had used his magic to gift you allspeak, something usually reserved for Asgardians, and just because you’d been so worried about being able to talk with the insignificant beings who traversed this place. Well he hoped that you enjoyed being able to understand them before they slit your throat and threw you in a pit. Though the thought of that happening did make him quicken his pace.

 Because he was the one who deserved to kill you, not because he was worried.

 His search for you came to an abrupt conclusion when instead of him finding you, you literally fell at his feet. Or to be precise, someone bodily threw you out of a tavern and into his path.

 “Mishiff?” You slurred, squinting at him from the ground.

 He stared down at you, half furious, half perplexed.

 “Kitten.” He said lowly, his tone dripping with venom.

 He knelt down and grabbed a fistful of your shirt, dragging you to your feet, glaring daggers at the ginormous bovine like creature that had unceremoniously thrown you in the dirt.

 “Leave. Now. Before I make you pay in blood for laying a hand on her.” He snarled at it, his eyes flashing dangerously.

 It seemed to understand the danger and slowly backed away. When it had retreated back inside the Inn he looked down at you.

 “’Lo.” You said amicably, blinking up at him.

 “You’re drunk.” He seethed.

 “Yup! They have strong stuff here, gets even super shoulders drunk.”

 “Of all the stupid, ignorant, lowly creatures in this universe you are the one I trusted and you abandoned me if favour of getting drunk.” He clarified, deadly calm.

 “You didn’t trust me with a thing, you napped me by *hiccup* accident. You were just being a dick so get off that high…. Thingy… HORSE!” You screeched, trying to turn around and looking confounded by the fact you couldn’t seem to move.

 He noticed a few people watching the commotion and swore under his breath.

 “Move.” He snarled at you, pushing you ahead of him and swearing again when you stumbled and he was forced to catch you.

 He sighed and kept a grip on your waist, dragging you off the streets.

 “Where we going?” You asked giddily.

 “Out of sight,” He hissed.

 “Oh, I’m in trouble now!” You yelped.

A/N - What are we thinking so far?

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[twilighteve-writes]

Call Upon the Sea

Summary: The ocean responded to his calls and there was a push and pull, push and pull that settled at the back of his mind, always there no matter how far away he went from the shore.

The ocean calls and loves Donald. He loves it back.

(Also available in AO3)

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He didn’t remember when he first heard the call of the sea, but he knew he was little then.

He was playing around at the pier with Della, with Gladstone and Fethry walking on the sand underneath the wooden boards. The pier was built low enough and Gladstone was tall enough to be able to knock the boards from down under if he stood on his tiptoes. The sea had been ebbing but was starting to rise, and he could see rocks big and small littering the damp sand.

Della jumped from the pier to the damp sand, and he followed. At that age, they revolve around each other and followed one another, like twin planets caught in each other’s orbits dancing around themselves eternally. Della was the more adventurous one, and he ran after her relentlessly. He was the one more careful and tactful, like Momma told them to be, and Della looked at him for cues whether to jump up and down in excitement or behaving to avoid adults’ ire.

They ran around laughing, kicking wet sand and splashing water, and their cousins soon joined in. Not long after, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that big waves would come soon, and he warned the others of it. Fethry listened to him pretty much immediately and began whining to get back, and Gladstone, being the oldest and feeling responsible of the bunch, told him and Della to get to shore soon as he walked the fussing Fethry back to the pier.

Della… well, it wasn’t like Della never listened to him, but Della was headstrong even at that age. She wanted to play at the beach, so that was what she was going to do.

“Come on, Don!” Della whined when he made it clear that they had to get back to shore. “The tide’s still low. We can play a bit longer.”

“No, it’s not going to be low for long!” he insisted. “Let’s just go back, come on – “

“We have time,” Della bargained with a pout and splashed his face. Annoyance burst in his chest, and suddenly a big wave rose and loomed over them.

From far away, he could hear Fethry squawking in fear and Gladstone shrieking his and Della’s name in horror. It was drowned out by the wave pouncing on him and Della both, and they only had time to reach and hugged each other in a futile attempt to stay safe.

The seawater drenched them, but they weren’t harmed in any way. It felt more like plunging into a pool than being swallowed by angry wave. The seawater caressed his feathers and kissed his cheek, lifting him and Della both and carried them to shore. It receded and left them on the sand, with Della coughing out seawater and him blinking in a mix of surprise and confusion. She stared at him with shock, and it was immediately clear to him that she was a lot more shaken than he was.

Gladstone and Fethry ran to them, and Fethry threw himself at him. He assured the younger duck that he was fine, pouted at Gladstone’s remark that it was good that his bad luck didn’t pounce on him then, and grabbed Della’s hand to ground her to the world. The four of them agreed to get back home, then.

He chanced a look at the sea as he walked away. Sunlight twinkled on the surface of the water, like it was winking at him. He ignored the feeling in his chest that made him want to dive back into the blue and turned away.

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It didn’t take long for him to realize that he felt most at home at sea.

He didn’t go to the sea a lot, but he enjoyed it when he was there. The breeze caressed him feathers and the waves welcomed him home. The water lapped at his feet and he would look down, smiling, when he found yet another pretty shell washed up right in front of him. He’d take it and admire it, but he’d always return it to the sand. He wasn’t the best Junior Woodchuck, but he’d spent enough time among the Woodchucks to know that one of the rules when exploring was to not take anything and leave nothing behind.

Della wasn’t as enthusiastic with the sea as he was.

“It’s just a lot of water, Don,” she’d said one day.

He frowned, not even trying to hide that the simple words hurt. “That just a lot of water is mostly unexplored. You said you like exploring.”

“Yeah, but it’s just. There.” Della shrugged. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“Plenty of time to explore, then.”

“Hm. I guess.” Della kicked a rock and watched it sink into sand once more. “I guess I’m just bored.”

And that was just plain unfathomable to him, because the sea was abundant with things to discover and daring adventures, just like what Della liked. It gave and it took, and it had so many cool things living and not in it ready to great the explorers when they gathered enough courage to dive deeper.

At that point, he had yet to understand that not everyone loved, and was loved, by the sea just as he had. But he could respect Della’s feelings, and he let her choose what to play. At the end of the day, building a sand castle as ridiculously as possible was just as good as letting the sea lazily lap at his feet, as if trying to communicate with him but was content to let him relax.

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When his parents died and he and Della were carted off to Scrooge’s care, the first thing he noticed was that the lack of the closeness to sea was somehow just as hurtful as the loss of his loved ones. Scrooge was surprisingly attentive and a good parent figure, and Della being there with him helped soften the blow, and music became a part of his life that begged attention nearly as much as the ocean was, but there was still a hollow in his chest that refused to patch itself up no matter how much he tried.

He missed the sea nearly as much as he missed his parents, and in the end he basically begged Scrooge to let him go to the beach. The older duck complied, and the presence of the sea greeting him like an old friend soothed the hurt in his heart until calm begin to fold in. The hollow was still there, but instead of a gaping void gnawing him from the inside out, it was simply a place where coral began to grow and life started to take over. It was there; there was no hiding that. But it gave way to other things to grow and nurture, and he let out a sigh of relief.

Seawater lapped at his feet, and it felt like coming home.

He didn’t know how long, exactly, he stayed at the beach, but when Scrooge called him to get back to the mansion the sun had dipped into the horizon. If Scrooge noticed how much lighter he felt after spending time at shore, he didn’t say anything. All he knew was that Scrooge regularly took him to the sea, after that.

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He and Della went with Scrooge on one of his adventures when they were teenagers, and they somehow ended up escaping landslide on the side of a rocky mountain by hang gliders. He didn’t really like it, finding the controls hard to grapple with, the wind too hard to predict and ride through, and the risk of falling too great.

Della, on the other hand, loved it.

She glided with the grace of a seagull riding the ocean wind, rising higher with each gust and dipping lower with each small, nearly imperceptible press; she rode the wind as if she had done it for years, as if she was born to do it. She landed gracefully – a complete contrast to himself who sort of just flopped to the sand with all the daintiness of soggy paper plane – and ran around the sand, hair frizzy and stiff from the wind. Her smile was as wide as a ripe banana.

“Can we do that again?” she asked. Her eyes were twinkling like the stars, and it dawned on him that he hadn’t seen her that happy since their parents were gone.

Scrooge must have realized the same, because he gave a weak smile and answered, “Sure, sure, but not now, okay, Lass? I’m not the biggest fan of doing that.” He paused with a thought, knowing how Della’s face fell and opting to ignore it in lieu of thinking. “But we can do that again sometime! If you’d like, I can get you a weekly paragliding class with the best paragliders in the world!”

Della’s face lit up again. She looked up at the sky with an achingly familiar longing, and it suddenly struck him, how the sky was for Della what the sea was for him.

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He ended up taking boating lessons, and he soon realized that he wasn’t as unlucky at sea.

He tripped on his own feet and fell into his own face on the regular. Losing pennies, pencils and pens, and other small knick-knacks was his everyday life. Getting splashed by mud by oncoming vehicles and nearly getting run over happened basically every other week. It was a very clear contrast to Gladstone, whose hair was always perfect, who kept finding twenty dollars just casually lying on the ground, who stood right next to him when mud splashed but never getting a speck of dirt on him. Misfortune followed him just as fortune shadowed Gladstone; never bad enough to harm him but always enough to make everything just a tad more annoying, more tiring.

The moment he was at sea, it was as if his misfortune vanished.

He didn’t turn lucky. That would have been eerie. But he was wonderfully normal. He didn’t lose things, he didn’t fall even when the boat rocked and tipped, and getting splashed by seawater wasn’t an unlucky accident, that was just how water behaved. Asking to be dry 24/7 at sea was like asking for snow at Sahara Desert.

As Della’s paragliding lesson branched out to plane-flying lessons, his own branched out to several naval areas. Boating was practically second nature, managing a small ship slowly became more natural, maintaining naval vessels became ridiculously easy, and at one point manning a submarine became awkward but welcome. Swimming and diving were as easy as breathing and walking – even easier, at times, since he wouldn’t trip and fall in the water – and once more he was struck by how it felt like he was most at home when the sea was all around him. As his misfortune at sea lessened, his skill grew, and before he knew it Scrooge had entrusted him to chart their course at sea just as he trusted Della to chart their flight when they were looking for more treasure to find.

At one point, he decided to join the Navy. Scrooge was reluctant to let him go, but he was never one to force him or Della to do as he said – he usually just went ahead and expected them to follow, and when it was them who was in the lead he struggled to let them take charge. Della was adamant on keeping him out of the Navy, but he was just as stubborn as her and when he said he was going, he was going. They exchanged stiff goodbyes, but time eventually soothed the jagged edges into longing, and soon they were calling each other and exchanging letters and swapping stories once more. It was hard to stay mad when they were practically inseparable at heart, and losing one meant losing your other half.

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He came back home with nightmares haunting his steps and phantom screams in his ears and a connection to the sea he never realized he had before. The ocean responded to his calls and there was a push and pull, push and pull that settled at the back of his mind, always there no matter how far away he went from the shore.

Della asked him for details, but he refused. He kept the experience tightly under proverbial lock and key and let it sink into the bottom of the seemingly bottomless ocean and never spoke of it. Della prodded him again and again but he refused to budge – you can try to move the sea but it would never bow to your will. At one point, Della gave up and stopped prodding, and gently asked him if he wanted to go to an adventure, just the two of them, in a small island where she knew Scrooge had planned to get a buried treasure.

“We’ll be just one step ahead,” she said with a mischievous wink. “He’ll be so mad we got that treasure before him. It’ll be hilarious.”

He didn’t need a lot of time to think of it. A grin overtook his beak and he nodded enthusiastically. “Okay.”

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Scrooge wasn’t mad, per se, but he was definitely sulking (and denying that he was sulking) when he saw the twins getting back bringing the very treasure he’d planned on getting. Della gave her signature shit-eating grin and slung her arm around Scrooge’s shoulder.

“Cheer up, Uncle Scrooge! You don’t have to wade through sand and muddy waters for this!” she said cheerily.

“Yeah, we did all the work for you,” he added. “But I expect to have half the amount of the treasure in my bank account by next week, thank you!”

“Then you very well didn’t do the work for me, did you?” Scrooge bit back scathingly. For his part, that just made him cackle; as much as Scrooge loved treasures he knew the old zillionaire still loved the twins more. Though maybe just a smidgen more. Scrooge still loved treasures so, so very much.

“Oh come on, you still get to display this in the mansion,” Della said with the same shit-eating grin. “Besides, I won’t be able to join trips for a while, so I wanted to bring back something.”

“What? Why won’t you be able to join trips?” Scrooge asked. For once, the ire gave way to confusion.

“Oh right, I was actually getting the treasure as a buffer before I’m telling you two,” Della muttered, mostly to herself but loud enough for the other two to hear. She looked at both of them in the eyes and smiled, nervously jittering hands forced still for a moment as her demeanor changed into something akin of hopeful nervousness. “I’m pregnant. Surprise!”

His jaw dropped, as did Scrooge’s. The treasure was all but forgotten in the ensuing mayhem, but all three were equally excited for what was coming.

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The eggs lay quietly in front of him, and he couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face. The sea rose up when he took a walk on the shore in response to the giddiness in his chest, but if Scrooge or Della noticed neither of them said anything.

(Part of him wondered – longed – to tell them that the sea responded to his call, as he would respond to it. Part of him told him to stay silent and leave them unaware, too afraid of how they’d respond. All part of him wondered if he was a coward for it.)

Scrooge pulled him aside, once, to show him a blueprint of a rocketship. “It’s going to be the best gift,” the uncle said. “I’ll – we’ll – give them the stars, all of them.”

He blinked at the blueprint, then. “They’re babies, Uncle Scrooge. And Dell has to raise them.”

“For later, then!” Scrooge said. “But this is what I’ll give them.”

“I’m not sure, Uncle Scrooge,” he said, tasting unease in his tongue. “Is it safe?”

“We’ll make sure it is.”

But the project progressed too fast, and suddenly the Spear was there, and all he knew was that it was untested and probably unsafe and it was just sitting there. He’d confronted Uncle Scrooge then, it’s untested, it’s unsafe, too risky, pull out, pull out, pull out.

But of course Scrooge argued, because when did he ever listen to him when it came to safety and adventure? Scrooge knew best, Scrooge could and would survive everything thrown in his way. If Scrooge said it was safe then it was safe, it was fine, where is your sense of adventure?

It wasn’t even about adventure. It was about safety and family and them being together, and with babies on the way they couldn’t just recklessly dive headfirst into whatever they thought was interesting. He asked, he begged, pull out. Safety first; the babies have to be the priority.

Scrooge conceded.

Della found out and decided to throw caution to the wind and took the Spear for a joyride, only to be caught in a cosmic storm.

She didn’t come back.

Anger and hurt of the loss he had to bear turned and stabbed themselves to the nearest target available: Scrooge. The equilibrium he’d had for years, the constant push and pull of twin planets caught in each other’s orbit, the other half of his bleeding, beating heart that had been around since forever ago, gone in an instant. Suddenly he was an unanchored boat drifting aimlessly in stormy sea, and he blamed Scrooge because he couldn’t, wouldn’t, blame himself.

(He wondered if he was a coward for that. He wondered if he was something worse, to shift the blame to someone else when he could have done so much more.)

He took the three eggs and bought a houseboat with the money from an account Scrooge made for him. It was the last time he took something from Scrooge, and from then on out he was on his own.

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(Sometimes, when he closed his eyes at night, too weary to do anything else after a long day of grueling work, he thought of how the sea called him and how he thought the sky was for Della what the sea was for him. He wondered if Della felt the same call he felt whenever he looked to the expanse of blue when she looked up at the endless sky, if she longed to wrap herself in wind and trust it to catch her when she fell.

Sometimes, he wondered if he’d ever give in to the call and disappear much like her, leaving behind three kids who depended on him, an uncle hellbent on pretending he didn’t exist, distant friends he held dear but could never meet, and unsatisfactory jobs he could never keep. Sometimes, he wondered who’d even care.

Sometimes, the thoughts left the taste of bitter anger and denial in his mouth and he’d turn over and forced his eyes to close and go to sleep. Sometimes he’d feel longing and wonder who’d miss him, and that scared him more than the thought of dying ever could.)

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He chose the sea because it felt like home, because his ill luck lessened when he was at the domain of the blue, because if anything else, it was the one thing he knew he was good at. He chose the sea because he knew it was the safest option both for him and for the babies.

Huey hatched first, then Dewey, then, after an uncomfortably long time, Louie. He color-coded them just as Della did, but ditched the names she picked for something less… her. Something that wouldn’t get them picked on, if other kids decided to be mean.

(Something that wouldn’t make him tear up whenever he heard them because the sound of it made him thought of the Spear of Selene and how Della eventually disappeared into the ether.)

All three ended up being the joy of his life, the shimmering beacon of hope and happiness when things got so hard not even the rocking of the calming sea could soothe him. The sea helped him take care of the kids; rocking the boat just so to help them sleep and softening their fall when they inevitably fell. All three were soon expert swimmers, and not because the sea helped them or because he taught them. It was sort of a given, with where they lived and how curious and adventurous the boys were. He still had them wear lifejackets, just in case.

There was so much of Della in the boys. As much as he loved them, there were times when he saw them smile and heard them laugh and thought of a sister he lost to the stars.

(He failed to see himself in them, and Uncle Scrooge would one day stare at him with fondness in his eyes while he shook his head, pointing at the boys and telling him that they were as much him as they were her.)

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He knew the sea called to him and the sky called to Della. He didn’t realize the kids would also have something with them.

Honestly, why was he even surprised anymore? He was of clan Duck and McDuck. Nothing ordinary was going to come out of his family.

He wasn’t sure if they were called, the same way he was – or, if she was, the way Della was. But they had something, and that was pretty much obvious when they hit about six years old or so. He could feel them like the push and pull of the sea at the back of his mind, weak powers reaching out to his more experienced call, soft little things that he would have dismissed if he hadn’t realized they had them.

Dewey was the most obvious one. His was the most flitting, but when it was present, it made itself known. It gave him a buzz when he felt intense emotion, and every now and then he’d think there was a white-blue spark at the tips of the boy’s fingers. They were always too quick to pinpoint, but he was fairly sure they were there.

With it being the most obvious, Dewey’s little jumps of electricity was the first to made itself known. It happened one day when the boys came home from school, with Dewey pouting and crossing his arms and refusing to answer any question.

“Come on, Dewey,” he’d coax the boy. “Is something wrong? Talk to me.”

Dewey looked away. “It’s fine.”

“If it is you won’t be sulking right here instead of hanging out with your brothers,” he pointed out. Said brothers were pretending to be watching TV while glancing awkwardly at them – the downside of the houseboat was that it was small and there wasn’t much space for more private conversations. “Come on. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Dewey snapped.

Oh boy, he thought just as the boy started to yell. Oh fuck my life, he thought again when sparks of blue-white jumped from Dewey’s fingers and zapped around wildly and caused the lamps to flicker and the TV’s audio to blare out white noise. A buzz made all his feathers stand on end, and his surprise made him squawk while the other two kids yelped.

For his part, it was painfully clear that the electric discharge surprised Dewey just as it had him and the other kids. Then surprise turned into panic, then into fright, and suddenly the boy was frozen where he stood, glowing white-blue with sparking electricity that jumped off his skin, eyes aglow and beak slightly apart. Even from his distance he could see electricity dancing in between Dewey’s teeth.

“Dewey,” he called cautiously, raising his voice above the white noise and the wheezing neon lights that dimmed and brightened like a pulse. “Dewey, can you hear me?”

Dewey turned slowly, like he was afraid to move. If his blood hadn’t run cold, the way fear made itself known in the glowing blank white of Dewey’s eyes certainly did the job.

“…Uncle?” Dewey’s voice was soft, so soft, and he was suddenly reminded of the small baby that almost gave him a heart attack with how he ran amok before he could even properly crawl. “Uncle Donald, what’s happening?”

He moved forward and grabbed Dewey’s hands against his better judgement. Electricity surged through him and almost flung him back, but here at sea he was right in his element, and the ocean surged in his veins and strengthened his stance. He let the crackling buzz ran through him, and after a while it was bearable. Water was a conductor and sea was water, and he let the electricity pass through. “It’s okay, Dewey. I’m here.”

“I – I don’t know what’s going on,” Dewey stammered. “I just, I don’t… Uncle Donald, please help me.”

He wrapped his arms around Dewey’s small form, and the young duck immediately responded in kind. He was trembling against his frame, as if he could shelter him from oncoming storm. The buzz was still running through them.

“It’s okay, Dewey. Don’t be scared,” he coaxed.

“People’s been telling me to not get close to them all day,” Dewey said, muffled against his shirt. He sounded strangled, like he was fighting not to let himself be heard but knowing he needed to let it out anyway. “They say they keep getting zapped. I didn’t know. I was just mad, I thought they were being mean. I didn’t know I’d zap you.”

“Oh, Dewey,” he sighed. “I’m okay, see? I’m still here. I’m holding you. I’m perfectly fine.” Mostly, anyway. He hoped. At the very least, he knew the sea would help him recover.

“But I zapped you,” Dewey muttered quietly. “I don’t wanna hurt you. I don’t wanna hurt anyone. I didn’t do anything, and suddenly I’m a freak who zaps everyone.”

“You’re not a freak,” he chastised. “This is just new. You’re surprised. It happens.” He unraveled the hug to cup Dewey’s face in his hands. “You’re a good person, Dewey. You don’t want to hurt people. You’re not hurting me. It’s okay.”

“But what if it’s not?” The white in Dewey’s eyes seemed to glow stronger, bluish and harsh. His fear was still so palpable it hurt.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he promised. “We always do.”

With that, the glow in Dewey’s eyes dimmed until his eyes turned normal. The surge of electricity receded, and the lights stopped flickering. The TV’s static gave way to the sounds of people buying ottomans before abruptly cutting off. The rest of the buzzing electricity from Dewey disappeared.

His finger kept twitching. But he knew he’d have been worse off if the sea didn’t help him, so he let that be and wondered if the twitching would ever be gone. His musings were cut short when Huey and Louie tackled him and Dewey, chattering up a storm about are you okay, what just happened, did you make the lights flicker that was so cool, no but seriously are you two okay one after another until the words blurred together into a buzz that he couldn’t make a head or tail of.

Dewey, for his part, blinked at them. “…you’re not mad at me for screwing up the houseboat?” he glanced at both him and the kids, unsure.

“No, I’m not,” he assured his nephew. “You were scared and you couldn’t control the electricity. That’s alright.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah!” he answered with a smile. “We’ll fix the houseboat, and we’ll find a way for you to control that superpower of yours. That way we can make sure things don’t go haywire again, ‘kay?”

Dewey’s relief was obvious in his face. “’kay. Thanks, Uncle Donald.”

“Now let’s get us some dinner, then you three can rest up,” he said. “Especially Dewey. I’m sure you’re tired.”

The twitching did go away, after two weeks or so. It still appeared now and then, but for the most part it was gone.

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With Dewey sparking and buzzing electricity, he knew immediately it was only a matter of time before the other two began showing signs of something otherworldly in their veins. He was proven right when Huey caught fire in the most literal sense of the word.

His mind flashed to the times he took hold of Huey’s hand and thought to himself, the boy sure was warm. But hey, people are like that sometimes, right? Well, his hindsight was always clearer than foresight and he suppressed the urge to slap himself in the forehead.

Flames wreathed and blanketed Huey from head to toe, but he didn’t seem burned. He’d screamed in surprise, but once he realized he was alright, the screams died and he just stared  blankly at his fiery hands.

He was still breathing really fast, though. It was probably best to get to him and calm him down before the fire spread. They were in the woods doing some camping so Huey could get his Junior Woodchuck badges, and forest fire was not in the list of things they’d hope to happen.

“Huey?” he called softly. “You okay there, buddy?”

“Is this like Dewey and his lightning?” Huey asked instead of answering.

“Probably,” he replied as he glanced at the other two of the triplets. Dewey had opened his mouth to chatter excitedly, but Louie, bless his attention to social cues and tact, placed a hand on Dewey’s shoulder and shook his head, letting their uncle work on calming Huey first.

“Is this why it’s always been easy to light a campfire?” Huey asked, sounding dreamy.

He blinked at the question. That wasn’t something he expected. “Uh.” Dewey and Louie stared at him and Huey, watching for any reaction. Well, Louie did. Dewey just looked impatient, mostly.

The dreamy tone Huey had used vanished, giving way to indignation. “Have I been wasting my time with friction and sticks when I can just make wood catch fire?!”

The surprised guffaw broke through his beaks before he could stop it. He smothered it before it could truly bloom, but it had been heard, and Huey glared at him with all the indignation of a cat whose tail had accidentally been stepped on. He gulped and tried to find words, but all that came out was, “Um.”

Dewey just grinned at his spot. He had given up trying to be patient. “I know, right? This has so many uses! We both have superpowers, woohoo!”

The word superpower seemed to trip Huey into surprise again, and this time, panic grew in his eyes. “I can do fire. I can do fire.”

He blinked at the young duck. “Yes, I think the fact that you’re on fire makes it obvious…?”

Huey shot him a look. “Uncle Donald, I have no idea how to not be on fire.”

Oh. He stared at Huey, studying him. Flames wreathed around him like a blanket, but he was obviously not pained, and his clothes and hat were okay. Hesitantly, he reached out. When he felt the feathers around his fingers began to singe with heat, he pulled back.

“You know you’re safe, right?” he asked slowly. “It’s okay. You don’t need fire to fend off anything.”

“I know that,” Huey said. His voice was beginning to tinge with hysteria. “But the fire just. Won’t go away.”

“What set it off?” Louie asked. “No judgement here, but I don’t think you can turn it off unless you know for sure what caused it in the first place.”

“I don’t know!” Huey yelled. “I’ve been convincing myself it’s okay! I’m safe! I know these woods, I should be afraid, but the fire keeps – “ He stopped and looked away, gulping. Any other time his eyes might shimmer with unshed tears, but the fire evaporated the water in an instant.

“Sometimes my brain gets all stupid and annoying,” Dewey said slowly. “I tell myself it’s okay but my brain is still convinced it’s not. Is it like that?” His fingers sparked with electricity as his eyes flashed blue-white for a split second.

“Uh, sort of? Maybe?” Huey gulped and wrung his hands together. “I don’t know. This is – this is a lot.”

It clicked, then, because he’d felt the same before, if only flittingly. “Is it scary?” he asked gently. “To suddenly burst flames everywhere. It’s kind of freaky, isn’t it? You’re not sure what triggers it, and that means you don’t know how to keep it under control.”

Huey choked on what might have been a sob. He sniffed, nodded jerkily, and wrung his hands again. The flames flared brightly before settling, but didn’t go out.

“Then we find out about it,” he said. “It’s okay. We live at sea anyway. We can take a risk to explore this. You’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, and we can do that together,” Dewey added. “I still zap you and Louie from time to time, too. We can deal with it together.”

Louie tilted his head in thought. “I… could bring drinks and snacks?” At his brothers’ questioning look, he shrugged. “I mean. I don’t have anything, but at least I can try to help.”

“Is it safe?” Huey turned his gaze to him.

He shrugged. “You two can use the lifeboat while Louie and I watch over from the houseboat. We’ll figure it out.” He levelled a smile at Huey. “We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Huey sniffed and nodded. Slowly, the fire dimmed and grew weaker until it was finally a small lick at the palm of the boy’s hand. He palmed it, effectively snuffing it out. Dewey immediately slung his arms around his frame while Louie leaned on him.

“So, Huey,” he began, “what badges are you gonna get today?”

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The thing was, it was obvious. It was hard not to notice how Louie ended up feeling isolated from his brothers, being the only one out of three to not exhibit any obvious supernormal abilities. He ducked out of view when lightning crackled between Dewey’s knuckles or when warmth seeped through Huey’s clothes until light flitted about his fingers. He used his phone much more, and he didn’t chat as much with the other two. He still did, enough to not be immediately obvious, but not as much as before.

Ending up under Uncle Scrooge’s care helped things out a bit. Uncle Scrooge didn’t like magic and it was so much easier to coax the boys to keep their abilities a secret rather than letting it out, and the absence of controlled fire and lightning eased Louie into talking, but the distance was still present. There was only so much he could do to bridge the gap when he was mostly busy repairing the houseboat, and he was at a loss of what he should do.

And then Magica happened, and he had to prioritize. Gotta deal with the old witch to ensure the safety of his family first. There would be no gap to bridge if the people he wanted to bridge didn’t even exist.

Pulling the kids away from the danger while fully expecting them to show up at the center of it was painful, but sadly necessary. They were short on manpower and he knew the kids were smart, they’d know how to get there safe. He was proven right when they showed up at Uncle Scrooge’s office, and he couldn’t help eyeing Louie’s golden khopesh he strapped to his back. Didn’t the triplets throw it to sea earlier?

The kids went into the money bin while he turned to deal with the shadows. When he was finished brawling Magica’s underlings, he dashed into the money bin, and his feet was locked in place. The voice he had recently technologically gained buzzed uncomfortably in his throat as his feathers stood on end – from sudden burst of electricity the Modulator emitted or from fear, he didn’t know for sure.

The kids were scattered, each held by liquid shadows or purple lights that locked them in place. At the center of the money bin, Uncle Scrooge’s gold coins had created a throne, and above it Magica de Spell hovered in midair. One of her hands held a silver coin, while the other held her staff, which she held in front of her as she maintained her spells. Her shadow had liquefied under her, leaking to the feet of the throne and gathered and rose in shape of a familiar girl – Lena? – who seemed to be pleading at Magica. And, in front of Magica, held airborne by the clutches of glowing purple hand, was Louie. The spell held him tightly and kept a finger over his beak, keeping him from speaking. He struggled and glared hotly at Magica. The golden khopesh he had tugged along lay untouched on the bed of gold below.

Magica beckoned, and the purple hand moved to hold Louie closer to her. “My, what’s this?” she mused. He couldn’t see her eyes from behind, but he could imagine them sparking with hungry interest. “A fledgling gold-touched child. Well, well, well, Scrooge! I can’t believe you’ve been hiding such interesting things from me!” She moved to stare at the dime in her hand.

It struck him, then, that his uncle was trapped within the dime. He had to get there, had to help, had to do something, but he wasn’t sure what, and he wasn’t sure the sea could help him here. Slowly, carefully, he descended the stairs to reach the gold below, trying to get the jump on Magica. She didn’t see him, of course, but her sentient shadow did. Her eyes strayed at him for a split second, then returned to Magica.

“Please, Aunt Magica,” she pleaded again, pretending he didn’t exist. “Let them go. You have the dime and you’ve got Scrooge in your hands, literally. Why do you still do this?”

“Oh shush, Lena,” Magica said. “Your mushy friendship magic – “ oh boy, he could hear the eye roll even without seeing it “ – may have given you some power to break out from being my shadow, but you’re not here to babble about my plan. Besides, it’s changed now.”

That seemed to have given Lena some pause. “It has?”

“Yes, well, at first I thought enacting my revenge on Scrooge and his family and taking control over the city is enough,” she whirled excitedly at Louie, “but that’s before I learned the existence of a gold-touched child! The potential! The raw power I could get with the right ritual! Forget Scrooge’s dime, with this child’s blood I can get as much power as I want!”

His feet touched the cold floor of gold. He tiptoed carefully, trying as hard as he could to keep from making any noise. For the most part he was successful, for the rest Magica’s monologuing kept her from noticing him, even though the rest of the kids had noticed him by now. He held a finger to his beak to signal them to stay silent, and Huey, bless him, gave him another distraction.

“What kind of nonsense are you babbling?” he asked. “Louie’s just a kid, same as any of us! Give him back!”

“Yeah, and give Uncle Scrooge back, too!” Dewey added.

“Just a kid?” Magica repeated, and she zoomed to Huey. The boy struggled against the liquid shadows that bound him to get more distance between him and the witch.

“Just a kid?” Magica said again as she circled Huey.

He ducked behind a chest to hide and peeked out to see. Magica was still circling Huey. She looked almost comically insulted.

“What do you mean, just a kid?” Magica bit. “You of all people should know better. I can feel your heat, little duck. You’re flame-born, just as your brother in blue is lightning-kissed, just as your other brother is gold-touched. You have magic coursing in your veins, and you have the gall to say you and your brothers are just kids?”

Huey blinked at her, as Dewey did. Louie had stopped struggling, and from his peripheral, he could see Webby stopped shaking the glowing purple bars of the cage Magica placed her in. He wondered how she could tell. With a frown, he dug deep and let the sea sweep at him, enveloping him with cool surety and safety and power.

Sure enough, he could feel the magic in the bin flaring wildly. Magica’s was the strongest, reeking of shadows, gloom, and something burnt and rotten. Huey’s was the warmth of campfire, braving cold nights and battling it with light and heat. Dewey’s was a jumping, sparking buzz, flitting and blitzing and zapping restlessly. Lena’s was shadows like Magica’s but brighter somehow, and linked to Webby. Webby herself didn’t really have anything, not really, but the woven bracelet on her wrist shone love and affection like sunshine on summer day. Louie’s was… cold and glittering, shining, something that screamed precious. Like gemstones, like gold.

As soon as he reached out to feel the magic around him, Magica whipped around and locked her sight at him. Purple glow rushed at him and caught him by the ankle, and pulled him up until he was dangling upside down.

“Oh, so we have a newcomer now,” Magica purred. “Welcome, little sea-called. I thought I saw you hovering around here. We were just talking about how the kid in green is special.”

“I’ll show you special!” he yelled as he struggled against the spell that held him. To his frustration, Magica just laughed. It made his blood boil, and he could feel the sea’s push and pull, push and pull strengthening around the bin.

“Oh, no, believe me, the kid is so much more special than you’d think,” Magica grinned and floated back to Louie. “You see, he’s a fledging gold-touched. He hasn’t yet come to his own like Scrooge has. All he has is potential.” She pinched Louie’s cheek lightly. “And that’s exactly what makes him valuable. If all he has is potential, then there’s no limit. That means there is no limit on what sort of power I could gather.” She giggled giddily. “Just imagine! The potential of a gold-touched who was born alongside a flame-born and a lightning kissed, borne from a sky-called and protected by a sea-called! His blood will spill, and Scrooge will watch, and I will grow to be the strongest mage in the world!”

“You’re crazy if you think we’ll let you kill our brother just like that!” Dewey spat.

“Well, that’s easy,” Magica said flippantly, “I’m just going to kill all of you so I don’t need to deal with you. I’m sure there are rituals to make sure I’ll end up having your fire and lightning powers.”

Magica’s words made him see red, and the push and pull of the sea turned into a roar as a wave rose high enough to slap the side of the money bin. He could feel the ocean rise within him, around him, ready to pounce. He could feel something start within his throat – the Modulator was fried from the rising magic, that was for sure. He coughed it out of his throat and spat it gracelessly down.

Apparently, Magica’s words also made Louie angry, because instead of water gold coins rose around them.

Shock stilled the sea’s anger and he stared at his nephew, eyes wide. Louie was glaring hotly at Magica, gritting his teeth and growling softly. His dark irises were gone, overtaken by shining yellow-gold speckled with emerald green that enveloped his eyes fully, and his hood billowed in unseen wind. Gold was pulled to his side like giant metal whips, and they rushed to Magica.

Magica’s binding spells broke in an instant as the witch pulled her magic to shield herself. He fell gracelessly and turned to look around, just in time to see Louie crash to the ground. He dashed to him immediately, as did Huey, Dewey, and Webby. Lena hovered around them, oozing uncertainty.

He gathered Louie into his arms. “Louie? Louie, talk to me.”

The youngest of the triplets didn’t answer. His eyes were still fully gold, almost like discs. He slumped bonelessly into his hold, staring at seemingly nothing.

“Louie, please,” Huey whispered. “Please tell us you’re okay.”

Louie was still silent, but he reached out with both hands toward Magica. The golden whips were still lashing out. He closed his fists and pulled, and Magica screamed an enraged no.

He looked up to see what made her scream. Dewey saw it before he did, and the boy dashed out, hands outstretched, and caught the dime Uncle Scrooge was trapped in, babbling apologies at it. Magica saw it and fired a spell at him, and Dewey lit up with crackling blue-white that shone brightly and smashed through Magica’s spell. Moonlight shone through the cloud of shadows as Magica’s control of it stuttered, and the beam hit the dime just so and released Uncle Scrooge from his prison. He crowed victoriously and held up his cane to Magica.

She screamed in anger, seeing Uncle Scrooge free. Her magic, oozing of darkness and shadows, flared and lashed blindly, and Huey cried out a no and threw his arm out. Fire spread from his fingers and formed a barrier from Magica’s wild magic, protecting them from her blind rage.

“I had you!” Magica screamed. “I had you, in my hands! I will not let myself be defeated again!”

“Then fight me!” Uncle Scrooge challenged. “See if you can win fair and square. Were I a betting man, I daresay you will not.”

Rage made Magica reckless, and she charged at Uncle Scrooge. It took him laughingly short time to defeat her, and Webby snatched her staff and broke the deep purple jewel adorning it. The effect was instantaneous; her shadow blasted to all direction, and Webby yelped in surprise, holding her hands in front of her to shield herself from the blast. A glowing, translucent blue shield materialized as Lena flared bright enough to seem solid despite being a shadow. Huey’s shield of flames hadn’t dissipated, and it was enough to protect them from the lashing shadows.

When the shadows dispersed, so did Lena, but she managed to slip in a smile for Webby as she melted into Webby’s shadow. The girl stared blankly at her own shadow, then at her bracelet, and a glint of steel made itself known her eyes. Then it was gone as Magica declared her promise for revenge and ran away in a poof of smoke – parlor tricks this time instead of deadly magic.

He decided that would be more easily dealt with later. He redirected his attention to Louie, whose eyes were still glowing softly gold, whose whole being still looked like he was speckled with emeralds. He shook the boy carefully, calling him softly.

“We’re okay now,” he assured. “Do you hear me, Louie?”

Louie blinked at him a few times as the golden glow dissipated. “Uncle Donald, your voice is back to being scratchy.”

He smiled. “I know. I think being around magic just isn’t good for tech pieces. How do you feel, Louie?”

“I’m so tired,” Louie admitted. He looked around sluggishly. “Where’s my khopesh?”

Dewey searched with his eyes for a bit and found it almost immediately. He jogged to get it and gave it to Louie. “Here.”

Louie held it like a lifeline and huffed a laugh. “Of all things, I sure didn’t think I’d be able to control gold, but I’m not complaining.”

“Yeah, and to think we had Magica of all people telling us about it,” Webby muttered.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Uncle Scrooge cut in. “What matters is that we are here now, and we are safe. Let’s go home and rest. We’ll need it after all that. I certainly do.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Louie agreed. “I feel like I could sleep for a week straight, maybe more.”

He fell asleep against his side on the car ride home despite Launchpad’s rough driving, and soon the other kids followed suit, so that just drove the point home even more.

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Despite everything Magica had said, somehow no one realized his connection to sea. It baffled him at first, but then he remembered all the things that went down that day – shadows rising, Magica making herself a throne in the money bin, Uncle Scrooge captured and released, Louie exhausting himself from making a show with all the gold he controlled at once… and yeah, that checked out. He’d probably forget about a small remark some crazy magic lady said, too.

Uncle Scrooge took the kids’ abilities surprisingly well, and accommodated Webby’s sudden interest in magic without much complaining about how magic was cheating, somehow. With how Lena sometimes flitted in and out of view from her shadow, he could see why. Her usual drive and excitement over treasure hunting didn’t change anyhow; she still went after treasures and helped solve puzzles all the same, and her mastery over different languages were still as critically useful as ever. The triplets’ abilities had also proven useful, with Huey providing light and warmth, Dewey jumpstarting the plane when needed, and Louie feeling out where the treasures lay. And he…

Well, he helped in any way he could without actually telling anyone his abilities. He didn’t really hide it, not really. It was just that his was a lot less flashy compared to the kids’. The sea pushes and pulls all the same whether or not he was there. The sea was unpredictable and a sudden slap of wave wouldn’t make any difference. There was never really any reason to call upon the sea’s rage, not without risking washing away his family, so he never did. He never really hid it, so really, it wasn’t really his fault if no one connected the dots.

(That was what he told himself, anyway. Part of him wondered if that was just him trying to hold off telling people about it. The sea was special to him, it loved him just as he loved it, and part of him wanted that to stay private, to keep that precious connection to himself.)

That didn’t stop the stress. That didn’t stop the molting.

He worried, of course. Who wouldn’t, with family like his? He worried so much until the seizing in his heart became a constant, until sleep eluded him even with the help of calming tapes and aromatherapy, until he lost all feather and he looked more like a raw Thanksgiving turkey than a living, walking duck. When his family presented him the option to go on the cruise, he took it because he knew he’d die an untimely death with him pushing on like this.

And then he saw the Spear, and for the first time in such a long time, hope seized him like vice.

For the first time, what rushed in his veins and forced his feet to move wasn’t desperation for getting enough for next month’s supplies, or getting something for the kids’ lunch, or seizing terror at seeing something dangerous about to happen to the kids. For the first time, it was blind hope, screaming in his ears with an unbroken chant of Della, Della, Della, and he didn’t even register how his muscles burn as he slipped into the ship.

He wasn’t at sea. His bad luck reared its head at the worst possible moment, and the rocket launched itself to space. The sea’s reach felt alarmed when it tried to grab him, to feel him, to keep him in place, but there was only so much a mass of water could do, and there was only so much he could do, not even understanding which button did what.

When he found himself surrounded by Moonlanders pointing their golden spears at him, he knew well that he was truly alone.

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When he was a child first learning of how the moon pulled on the sea to create tides, he used to imagine a story about two people, missing each other, one stranded on sea and one on moon. Maybe they were best friends, or families, or lovers, and their longing for each other was so great the sea and the moon were moved.

He very much felt like that, now. Only, his family most likely didn’t know he was gone, and he was all that did the longing.

Well, he and the sea. He could feel his heart ache for the familiar push and pull, push and pull at the back of his mind that had disappeared the moment he left Earth’s atmosphere. But he could feel the sea longing for him, even so far away. He missed the sea nearly as much as he missed Della, and part of him was reminded of the tale of Princess Kaguya. He wondered if this is how she felt, longing for the moon while staying on Earth, so similar to how he longed for the sea while stranded on the moon.

He’d learned early on that struggling against the gold band across his beak and the golden cuffs around his wrists was useless, but that didn’t stop him from trying when the Moonlanders’ backs were turned. It still stung, how Lunaris didn’t understand his words and decided to steal his voice then and there.

His heart leapt to his throat with hope when Penumbra came and released him from his prison, but it sank back into the sewers when Lunaris caught them both. When Lunaris attacked, he was immediately on the defensive; he could fight, and he fought well, but Lunaris was far stronger and held so much more advantage over him. The moon’s gravity, especially, threw him off so much that fighting became even harder than it already was.

Then Lunaris threatened his family, and his blood boiled so much the gold band around his beak shattered as she flew into a rage and went for Lunaris. The second wind didn’t last long, but it was enough to give him the chance he needed to board the death trap Lunaris had made in hope of getting to Earth.

It was a risk, of course. But wasn’t everything, at this point?

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Against all odds, the bad luck that had haunted him since birth relented, and Lady Fortune allowed him to land on Earth in one piece.

He crashed into an island. It was small and uninhabited, but it was land, and surrounded by the sea that lapped at his feet as if embracing and welcoming him back home it almost felt enough. Almost, because it still wasn’t; he had to go to his family to warn them of the danger.

If only the sea would aid him to get back.

It refused to let him go from the island. It threw fish and mollusks at him so he wouldn’t starve to death, and the coconuts in the island was sufficient to keep him hydrated, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He needed to get back home, to tell the others to prepare, and the sea. Wouldn’t. Let him.

He kicked the water in a fit of anger. “Come on!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Isn’t it enough that I got thrown to moon and back? Let me get back home!” He jumped to the raft he’d made and started rowing, but just like before, the sea pushed him back to shore.

“Why won’t you let me go back home?” he pleaded, voice cracked with desperation. “My family needs me. Please.”

The sea offered no answer. It only resumed its routine. Push and pull and push and pull and push him back to shore.

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A plane crashed at the shore. It carried the kids and Della with it.

When her eyes fell on him, she dashed to him. There was so much to take in – the metal leg, the way she bounded like the wind itself supported her, like she was gliding instead of ripping through the air as she dashed, the way sunny-cloud-white hovered around her like puffs of smoke, the way her eyes blazed with something so suspiciously alike to concerned anger – but it was undoubtedly her, and he would never be wrong about this. The twin planets were back in orbit and almost immediately they pulled on each other’s force of gravity until the eternal dance that was cut short resumed again.

They fought almost immediately after they set eyes upon each other – typical – but the overlaying deception of anger melted immediately to reveal the longing underneath, and they exchanged teary-eyed hug that seemed to last forever. The moment was ruined when his sculpted melon companion made appearance, but hey, he’d been alone for a long time. He had to make do. There was only so much communicating the ocean could do.

Fethry and Gladstone came riding Mitzy, and all of them left the island to catch up with dear old Scrooge. The sea was rough, but Mitzy’s course was true. There was a spike in his mind, like the sea was adamant to keep him in the island with no way out. There was also an underlying of fear he couldn’t understand.

He was Scrooge McDuck’s nephew, dammit. Safety was never a sure thing. The only thing guaranteed to be around was adventure, and that was about it. Weird amulets, interdimensional beings hungry for power, witches hell-bent on revenge, and a plethora of weirdness followed him as easily as it did anyone in his family. To be honest, Della getting to the moon and getting back with a metal leg was probably the least weird thing to ever happen in the long history of Duck-McDuck family.

(Okay, scratch that, that was plenty weird. Was it the weirdest, though?

Considering Scrooge has been frozen in ice for literal years and survived and got stuck in some weird timeless dimension… yeah, it wasn’t the weirdest by a long shot.)

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Okay, he did say there was a lot of weird stuff happening to the Duck-McDuck family, but sharks wearing parkas were plenty bizarre on their own right. Glomgold may not have the sharpest mind, but even he had to admit the man’s ingenuity was genuinely brilliant.

Or maybe it was just him being his usual oddly smart dumbass self. He couldn’t decide.

Lunaris was a strong opponent, that was for sure, but even he didn’t have magic at his side. Surely, against Gladstone’s supernatural good luck, Fethry’s connection with animals, Della’s affinity with the wind and sky, Huey’s fire, Dewey’s lightning, and Louie’s ability to mold gold into his will, he’d have no chance of winning. His ship was made of gold, for God’s sake. All Louie had to do was crumple it up like oily wrapping paper about to be tossed to the trash can, and that was it.

That’s what he thought, at least. Then he saw the blue alien prick holding Scrooge hostage, and he knew instantly they were at a disadvantage. Damn these villains and their ideas to take people’s loved ones hostage.

Scrooge smiled at them all the same, greeting, “Hello, kids.”

“Hi, Uncle Scrooge,” said ‘kids’ – Scrooge’s collection of relatives he practically adopted both young and old – chorused at him. He didn’t know for sure, but he thought he heard an undercurrent of anger in their combined voices. He knew his had it.

Lunaris was clearly in shock when seeing a giant krill towering above him, but to his credit he regained his composure quickly.

“Lunaris,” Della seethed, and he could almost feel her anger as if it was his. “Let go of my uncle.”

“And lose any potential advantage I might have?” Lunaris shot back as he tightened his grip on Scrooge’s collar. “I don’t think so.”

Della growled. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “You helped me when I was in the moon. I thought we were friends! And then you turn around and do this?”

“Friends?” Lunaris repeated with a bark of laughter. “Do you even hear yourself? Are you so foolish that you don’t even realize people can lie?” He levelled a cold gaze at her. “We are not friends,” he spat. “You are but a lowly Earthling. I am General Lunaris of the Moon. For you to even consider the possibility of us being friends is an insult to my name.”

Della recoiled though slapped and let out a snarl. Wind picked up around her and made her hair dance as white plumes materialized around her, thin but undoubtedly present. She narrowed her eyes at the Moonlander. “You lied to me. All this time, all you wanted to do was just to get here.”

“Oh, so you finally realized after all,” Lunaris said with a mocking smile. “I honestly thought it would take you longer to understand.”

Della took a deep breath, but the anger in her eyes blazed brighter. “I had high opinions about you,” she said. “You helped me in the Moon. Was that all a lie? All of it?”

Lunaris didn’t even hesitate. “All of it.”

A sudden gust of strong wind blasted him in the face, making him flinch back while his cape was blown. He squinted at Della but made no move otherwise.

“I will give you to a count of three,” Della began, “and if by then you have not released my uncle, I will make you sorry for being born.” She narrowed her eyes at Lunaris. “One.”

“Do you honestly think that meager threat is enough to scare me?” Lunaris asked.

“Two!”

“I do not care for your countings, Della Duck.”

“Three!” Della paused, eyeing Lunaris closely. When he made no move to release Scrooge, she rushed ahead and jumped off Mitzy’s head. The wind carried her and she glided effortlessly like a feather riding on a breeze, seemingly weightless. Then she shot like an arrow to Lunaris, leaving a trail of white while her metal leg aimed at his head as she spun a kick. Lunaris dropped Scrooge to block her kick.

It triggered a wave of motions among the family. Mitzy lowered her head so the remaining ducks on top of her head could get down, and the kids immediately jumped off. A heat haze had already blurred the air around Huey, and sparks of lightning jumped off the tips of Dewey’s fingers. Louie kept his center of gravity low as he took his khopesh from his back – he never left home without it anymore, which was more than a little hard to explain to other people – as he ran straight for the ship. Webby brandished her grappling hook and took a shot, shooting ahead to Scrooge’s side.

Huey and Dewey went for Lunaris, flames blanketing Huey’s hands and lightning following Dewey’s wake, and it clearly surprised Lunaris. That didn’t stop him long, however, as he managed to block Della’s kick still.

“Kids, I’ll handle this,” Della told the boys. “Go help Louie deal with the spaceship so he can’t get back to outer space!”

“Are you sure?” Huey asked.

“We can take him together!” Dewey protested.

“Yes! Go wreck the ship!” Della insisted, and the boys complied.

He didn’t spend more time dawdling. He slid off Mitzy’s head, landed on his feet, tripped, and fell on his face. He grumbled inwardly at Gladstone’s impeccable landing as he got up and ran ahead. He passed Della and Lunaris and joined the kids – Della could handle the Moonlander, and the kids probably had already made a plan of sorts. They were smart, they’d know to make plans.

Webby was helping Scrooge up, and the old duck immediately straightened and twirled his cane, rocked on his heels, and joined Della’s attempt to bring Lunaris down. Seeing the situation well taken care of, he turned to check on the kids and found himself grinning.

Louie had put his hands on the ship’s outer wall, glowing gold and glimmering emerald. The metal was slowly crumpling in his hands as he tried to pull it down. A few ways off of him, Huey was doing a similar thing, only his hands were white-hot and he was trying to melt the gold away. He peeked into the ship’s interior and had to stop himself from laughing out loud – Webby, with her technical know-how, was trying to damage the ship’s system as much as possible while Dewey pressed random buttons while frying each of them with electricity from his fingers. The whole board was starting to spark dangerously.

He dashed inside and looked around. “Okay, what can I do to damage the ship more?” he asked aloud to no one in particular.

“Well, I assume the rocket would need some sort of vacuum to make sure no one dies,” Webby answered. “So if you do something to compromise that, Lunaris will probably not be able to use this ship anymore.”

His sight zeroed in on the cockpit. More importantly, the glass wall of the cockpit that allowed the pilot to look out into the ether. He rolled his sleeves with purpose and stomped ahead while casting his gaze to find something he could use to break the glass. “Alright, thanks Webby. I’ll try to smash the window.” He caught Webby nodding an OK before he located a golden spear on the floor, and he took it and started jabbing its end to the glass panel.

It took a while, far longer than he’d like it to, but the panel finally started to gain spiderwebs of cracks. Just as he prepared himself for another vicious jab, he caught sight of another, smaller ship careening into the sea just by the dock, and saw Penumbra jumping off the pod before it nosedived into the ice, creating a hole as it sank to the frigid waters. He jabbed the spear in and the glass gave out, then he turned and ran out of the ship, leaving the spear at the window.

He got out just in time to see Penumbra throwing a punch at Lunaris, joining Della’s assault. She threw Della a quick smile and greeted, “Hi, roomie.”

“Penny!” Della squealed in delight. “You came here!”

“I wanted to warn you, but I suppose I’m late,” Penumbra mused. She turned back to Lunaris. “But I think we can save this conversation for another time.”

Lunaris threw her a dirty look. “First you helped a prisoner escape, and now you’re defying orders to fight the Earthlings. I never thought you of all people would turn your back to the Moon.”

“This is wrong and you know it,” Penumbra shot back. “If you want to invade Earth, then fine. But I can’t let you push our fellow Moonlanders into this. Earthlings have us outnumbered by the thousands, and if you keep doing this sooner or later they’ll meet their doom.”

“The Moon will not fall!” Lunaris snapped. “I will not fall!”

“Perhaps not you,” Penumbra answered solemnly, “but as much as it pains me to say this, other Moonlanders will, if you keep going like this.” She straightened and lowered her spear. “Think about it, Sir. It would be so much better for both our sides to sign a peace treaty. There will be no casualty, there will be no more fear, our civilization can thrive and we can help these backwater Earthlings grow. It doesn’t have to be a war. We can advance together.”

“How naïve of you to think the Earthlings will not desert you,” Lunaris said instead. “War is the only path we can take.”

With an exhale that sounded like she had accepted the burden of carrying the weight of the world upon her shoulders, Penumbra lifted her spear again. “Then stopping you is the only path I can take, Lunaris.”

Lunaris snorted. “Traitor.” He took a step back and assumed a fighting stance, then paused as a shadow covered him. He looked up to see Mitzy’s massive legs coming for him, and he jumped back, watching in silent fascination as the wooden panels of the dock was smashed to smithereens. He landed lightly on his feet.

Others weren’t as lucky. He fell into his face again, and he could see Huey and Louie losing their balance and falling to the ice. Penumbra and Della were luckier, with Penumbra being much more fit and Della easily floating to avoid falling. He looked around, trying to find the rest of his family – Dewey and Webby were at the door of the ship, gripping the wall to keep themselves upright, and Gladstone, Fethry, and Scrooge had found themselves atop Mitzy’s head, with Scrooge directing Fethry what to tell Mitzy to do.

Mitzy moved again, aiming for Lunaris and missing by a hair’s breadth when Lunaris jumped away again. The dock was basically ruined at that point, floating on the water that peeked from cracked ice that Mitzy created.

He found himself growling from frustration and yelled, “Be careful up there! You’re destroying the docks!”

“Mitzy’s too big to be careful, you’ll have to dodge! Sorry!” Fethry yelled back.

“Oh, for the love of – “ he dodged a falling wooden debris with a squawk and landed on hard ice. He mumbled a cuss or two and dashed ahead to join Della and Penumbra in their attempt to beat up Lunaris, but skidded to a halt and fell on his butt when he saw that Lunaris had grabbed Louie by the collar and was holding him up. His other hand held a golden dagger against Louie’s neck. Louie’s own khopesh had fallen, too far away for the boy to grab.

“Stand back or I will stab him,” Lunaris threatened.

“This is rich coming from the guy who yelled I will not fall!” Louie mocked.

Lunaris frowned. “I have you at bladepoint. Don’t you realize what position you’re in?”

“Oh, sure, go ahead, get the guy who seems like he can’t defend himself and take him as hostage, why don’t you?” Louie grumbled. “If you’re so high and mighty I would’ve thought you’d think or a nobler plan.”

Lunaris’ frown deepened into a scowl. “I hope you realize I am perfectly capable of slitting your throat right now, if I so choose.”

This time, it was Huey who answered. “No you won’t,” he said, matter-of-fact, tone dry enough to rival a desert.

“You see, about that,” Louie spoke up again, “I’m sure you’ve seen my brother conjure fire and my other brother conjure electricity. You’ve seen my mom fly, too. Haven’t you considered I might have something up my sleeve, too?” With that, he lifted a hand and jabbed up, glimmering gold all over, and the fallen khopesh lifted up on its own and slashed through the air to Lunaris.

The Moonlander moved to block the attack with his dagger, and Louie took advantage of the distraction by biting Lunaris’ hand so he’d be released. As Lunaris did in surprise, Louie shimmered brighter and made a pulling gesture. The dagger in Lunaris’ hand was ripped away and clanged to the ice.

“You filthy Earthling!” Lunaris spat. He slapped Louie backhanded, hard enough to send him reeling and falling to ice and landing on his face. He grazed his cheek on a rough patch and came out with red welts.

Lunaris wasn’t done. He marched with purpose, eyes locked at Louie. The boy in question called the golden dagger for help, shimmering gold with brilliant emerald in his eyes. The dagger shot to Lunaris, but he simply slapped it away. He lifted his hand.

He saw red.

He could hear Della yelling at Lunaris to stop, but it didn’t register in his mind. All he could see was Louie and his wound and Lunaris still trying to hurt him. Rage filled him to the brim, and his vision went blue, blue, deep ocean blue, with specks of seafoam white glittering like stars. Ice around him cracked and burst and seawater shot up like geysers, creating pillars that twisted together into one. They swirled up, up, up to the sky and dived down, slamming into Lunaris and pinning him down under a torrent of water.

“Stop hurting my family!” he yelled at the Moonlander. His voice sounded deeper to his ears, reverberating in a way that had never happened to him before. Lunaris didn’t answer, but it wasn’t surprising; he was, after all, more or less drowned within a pillar of his making. He could feel Lunaris choking for breath and decided to have mercy, letting the surging sea in his veins recede into familiar push and pull, push and pull that soothed his rage like a balm. The deep ocean blue faded from his vision.

He looked up to see Lunaris sprawled on wet ice, coughing for air while Penumbra cuffed him. relief washed over him when he realized that with Lunaris defeated his family was safe.

There was a creak and crack, and Della screamed “Look out!” to someone, and a gust of wind slapped him by his side and blew him away, though not by much. He looked up to see the towering golden ship tipping and beginning to fall at the cluster of Duck-McDuck family (plus honorary members of the family and two aliens), the ice under it cracked and giving way after the stunt the family had pulled.

Louie blazed gold and emerald green at once as he threw out his hands and willed the ship to maintain its position, but gravity was a cruel mistress that refused to bargain with anyone. The ship barely even slowed its descent to sea.

Dewey and Webby ran out of the ship and snagged Louie by the elbow on each side, dragging him away from danger. The gold-and-emerald-green faded almost immediately from Louie, and the ship creaked loudly as it fell. The three escaped by a hair’s breadth, and he exhaled a breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. The golden ship sank into the deep and the ice slowly settled while the ducks scrambled away from the hole and cracks to avoid tipping any ice that might lead them to falling into the sea.

When the gurgling of the ship was gone, Della rounded on him. “You can control water?”

“You can fly,” he protested.

“You never told me you can control water!”

“It never came up! And I can only do the sea! What am I supposed to say, anyway? Hi, Dell, remember how I always loved to be by the sea since we were little? That’s cause I can make some waterworks a little, no biggie!”

“That would have been better than radio silence!”

Glomgold broke the budding argument with a loud, confused, “What in the world just happened?”

Scrooge let out a laugh at that. “Oh, nothing serious,” he said, “just my long lost niece and nephew having a good old fashioned banter. Nothing to see here.”

“Wha – no! What was all that light show and fire and thunder and water? Your niece flew! And if your nephew hurt my sharkas, I swear to every piece of gold I earned and swindled – “

That made him laugh. He forgot, sometimes, that the hijinks the Duck-McDuck family got into were so far beyond the average person’s normality range that it was bordering on being absurd. Then again, who would believe that basically everyone in the family was someone anyone else would consider unnatural?

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He couldn’t remember how, exactly, but this became his new normal.

They would go treasure hunting together, Scrooge, himself, Della, and the kids – Lena accompanied them sometimes, now that she was out of Webby’s shadow, and it surprised him enough that the kids took turns regaling him with the tale of how Lena came out of the shadow realm and the dream world fiasco that followed. He’d have to meet Violet sometime, she sounded like the steady anchor his kids seemed to need.

Or she’d end up just driving them off their hinges and all kids would just end up in more trouble. He hadn’t decided. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the worst case scenario to happen either, but at least he knew the kids were capable of handling themselves.

Penumbra came with them a lot, too, under the guise of learning the culture of the Earth. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the Duck-McDuck clan was possibly the worst people she could learn Earth culture from, but she was a Moonlander. It wasn’t like anyone would treat her normally, especially given how other Moonlanders called her Captain and treated her as the de facto leader after Lunaris’ fall. Though, honestly, he suspected she cared less about learning culture and more about getting a vacation. She looked like she needed it desperately.

By the third week of adventuring, they’d found their footing of their roles. They flitted around each other seamlessly, with Scrooge trusting Launchpad to get them to their destination safely, Della to help ease the wind and weather, and him to coax the sea to allow safe passage. Fortunately for him, they went to the sea a lot. Unfortunately for him, when they went to lakes or rivers instead of the ocean, Scrooge still expected him to be able to ensure safe passage.

“I already told you, I don’t do water. You can expect me to help when we’re at sea,” he insisted when they braved a particularly stormy lake. It wasn’t much of a surprise considering there was a large lake monster currently wreaking havoc within the ship’s radius.

“They’re both bodies of water! And all water end up in the sea eventually!” Scrooge protested.

“Well the water’s not in the sea yet!” he said with a scowl.

Scrooge growled and turned away, glaring at the lake monster and twirling his cane in his hand, looking murderous and ready to join Della, who was fighting the monster with wind as her aid, plumes of white puffing around her like a cloud. “I have to do everything by myself around here,” Scrooge grumbled. “Not the sea, he says. It’s all water. You’ll end up wet anyway.”

“The lake doesn’t have as much salt as the sea, for one thing,” he sniped.

“Oh, should I dump salt in all rivers and lakes so you can be useful for once, then?” Scrooge asked, throwing a glare at him.

“Hey, I help whenever we’re at the sea,” he said. “If you want to constantly have me help you that way, do more expeditions at sea.”

“Do more expedition at sea, he says,” Scrooge grumbled as he ditched the cane for a harpoon gun and set it on his shoulder, taking aim. “How many treasures does he think is in the ocean?”

“Tons, Uncle Scrooge,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I agree! I felt for some treasure the last time we took sail at sea!” Louie piped up from the safety of the wheelhouse.

“Get inside, Louie!” he and Scrooge yelled at the same time.

“Instead of getting outside, grab a map and point out some parts of the ocean where you felt the treasure,” Scrooge added. Then he jabbed a finger at him. “And you! Make use of all those boating lessons I paid for you and steer us to safety!”

Well, that, he could do. He threw a quick salute and dashed to the wheelhouse to join the kids and to take control of the wheel. He may not be at sea, but the lake was forgiving enough to let him lead his family to safety.

The lake monster screeched loudly, the sound overlapping with Scrooge’s taunts and Della’s self-censored curses. He couldn’t help the grin that overtook his face as he spun the wheel around and barked at the kids to hang on to something.

Ah, yes. This was definitely normal.

[yandere-society]

Ooooo! How would Jungkook, RM and Suga react to an S/o that purposely committed a crime just so they could go to jail and get away from them?

Whoops I wrote this as Taegi. Hope you still like it!

Second Degree

YN licks her lips, veins overrun with apprehension. She’s loitering behind one of the tall white shelves in the gas station near her house - or rather, near where she’s forced to stay, stalling. What she’s about to do is wrong, and she knows it. But that’s exactly why she has to do it.

YN has always been a good girl, staying after class to help teachers organize files, picking up trash others have left behind, volunteering at the community soup kitchen. And yet, instead of her good nature being properly awarded (not that she was kind for attention or praise) YN somehow caught the eyes of not one, but two devils, drawn to her softhearted demeanor, determined to bring her down to hell with them, never to see the light of day again.

Bitterly, YN remembers the first day she saw them, the day her fate took a turn for the worst. She’d been on a lunch run, happy to pick up her coworkers meals from a sandwich shop a block away from the office. Everything had been going swimmingly until she collided with a stranger, sending both her and all of the carefully wrapped subs tumbling towards the concrete.

He’d initially been annoyed even though it was him who hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going, but Taehyung’s interest had soon been piqued when the young lady sprawled on the floor seemed much more worried about the ruined food than her bleeding palms and knees. For a moment, ever so quickly, that businessman's mind imagined this poor, helpless girl on her knees, scraped and bruised, giving him that same concerned, borderline frightened look. It stirred something deep within him, something that had Taehyung squatting down to help her up, placating her worry by telling her he’d help her grab more sandwiches and even pay for them himself.

How stupid she’s been. How nieve. YN hadn’t suspected even a single impure motive behind the beautiful stranger’s sweet actions, not even when she found out he was one of the CEOs of the company she worked at.

YN ignored her coworkers' warnings, sure that they had to be exaggerating, spreading baseless rumors. Even when Taehyung began passing appropriate lines, touching her longer than he should, making excuses for her to come to his office more than necessary.

It was during such a visit where YN met Yoongi, Taehyung’s lover and the other CEO of the company. Even though the man was petite and pale, the exact opposite of Taehyung’s long body and tan complexion, they complimented each other perfectly, strong and overbearing, striking fear into everyone who dares question their decisions.

And yet, YN was still unable to see their growing obsession, their desire to control every aspect of YN’s life. Gradually, carefully, Yoongi and Taehyung isolated YN from her friends and family, asserting their wishes over her until they had her locked up in their penthouse. 

She’s kept both literally and figuratively on a diamond leash, stuck in luxury, forced to endure their biting kisses and bruising affection, the heavy hand of discipline ready to come down upon her whenever she puts even a toe out of line.

How long has it been since she’s been theirs? Since her life has been golden and charred all at once? Her sweet, innocent self seems like another person entirely, replaced by the shell of a human being.

YN can’t do it any longer. She can’t be wrapped around Taehyung’s finger, controlled by Yoongi’s tongue for even one moment longer.

And that’s why she’s here at this gas station, ready to do wrong, ready to end it all.The front door to the penthouse had been unlocked and YN hadn’t been chained, the two tyrants having faith that they’ve broken her so thoroughly that she wouldn’t try to escape, not after she hadn’t been able to sit for an entire week the last time she tried to leave.

Taking one more breath, YN grabs something from the shelves, shoving it in her pockets as obviously as she can. But before she can even take a single step, warm breath fans over her neck, YN freezing as she recognizes the scent of the man behind her.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, baby girl?” Taehyung’s words are a purr, raking over her spine and raising her goosebumps. 

The man grips her tightly, nails digging into her skin painfully, moments away from drawing blood.

“Taehyung -”

“As soon as we get home, your ass is mine, do you understand me?”

YN winces.

“Please -”

His other hand winds into her hair, tugging it so harshing she screeches, catching the attention of the few patrons in the gas station. YN’s cheeks flood with heat, mortified at the pitying looks on their faces.

She tries in vain to free herself as she’s dragged out of the gas station, digging her heels into the asphalt.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll behave,” Taehyung hisses.

Normally such words would cause YN to be obedient immediately, but she resists even harder refusing to go back to that penthouse, back to that diamond leash.  

“Let me go! I hate you! I hate you more than anything!” YN shouts, managing to wriggle free from his tight grasp.

Taehyung’s gaze hardens.

“You’ll always be ours, YN. Always. You’ll never be free from Yoongi and I,”

YN huffs, breathing heavily, anger welling up inside of her. Reaching her hand into her pocket, she draws her stolen item, the darkness hiding it from Taehyung’s eyes. As he snatches her close to him again, YN uses the momentum to drive the tip of the Swiss Army Knife into Taehyung’s eyeball.

For once he’s the one screaming, YN standing above him as he falls to the ground. She quickly jumps on top of him, wrapping her delicate fingers around his perfect throat and squeezing harder, harder, harder until the life dies out of his eyes and his nails stop clawing unto her arms.

She doesn’t even protest when she’s escorted into a police car in handcuffs, some disembodied voice reading her her rights.

All she can think of is the way Taehyung looked sprawled beneath her, powerless to her will, forced to take her punishment. For a sick moment, YN understands his sadistic desires, understand the pleasure of breaking someone else. She laughs as they drive away, laughs so hard that she can’t breathe.

Even if she spends the rest of her life behind bars, at least she won’t be stuck with them.

Weeks later, as she stands before a judge, as she damns herself to a lifetime in prison, sentenced with second-degree murder.

As she’s lead away from the stand by two armed policemen, YN catches eyes with Yoongi, looking at her in that unreadable way.

“I would have killed you too, if I could have,” she proclaims, grinning happily as she’s shoved forward harshly, and through a set of double doors, never to be seen again.

-👀