#implied Shenanigans

[ominouspuff]

;w; Untitled please, gutpuncher was too aptly named

This one is not in a specific AU; it’s just some scroobling around with scenes of a Victory!AU and what follows. (There is an extremely undignified dance eventually.) Imagine the end-scene of the Return of the Jedi where there are parties on every planet, but with the Clones present and shouldering a healthy share of the event management load just by taking initiative and partying the hardest they can.

UNTITLED - BOOT-SCOOTIN’ VICTORY - Smol Snippet:

One might have thought it would be an awkward position for a general to be suddenly on equal footing with his subordinates, ranks dispensed with and titles tossed like so many petals into the air. When the general in question is one Obi-Wan Kenobi, it is no such thing.

Beneath the vast dome of the senate’s rotunda, surrounded on all sides by bodies and noise, Obi-Wan watches the crowd of men before him instead of the senator still speaking to him, grinning so broadly he’s sure his cheeks will split. 

Every threat is gone. The case is won. They are free men.

Obi-Wan can see familiar faces amid the sea of mirrored features. He is possessed with the urge to grab each set of hands, seize faces and shoulders and laugh into messy, sweaty hair that smells of life and living. The impulse is not his own — his own feelings well low and deep in his gut, incandescently overjoyed, but not so bubbling. His fingertips twitch with it. Like a swelling wave he rides the immaterial singing force in the air, maintaining his position within it, hands clasped at his back. 

Waxer is dancing, Obi-Wan thinks; although he makes a show of redefining the word. Boil is laughing from his knees, eyes screwed shut and face upturned, something wet in the sound. 

(More happy-vibing sightseeing from Obi for a bit here, runs into a few more familiar faces, still doesn’t involve himself directly)

Obi-Wan searches the crowd again, laughing now — and catches a glimpse of Rex.

Rex is trembling with hands upraised and fingers loose, eyes glazed wide with shock, caught up in what looks to be a painfully tight embrace with Obi-wan’s very own Marshall-Commander-no-more. Cody’s close-shorn head buries into the other’s neck-guard, his gloved fingers squealing where they grip at plastoid, armored shoulders rigid and still. They are still as statues compared to the heaving throng of clones around them.

Obi-Wan excuses himself from the throng of watching senators poorly, his voice reduced to a thread, his words tumbling gracelessly, conflicting needs to laugh or burst into messy tears tearing painfully at the corners of his mouth. 

Sluggishly he moves, and when he finally quits the halls it is with backwards steps into helpful shadows, because — Force have mercy on a giddy fool, but joy renders Obi-Wan an indecisive man who cannot pick which glimpse must be his last.

END SNIPPET

[ladeldee]

I simultaneously look forward to and dread the possible interactions to come with Wilbur's return.

[cloudpalettes]

feeling playful 🐲🦊

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith is acting suspicious.

Lance is sure of it. Beyond his usual shiftiness, his awkwardness, his tendency towards privacy. Lance knows his boyfriend, and he knows him well, and as such he knows enough to realise that his boyfriend is acting fuckin’ dubious.

Lance is going to snoop. (Yeah, yeah, ethical schmethical. Snooping fosters distrust in relationships and makes things tense blah blah blah. Lance recognises that. He also grew up with fucking Hunk Garrett and His Entire Family, so he also recognises that snooping is simply the best way to gather information. Fair’s fair.)

He waits until his boyfriend’s snores start to kick up, making the bedroom sound like an illegal motorized lawnmower race, and then carefully starts scooching out of his arms.

It takes a while — Keith likes to hold him. (Lance has to take a moment to calm himself down after the thought, lest he start to giggle giddily to himself, reminded that Keith loves him so much that at his most unguarded, his first instinct is to crush Lance in his arms. It’s exhilarating.) But slowly and steadily he manages to slide out of the arms around his waist, filling the newly hollow space with a pillow, and tumbles to the floor. He takes a moment, crossing his legs and sitting next to the bed, to look up at Keith, at the ratty mess of his bedhead and wide open snoring mouth and the tank top skewed across his torso, the hickeys Lance left all across his chest and collarbones peeking out.

“You are such a shit,” he whispers fondly. “I love you so bad it makes me want to, like, bite you or something. You make me weird.”

He watches Keith’s chest rise and fall until his legs fall asleep, wherein he flops onto the hardwood, wiggling his legs through the pins and needles and screeching silently into his arm (worst feeling in the WORLD) until his legs no longer feel like they’re on fire, and then he inches himself towards the right corner of the room like an inchworm.

(It’s three in the morning. No one is awake to judge him to give him shit or laugh at him or anything. He can do what he likes.)

He pulls himself up to his knees when he finally makes it to the corner, loosening his shoulders in preparation. The room is dark, so it’ll be a challenge, but this is not the first time he’s done this. Hell, it isn’t even the fiftieth. He’s a nosy person. He could do this in his sleep, probably, so in the dark is no problem.

As slowly as he can manage, to make sure it’s silent, he pries off the metal grate covering of the air vent, setting it down gently beside him. Laying down on his stomach again to get a better angle, he reaches down into the wide tube, following the curve of the cool metal, arm buried up to his shoulder, until he’s reached as far as he physically can. He carefully starts brushing his hands along the air vent, searching, feeling. It shouldn’t be too far down since his arms are way longer than Keith’s (Lance enjoys calling him T-Rex, which Keith hates and literally everyone else who knows them loves. It’s great).

Finally, his fingers brush on something small, compact, sturdy, and soft. He wraps his fist around it and slowly drags it out of the vent, keeping it in his fist as he crawls out of the bedroom and down the hall, somersaulting into the kitchen. He heads over to the fridge, figuring that if he uses the fridge light and Keith walks in, he can just pretend he’s getting a snack or something, shoving the thing he found into his pants. Keith’ll be too out of it to question it, anyway.

Laughing quietly and evilly to himself as he pulls open the fridge door, he brings his closed fist up to the light, examining the treasure he found. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, to take in what’s in front of him.

He gasps sharply when he processes, and the treasure slips out of his hands, clattering loudly to the floor.

He freezes immediately, listening for the telltale signs of his boyfriend snorting awake, noticing Lance’s side of the bed is empty, then the sound of his footsteps as he comes to look for him.

But, fortunately, there’s nothing. The only thing Lance hears are Keith’s continued snores.

Rapidly, Lance scoops up the box and brings it back to the light. It’s unmistakable — there’s only one thing that houses in a small hinged velvet box. It explains the shiftiness over the last few weeks, too, the nervousness that Keith has been disgusting as mysterious intrigue.

Keith is going to propose. Keith is going to propose!

Smiling so widely his face hurts, Lance flicks open the box, bringing his face closer to carefully inspect the ring inside.

It’s difficult to see in the dull blue light of the fridge, but Lance starts to cry when he sees it, because he recognises this ring. This is Keith’s dad’s ring; old, heavy gold, classic princess cut diamond, simple and polished and elegant. This is the ring Keith often wears around his neck, although he rarely has as of late, for now obvious reasons. This is the ring Keith has carried with him for almost two decades. This is, without a doubt, Keith’s most prized Earthly possession, and his intent is to gift it to Lance, as a promise of his love and trust and faithfulness.

Lance has to sit down so he doesn’t pass out. He grabs a dishtowel on the way to the floor, pressing it to his face to muffle his absolutely wailing sobs, the most ugly crying he’s literally ever done in his life.

He’s so glad he snooped. If he had this reaction when Keith finally summoned the balls to ask him, his engagement photos would be so embarrassing.

He paused mid-sniffle.

Actually.

A little embarrassed of himself, he slides up his phone, holding the ring box up to his tear-swollen and smiling face to snap a picture. He looks like a mess, but it’s important to him to have a physical memory of the moment he first learned Keith planned to marry him. He’s sure he’ll cry more over it the next time he’s feeling sappy and emotional.

He doesn’t realise how long he sits, fridge wide open, back to the cabinet doors of the kitchen island, staring in awe at the ring, until his watch starts to beep.

“Fuck,” he curses, scrambling to his feet. It’s six o’clock. Keith’ll be up in fifteen minutes to go on his morning run, Lance has literally been mooning over his ring for two and a half hours.

He runs back to the bedroom, barely remembering at the last second time muffle his footsteps, shoving the ring back into the vent and pressing the grate back onto the hole. Keith stirs slightly at the noise, so Lance abandons any thought of whether or not the ring box is positioned back exactly where he found it and fuckin’ dives for the bed, reburying himself in his boyfriend’s arms and hoping he can pass it off as just having shifted around in his sleep or something. Apparently he squirms and kicks a lot (which is a lie that Keith perpetuates to take attention away from the severity of his snores), so it should be fine. Probably.

“Wh—L’nce?” Keith mumbles, stirring from behind him. He inhales deeply, arms pulling away from Lance’s and stretching out above him. Lance’s heart pounds. He forces himself to stay relaxed, to avoid squeezing his eyes shut. He prays that Keith doesn’t notice how sweaty he is.

Keith leans over to press a lingering kiss to his neck, then chuckles. Lance can feel the imprint of his smile on his skin, and tamping down his own reflexive smile is literally the hardest thing he has ever had to do in his entire life.

“You’re warm as hell,” Keith murmurs, dragging his lips down his neck, across his shoulders. His hand comes to rest in his hip, curling into the hollow there. “Betcha you were squrimin’ around in y’re sleep last night, ya worm. Betcha I’ve got bruises on my shins.” His shoulders, pressed against Lance’s back, shake with his laughter, because he is a shithead who is so lucky that Lance loves him. He presses one final kiss to Lance’s skin and then rolls out of bed. Lance listens carefully as he gets dressed in his jogging clothes and runs a brush through his hair. He falls half asleep listening to the familiar sounds, rousing slightly again when Keith ducks back in to kiss Lance’s head one last time before heading out.

Lance smiles as he falls asleep for real, after the sound of the front door opening and closing.

He’s gonna clown that dumbass so goddamn badly.

———

Lance has a love-hate relationship with pranks. On one hand, the one and only time he was sent into an asthma attack so bad he had to go to the hospital was after he and Hunk wrapped every single thing in Veronica’s room with aluminum foil while she was away on a trip, and upon seeing her reaction laughed so hard his lungs basically collapsed. He still can’t think of that without laughing. On the other hand, he’s had more than enough cruel pranks shoved his way, and never in his life wants anyone to feel humiliated because of something he did.

He can’t not prank Keith, though. He’s literally beat Keith to his own proposal. A prank is in order.

Usually, he’d call Hunk for something like that. They’ve been partners in crimes for most of their lives, after all. Pidge too, honestly. He knows they’d both get a kick out of this whole situation as well.

But…even if those dunderheads were capable of keeping their mouths shut, which they’re not, Lance kind of wants to…well, he wants to keep his proposal to himself. He likes being in on it. He likes being to only one in on it, actually. Honestly, the only thing he wants to do is brag to Keith that he knows, which defeats the whole purpose.

He straightens abruptly. A smirk spreads across his face.

He has an idea.

———

The first step is recon. He needs access to the ring, regularly and long-term, but all will be for naught if Keith realises it’s missing. He needs to know if Keith stashed the ring when he decided to propose and avoided thinking about it, or if he checks on it frequently and stresses himself out about when he’s finally going to go through with it. Both are very Keith options. In fact Lance wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow managed both at the same time, as impossible as that seems.

To get around the issue, Lance goes Spy Barbie. He waits until Keith goes out for his weekly coffee date with Shiro and Adam and then digs through his makeup kit, setting aside what he needs and sitting next to the air vent grate. He spends a good amount of time polishing the metal, making sure it’s as fresh and untouched as it was when it was first put in its package, and then he uses a wide end brush to apply a thin layer of highlighter to the white metal. He takes great care to ensure that no colour is visible, only a slight sheen if one were to look closely. And Keith doesn’t have any reason to look closely, and since Lance knows the universe loves him, he won’t.

The next step is waiting. Lance acts completely normally when Keith gets home, if a little giddy. Keith most certainly notices Lance’s giggles and affection and the way he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself, but he doesn’t seem to mind or question it. Lance does sometimes get like this, after all.

He scored a hot as hell boyfriend. He’s allowed to be a little awed sometimes. He doesn’t feel weird about it.

He does, however, mellow out in the next few days. Keith takes him to a car show, which is fucking wicked, and somehow manages to get himself and Lance behind the wheels of two 200 horsepower Mustangs for them to race, which is so exhilarating that Lance doesn’t have words for it. He just yells and jumps around about it a lot. He doesn’t actually manage to find words for a couple hours after he totally smokes Keith’s ass, but whatever. It’s cool. Keith tried his best and everything, Lance is sure.

A week later, when Keith is out on his coffee date again, Lance gets to work. He cuts a large square of parchment paper and covers it with clear packing tape, careful not to touch the sticky side, overlapping strips so they make one giant tape sheet.

Once the parchment sheet is covered, he peels off the tape, and as planned it comes off in one large sheet, slightly bigger than the air vent grate. Again careful to steer clear of the sticky part, he places the tape sheet sticky side down onto the grate, pressing down hard and rubbing to smooth it out completely flat. Once he’s sure it’s totally stuck down, he picks at one corner until it’s loose, then slowly and meticulously peels the whole sheet back. He holds the tape, now showcasing the concealer-print of the grate, up to the light, examining it with the utmost scrutiny.

Not one single fingerprint in sight. Keith has not touched the grate at all, hasn’t dug into his secret hiding spot. He is taking the refusing to think about it route, then.

Lance smirks. He reaches down and scoops up the ring, placing the grate back where it belongs and skipping out to the living room, humming jovially to himself.

Excellent.

———

The first picture Lance snaps, while biting his lip so hard to keep back his laughter it bleeds, is once again in the dead of night, two weeks after Lance first discovered the ring. Keith is sprawled out on his back this time, arms and legs askew, sheets tangled somewhere around his legs. Lance shifts so they’re both facing the same direction, then holds up his phone camera, trying to figure out how to artfully position himself for utmost devastation upon discovery. He decides eventually on a classic.

He heads over to the dresser to pick out his cutest pajamas, settling on the red spaghetti strap top with lace and short-shorts, debating on accessorizing and deciding at the last minute not to bother except for lip gloss, which is always appropriate. He climbs into bed next to Keith, gently laying his head on his chest and maneuvering one arm to wrap around Lance’s hips. The other he leaves flopped on top of the pillows. He leaves Keith’s mouth wide open because it’s funny, and goes the extra mile to mess up Keith’s hair worse than it already is, because that’s funnier. Finally he flicks open the ring case with his left hand and holds it to his face, grinning widely, and uses his right to snap a picture of the two of them. Once he’s satisfied with it, he untangles himself from the bed again, puts the ring away, presses a sticky lip gloss kiss to Keith’s cheek for funsies, and crawls back into bed for real. His sleep is sound as a baby’s.

———

The next photo doesn’t actually happen for another month. Lance fears overdoing it, and also kind of fears getting caught with the ring, so he leaves it in its hiding spot until the opportunity for another cheeky photo presents itself.

The opportunity in question arrives when Keith announces that he has arranged to drive down to the secluded beach that Lance took him too early in their relationship to spend the day. At first Lance thinks he’s proposing for real, and to check he waits until Keith has the car all packed up and ready to go and then pretends to run inside to go to the washroom. Instead he ducks into their room and tears into the air vent, grasping around until his fingers close around the box.

He scoffs to himself. Wimp.

He quickly shoves the box into his fanny pack (fanny packs are COOL and CONVENIENT and Lance will not hear a word of controversy on the subject, they are absolutely nothing like Keith’s dweeb utility belt) and sprints back to the car. When Keith asks him why he’s smirking, Lance manages to convince him that he’s just excited for the beach.

Lance should have been an actor, honestly.

He mostly forgets about the ring while they’re there. He has enough sense to keep it in the car instead of on the beach so it doesn’t get stolen, unlikely as it is, and just enjoys the day with his boyfriend. He convinces Keith to go jet skiing with him and cackles to himself as he purposely sends Keith flying off the back of it. He screeches at the top of his lungs later when Keith scoops him up from his nap and literally chucks him into the ice cold water. The two of them make really garbage sculptures of their friends in the sand to amuse themselves. They gather ugly seashells and send pictures to their friends asking them if they’ve been turned into mollusks, since there is a resemblance. The whole day was a blast. Lance firmly slots it in his top ten days of all time.

When they go for a long walk to watch the sunset, Lance snaps a picture with the ring and a very teasing grin the second Keith has his back turned. He will bring up how this was a perfect moment to propose, and he will pat Keith’s head condescendingly about it. He can’t wait.

———

The third photo is another dead-of-night-situation. Lance knows it’s repetitive, but it’s easy and it’s funny and Lance can’t resist.

To change things up a bit, he decides not to be in the photo, and also to see just how much he can get away with.

Keith is on his side, this time, one hand tucked under the pillow, one hand held loose and open on top of it. He’s been tired, lately, and when Lance says he fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow, he is not exaggerating. In fact Lance is reasonably certain he passed out in the way down. He is KOed. He’s unconscious. He is absolutely dogged out.

The timing is perfect.

Carefully, aware of the consequences should Lance make a mistake, he removes the ring from its box. He realizes abruptly that it’s the first time he’s ever done that, despite his ridiculous quest, and he finds that he can’t quite let go of the ring just yet. The metal feels cool and smooth on his finger tips; worn, even. It’s shinier than it used to be, which means Keith has probably had it professionally retouched. Resized too, probably, although Lance can’t quite bring himself to check. The diamond catches the minimal light in the room and refracts into rainbows that fall softly on Keith’s lax face, highlighting his sharp jawline, his softly squished cheek, his relaxed brow. He looks so dorky when he sleeps, completely free of the furrow of concentration that usually resides in between his eyebrows, his resting frown. His mouth is always wide open when he’s out, and the echoing of his snores is so comically loud and ridiculous but absolutely something that Lance can’t live without. He has them recorded, actually, for the rare nights they’re not home together, on the rare night Lance has to sleep alone.

Smiling softly to himself, Lance places the ring in Keith’s open palm. He rests his hand on top of Keith’s for a moment, just because he can, just to relish in the scratch of Keith’s callouses on his skin, before pulling back and steadying his phone to snap a picture. He catches it right as Keith inhales heavily, right as his nose scrunches up.

It’s goofy as hell. It’s perfect.

———

The fourth picture is the riskiest, Lance thinks. He’s taken to carrying the ring around with him everywhere, almost as if he is the one planning to propose, just in case he has a moment when Keith’s back is turned. (There really aren’t that many. Keith faces him a lot. He likes to hold Lance hand and kiss his face, neither of which you can do from behind. Lance fucking loves his boyfriend so much.)

They’re at a Thing. Lance’s parents are celebrating their fortieth anniversary, and obviously Lance is bringing Keith, and since Keith is his mother’s favourite he is encouraged to bring his family as well, which means Shiro and Adam are coming, and if Hunk and Pidge weren’t invited then someone would cry and nothing would be right in the world, and of course Veronica is bringing Allura, and Coran comes because Lance’s dad thinks he’s the funniest man to walk the Earth. And of course all Lance’s relatives are there.

The point is that it’s a full house. A couple full houses, actually, since their neighbours are also involved. It’s a lot of people in one place.

As is protocol in crowded places, Keith is essentially glued to Lance’s side. Lance is quite happy with this arrangement, because he gets to show his boyfriend off like the hot piece of ass he is, especially to his rude ass great aunties and uncles who always had something to say about Lance and his single-ness when he was still rocking braces. So.

One thing about Keith, though, is that everyone who meets him is doomed to fall in love with him forever and ever, or so Lance has noticed. His niece and nephew are no exception, and immediately upon catching sight of their uncle — Keith, that is, Lance may as well be dead meat when Tio Keith is available, which, rude — they descend upon him not unlike a vulture may descend upon a recently deceased armadillo. Or whatever. Lance didn’t grow up in the desert, he doesn’t know what happens there.

Occupied as he is, one child hanging off each arm, Keith cannot keep his vice grip on Lance’s hand. Occupied as he is, two children talking at him in a mix of Spanish and English so rapid that Lance himself cannot keep up, which is saying something because his nickname for many years was and aptly so Motormouth, Keith cannot have his full attention on Lance. In fact, even, his back is delightfully turned.

Lance doesn’t hesitate. He flicks open the ring box and snaps a picture. His grin is nothing short of gleeful and he is entirely unapologetic.

When he turns back around, ring box stuffed back into his pocket, he realizes Nadia is staring at him with wide eyes.

“You, shush,” Lance says, and then switches to Spanish so Keith, who is still learning, will miss it, “or I’ll choose a random child to be my flower girl. I swear.”

She glares at him. “This is why Tio Keith is my favourite,” she mutters, because she is a snot who acts as if Lance does not and has not for her whole life taken her on all sorts of cool awesome amazing trips and bought her cool awesome amazing presents. Who was it who bought them recorders when they were seven to terrorize Luis with? Lance. Who was it to take them to a live rocket taking off the summer they turned nine? Lance.

“You’re a brat,” he informs her.

She sticks her tongue out at him, snickering. “Side genes.”

Lance unfortunately has nothing to say to that and also refuses to be roasted by an eleven year old, so he yanks Keith away as penance and takes him to a corner somewhere to make out. He feels very smug about it.

———

The fifth time doesn’t happen.

The fifth time is a clusterfuck.

The fifth time, it’s night again, and Lance honestly doesn’t even plan on taking another picture. He’s just next to the vent, lying on his belly, legs kicking in the air as he inspects the ring for the billionth time. He’s so excited. He can’t wait to wear this on his finger. He can’t wait for Keith to put it there. He’s can’t wait to be Keith’s husband, is the crux of it all. It’s like groundhog day except with literal euphoria. Lance is the luckiest man literally alive, and Keith hasn’t even hinted towards a plan to pop the question yet.

“You are the nosiest motherfucker in the planet, you shithead.”

Lance yelps, startling so bad he almost brains himself on the floor and nearly drops the ring. He manages to catch himself with the grace of God and also probably luck, or neither of those things, but either way Lance heart nearly pounds out of his chest.

“You scared me, you butthead!”

Keith chuckles. His voice is low and raspy from sleep, vowels still rounded from the accent that only comes out when he’s mad or drunk or tired. Lance’s belly swoops. Keith grabs Lance’s ankle and tugs, dragging him over to him, pulling him upright when he’s close enough. Lance goes into him fully, curling up into him, head tucked under his chin. Keith’s hands come to rest on top of his, sliding the ring box from him.

“How long have you known, you snoop?”

“Six months,” Lance answers. “In my defense, you were acting suspicious as all hell.”

Keith kisses his head. “Fair.”

“I need to know everything about everything or I’ll die. You know this.”

Keith snorts. He takes Lance’s left hand and smooths it flat, spreading out his fingers. “Yeah. Ruined my plans, though.”

“Oh, please. You and I both know there were no plans involved. You walked by a shop advertising ring retouching and walked in before you even thought about it.”

Keith says nothing. Lance grins and presses on.

“I bet you cried the whole time, too.”

“Shut up. I’m gonna keep the ring.”

Lance kisses him on the chest, the closest place he can reach, through his sleep shirt. “No, you’re not.”

“Mhm.” Keith plucks the ring out of the box with one hand, setting it on the ground beside them and grabbing Lance’s hand with his other. “You’re right. I’m not.”

He doesn’t move for a while, except to stroke his thumb over the palm of Lance’s hand, over and over again. Lance likes the feeling. He’s always likes the feeling of Keith’s hands in him.

“I know this isn’t a fancy dinner or sunset on the beach or with your whole family present,” he murmurs. “But I’m tired of waiting, if you don’t mind me jumping the gun.”

Lance smiles widely. A tear leaks out of his eye, dripping down his face and onto Keith’s hand.

“I don’t.”

“Good.” Keith holds the ring just above Lance’s finger, poised, ready to slide it on but waiting for permission. “Lance Sanchez, will you marry me?”

“Keith Gyeong, I would want nothing more.”

Unhesitant at last, Keith slides his father’s ring onto Lance’s finger, centring it so the diamond shines brightly in the middle. It fits perfectly.

The tears stream down Lance’s face, and he can’t for the life of him pretend that they’re not, not that he’d bother. He buries his face in his fiancé’s neck and feels Keith’s own tears soaking his hair.

“I took a bunch of sneaky pictures of me holding the ring in front of you,” Lance admits.

Keith laughs. “Of course you did.”

“I carried the ring around for months.”

“Checks out.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Lance.”

“I can’t wait to marry you.”

Keith hums, tilting his head up and kissing him properly, entwining their hands so they can both feel the ring press against skin. “No more waiting for you, sweetheart.”

———

based on this post

[marimeeko]

Post Epilogue BKDK thought/quasi fic:

That suit probably comes with a manual and a bunch of specs, and blueprints, right?

I'm pretty sure it would come along with what All Might gave him. Alternatively maybe Katsuki has it but why would it be separate from the suit? Anyway;

But Izuku gets it and in-between grading papers, he starts studying it, wanting to take the utmost care of his suit.

He starts realizing that a lot of the direct notes about his Quirks and his techniques are in there, and furthermore...

They're all from Katsuki. Some are direct scans of notes he took and even diagrams and pictures he drew of elements of Izuku's former costume.

Each element of the suit has a section of the original concept, which would be a sketch and summary by Katsuki, along with ideas for how a suit should perform for Izuku. Sometimes a photo of Izukus old costume itself.

As Izuku pours over the manual, he becomes more and more enthralled with seeking out where technical jargon, diagrams, and hard-font gives way to Katsuki's hand writing and sketching; all of his original ideas that spurred the project on.

He starts to even notice, with some pieces, the handwriting is slightly shaky....he realizes that some of these concepts were written in the Era when Katsuki was forced to write with his left hand, his right in recovery.

Izuku covers a gasp with a scarred hand; some of these concepts of his had been written while they were still in UA together.

How had Kacchan been working on this for so long with him just never realizing? And not telling him?

He snaps the thick (hundreds of pages!) Manual shut at once and throws on some shoes and a jacket. Shortly after, he is hammering the door to Katsukis Apartment in the dark.

After a loud complaint can be heard from within about how late it is(its only 8pm), the door opens, and katsuki barely registers that it's Izuku before Izuku THROWS HIMSELF into Katsukis arms, tightly embracing him.

"Whoa, I-izuku??" All of Katsuki's former complaints choke off immediately.

"All Might said you were at the heart of the support suit project, but, it's more than that, isn't it, kacchan??" Izuku asks in a trembling voice. " All this time, Kacchan? Since we were in school, you've been working on this??"

Katsuki suddenly realizes what's happening, and he feels that heavy manual pressed in between their torsos where Izuku has it clutched. He connects the dots.

"...yeah, Izuku..." he carefully admits into green curls, dampened by the rain.

He feels Izuku shaking as he sobs into his chest, but as Izuku gently withdraws, he sees that underneath the onslaught of tears, Izuku is smiling.

"Kacchan, you...You're amazing" Izuku hiccups, tears pouring from his eyes. "I-I don't know how I can ever repay you--"

"You don't have to repay me," Katsuki quickly asserts. "Just give me your damn best out there. And don't you dare ever give up that dream of yours. And quit that crying," he grumbles as he pinches each of Izuku's cheeks as Izuku laughs.

Katsuki invites him in, saying it's too late and dark and rainy for Izuku to go back home at this hour. ( "why'd you have to run all the way across town tonight, I was going to come bug you at UA tomorrow anyway, you nerd!")

They end up looking through the book together over tea and end up passing out on the couch by 10pm, honestly kind of a late night for Katsuki, but not for Izuku who is used to staying up late grading and evaluating papers, along with getting small workouts in. He stays up just long enough to grab a blanket and cover both himself and Katsuki.

He goes to sleep thinking again about how blessed he is.

[aashiyancha]

Two guys walk into a bar and (seb and sam also make a really fun rival pairing)

[captainhysunstuff]

15 more images below the cut (WARNING: VERY SUGGESTIVE SAUCY SHENANIGANS. Censored a bit. Long story short: They're about to screw, but they run into a couple snags due to inexperience):

Kira and L try to consummate their new partnership... but they're kind of new at this. After doing the approved research, they figure it out much to the chagrin to the hotel workers.

This is the "Safe for Tumblr" cut~.

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Transcript

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Walk in the Woods

So, I had some struggles in my life. I've been homeless since about July 27th, but I've been staying at a friend's home. I'm on disability, so it's hard to make ends meet.

In the depths of my despair, I wrote about König's lonesome walks in the woods.

Edit: As of August 13th, I do nearly have a home now. However, I am still posting this because it reflects an important feeling and something I think about with König. I love writing him as goofy and awkward, but I think sometimes it's important to remember the reality of being a soldier.

TW: Suicide reference, ptsd, references to gore, warfare/active combat discussion, depression, mental illness

Story below Cut

A Walk in the Woods

König goes on long walks alone sometimes.

You might be tempted to come with him, but that would defeat the purpose of the walk, so he’d just have to have you tag along and take another walk later, most likely when you’re asleep.

Long walks in the woods help König calm down. He likes the silence of the forests. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, he’ll hear an owl hooting or see a bat fluttering by. He’s thankfully not the type that mosquitoes are attracted to, so bugs tend to leave him alone if he just gives himself a light spritz with bug spray. He thinks that long ago, his body adapted to the forests. Maybe it was because it was the place he felt most himself, maybe it was because it was where he was most alone. The forests never bothered answering his questions.

On these walks, König has the time to finally think about what’s been going on in his life. When he walks, he thinks about how long he has left to serve. Will he retire when he hits the golden age, or will he retire when his body gives out? Will he even make it to retirement? He doesn’t know. He wonders what will happen to you when he retires. He also doesn't know, which is worse. It frightens him terribly that he knows there’s nothing he can do to protect you from the reality of living with a partner in the military. He’s gotten to a point where he no longer sees warfare, but he does hostage rescues in dangerous cities in more dangerous countries. How long until there’s a chink in his armour?

When he walks he thinks about how he’ll divide his will. He needs to be prepared, as much as he wishes he could live forever. His mother made it until she was in her late nineties, his father just turned one hundred when he passed. He comes from longevity, but does he truly want to live that long? He’s done so much damage to his bodies throughout his years of service. His body could only go on for so much longer, and he didn’t know how long he could last.

When König was younger, he was brave and proud of taking after his grandfather by going into the Austrian Jagdkommando. He was revered by his younger siblings, and his parents had been nothing but proud of him for his decisions. He’d been a strong recruit and quickly risen the ranks to a prestigious title.

Now, as he walks through these lonely woods, he doesn’t quite know how much value his title holds anymore. What worth is a badge and a name if you spend most of your life looking at your partner through a phone, really? Is he even worthy of being a father if he has to spend months overseas? He’s missed so much of his loved ones' lives because of this godforsaken burden he carries. No amount of money could buy back the time he’s lost with his family.

And yet, still, he works. He trains in the barracks, readies his bodies for the next onslaught of bodies and screams when he is deployed into the next battlefield. He knows that when he comes home, he’ll have new nightmares to wake up screaming from. And who will be there to comfort him but you, frantically awoken by his thrashing and screaming as he shoots and kills all over again in his mind’s eye. He lives it over and over again every night. He will until he sleeps one final time. He’s trapped on lands you’ve never seen, lands he hopes you’ll never see in your lifetime. He’s seen so much carnage, there is so much blood on his hands and these same hands are the ones that hold you, cherish you, fuck you. He’s covered you in blood. 

His walks carry him deep into the forest. There, he finds a clearing where he’ll look up to see the sky. Some days it’s blue and wide as the sargasso sea, some days it’s swathed in a darkness only split by the twinkling eyes of the gods above. Every time he looks up, he hopes that someone somewhere will see him begging on his knees for forgiveness. He tells you he doesn’t pray anymore, but he prays every time he comes to this clearing. Not for himself, no he’s long since been sent to Hell. He prays for you because he’s afraid that he’ll drag you down with him.

When he comes home, he’ll smile and hug you tightly. You always ask about it, but he never tells you where he went. He keeps telling himself he’ll bring you some day, but he knows he never will. You’ve seen him weak, but he can’t bear to have you see him like this. He wants you to see him smile and laugh and hold his children up above his head and fill the air with the sounds of joy and youth. He’s a strong and powerful aurochs of a man. You may see him stumble when he goes out to the hardware store to fix the latest leak in the sink, but he wants you to see him as a reliable pillar of support.

He prays that you will never see him out in the woods alone. He’s terrified that one day, one fateful day, you’ll go into his clearing to find him way up high among the tree branches.

Story Masterlist

[tiredcowboyy]

whats everyone’s favourite ‘surely arthur knows merlin has magic, like what else could he possibly be thinking in that moment?’ Moment in merlin?

I cant choose mines between:

- dream merlin telling arthur that morganas army at camlan is about to ambush from a different direction and that he should cover a path, which arthur follows this advice immediately and doesnt question how its right or how merlin who isnt around knew or how he told arthur this in his dream.

- when arthur gets shot by an arrow and is healed by magic and merlins being really vague with his answers and arthurs like ‘is there something youre not telling me?’

- when ghost uther, who was a bitch, but didnt actually lie at any point, starts to say ‘merlin had m-‘ and arthur immediately cuts him off and stares at Merlin but never asks him what uther was saying.

Ugh theres so many more I cant choose but I refuse to believe theyre part of his dumb blonde monents, because tho he does have them, hes not THAT oblivious

[chimerahyperfix]

This loop has to be the one. Nevermind that you said it last loop, and the one before, and the one before that, and most of the ones before that. THIS was the one you'd stop the King in his tracks. You push a few of your many potions to the side to make room on your desk. None of them worked to stop him, so they were useless. He's still about twelve, fourteen? hours away, so you have enough time to make the bomb, eat and take a fat nap before you go pick a fight. Maybe this time, it'll work! It has to!

You've gotten better at making the Craft Bomb. It hasn't blown up on you before you intended to use it in... a long time. You can make it fast enough, now, for it to still be light outside! You've become silent while you work, which Mirabelle has told you is ''worrying'', but you don't see why it is. Are you really that loud? (Yes. You are.)

It's hard work. Soft light bathes your desk, your work, you. You reach out, past your potions, and grab your water bottle. Take a big swig, and

Hmm. That's not water.

How. HOW do you keep making this mistake. You look at the bottle in your hand, and sure enough, it’s one of the potions; your water bottle is shoved in the back of the collection of other containers. The taste is caustic, your throat begins to burn. You shouldn’t be this calm for having just drank something that’ll kill you in a handful of minutes, but it’s happened before. Despite the pain you don't bother trying anything. Just push the finished bomb to the side and lay your face against the wood of the table. Feel the blood start to pool in your mouth and dribbling out, staining the wood. Mirabelle, or Euphie or whoever comes in next, they can use it this loop. It's not the first time you've drank one of the many, many dangerous potions on your desk, and it's probably not the last. Maybe you'll actually clean the crabbing thing off before you work.

Whatever. You have next time. You have all the time.

Perhaps a bit too much, actually.

[scrunckled-idiot]

Tiny people that stole Sniper's hat and are using it as a boat (they are just floating in circles)

i wanted to animate the hat just spinning in circles in the water with that sound from the rotating heavy meme but i'll be DAMNED if i export shit ever again 😭😭😭

so here's this :(

[pacificsaury]

welcome to the enterprise!

we have: tiny tormented captain, android emotion crisis, klingon rock band

[rokishimizu4]

Lex Luther hires Superman to be his bodyguard

(Yes, you read the title right! I hate Lex, but I hate Joker more and making Lex suffer is my comfort) TW: Violence, death, and implied smut

Surprisingly it has been days since the incident between Green Lantern, and Red Robin, and the copper spider (Which no one has no idea how it disappeared so fast), and Clark Kent was settling back into his role as being a paid journalist for the Daily Planet, when Lois Lane rushes into his cubicle.

She tries to keep her voice down, but he didn’t need his super hearing to hear how excited she was, as she tells him that Lex just held a private conferences (With a few journalists like Lois Lane, cause she’s a favorite of Superman, being allowed in) asking for Superman’s help yesterday!

Which was the day that Clark was off Earth with Green Lantern, searching for what the message meant, and he felt somewhat bad for missing it.

However, before he could, politely, share in Lois’s joy, their boss calls her back into his office for a quick meeting. Clark easily eavesdrops on the conversation and learns that Lois would be allowed to write the article, but from a professional standpoint only.

He spends the next 8 hours trying to pay attention to his own work, but hearing his wife, Lois, mumble happily to herself, and praising him like a good boy, makes it 10x times more difficult.

By the time he and Lois are finished with the day, they both sneak for a quicky back at their apartment before returning, and Clark lets her leave first so he can ‘catch up’ on his unfinished work.

He joins her a few hours later, letting her have her, deserved, spotlight and professional interview for the full article, as Superman and joins Lex in private.

But Clark’s good mood soon turns into fear, for both Lex, the goop child?, and whoever else was trapped in this situation as he learns that Luther donated money, billions, to an organization that was researching alien life on different planets and in different Solar systems.

Luther originally thought that he could use the organization to further his plans to finally bring Superman down, and giving them his Kryptonite (not all mind you, but enough) to boost the research.

Only to get a small message from one of his scientists, that he put in to keep an eye on the organization, that the research was not what he originally thought it was for.

”The next day, my scientist was found dead in a sewer drain, completely eaten by rats.” Luther finishes as he pushes an evidence bag over his desk to Superman, containing an ID for a Jane Smith, with Lex Corp stamped proudly in the background.

“This is all they found that identifies her as one of mine.”

Superman swallows down the bile threatening to come up, as he notices how blood soaked the ID tag was.

”I’ve tried everything, but there no information about the organization and I believe that someone hired something to kill me and my personal staff that knew some about the organization.”

”Please, I know we have had our differences, but I don’t want to die like a pig to the slaughter.”

It takes less than an hour for a safe house to be set up for Lex Luther and his personal staff somewhere out of the US, and even less time to realize that the US government knew nothing about the organization, or whoever did know to become a missing person.

[royalarchivist]

Antoine: [In chat] nice ass man

Roier: [In chat] thank you but i am married

Antoine: [In chat] check this out.

[jankwritten]

Jasico Bingo Challenge: Cuddles

“I wouldn’t call that cuddling,” Nico says, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “I would call it sitting near one another.” 

Across the infirmary, awaiting medical attention from the busy Apollo kids, Annabeth rolls her eyes. “He had his arm around you.” 

“You put your arm around me all the time,” Nico rebuts. 

“You were leaning on him!” 

“I was tired!” 

Annabeth slumps sideways in her cot and stares at him, unimpressed. 

Nico refuses to budge. Cuddling is not resting your head on someone when they offer to let you nap on them! Cuddling is, like, prolonged, sideways hugging, or something. He and Jason do not cuddle, and even if they did (which they do not!) they wouldn’t do it at the campfire, for Hera’s sake. 

“Fine,” Annabeth concedes without averting her intimidating gaze. “What about when you two took a nap under Thalia’s Pine? That was definitely cuddling.” 

Heat rises up to Nico’s ears. He turns around to face the countertop, littered with empty bandaid packaging and unportioned nectar. “It was not, and you’re weird for remembering that.” 

“You’re weird for refusing to admit you like cuddling with Jason,” Annabeth says. She’s long since perfected that I’m right, you’re wrong, shut up tone, the one that makes Nico bristle. 

“How does that make me weird?” he grumbles, slicing even squares into the pan of nectar. “I spent the last, like, four years of my life doing everything I could to avoid human contact. How is it weird that I wouldn’t want to admit to something like that.” 

For a few moments, Nico almost mistakes Annabeth’s silence for a victory. He finishes with the nectar and turns back around, ready to gloat and everything, and is instead met with the worst possible thing: Annabeth Chase wearing her planning face. 

“No,” he says immediately, putting a hand out, as if he can physically ward off whatever bullshit he’s about to get dragged into. “No.” 

“I think we need an outside opinion.” 

“I think you’re concussed, do not go spreading my personal business to camp!” 

“Not camp,” Annabeth flaps her hand at him, and does not refute the concussed accusation. “But definitely some trusted individuals, who have insight into your cuddling habits.” 

“I’m not above getting on my knees and begging you to drop this,” Nico says. He’s fully serious. He will do it. Anything to stop this from going any further, anything. 

Annabeth glances him up and down, like she’s sizing up how serious he might be. 

He clasps his hands together. 

She flops back in the cot. “Nope. I’m too invested now. I think I’ll ask Hazel, first-” 

“Dude-” 

“-and then Connor, he knew you when you were a baby, he’ll have some good insight.” 

Nico buries his face in his hands and groans. 

Annabeth Chase gets her concussion treated, then turns around and runs back to her cabin to draft an honest to the gods survey to hand out to what she deems as a trusted, reputable group. 

Any group with Connor Stoll and Percy Jackson in it is anything but reputable, in Nico’s mind. As soon as he hears that Annabeth’s really gone off the freaking deep end about this, he finds the darkest corner of camp and hunkers down to hide. 

The best thing to do when Annabeth’s got an idea? Weather it. She’ll either find her own solution, or she’ll lose interest. Nico hopes, for his reputation's sake, she doesn’t get any further than the distribution. 

Upside to this shitshow: Nico has time to clean his cabin, finally. A valid reason to tell Will that he genuinely cannot come do archery practice today, a valid reason to kick any and everyone off his porch, lock his doors, and play CDs on his radio as loud as he can tolerate. 

It is, unfortunately, one of his most productive days as of late, and as Nico lays on his newly-swept floor, sweaty but satisfied, he almost forgets the whole situation occurring at the hands of one stubborn daughter of Athena. 

Almost. 

“Nico?” 

Three knocks on the cabin door. 

“I can hear your music, I know you’re in there. If you want me to go away, that’s totally fine, I just- y’know, want to make sure you’re okay. I’ll leave you alone in a minute.” 

Nico rolls over, squishing his face into the hardwood for one deeply satisfying moment. Then, with all the reluctance of a man who is going to face embarrassment head on, he pulls himself up and trudges to the door. 

Jason, at the very least, has the decency to look worried rather than amused. He’s got his hands in the pockets of his shorts, his head tilted off to the side, his glasses off-center like they always are. He’s frowning, kind of. He looks like Mrs. O’Leary when Nico tricks her into thinking he’s got a treat for her. 

“I’m alive,” he says, as dry as he can manage. The CD skips. 

“That’s good,” Jason says. “I, uh, hear Annabeth’s keeping herself occupied.” 

Nico’s temple pulses with something not-quite-achey, but nearly there. 

“Just- come in,” he huffs, stepping aside. Dammit. “If anyone’s going to explain it, I would really rather rip the stupid bandaid off.” 

“Laughing at me feels kind of insulting, going to be honest,” Nico mutters while Jason hunches over himself, cradling his stomach, downright howling. 

“She’s- She’s up in arms- about cuddling!?” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know, Percy’s stupid bullshit is rubbing off on her and she’s losing braincells, Jason, she’s losing her mind. We need to find something new for her to build so she stops trying to instigate shit in my private life!” 

Jason slumps sideways onto the floor, half-laughing, half-panting. His leg presses solidly to Nico’s like this, sitting side by side against his bed. 

Nico turns his head up and away and forces himself not to notice. 

“She just cares about you,” Jason says. He stays down. Nico can practically feel how hard Jason’s heart is pumping from all that laughter. 

Jerk. 

“She cares about drama,” Nico says, though he knows it’s not totally true. Piper has gotten her more involved in the social life of camp, which is a good thing, really. Nico thinks it’s really cool that Annabeth has been able to come out of her own shell, after spending her whole life trying to prove herself, trying to be above everything, better than, the best. 

But does she have to do it at his expense? 

He rubs his hands over his face and sighs. 

Jason sits back up. 

“Are you really that upset about this?” he asks, his voice softened into a tone Nico got used to hearing in the days post-Cupid, the tone of a hero. “I know it’s still hard for you, to be comfortable and everything-” 

“I’m not upset about it,” Nico says. Admitting it makes his cheeks flush, but it’s the truth, and Jason has more than earned that with him. “I’m just…embarrassed.” 

“Awe, why’s it embarrassing? I mean, I get from your perspective, y’know, why you might find that embarrassing, but even if taking naps and stuff is cuddling, it’s not like it’s hurting anything,” Jason says. Then, softer, maybe hesitant, he adds, “right?” 

Nico’s heart tugs annoyingly into his ribs. “It’s not hurting anything, Jason, I’m not…I don’t know. I just feel a lot of things, I guess? And it’s a lot of, like, I-I don’t know how to react, when people poke fun at something I’m still- still getting comfortable with. I like being comfortable with you.” He pokes at the rips in his jeans and continues to ignore how much of Jason is pressed up against his side, how natural it feels to just sit with him like this. 

“I like that you like being comfortable with me,” Jason says, his own version of teasing, though one that Nico knows and understands and likes. He knows that Jason’s reassuring him by prodding at him like that. 

The next track on his CD starts to play—Jason turned the volume down, but didn’t shut it all the way off. They’re both too awkward in pure silence, but sitting together when there’s other background noise that means they don’t necessarily have to talk has become a staple of their hang-outs. There’ve been many an afternoon where Nico sets up on the floor of the Zeus cabin with his new, growing Mythomagic collection, while Jason sketches out temples at his desk. 

They’re so comfortable around one another, nowadays. 

Nico brings his knees up and nestles his chin on them, frowning at the opposite wall. 

Are they maybe too comfortable? If other people are starting to look at them interacting and put weird labels like cuddling on it? Isn’t cuddling something people who like each other do, anyway? Friends don’t cuddle. 

Nico feels his ears burn hot at the implication. Is that what Annabeth was trying to say? Does she think Nico likes Jason? 

He brings his arms up to cover his mouth. He chews on his lip. 

…does, Nico like Jason? 

 (to be continued) 

[cherry-pop-elf]

Big Bad Wolf

Dad! Remus x Reader

It’s the full moon, and Harry came running to you for advice and help. Lupin went missing, and Harry is scared that someone’s going to get hurt. Or worse. Expelled His dad will end up shot. So, as the romantic partner to the boys father you go and help him. You both just hope to find him before someone else does

Warnings 18+, Horror, Gore, violence, fear, Whump, character death ((deserved)) happy ending

Writing Commission’s Are Open

“Dad-?! Dad!” You were startled awake, by the sounds of Harry. You were spending a few days, at Hogwarts, with Lupin. As his romantic partner it was permitted, but it sure did startle students to see someone who wasn’t their teacher in the classroom. Such as you, having fallen asleep at his desk. You were waiting for Lupin, but it seems sleep caught you first. Until now.

“Have you seen dad-?” Harry asked, as he hurried towards you. A bottle in hand, with a worried look. You did not like where this was going. You really hope that was not a full bottle of wolfsbane. As if that was needed right now. You sat up quickly and straightened up.

"He said he needed to run and talk to someone really quick, and asked for me to stay here until he came back." Now that you said it out loud, it made you very suspicious. You had a bad feeling about this. A very very very bad feeling. It seemed the feeling was mutual, and no words were needed. The two of you were soon running out of the classroom, and straight outside. Wands out.

"Great, just great-" You huffed, as the two of you were now roaming around the grounds. A worry of what happened with Remus, and if the Dementors would come your way. You made sure to hold Harry's hand, and he did not refuse it. He had a uncomfortable run in with the Dementors after all, as if he wanted another.

"Should we ask Hagrid for help?" Harry asked, as you pondered. That could be very helpful. He was a monster keeper of sorts, and more people looking could reduce casualties. Fang could help as well, but Hagrid was not the best with secrets. Still.....You had a werewolf boyfriend on the loose, and one not on potions.

"I will go talk to Hagrid; you go to the Shrieking Shack. Maybe he went there by habit?" Seems like Hermione was really rubbing off on him, because that made perfect sense. You recall a few times you could hear him, when locked in his designated room, about a shack. Along with his night terrors, and school days.

The plan was set, and Harry explained to you how to get there. Most likely knowing, in case of emergencies. The two of you would split, and Harry hurried to Hagrid's Hut. You stayed, until he made it. Just to be sure. Once he had entered the home, you would hurry to the tree, it was terrifying, but you had to. For Remus.

You had to army crawl, and enter with a few scrapes, but you managed. You hit the knot in the tree, and was able to slip through the roots. Through the dirty cavern, and across the rocks. It was a journey, but you managed. You would push at the wooden boards, and soon had your head in the shack. The stench of blood heavy in your nose. He was here.

"Moony?" You whispered, as the world went still. Even the wind seemed afraid to speak. You were terrified, but someone had to be there for him. You swallowed your biile, and forced yourself into the house. Onto your knees, wand in hand, before properly standing.

Deep breaths, that made you gag, in a vain attempt to try and calm yourself. You knew this when he told you what he was. He didn’t want you to sign up blind. He didn’t want to feel like he trapped you. The moment he told you, you tried to study all you could. Meaning you carried your own vile of wolfsbane. Small, but hopefully enough to soothe.

As you tried to follow the stench, you couldn’t help but hear something. It was someone. Someone gagging, and coughing. Seeming to be….No. No no. You had hope the blood you smelled was that of a wild animal, but no. It was of someone.

You wanted to barge in, and see if you could save them, but that could cause issues. Like him turning on you. Instead, you kept your steps quiet. Just coming closer, as the figure kept gasping and wheezing. Begging. What made your blood run cold was what the person said.

“Remus, please….You would have done the same in my place. You would ha-“ Before there was silence. Silence, as bones were snapping. Crunching, and being devoured. They were dead, and you knew that you couldn’t do anything to have prevented it. You tried to reason, at least.

Finally, you were at the door. Given quite the sight to behold. This sickly looking beast, chowing away on a dead body. Beyond recognition, except for an arm. Said arm having been torn off, and slammed into the wall near the door frame. You narrowed your eyes, as you saw it was missing a finger. Clearly before the attack, as the numb was healed over.

Before you could wonder who the figure was, you suddenly felt something bite at your leg. Not in a means to attack. It was so gentle, you almost didn’t notice. A attempt to grab your attention. It succeeded, as you looked down to a black dog. Shaggy, skinny, and struggling to pull you away from the door. A means to get you away.

Seems it acted too late, as the nawing of flesh was silenced. Just the eerie sounds of blood falling on wood, as the werewolf looked over. Blacken eyes focused on you, as it growled. Clawed, and mangled, fingers were soon on the floor. Cautiously approaching you, only for the dog to block its path. Guarding you.

You didn’t know what to do. Do you run? Do you stay? Do you move slowly? You can only read so many books, before you face a real deal. Nothing prepares you for a real life experience. Was he staring at you because he recognized you? Was he no longer hungry? Was he aware of your scent, and wouldn’t harm you?

So many thoughts, only to be silenced by an ear rattling howl. That said that, and you were trying to run for your life. The shaggy dog quick to defend you, and jump at Remus. Buying you time, as you tried to think of where to go. Leave the building? Back into the hole? You didn’t know. Before you could make a choice, the rotten wood broke under you.

Crashing through you went, only for your leg to snap in the process. You screamed in pain, and that alerted Remus to you. You tried to fight through the pain, as you held your wand up. Trying to defend yourself, as Remus tore through more of the wood. Leaving splinters to rain down on you, as you laid in the broken old living room.

“REMUS-! PLEASE-!” You sobbed, as you didn’t want to hurt him. Blood pooled around you, as the torn muscle was shreds around your shattered bone. So much pain, panic, and despair. Was this the end? Dispite it all, all you could think of was how this would affect Remus. The guilt he would hold, when the moon rises again. Only to see you dead in his teeth.

Seemed that would only be a nightmare, as he was slow to approach you. Sniffing you, before looking down at your leg. Giving it a lick, and whine. As if trying to help you. If you weren’t so delirious from pain, you would find it sweet.

“Fuck, you look like shit.” A voice spoke to you, as Remus seemed to curl around you. Using himself a pillow, for you to rest on. Just feeling his ribs, and hearing his strong breathing and heart. It was soothing, and let you catch your breath. Long enough to register where the voice came from.

A man was soon standing infront of you, in a Azkaban uniform. With long, black, shaggy hair. With a beard to match, against his gaunt face. So skinny, yet so alive. Shaggy black hair, just like shaggy black fur. That’s when it hit you.

“Padfoot….” You choked out, when you weren’t crying from pain. The name made him smile, and you could see life in his hollow eyes. It warmed his heart so much, knowing Remus told you about him. That he was still spoken so positively. That Remus didn’t believe the verdict. He knew better.

“That’s me. Now be quiet, and take advantage of Mooney having a full belly.” He hushed you, as he would begin to try and help with your leg. He would take his torn shirt off, and forced you to bite into it. Trying to make you quiet, as he popped the bone into place. Making you scream into the fabric, as you held Remus tighter. Suppose in that feral brain of his could register his mate was hurting, and soon was nuzzling his face against yours. Using his nose to wipe your tears away.

“There. Worse of it is over. Now how about-“ Before he could finish, the sound of the basement door was opening. Before Sirius could do anything, you grabbed his pant leg. Trying to get him to stay. The pain, however, made you feel to weak. Your vision was blurring, as you curled up against Remus. It was all to much, and soon…..You blacked out.

Morning came, and it was unwanted. The sunlight on your face, and making you groan. “Five more minutes-“ Was your reply to the beast, before a chuckle was a reply. A chuckle you knew very well. A laugh that made you fight the sun, and open your eyes. Remus.

“Morning, pup.” He smiled, as he set his book aside. His scared up hand was quick to help brush the sleep from your eyes, as you took in the world. Such as how your leg was propped up, and that all the blinding white was from the medical wing. Another comforting sight was that Padfoot was in another medical bed. Being treated, and not sent to Azkaban.

“Lots of questions, I know. I’ll keep it short. I had made an attempt to go check on Sirius, last night, only for the two of us to stumble upon a familiar rat. We chased him for so long, we didn’t register the moon. Suppose it was a good thing we didn’t. A lot of good has now been done, with him disposed.” Despite what seemed like good news, there were tears in his eyes. Like he lost an old friend. Suppose you’ll ask about that later. Now, you needed rest.

“I can’t believe you came chasing after me.” He tsked, as he was already using a cold rag on your face. Helping you cool off. “Suppose Harry is to blame. I could have hurt you. I would never forgive myself if I had infected you to. I could have-“ He went on and on, before you held his hand. Forcing him to stop, as you smiled.

“Then you won’t be so lonely on those full moons, would you?” He wanted to be frustrated with you, but that would be rather hypocritical. So, he just gave a defeated sigh. With a smile. “I have a type, it seems….” Was added, as Harry was soon to enter the wing. Along with his friends. Hermione, and Ron. All needing answers about why an escaped convict was in the medical wing.

Remus would give a sigh, as you scooted over. As best as you could, so he could sit with you. The trio was soon on the neighboring bed, sitting together, while keep quiet for Sirius to sleep. A snuggle into Remus’s lap, and he took a deep breath. Knowing you were there to support him.

“It all started, when three little Gryffindors thought it was wise to become unregistered Animagi….”