#its bad guys its getting bad. He's forever stuck in the bird cage and the cage is all he knows

[tubbytarchia]

Jimmy: "I'm in your debt"

Fwhip: "I know"

Jimmy: "Always, forever"

Fwhip: "I know"

The ecosystem. When will Jimmy be free this is horrible. The bird cage

[shirohige-pirates]

Birds of a Feather

CisFem Reader x Marco

CW: Violence, blood, language, adult themes and scenes.

Summary: Life has not been kind to you. After a string of bad relationships, you're a little jaded and a little depressed in all honestly. The worst day of your life seems to be the turning point, but the roller coaster ride that follows could either throw you soaring free, or have you caged forever?

Chapter 1: Pity

It was the worst day of your life.

Nothing had gone right since you’d woken up, and nothing was going to go right, you were sure of it. Your timed crock pot had shorted overnight, so instead of waking up to the really fancy oats you’d gotten used to, you woke up to cold, curdled mush. The power bar was a poor substitute, and to add insult to injury your coffee filter tore a little, and there were grounds in your brew.

Crunchy coffee wasn’t high on your list of caffeine options, but you didn’t have time enough to brew a second pot. Gulping down what you could stomach, being un-caffeinated wasn’t an option since you hadn’t slept much at all the night before. You chased it with some tap water to clear the grounds from your mouth and grabbed your coat before heading out.

It took three tries to get your car going, and that should’ve been warning enough for you to just call a taxi or order up a Bubble Ride™, but you didn’t. Two miles from work you’re stuck at the side of the road, waiting for a tow truck and just bouncing your head off the top of the steering wheel in a vain attempt to brain yourself into unconsciousness.

If you had the time off to spare, you’d just call off and call the day a wash. Ivankov was a reasonable boss, and honestly you could probably just tell him everything that had happened, and he’d give you the day off. At this point, however, you were closer to work than home. Getting the car towed to Kid’s shop was going to be expensive enough without buying a ride back home.

You’d ask to ride with the tow driver, but not all of them were okay with that, and you weren’t having the kind of day that had you wanting to see Kid’s face in the first place. If he didn’t give you hell for holding onto your old car, he’d probably try to get you to go out with him again.

For an ex-boyfriend, he was still a good guy. You made decent enough friends, but the attraction was still there from time to time and it was in your best interest to ignore it. You were almost tempted to try and date his best friend, but Killer was pretty loyal to Kid and honestly that would be awkward as hell for at least a couple years.

The only thing that went right for you, was that Heat had answered the phone when you called the shop. A mark for the win column, you supposed.

The walk to work had, admittedly, been a smart move too – but not for you.

Strange sounds had caught your attention and looking into an alleyway you saw a few kids, teenagers maybe, beating on what looked to be a dog. They were hollering and cheering one another on, and you could hear whimpers and yelps from the dog.

You didn’t even think about them turning those kicks and sticks on you as you yelled and ran into the alleyway. You were yelling swears and threats and heading toward them without stopping. You weren’t normally the most threatening thing around, but they must’ve decided an adult was too much bother and they ran off.

The dog was in a sad state, but you knew there was a vet hospital between here and work, it was only a couple blocks from your office, and a few of the people who worked there would come to the same bistros and cafés for lunch.

“It’s going to take everything I have left to haul you to that hospital.” You say softly, kneeling down and carefully, slowly reaching a hand out toward the dog. You were certain it was a pit bull of some kind. You weren’t much of a dog person, but that didn’t matter right now.

“If I pick you up, I hope you don’t bite me. I’m not like those fuckers.” You say it evenly, and the quiet growls of the dog cease. It licks its nose and seems to relax. “Well, if you do, at least I’ll be on my way to a hospital.”

You pull out your cell phone and dial 4-1-1. “Yeah, can I get connected to Phoenix Rising Animal Hospital?”

“Location?” The operator asks.

“Lvneel City, North Blue.” You answer, and after a second the line is transferred and starts ringing. “Ah! Er – I’m Chopper, you’ve reached Phoenix Rising Animal hospital, h-how can I help you?”

“Hello Chopper, my name’s (Y/N), I’ve found an injured dog that needs emergency medical attention, can I bring him into your hospital in the next few minutes?”

“EH!? I mean, yes! I’ll make sure everyone’s ready! Was the dog hit by a car?”

“No, but I don’t know how long some teenagers were beating on it.” You answer. There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line and the young man’s voice changes.

“Okay. We’ll be ready to assist you as soon as you arrive.”

“Perfect. Thank you.” You hang up the phone and tuck it away, scooting closer to the dog. “If you bite me, I might drop you, but I’ll do my best to hold on.”

There’s a little bit of growling from the dog and a little hesitation on your part, but after a few soft words and some painfully slow movements, you manage to lift the solid dog into your arms. There was a soft whine, but the wagging tail seemed like a good indicator and so you began walking.

The few people on the sidewalks gave you a wide berth, more from the dog in your arms than because of you. But you could also feel something soaking into your shirt slowly, and you realized the poor dog must have gotten cut at some point. You hold it a little tighter to your chest, it’s the only option you have for trying to apply pressure at this point.

There’s a yelp and a sudden sharp pain in your arm. You wince against the bite, but as soon as you flinch the dog lets go.

“I know, it hurt, I’m sorry.” You say it breathlessly. “Whew, you couldn’t be much more than twenty pounds, but it’s not like I can put you over my shoulder.”

Looking up you see the door to the vet office is open and a tall mink is standing outside looking around. The white polar bear is hard to miss, between his height and the rarity of minks in Lvneel. When he sees you, he turns in toward the hospital and calls out for something. By the time you reach the doors there are two guys in scrubs wheeling out a small gurney and helping you to set the dog down.

“He’s bleeding. She’s bleeding, I don’t know, I didn’t look.” You say evenly as the three of you work together. You follow them into the hospital, and the two guys hustle down a hall as the tall mink puts a hand on your shoulder.

“They’ll take care of him,” he says reassuringly, offering you a warm smile.

“I just – I just saw some teenagers kicking the dog.” You start to explain, looking down the hall the two men disappeared down, and then looking down at yourself. You’re covered in blood and dirt. “I didn’t realize he was cut. I didn’t – I don’t know, is he even gonna be okay?”

“They’re going to do everything they can, miss.” He assures you. “Calling ahead and giving us a heads up was very smart.”

“I… yeah, I… thanks.” You say looking at the mink more closely and finally clocking his name tag. “Uh, Bepo? Thanks. What happens now?”

Bepo tilts his head, and you think under any other circumstances you’d coo at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… it’s a hospital, not a charity, what’s – who – er… how’s he gonna be paid for?” You ask.

“Oh! Uh, well-.”

“We’ll see if he’s chipped.” You turn to see a man in scrubs and a white lab coat walking over to you and Bepo. He was tall, messy blonde hair topping an otherwise mostly shaved head, giving you a soft smile. “If we can reach the owners will inform them of what’s happened, and let them know they can come collect their dog, yoi.”

“And if they… if… ugh, oh no.” The scent of blood from the dog, the smell of the hospital, the stress of the morning, all of it catches up with you. You manage to put your hands over your mouth, but you can’t stop your breakfast from coming up.

The blonde man and Bepo both step back as half-digested breakfast bar, and gritty coffee, explode from behind your fingers and cover the front of you. For better or worse, you can’t smell blood or bleach anymore. Not that the tang of stomach acid is really any better, but it doesn’t make you nearly as queasy.

“Sorry.” You manage, wiping your mouth and taking the barf bag the tall blonde hands you. “I don’t… handle the smell of blood well, and it’s been… a really bad morning.”

“Are you hurt?” He asks.

“Huh?” You look up and notice him looking at your arm. “Oh… yeah. I… I realized he was bleeding, and I couldn’t put pressure on it, so I just pulled him to my chest a little tighter and I think I hurt him. He didn’t mean it though!” You add forcefully, stepping toward the tall man. “Don’t put him down for biting me, he didn’t mean to!”

“Calm down miss, we won’t put her down for that.” He assures you, putting his hands up in front of him. “Can I look at your arm, yoi?”

“Oh… yeah. Yes, please.”

“Chopper,” He says, turning toward a small reindeer-looking mink. “Go find a pair of scrubs for our client, and some clean towels and come into exam room 4.”

“Yes!” Chopper responds, changing size and shape and bounding down the hall looking more reindeer like than he had before.

“You can hold down the front, yes?” He asks, looking at a young lady sitting behind the reception desk.

“Of course, Dr. Marco.” She answers firmly. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the back bathroom.” She adds, “Just before the O.R. doors.”

“Thank you. Bepo, can you grab some spare kits and the toothbrush for me, and ask anyone not assisting Law with the Pittie to come out and clean this up?”

Bepo straightens, “Yessir.” He says before walking away.

Marco grabs a sign from behind the desk and sets it near your disaster before extending a hand. “This way, miss, uh?”

“(Y/N).” You answer, looking at your blood and vomit covered hands and putting them at your sides. “Please, uh, lead the way.”

“Maybe a quick stop at the bathroom first, so you can clean up a little, yoi.” He offers and you nod, following behind him as he escorts you.

You shed your coat into a plastic bag provided by the vet, wash your hands and arms, and use some paper towels to soak up the worst of the mess that was down the front of your clothes. The smell was awful, but you were getting used to it enough you didn’t feel queasy anymore.

At this point you could probably face God, with no fucks left to give for the day, and come out on top. After all, on top of everything else, you managed to nearly vomit on a really hot veterinarian. It was most certainly the absolute best first impression you could’ve possibly made with anyone.

“Alright, I’m as clean as I think I can get.” You admit, coming out of the bathroom and tying the bag with your coat in it.

Marco tilts his head. “Wash your arm without looking?”

You make a face, but sigh. “Yeah, I have a hard time with blood, and I didn’t want to hurl again.”

“That’s alright, I can work with that.” He says with a smile and leads you down the hall a little further before stepping into exam room 4. You sit down when he nods to one of the chairs, and he brings a stool over, sitting nearby and looking at your arm.

“It doesn’t look like it’ll need stitching. I’m just going to clean it up and get it dressed properly.”

“Uh, sure. Thank you.”

“Certainly.” He grabs a small kit and begins to clean up your arm carefully. “Only broke the skin in two places. The dog will be observed for rabies as a matter of course, but I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’ll get you prescribed some antibiotics to reduce the risk of infection, if you want?”

“Oh, nah. Thank you, but I’ll just, uh…” You sigh and wave your free hand around a little. “Go to the hospital or something if it gets infected.”

“Mm. Want to talk about it?” He prompts and when you look over at him, he glances up. “Your bad day. It’s barely nine in the morning, yoi. It must be quite the tale.”

You snort, covering your mouth and laughing as you see him trying not to laugh. “Sorry,” you say, not really sure what the apology was for exactly, as another giggle fit takes you over and you laugh more.

“A bad day,” he muses, eyes focused on your arm. “But a good laugh, at least.”

You chuckle a little as the blood rushes to your face for a moment. Whether it’s visible or not, you can feel the rush of heat in your cheeks briefly.

“Ah, can I make a call real quick? I don’t want to be a no show for work on top of everything else.” You ask as you pull your phone out of your pocket.

“Of course, I can step out if you need me to?”

“Oh, no, this’ll answer your earlier question, so you can stay if you’re not too busy.” You answer, and he goes back to tending to your arm.

After a few rings a gruff voice answers the phone. “Thank you for calling the Emporio Imperium, this is Buggy, how can I direct your call?”

“Oh, hey Buggy, manning the phones today?” You ask with a small smile.

“Eh? (Y/N)? Where are you?”

“Ah, a hospital.” You say and hold the phone away from your ear for a second as Buggy loses his shit for a moment. “Calm down, I’m talking to you, aren’t I? I’m fine. Well, mostly fine.”

“What happened? You’re taking today off, I’ll let Ivan know.” He asserts and you see no reason to argue.

“Well, I slept for crap last night, my crockpot shorted so I had a breakfast bar for breakfast, my coffee filter tore so my coffee had grounds in it, the car barely started and then died about two miles out from the office. It’s being towed to Kid’s shop,” you explain. “But when I was walking into work-.”

“You were still going to come in after all that?” Buggy’s voice nearly cracks, and you see Marco press his lips together. He certainly heard him through the phone.

“I don’t have much time off left,” you grumble. “Look, on my way in I came across some asshole kids beating on a dog. So I brought it to the Pet Hospital by the office. I got bit – it’s not bad don’t panic – but I have blood everywhere and to top it all off I threw up.” You finish, voice flat as you look up at the ceiling.

“Even if I wanted to still come in, I would, at best, be in scrubs smelling vaguely of barf and soap.” You admit. “I’m just going to go home.”

“…Need a ride?” Buggy asks in a very small voice.

“Nah, thanks Bugs, but I’m just going to order a Bubble or walk.” You answer. “Just let the team know I’ll be out today.”

“Tomorrow too?” He prompts.

You sigh. “I’ll be in tomorrow. Stop trying to make me use my precious time off, you menace.”

“Sure, sure. If Ivan lets you.” Buggy says with a triumphant sound in his voice before he hangs up.

“That little…” You growl and put the phone back in your pocket.

“You enjoy your work, huh?” Marco asks, taping the dressing in place and rolling the stool back a little.

You offer a weak smile. “I do. I work with good people, trying to do good things, I guess.”

“You guess?”

You shrug. “I know, I just… ah, sorry.” You let out a sigh and smile a little better. “It’s been a long day, and I don’t really want to add ‘trauma dumping on the nice animal doctor’ to the list of things gone sideways today.”

There’s a knock at the door and Marco nods as the door opens. Bepo pokes his head in. “Here’s the scrubs, and a tooth brush and the paste. Oh and a spare bag.” He says, handing the items over to Marco. “The entryway is cleaned up, is there anything else?”

“No, Bepo, I think that’s all for now.” Marco answers, setting the toothbrush and paste by a small sink in the room and setting the clothing down on a nearby exam table.

“Thank you Bepo.” You say, leaning forward a little and offering a smile.

“You’re welcome, Miss (Y/N).” He says in return. “I wish we could do more.”

“This is above and beyond already, thank you.”

Marco smiles, standing up. “Don’t get caught in a loop you two.” He says. “Miss (Y/N), we’ll give you some privacy. You can change into the scrubs, and brush your teeth. I’ll give you a ride home afterward.”

“Thank you, I-. Wait, what?” You go to ask, but he’s already shoved Bepo out of the room and closed the door.

You sigh, narrowing your eyes at the closed door.

“That slick bastard.” Muttering under your breath you brush your teeth and strip off your blood and vomit-stained clothes. For everything else that happened today, at least your socks and underclothes were dry.

You grunt as you pull on the scrubs. That was your silver-lining. Despite everything else that had happened, there weren’t any big puddles in the road for someone to have soaked you while driving by.

All in all, not your best day.

[lamiasluck]

Freebird

(This was a fun story from start to finish! Thanks for sticking around til the end!)

Summary: Illinois is finally out of jail! Immediately, he's eager to start adventuring again, and this time he's accompanied by a new adventuring partner. Yancy isn't sure what to expect out of this endeavour, but he's along for the ride.

Characters: Yancy & Illinois

Words: 4349 

Read on AO3!

Chapter One  Chapter Two

-

The day was beautiful. Birds sang their songs with reckless abandon, the sun shone brightly…

And Illinois was housing an established criminal.

Yet, he has never slept better. Waking up in his bed was a dream come true. Putting on basic comfy clothes felt like heaven. There was a pep to his step as he got ready for the day. He was always a morning person, but he never had more energy than today.

In the guest room, Yancy slowly got up and stretched. Clad in a baggy shirt and sweatpants Illinois let him borrow. Prison made him a morning person too, because of routine. However, he had a rough night in the new environment. Even if the bed was something he’d call “one of ‘em fancy, soft beds,'' he had a rocky night. He blamed it on homesickness. The door cracked open and he saw Illinois.

“Oh, you’re up early,” Illinois said. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, s’alright I guess,” he replied through a yawn.

“Must be weird, huh?” Illinois read his mind like a book. “I’m gonna make us breakfast. You can stay here if you want.”

Yacny swung his legs out of the bed. “Nah, nah, I’m already up. What youse gonna make?”

“Whatever didn’t spoil.” He shrugged. Being away for more than a month must’ve been hell for for his food supply.

When he got to the kitchen he tried to see what he could cook. There weren’t many options, but he could figure something out. “You alright with bacon and eggs?” He asked as Yancy trailed after him.

“I’ll eat anything. Just make it edible.” Yancy sat down by the kitchen aisles and watched Illinois cook. The kitchen was big, everything was. Illinois lived in a fancy house in the middle of nowhere. A house that could only be brought with the riches he collected during his adventures. Awfully big for one person, some might say, but he was out so often he barely noticed.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m a natural cook,” he flaunted. “It’ll be better than what they gave us in prison. Anything’s better than that slob…”

“Watch ya mouth,” Yancy warned. “Youse were there for a month, barely got the experience.”

“I think I’ll pass…”

“I didn’t even see ya in solitary.” Yancy shivered at the thought of the punishment. “Would’ve been funny to see a freebird all caged up,” he snickered.

Illinois flicked water at the other. “I already regret bringing you.”

“That’s rude! And ‘ere I thought we’s bonded… let bygones be bygones!”

“Well, I guess that’s true,” Illinois hummed. “I’d much rather hit on you than hit you~” He looked at Yancy briefly to shoot him a wink.

“I - wha…?” Yancy stuttered, staring wide eyed at Illinois as he cooked. Suddenly his throat felt dry and he couldn’t find anything to respond with. After a few moments, Illinois laughed and broke the silence.

“Oh, the jailbird can stop singing? Glad to know.”

“You asshole!” Yancy snapped. Masking his bashfulness with an exaggerated pout, he cast his eyes downward. “Just… what the hell are we’s gonna do anyways? Youse wanted to adventure, yeah?”

“We’ll get to that don’t you worry.” The pan sizzled as Illinois put in the bacon. A knowing smile made its way to his face as he heard the panic in Yancy’s voice. “We’ll enjoy breakfast, then get ready to set off.” He glanced over at him again. “You should wear something different. You can borrow something else from my closet.”

“What’s wrong with my regular clothes?”

“They’re prison clothes. If police come by, we’ll get arrested again,” Illinois sighed. “Just go to my closet, you look about my size anyways. Play dress up and I’ll finish this.” Just for fun, and because he was a little shit, he looked at Yancy again and gave him another wink. “Pick out something pretty~”

“Sh-Shut up!” Yancy stuttered, pushing himself away from the counter and storming off.

Like the rest of the house, Illinois’ closet was fairly big. Lots of the clothes looked practical for adventuring, some were for fancy occasions. As Yancy browsed through the selections, he found an outfit that made him audibly gasp. He didn’t care if it wasn’t the most practical, he needed to wear this one. He looked at himself in the mirror, smoothing out the jacket before making his way back to the kitchen.

“Ay, freebird!” he called out. “Why do youse have this?”

Illinois turned to look at him, blatantly checking him out with an up and down look. He picked out a leather jacket, white shirt, and black pants. “You know, I was expecting you to pick that.”

“Youse didn’t answer my question.”

“I had to ride with a biker gang for one of my missions. The jacket costs a lot so I kept it,” Illinois explained. “You don’t look half bad in it.”

“Damn right,” Yancy boasted. “Haven’t wore something like this in forever. Youse got good taste, I bet I look better than youse in this, though.”

“Well, it’s not really my style.” He plated the food while Yancy sat down again. “I do look good in everything, of course.” His usual outfit worked well for him, in a practical sense and a social sense. Yancy eagerly took the plate of food as he sat down himself. “Bon appetit.”

“So,” Yancy started, talking through mouthfuls of food, “can youse tell me where we goin’ now?”

“With pleasure.”

-

The day was still young when they reached their destination. Not like they could tell, because they had travelled to a cave. Ancient carvings decorated the walls, depicting rituals and unknown cultures.

Yancy let out a low whistle as he looked around. “Ain’t this something?”

“Better than any museum,” Illinois hummed. He lead the charge deeper into the cave, analyzing his surroundings with a careful eye. “Just like how I remember it. Glad to see those brutes that took me away didn’t mess with anything.”

“Yeah, theys only messed wit’ youse,” Yancy laughed. The idea of Illinois being taken away by police amused him greatly. He wished he was there to see it. Now that would have been an adventure.

At first, their path seemed like a straightforward cakewalk. Yancy was about to say how bored he was before Illinois stuck out his arm to stop him.

“Now, for this next part,” Illinois reached in his bag and pulled out a blindfold, “I’m gonna need you to wear this.”

Yancy stared deadpan. “You’re fucking wit’ me, yeah? Youse seriously want pay back for that?”

The blindfold was already being wrapped around his head, he didn’t protest. “Yes and no,” Illinois answered, a smug smile no doubtedly plastered on his face. “You’ve never done this before since you’re always all cooped up, jailbird. So it’s up to me to make sure you stay safe.”

“Youse not gonna kill me?”

“I’d never.” He placed his hands on Yancy’s shoulders and lead him further into the cave. “Just follow my lead.”

The next part of the cave was dangerous. Traps galore. Any wrong move and it’d be game over. Any bit of panic and Illinois would have to bring Yancy back to the jail in a body bag. As much as he disliked the guy ---could he even say that anymore?--- he didn’t deserve a gruesome end. Ignorance was bliss, in this case. Yancy would be better off not knowing what death traps he was walking through.

“I’m going to need you to calm down, okay? Don’t hesitate from this pace. Free your mind from any panic.”

“Youse sound like a motivational speaker,” Yancy snickered. As they continued walking, a spike trap lunged forward just a few inches shy from his chest. “What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing, don’t worry about it.” It wasn’t quiet anymore. The sounds of metal grinding against rock echoed throughout the walls. Arrows sliced through the air inches behind them. Illinois felt Yancy falter at the sounds.

“Illinois… what’s going on?” He didn’t outright stop their pace, but he resisted slightly against Illinois’ push.

A harder push forward made Yancy narrowly miss another spike trap. Illinois’ eyes widen. “I need you to trust me, Yancy. Follow my pace.” His voice was stern, yet calm. An axe appeared from the walls, barely grazing his arm in a single swing. “Think of something else. Distract your mind and let me handle everything.”

Yancy gave a short nod. A soft hum then began to juxtapose the harsh weaponry. He began to hum a familiar tune that everyone in the prison heard at least once.

“I don’t wanna be free~” Yancy started, singing much softer than usual, but who could blame him.

Illinois smiled. Already he felt Yancy loosen up as they continued their walk. “Leave me in luxury~” he continued, voice stronger but unpracticed. The song went against all his values, but damn was it catchy.

By the time they reached the end of the song, they were homefree. Illinois untied the blindfold and gave Yancy a pat on the shoulder.

“Good job, jailbird! You’re a natural,” he praised. Not a single scratch on Yancy and only a little cut on his arm. Could’ve been a perfect run, but not bad.

Yancy blinked once he could see again. He looked back at where they were and paled. “What the fuck?!” He looked back at Illinois with frantic eyes. “We walked through that?!”

“See? This is why you needed the blindfold!”

“How the fuck am I alive?!”

Yancy was only met with a chuckle from the other. Illinois grabbed his arm and began to walk again. “Enough about that! We’re only getting started,” he mused, clearly enjoying his reaction.

“Oh, I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” Yancy asked, breathless. In his disbelieved daze he followed obediently.

“I promised you that I’ll return you safe and sound, didn’t I? I’m not one to break a promise.” While his tone was playful, there was sincerity in his words. Yancy gave another silent nod and they continued further into the cave.

Eventually they stood before a huge chasm blocking their path. Illinois went over to a pile of nearby rocks and rummaged through them, pulling out an odd statue from the rumble.

“This is where I got caught,” he said. “My mission was to return this artifact,” he pointed to the statue, brushing away the dirt, “It’s a wonder how those brutes managed to find me, but I bet someone ratted me out.”

Yancy listened while staring down at the dark abyss. He threw a rock into it. He didn’t hear it hit the bottom.  

“How did they make it through… that?” He gestured towards the death hallway they strolled through.

“Oh, they barely made it. They sent a whole team after me, only two made it out. Gave me enough time to hide the artifact, but not enough time to figure this out,” he explained, gesturing to the chasm.

Yancy shivered when he looked back at the dark abyss. There was no way in hell they could jump over it, so they would have to scale the rocky walls. Surprisingly, Yancy found a path fairly quickly. He recalled scaling a wall like this when escaping the prison.

“1, 2, 3… 1, 2, 3… 1, 2, 3, 4…”

Illinois watched in awe as Yancy got to work. He repeated the mantra quietly as he fearlessly scaled the wall, never faltering once. In no time, he was on the other side.

There was a shine to his eyes as Yancy bounced on the balls of his feet. Probably adrenaline in technical terms, but Illinois always referred to it as “the spark of adventure”. Illinois hooked his thumbs on the loops of his belt, trying to remember the exact steps Yancy took.

“That was easy!” Yancy exclaimed. “Should be alright for youse, yeah? If you can survive all that then you can do this.”

“Yeah…” Illinois swallowed harshly. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he reassured himself, putting the artifact in his bag. The elegance Yancy had scaling the wall was nowhere near present in Illinois’ recreation. Nearly every thought in his head was a version of how the hell did he do that? but he tried his best to repeat the mantra Yancy created.

For a minute, everything seemed fine and he was nearly done. Yancy stood close near the edge, carefully watching his footing. Then a rock broke loose under his feet.

“Shit-!” Illinois yelped as he slipped. He didn’t react fast enough to regain his composure, but Yancy reacted fast enough to grab his arm and pull him to stable ground. Yancy pulled him close to his chest with a death grip on his wrist. Much better than death at the bottom of the chasm.

“Youse alright?” Yancy asked, voice laced with concern and fear.

Illinois gave a short nod in return. “I’m alright now.” The two backed away from the edge and regained their breath. “Thanks for saving me. Told you a partner would come in handy for this.”

“To make sure your dumbass doesn’t die, sure.” The both of them laughed, airy with disbelief. At least the rest of their path was peaceful. Great for calming down after nearly dying and watching someone nearly die.

From his bag, Illinois pulled out the artifact again to examine. Yancy grabbed it from his hands before he could realize.

“What’s this thing anyways?” The statue looked to be pure crystal, depicting a long forgotten idol.

“Easy there,” Illinois snickered. “It’s the heart of this place, stole it from a pirate ship that were gonna sell it to make a quick buck, but… well,” he looked around at the walls. Only a careful eye like his could tell how unstable this place was because of its absence, “taking it is dangerous. I’m surprised whatever spirits cursing this place didn’t wreak havoc while I was gone.”

“Oh.” Yancy quickly handed off the statue to Illinois, wiping his hands on his pants. “Didn’t realize.”

A loud laugh echoed as Illinois giggled at Yancy’s reaction. He tossed the statue between his hands and continued to talk casually. “Just another day in the life! I could tell you so many stories, if only we had the time,” he trailed off.

Ahead of them were two pedestals illuminated by a crystal light.

“Looks like the place to return this,” Illinois hummed.

“Which one is it?”

Illinois hooked his thumb in his belt. “That’s a good question.” He pondered to himself, looking at Yancy and the statue. “Why don’t you chose?”

“Me?!” Yancy gasped. “Why do I gotta do it? What if I choose wrong?”

“Come on, what’s an adventure without a little risk? What are you afraid of?”

Yancy stared at him deadpanned. “Dying.”

“Fair point,” Illinois nodded, “But I’m just as blind as you are, jailbird. So let’s take the gamble.”

“Alright…” Yancy scratched the back of his neck as his examined the pedestals. He pointed at the one on the left. “Do that one.”

None of them breathed as Illinois placed that statue slowly. “You know, I would’ve picked that one too.”

“So did I pick right?”

“I think so-” His thoughts were interrupted by a loud thud. Then, by the sound of a boulder rolling towards them. They looked at the dark hallway in front of them with wide eyes. He looked back at Yancy. “Run.”

They didn’t dare to look back, running a full sprint. A boulder big enough to barely fit within the cave’s walls was fast approaching. Fully intent on crushing them for their mistake. Yancy was swearing like a sailor as he ran. Illinois’ mind was racing just as quickly as he was running.

“Wait, Illinois!” He realized something grave. “The hole! We can’t fuckin’ pass that!” In the distance, they saw the chasm, just as intimidating as before.

If it was possible, Illinois’ eyes widened more. He looked desperately for any solutions. Then he saw it.

He grabbed Yancy’s arm and shoved him in a small crevice broken in the wall. While a tight fit, he managed to squeeze himself in too. Now chest to chest, they watched the boulder pass the mouth of the hole in suffocating silence. There was a loud thud following as it fell into the chasm. As if the boulder was going to magically get out of the chasm, they kept their gazes at the crevice’s opening for a bit longer. With how close their were, they could feel the heavy rise and fall of their chests.

“Are you alright?” Illinois asked.

At first, Yancy only replied with an under the breath “Holy fuck…” Afterwards, he did his best to clear his throat and nodded. “Yeah, I’m alright now.”

He turned to look at Yancy, only to realize how claustrophobic of a space they were in. They were nearly nose to nose, and both were too aware of that fact. “Oh. Hey there,” he said awkwardly. A small smile made its way to the adventurer’s lips, a smile he usually shined after barely dodging certain death. “Let’s get out of here.” He squeezed his way out of the hole and offered a hand to Yancy.

Yancy brushed off the dirt on him. He was a bit scuffed, being slammed into a tight corner and all, but overall he was alive and well. Though being up close and personal with his friend ---could he call him that?--- was… an experience. “Damn, youse gonna kiss me or something? Way too close, freebird.”

“What? You’d rather kiss the boulder? I saved your life.”

“Guess we’re even then.” Yancy fidgeted. “So... what now?”

“We should head back and put that statue in the right place this time.” Illinois nodded, shaking off the dirt on his hat. “Doubt the spirits are satisfied, after all.”

The trek back to the pedestals was quiet. What could they say after nearly being crushed to death? When they got back, the statue stood untouched where Illinois left it.

“I swear if I gotta run like that again…” Yancy mumbled under his breath while Illinois picked it up.

“Don’t worry,” Illinois reassured, placing it on the other pedestal. “There usually isn’t a second boulder.”

For a moment, nothing happened. The hairs on the back of their necks stood up in anticipation.

From behind them, the walls cracked open with an ugly sound on rock against rock. Their attention snapped towards the sound. Yancy jumped, ready to run again, but Illinois held him back. The new passage revealed a staircase leading to the surface.

Illinois’ shoulders slumped. “What, no reward? Lame.”

“Lame?!” Yancy gasped, staring at Illinois like he was crazy. “Christ, I think I’ve had enough adventure for today. I wanna get the hell outta here.”

“Alright, alright…” Illinois gave a lopsided smile, clearly tired. He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. “But you have to admit, that was pretty fun, wasn’t it?”

Yancy was already walking towards the staircase. He thought to himself for a moment. Yeah, he almost died multiple times, but goddamn was that a thrill. He legs wanted to give out at any moment, his heart pumped and made his ears ring, and he was scuffed and dirty as all hell. Yet, he has never felt more alive.

“Y’know what? Yeah, youse right! Must be fun to do that all the time, yeah?”

Illinois gave him a pat on the shoulder. The two of them began to walk out of the cave. “You have no idea.”

-

Maybe he was getting used to the bed, maybe he was so tired that he could sleep on anything, but Yancy slept like a baby when they got back to Illinois’ house. During the next day, they both slept well into the afternoon.

Illinois was the first to wake up. He made oatmeal for the two of them and waited for Yancy. Despite the sun shining, the day felt somber for him. For once he found an adventure partner that didn’t die on the first trap, and he was going to leave him. Just like all the rest. All he could do was accept it at this point. Yancy had his own responsibilities and his own life, it’d be cruel for Illinois to keep him from that.

“Mornin’, freebird,” Yancy greeted as he walked in the kitchen. He put on the leather jacket again after he woke up.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Illinois snickered at Yancy’s tired state. Rather than his usual slicked back hair, he had a messy bedhead. “You really like that jacket, hm? What, did you sleep in it?”

Yancy shrugged. “Might as well wear it now. Not like I can again.”

“That’s true.” Illinois picked at his bowl then looked Yancy in the eyes. “So you’re still going back?” he asked, tone disappointed.

Somehow, Yancy didn’t falter under his gaze. He nodded. “Didn’t even say goodbye to the others, y’know? It was fun while it lasted, though. This was nice.”

“I’m glad you thought so. You were a natural yesterday so, lemme give you something.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a flip phone. “I’m not going to stop you from leaving, but if you ever want some fresh air just give me a call. I’ll be more than happy to let you out of your cage for a bit, jailbird.”

The phone was slid over to Yancy, who grabbed it in surprise. “Woah… Thank youse!” He let out an airy laugh. “I’ll be sure to call youse! Hopefully I can hide this when I get back.”

“Just do your best, I’d love another adventure with you,” he said, sincere. Then, he flashed a smile as he thought of something. “And if it helps when you get back, maybe say I kidnapped you or something. So you won’t get punished.”

“Oh yeah? Like I’m your lil’ damsel in distress? Hold on.” Yancy cleared his throat and faked an exaggerated hurt expression. “Oh, w-warden-!” he gasped and did his best to quiver his lip, “It was so scary, youse have no idea! He was such a brute a-and I couldn’t stop him! Heavens know I tried…”

Illinois threw his head back in laughter. “Dear god…”

Yancy broke his facade slightly to snicker, only to return to his dramatic state. “He’s was out for blood I tells ya! He’s held me hostage for fun and was all like,” Yancy then proceeded to do the worst impression of Illinois’ voice, “That’ll teach them to lock me up! You’ll never escape me~”

It sounded like an oversexualized villian that was played by someone who clearly couldn’t get rid of their accent. Illinois laughed even harder, voice going up a pitch in volume.

“Is that what I sound like to you?! I’m insulted!” He snorted.

Yancy gripped the table for support, joining in on the laughter. “Well, yeah! I sound just like youse!”

“You better pray that that performance gets you out of trouble, you asshole!” Illinois wheezed, trying to catch his breath. He covered his mouth to hide a sudden mischievous smile. “Youse better watch ya mouth.” He tried his best to do that raspy accent that Yancy had, but failed horribly.

Yancy visibly cringed as he giggled. “Never do that again.”

“Right back at ya,” he continued to talk like a West Side Story reject, snickering.

A couple more hours passed with the two of them talking their heads off. Lots of stories of adventures from Illinois, and lots of stories of prison from Yancy. Though eventually, Yancy began to get ready to leave. He changed back to his prison clothes and gave back the jacket to Illinois.

“If you ever come back here,” Illinois started, hanging up the jacket, “This jacket and I will be waiting with a warm welcome.”

“Aw~” Yancy gave a bashful smile, scratching the back of his neck while looking down. He let out a heavy sigh and looked back at Illinois. “C’mere, freebird!”

Next thing Illinois knew, he was being pulled into a tight hug. He returned the gesture and hugged back just as tight. They lingered for a moment, the realization that they’d actually miss each other set in. Who would have thought?

“I’ll be sure to take youse up on that offer.” Yancy pulled back and gave him a heart pat on the shoulder. “Youse not gettin’ rid of me that easily, ya hear?”

“I would hope not.”

Yancy sighed and stepped back. He made his way out the front door. The car keys he stole still in his possession, so at least he had a way back. Illinois stood by the door frame, ignoring the ache in his chest as he watched him walk away.

His mind still raced with things to talk about, but they could wait. He furrowed his brows as he saw the car, turning back to Illinois one more time. “And uh, Illinois?”

“Yes?”

He swallowed his pride and muttered his next sentence, abnormally quiet, but Illinois could hear it loud and clear. “Youse pretty alright.”

Illinois huffed and rolled his eyes. “When I’m not annoying as hell?”

“Nah, I think it builds character.” He shrugged. “Youse a good man.”

Illinois felt his heart ache more at that comment, actually taken aback. “Yancy…” he gave an airy chuckle, shaking his head with a small smile. “You’re a good man, too. I’m glad I met you.”

It looked like Yancy had more to say, but decided against it. His throat tightened more as he stepped closer to the car. He cast one more look back at Illinois. “Stay safe, okay freebird?”

“Likewise, jailbird. Take care of yourself,”

Yancy nodded and finally got in the car. Illinois watched him drive away, offering one last wave goodbye.

He shut the door behind him, now alone in his quiet house. He was a free man at least, but what now? He had lost many, many partners in his time, but this one struck a chord. Well, Yancy did have his number, so he could call at any time. He hoped that he was serious about keeping in touch.

[thdorkmagnet]

Hamtaro AU: Hamster Marco Chapter 1: Snug in a Pocket

So this was originally going to be for the last day of Starcoweek5 but after I got some requests to finish the story I decided to turn it into a two-shot and its own fic. The idea behind this cute fic was from watching Marco’s confession on loop for like a day and then scrolling through some fanart and coming across Sburbox’s adorable art of Star, Marco, and Tom as cute Hamtaro hamsters! (Oh I should also let you know he is a Tomco shipper, but I typically judge artists on here by their art and talent and not their ship so I wanted to promote and credit him cause he is a really good artist! Even if Tomco isn't your cup of tea he still draws a really cute Tom!)

So I hope you all enjoy the chapter, I’ll post part 2 tomorrow and hopefully by then I will have Ch 15 of Light of the Sun and Stars finished and will be able to start posting on it again. Thanks for the patience guys!

Check out my other stuff over on Fanfiction! 

Disclaimer: Star vs and all its characters belong to Daron Nefcy and Disney. Hamtaro belongs to Ritsuko Kawai. Main idea inspired by awesome fanart by Sburbox. All rights go to the respective owners. 

Life for Marco was good. Sure being cursed and turned into a hamster may sound like a bad thing, but it had it's upsides for sure. Though at first this had hardly been the case, Marco had been furious and filled with rage after the... incident, something his small fluffy brown body wasn't able to tell, any human who looked at him simply cooing over how apparently adorable he was. And any attempts to tell them that he wasn't, in fact, a hamster but had been magically turned into one, was only greeted by more delighted awing over his cute, small squeak.

The boy had quickly given up on this, residing himself to his new life, often laying near the window of the pet store he was in, to stare up into the sky and wonder the meaning of his extensional existence, until that stupid German Sheppard would start drooling on him and he would let out a squeaky sigh before storming back over to his cage with his tiny paws crossed in annoyance.

He had hated the pet store and all the animals in it with a passion and wanted more than anything to... well be turned human again, but since that probably wasn't happening than to be adopted by someone who would hopefully let him eat off their plate, since he was getting tired of sunflower seeds. And yet, for a while this wish went unfulfilled as he watched pet after pet pass in and out of the pet store, shooting each mindless animal an envious glare.

And then one day, his prayers were answered as one fated morning a certain blond haired girl walked into the pet store. Marco had watched with excitement and intrigue as the girl explained to the owner she was looking for a hamster and he felt his small spirits rise. And then his little heart had begun pounding with joy as the blond was led over to none other than his cage. But suddenly his heart had stopped beating altogether as a pair of bright sky blue eyes fell on him, a small smile gracing the girl's lips as she said softly, “Hey there little guy. I'm Star, nice to meet you.”

Marco was frozen to the spot as she reached a finger in between the bars of the cage and gently scratched his head. The hamster boy was having trouble breathing as the girl just continued staring at him with interest and curiosity, Marco unable to believe he had ever seen anyone quite so lovely before in either of his lives, both human and hamster.

He just watched as Star stood back up and nodded to the owner, saying, “Yes, this one will be just perfect.”

Marco had gone home with her that day, feeling more happy than he had since before the curse, especially when he discovered the fact that this girl had magic as on the way home she had been attacked by a group of monsters, led by a short, bird looking one named Ludo, but the girl had bravely fought them off with a wand she kept hidden in her purse. This brought new hope to Marco as he wondered if this was the universes way of finally repaying him for all the bad stuff he had endured so far.

Marco spent the next few days with Star, trying to get here to realize the truth, crawling onto her wand whenever it was nearby and then gesturing with his small paws to it and then himself. But all Star would say was, “No, no, Marisol. (That's what she had apparently named him) No crawling on the wand, that's dangerous.” She would then scoop him up and put him back in his cage. But the boy didn't give up, determined to return to being human again. He would paw and poke at her spell book, which didn't elicit any response, since Star seemed almost disinterested with it. He even tried writing down his plight onto paper, but it was very difficult to do with such a small size and barely functioning paws, coming out to look more like scribbles than words. Marco face-palmed himself, as above him Star giggled at how cute her pet was, the boy ignoring how beautiful her voice was. “Oh my gosh, look at you, Marisol! You look like your actually writing, I have to send a picture of this to Janna!” Star pulled out her phone and snapped a picture before directing her attention onto the phone screen, her fingers tapping at a mile a minute.

Marco just sighed and curled up into a ball, before tiny tears began falling from his eyes, his small form shaking. He was never going to be human again, he thought depressingly, he was going to be stuck like this forever. Star looked up from her typing and noticed her little pet's distraught position, a concerned frown on her face as she reached a hand out and began gently running her fingers though his soft, fuzzy fur. “Marisol, what's wrong?” she asked with such worry in her voice, it made Marco's heart ache.

He wished he could tell her, he wished he could talk to her and tell her everything but he couldn't. He was stuck like this, stuck living life as a hamster with no way to communicate with anyone, ever. He began letting out small, squeaky sobs and nearly cringed as he waited for Star to start laughing at how cute he sounded (because yes he realized he did) but it would only make him hurt worse, someone finding amusement over his misery.

But her laughter never came. Instead, Star picked him up into her hand, before lifting him up and bringing him closer to her. She gently rocked him like he was a small baby, shushing him and caring for him, as he continued to weep small tears. “Shh, shh, it's okay, Marisol. Don't cry, your alright.”

Eventually he stopped, laying exhausted and unmoving in her hands as he waited for her to put him back into his cage. He felt Star's eyes regarding him and began to wonder what was going on with the girl. “I think I know what's wrong,” Star said in realization and Marco felt his hopes rise just a little. “Your lonely because I haven't been spending enough time with you, right.” Marco finally looked up, and was again startled by the piercing blue he saw. “Oh, I'm sorry Marisol,” the girl groaned, looking so genuinely guilty, that Marco laid a paw on her to let her know it was okay. He hated seeing her sad, for some reason. “Living all alone in that stuffy cage must be the worst!”

Ugh, it was! The girl bit her lip in the cutest way as she pondered to herself for a moment. Suddenly the girl's face brightened as she said joyfully, “But I think I know how to make it up to you.”

And then, the next thing Marco knew he was being tucked into the girl's pocket, blinking as he stared around at the small space in confusion. “There now, Marisol. You can stay right there from now on, okay? This way you'll never have to feel alone anymore.”

Marco was about to squeak out his protest for the idea and begin fighting his way out of the pocket, when he felt a small hand reach in and pat him gently on the head, making his fuzzy cheeks flush, before dropping in a few jellybeans for him to munch on. The boy felt his whole body tingle as the warmth and comfort of the pocket took over and he found himself instead cuddling deeper and deeper into its depths.

And that's where he stayed, day after day, living in the tiny pocket of Star's dress, only coming out to use the bathroom or whenever she changed into her sleep dress, where she would lay him gently next to her on the pillow. Marco began to adjust to this life of his, living in Star's pocket, his small heart filled to the brim with joy every second, as he just became engrossed in the girl more and more.

She was super sweet and adorable, laughing at the oddest moments and never forgetting to reach in every so often and pat him on the head. She never really fed him seeds, always slipping small bites of food down into her pocket during meals without her parent's knowledge or sharing whatever snack she was eating with him.

And the more time went on, the more Marco realized he was in love with her. He loved every single thing she did, he loved her laugh, her smile, how much time and effort she put into taking care of him, even how goofy and reckless she could be sometimes, everything and he wanted nothing more than to stay with her forever.

He was thinking about this as he lay on her desk, watching her struggle to figure out her homework, chewing on the end of her pen in the cutest way, while her other hand was gently scratching Marco behind the ear. He reveled in her touch, while also smiling at her dorky behavior, he looked down at her homework, looking over the question she was stuck on. He had been able to hear Skullnick discussing this in class from within Star's pocket earlier that day and actually knew the answer.

So, he regretfully pulled out of Star's touch, much to her surprise and scampered over to the paper, grabbing her hand and directing it to the answer. He squeaked once and pointed down at it with his paw for emphasis. Star smiled brightly and gave him a pat on the head saying, “Well aren't you just the smartest little thing!” Marco felt his heart swell with pride, as he watched the blond quickly marked her answer, touched that she would trust him like that. He was only a hamster after all. Then again, she was a little too lazy to bother figuring it out herself and would probably take the first bit of advice offered to her, even from a mere pet.

She looked on to the next question, her smile turning into an anxious frown as she asked, “So any idea what the next one is, little guy?”

Marco spent the next half hour helping Star with her homework, guiding her hand to whatever answer it was or turning to the page she needed to figure it out, the blond eagerly and gratefully taking whatever help he offered, a bright, infectious smile on her face and Marco couldn't help but admire it, proud of himself for helping to create that look. He wanted to keep it on her forever.

Finally, the two finished, Star leaning back in her chair and letting out a relieved sigh. “Whew, finally done.” She looked down at her small pet praising him by saying, “Thanks, Marisol. Who knew you were such a smart little cookie?” She held her hand out to him and he climbed onto it without a second of hesitation. She lifted him up to her face and gently nuzzled her cheek against his own, laughing as his soft fur tickled her face. “Your gonna have to be my new tutor from now on, huh?” she joked.

Marco was too busy fighting though his hazy thoughts and the goo that was left of his mind as he felt her warm breath beneath his fur and he sighed contently. Then, every function in his brain shattered into a million pieces as she gave him a tiny little kiss and he fell over onto her hand, his heart close to bursting with its excessive pace.

Star didn't notice this though, as she just tucked him back into her pocket, giving him a small pat before starting to put her books and things away for the night. Marco snuggled extra close to her, breathing in her sweet scent which was always present in her pocket, soaking in her warmth as much as he possibly could.

Marco was happy with his life inside Star's pocket. Maybe someday, he would find a way to tell her who he truly was, but until that day came, he was content and happy to stay right there, in her pocket. And if he was being honest he didn't really want it to end. He just wanted to stay where he was with Star, forever.

[far-cry-all-the-time]

Take my place, part II.

Pairing : Staci Pratt x OC Deputy Lila O’Cain.

Warning : mentions of dead animals.

A/n : I’m so happy to write about Lila and Staci omg !!! I hope you guys are enjoying it as well. Please let me know what you think about it.

When Jacob had found Lila in his office, he was so mad he almost pushed her off the balcony. But, at the last minute, he decided against it and threw her inside instead, her arm hitting the sharp edge of a desk and spilling blood all over it. She winced, but did her best not to cry or scream. Before she could look up again, Jacob’s foot was crushing her. The toe of his heavy shoe was pressed on her throat, preventing her to breathe.

She thought she was going to die. She knew she was going to die. But, somehow, she stayed calm. Staci was safe ; her job was done. But Jacob lifted his foot just enough so that she could inhale a puff of air. He crouched down. “You think you’re smart, huh ? You think you’re a freaking hero ?”

Lila stayed silent. She wouldn’t have been able to talk anyway, Jacob’s boot still lodged under her chin.

“Well guess what. You’re not. You’re weak. Weaker than I thought, maybe even weaker than Peaches.” Lila closed her eyes, imagining Staci getting to safety and contacting Eli. She knew he and Wheaty would take care of him for her. And she knew Nick would too. He was safe. Jacob grunted when he realized she wasn’t paying attention, putting a little more pressure on her windpipe. “But I guess we’ll see about that soon enough. You freed my little pet, so I guess you’ll have to take his place.”

———

When Staci rolled off the truck, he landed in a puddle of water. His clothes were already ruined, but this was just the last thing he needed. He shoved his head in his hands, incapable of standing up. The imprint of Lila’s lips on his felt like it would never go away ; and oh god how much did he wish it would stay with him forever. Fucking butterflies were flying in his stomach and, for a second, he let himself enjoy the feeling. But guilt quickly took over, killing every little butterflies in Pratt’s belly and replacing them with venomous spiders.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, thinking about her all alone with the monster who had tortured him for two weeks straight. For a minute, he felt the urge to run back to the Center, even if it would just get him killed. But what was the point of living if it was without her ? Staci punched the ground, not finding any other way to release his anger. He was going to free her. He had to.

Staci stood up and started walking.

If he remembered correctly, the nearest outpost was the F.A.N.G Center. He didn’t want to use the radio yet in case it wasn’t safe. Surprisingly, when he finally found an outpost, it was the Baron Lumber Mill. He was about to collapse, pretty sure there was blood in his shoes, when a man with a rocket launcher spotted him.

“Hey amigo, you look terrible.” Before Pratt could say anything, the stranger continued, “Shit, wait, are you a Deputy ? You’re that Deputy stuck at the Vet Center, aren’t you ? Watcha doing here ? Shit man, you escaped ? That’s cool.”

Finally, Pratt was able to cut him off and mutter, “Lila O’Cain. You know Lila ?”

The man got really quiet for a minute, confusion painting his face. He cleared his throat, “Yeah of course I know the Dep. Where is she ?” His tone was almost accusative and it made Staci ache ; he felt so fucking guilty.

Once he got a glass of water, he explained everything to the stranger -who was named Hurk Jr-. Once he was done, Hurk scratched his face anxiously.

“We need to get her out, man,” he sighed. “I’ll call Nick. Lila was crashing at his place ; maybe he’ll know what to do.”

In less than 30 minutes, a yellow plane was landing near them and Staci thought it was going to crash. The road was way too narrow for a bird this big ! But, against all odds, nothing bad happened. The pilot definitely was a skilled one...

“Hurk, what the fuck happened ? What’s this about Lila being kidnapped ?” shouted the man getting out of the plane, a woman following him with an anxious look on her face. Staci introduced himself and explained everything again. Nick and the woman he introduced as his wife listened to him carefully. Pratt couldn’t help but feel like they were judging him. Why didn’t he save her ? She risked her life for him and he did nothing for her. Staci felt like he was going to puke, but he carried on with the story.

“Lila talked about you a lot,” Nick finally said once Staci was done. “If you love her at least half as much as she does you, you’ll do everything to get her out... Right ?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. Kim, baby, call Tammy and Eli.”

———

Lila hadn’t been thrown in one of the cages. She was inside, away from the muddy ground. If it could’ve felt like a good thing ; it wasn’t. Because she was in Jacob’s room and it felt fucking nauseating to be there. Under the cot she was sleeping on, Lila had found some little marks carved in the ground. She realized pretty quickly that the 15 little lines were the number of days Staci had been staying there. It comforted her a bit ; she was here so he could be safe. That’s all she wanted.

“You still sleeping ? Get up.”

Lila obeyed Jacob and stood up, her stomach hurting from hunger. She tried to ignore it as much as she could ; it would’ve pleased Jacob to see her in pain. The last thing she wanted was for him to be fucking happy.

“I was about to call you Peaches, but you don’t bruise as easily as he did, huh ?” Jacob teased. Lila stayed silent and he dragged her out of the room, out of the building, and in a white truck.

“Where are we going ?” she finally decided to ask after a few minutes of driving.

“Huntin’.”

Lila followed Jacob for hours. He was chasing deers and she had nothing to do except stay right behind him. She thought about escaping, but she was too weak to outrun him. After a few hours, Jacob finally decided it was enough. He sat down next to his latest kill and threw his red knife between him and Lila. She raised a brow and he explained, “That’s your dinner.”

“Excuse me ?”

“You’re hungry, right ? Well eat.“

She waited for a few seconds, trying to see if he was joking. Of course, he wasn’t. Her stomach growled and she reluctantly crouched down near the deer, Jacob’s knife in her hands. She had no idea how to skin a dead animal and didn’t even know what parts she could eat. She cut one of its thighs, figuring it was probably a safe spot.

“Wow, even Peaches would do a better job than that. I’m surprised, Deputy.”

“I’m not. You’ve always underestimated him.”

Jacob’s eyes widened. It was pretty explicit that her devotion to the other deputy amazed him. It was her weak spot ; the reason why she was here. He crouched down near her and took the knife from her hands. Silently, he started skinning the deer himself. Lila watched him work, pretty sure it would be a good thing to remember how to do it. Then, he cut a neat piece of meat and handed it to her.

“That’s how you skin a deer. If Peaches learnt, so will you, pup.”

He stood up and cleaned his knife on the front of his pants. He motioned for her to follow him and she did. Lila couldn’t help but feel a weird growl in the pit of her stomach and, for the first time in a few days, it wasn’t just the hunger.

—

A/n : This chapter was a bit calmer than the first one, but I needed to write it so next chapter(s) would make sense ! I hope you enjoyed it anyway.

Tagging @casifer-fan & @onl-you as always !

[starrbomb]

Palapups au

Allura has to move in with her god father Coran after her father dies in action (he was a dectective).And Coran can tell that she’s really struggling with everything, with moving and losing her only family, and she’s pretty much closed herself off from other people.So he decides that maybe getting her a dog might help her come out of her shell and start the process of grieving for her father.He goes to the local pound and sees a lot of different types of dogs, but just doesn’t see any that he believes would be a good with Allura.

That is until he sees one of the workers, a big burly man with a scar over his eye (I wonder who that could be) drag this three legged husky/shiba mix out of its cage and starts to pull it towards the back door of the pound.

Coran knows what’s about to happen, and calls out for the worker to wait. It’s obvious that he’s gotten on his guys nerves but Coran Wimbleton is not one to back down when he sets his mind to something! So he tells the worker that he’d like to adopt the dog, much to the displeasure of the worker.

(FYI, the dog pound worker is Sendak if you hadn’t already guessed) Anyways, sendak tries to dissuade Coran, telling him how hard it will be to take care of a dog like this one, and coming with reasons why he shouldn’t adopt him, but Coran is adamant about his decision and at the end of the day, he’s leading his new dog to the car.

When he gets back to the house and introduces the dog, which he has skillfully named Shiro, Allura is a bit hesitant about taking care of a dog, especially one with only 3 legs. She thinks that it could be difficult and be too hard for her to handle (she’s like 12 right now so, yeah) but with each day, Shiro gets more healthy and energetic, and Allura realizes that it doesn’t matter to Shiro if he only has three legs, he can still do anything any other dog can. And the more Allura plays with him, the more she’s starting to open again and actually talk with people (usually to apologize for Shiro who is both super friendly to every kid in the park but learey of adults and might even growl if people start to yell around him.) plus, Shiro is best guard dog. and therapy dog. If he thinks that Allura is in a dangerous situation or something about this stranger is just wrong he will not hesitate to put himself between them and growl and bark at them.

After a couple of years with Shiro, Allura is doing much better, she has friends at school, her grades are well and she’s a part of the debate team at school. But he beat part of her day is when she walks out of school to see Shiro at the front of the school, waiting for her. She still goes to the park every day and plays with him, and takes him practically everywhere in town.

And then one day.....

Coran’s police buddies call him up, saying they just took down a big dog fighting ring and say that they found an adolescent pup that doesn’t seem to have been treated kindly, and while he growls at anybody that walks by he doesn’t bite people like the other dogs. They ask if he can foster the pup until they can find a suitable home for him to go to.Coran happily accepts, hoping that he’ll be able to help give this poor dog a second chance on life. When Kolivan, who lead the bust, comes by he notices that the dog is a young Rottweiler who does indeed growl none stop, but only gives off barks when he feels he’s threatened (which is pretty much every time Coran or kolivan get too close to the front of the crate).

When they eventually get the adolescent dog out of the crate by its own free will (no way were they going to force it to come out) he’s still really weary of it all, rushing off to hide under the couch. Coran and Kolivan share a look of pity that the poor thing is so skittish of the slightest thing. Coran puts down a second bowl of water and food near the couch so it doesn’t have to go too far to eat or drink.He even goes as far as laying down those potty training papers around and as under the couch as he can. With each day, the puppy slowly gets used to seeing Allura running by as she races out the door to school, and notices how Shiro is always trotting with her. They both decide to name the new dog Keith while he’s there with them, and the more Keith comes out of his hideaway, the more interested he is of Shiro.Soon enough, wherever shiro goes you can see Keith tumbling after him. While he’s still super nervous around people, he’ll lay next to Shiro if he’s laying by Coran or Allura. He even starts to come with them to the park (on a leash of course, because he still just a pupper and they don’t want him to get lost) and whenever Keith get overwhelmed with all the people around, he’ll get as close to Shiro as he can, going as far as to try and hid between his legs.

By the time Kolivan comes back around saying that he’s found a possible home for Keith, Keith has gotten to be really close with Allura and Coran let alone Shiro. He’ll follow them around the house and worm his way between them and any hard surface, enjoying the physical contact. If Coran is sitting at his desk doing paper work, keith will either lay down beside the desk or he’ll figure out a way to get his head in Coran’s lap, getting the head rubs he loves so much. Kolivan can’t bring himself to take away the dog that has finally found a place where it doesn’t have to worry about anything other than getting the much needed positive physical contact, so he calls the other home and tells them that he regrets to inform them but Keith has already found his forever home.

The next dog they get is a little Pomeranian from a neighbor a few doors down from them. This sad kid comes up and knocks on their door, telling them that his parents were spitting up and his dad (who he was moving with) told him that their new apartment didn’t accept dogs, and his mother has always been allergic to dogs, so he asks if they’ll take in his dog since they seem to be really nice to their dogs.They of course accept, and when they ask what her name is, he tells them it’s Pidge. Allura and Coran are pretty confused about it until the boy explains that it’s because she always tries to chase after the birds in their backyard and the name just sort of stuck.

They wish the boy good luck and promise to take care of Pidge. Keith isn’t the best when it comes to change though, so when Pidge starts to lay on Coran’s lap or curl up next to Allura when she’s studying, you can say that he got a bit jealous. But in the funny way, where he tries to do the same thing so whenever he sees Coran sitting on the couch he’ll jump up and try to curl up in his lap like Pidge can, or will try and lay next to Allura on her bed, but that usually ends up with him spreading out and taking most of the bed space. But Keith starts to accept the new addition to the family when she starts to lay next to him when she takes a nap and it becomes obvious that she is very secure with herself and doesn’t need a lot of physical affection as Keith does, so he lays off in trying to out do her. Pidge loves watching Coran on the computer, it’s one of the few times that she will climb up in his lap, so she can watch all of the images and fast words being typed up. They of course take their newest puppy to the park with Shiro and Keith, but she usually just lays down next to Coran while Allura plays with Keith and Shiro.

It’s a year after they got Keith and Pidge that Allura and Coran have to move bc Coran got a better job in a different state. They of course bring all three dogs with them (no one gets left behind!) and once hey get to their new home, it’s obvious that it’s much different than their last neighborhood. While they got a really great house, just a couple blocks down from their neighborhood is the ‘bad side’ of town. They usually do their best to avoid it, Allura even walking the long way to school just to avoid going that way. After a couple of months of getting used to the new place and the new school and even finding a new park to take the dogs to, everything seemed to be looking up for them. That is until one day there’s a big wreck right outside of Allura’s school, pretty much closing down the entire sidewalks on both sides on the route that she usually takes home. So she has to go through the rough side of town.

Of course, Shiro waits for her at the front of the school and braves the journey of going through that neighborhood. But she does realize it’s not as bad as people make it out to be, it’s mostly immigrants from Cuba and Mexico and the Colombian republic, and yeah she does get a few woof calls here and there but there’s usually a loud smack to immediately follow and she can hear mothers and girlfriends alike berate them about denouncing women like that. So she occasionally, if the debate club runs longer than usual (which it occasionally does) she’ll go through the immigrant neighborhood and she’ll talk with some of the older women who sit out on their porches or some of the kids will come up and ask if they can pet her dog or if they can play with him and give him treats, which she agrees to, and usually whenever the kids from the neighborhood plays with Shiro, Allura will sit with the other girls from her school or some of the younger ones and helps them with homework or talk about gossip.

It was one of these times that Allura figures out why so many people considered this the bad neighborhood.

Mr.Iverson, a hateful man that for some reason lived in the heavily immigrant part of town and yet would gladly see everyone of them, and probably Allura too, get deported or sent to jail, was outside of his yard for probably the first time since Allura moved there, hunched over in an alleyway repeated hitting something.

The more that she moved closer to see what exactly he was doing, the more Shiro grew agitated and tense, letting growls slip out as Allura finally saw what Mr. iverson was doing.

He was hitting a poor dog, starved and dehydrated and had obvious signs of years of abuse and neglect. And he was beating on it as if it was no more than a punching bag, as if every whimper and cry from the poor thing wasn’t even there.

It seemed that Shiro had had enough and ran off, slipping in between the man’s leg and positions himself over the cowering dog, growling up a storm and even going as far as to bare his teeth. Iverson is quick to try and hit Shiro, but Allura is so NOT letting this asshole hit any dogs especially her dog. She grabs his raised hand and easily takes him down, using an old technique her late father had taught her, all the while the smell of alcohol is overwhelming as he swears like a sailor. She doesn’t hesitate to tell him that her godfather is great friends with the cops (old friends of Kolivan’s and Alfor) and he backs off, but before he can run off she takes several pictures of both him and his hands to show the cops later.

Once he’s gone, Allura returns her attention to the poor dog under Shiro, still cowering and even covering its eyes with its paws, when she picks up the dog, she realizes just how light he is and sees just how much worse the situation is. He has patches of skin with no fur, obviously scratched raw and bloody, and a rope that is tied around his neck has practically fused with its skin from it being constantly rubbed raw. The poor thing doesn’t even have any fight in him, just accepting whatever fate he has now. Allura books it back home, Shiro hot on her heels. She passes by home and keeps running straight into town, and crashes into the vet clinic crying out for help. It takes the vets hours of surgery, all the while Allura is sitting in the waiting room, Shiro laying his head in her lap as she keeps fumbling with her phone. She already told the vets about what happened so their sure to take pictures of the abuse, but she can’t help but wonder if he will survive, if he’s going to be ok. That’s how Coran found her once he was able to get off work, still sitting in the waiting room, dried blood staining her blouse as she keeps glancing back at the door, hoping for one of the surgeons will come out soon but also dreading it.

L

After hours of waiting in silent tension, the doctor finally comes out from the surgical room and tells them that while there is a lot of damage that’s been done, they were able to get him stable. They were able to identify that he is a Doberman/collie mix. He will need to stay there for a while to make sure that there weren’t any complications and in case something else comes up. So Allura and Coran head home, already settled that they’ll both come by tomorrow to see how he’s doing.

It takes days for the vet to clear the newly dubbed Lance, and they have to take him back regularly for constant check ups and to make sure the infections that had entered his wounds haven’t come back, and Coran is carrying a bag of medication for him while Lance leans against Shiro as he slowly makes his way to Coran’s car, all the while Allura is constantly making sure that the new collar isn’t too tight and irritating his wounds or bandages. It takes a bit of coaxing to get him in the car but once they do and make sure that he’s completely calm, they slowly make their way home.

Keith is very jealous at first, cause Shiro and his humans have been constantly ignoring him (they weren’t ignoring him they’ve just been giving him less attention) but once he sees the new dog limping in with barely any fur on it and obviously nervous of everything, he joins the protect Lance dog squad in his own way. He gives Lance space. when they do share a room he makes sure to make himself look smaller than he is (although it doesn’t really make a big difference bc Lance is already bigger than him, he definitely got the Dobermans height) and if he’s not in the same room, he’ll guard the doorway to make sure only the right humans (aka Allura and Coran) can come in and see his new brother. Shiro almost never leaves his side, making sure that he eats and helps keep him relatively calm when Coran has to administer medication or rewrap his stitches and healing wounds.

It was during one of Lance’s weekly check ups that they found a large dark Komondor dog being brought into the clinic as a stray by an old man who had found him digging through his trash. The clinic was being very cautious, fearing that the large hulking dog could attack someone. Instead he was calm and very sweet. But it was when Lance was struggling with allowing the doctor to do his check up, scampering around and hiding behind Allura or he table and the large dog just trots in, his dreads swing back and forth and he lays down in the middle of the room, panting quite a lot but other than that he just relaxed on the floor, showing that it was perfectly safe for Lance. It was the sweetest thing Allura had ever seen and instead of going home with one dog, she comes back with two, Lance and the newest addition, Hunk.

When summer comes around, Lance is back to a healthy weight and his fur has grown back completely, although there are a few scars here and there, but he doesn’t let that bother him. He loves to play with Shiro and Hunk in the backyard but when they go to the dog park he rarely goes out and plays with Hunk shiro and Keith, he’ll usually just sit next to Coran on his usual bench with Pidge.

Also, during the summer all of the mothers from that ‘bad neighborhood’ ask Allura if she’ll babysit their children while they’re at work, so she gets in a lot of money (she doesn’t charge a lot, but it builds up after babysitting half of the neighborhood kids) and they love it when Allura is babysitting because they get to go to her house and play with her dogs! Shiro is always a good sport and is playful with the kids, Hunk is probably their favorite because he looks like a mammoth to some of them but is as gentle as a butterfly. Pidge usually hides away in a room whenever the children come over, Keith doesn’t really like having the kids keep touching him, he hasn’t seemed if they are safe or not, so he’ll usually hide away with Pidge if it gets to much. Lance loves the attention to an extent, he can get overwhelmed and will usually curl up or find shiro or Hunk to hide behind. After this happened a few times the kids ask why and Allura does her best to explain that Lance didn’t always get happy touches, so sometimes he can mistake happy touches for mean touches and will hide away.

The kids obviously feel bad, and only touch him if he comes up to them.

All is right in the world and no one could be happier!

(Although with the amount of dog hair that gets everywhere, everyone is constantly perplexed on how Allura’s and Coran’s clothes don’t have a hint of dog hair on them?)

[scaryastheyseem]

Animorphs October day 15-16: AU + Confessions

Tw for canon-typical body horror + canon-typical discussion of child death and endangerment

It’s weird, the things we don’t know about our parents. My parents have known me since the day I was born. They could tell you the name of every friend I’ve ever had, every food I don’t like, every teacher I’ve had since kindergarten. They know every time I had been sick. They remember every birthday party and every broken bone, every Halloween costume and bad dream.

 On the other hand, I didn’t that my parents had names until I was six years old. They were just ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’, until the day that my aunt called the house and asked for someone named Loren, and I learned that Loren was my mom, and Alan was my dad, and that they’d had entire lives as Loren and Alan, almost thirty years apiece before I came along.

 I still couldn’t tell you what they were like as kids. Or what their hobbies are now, or the names of any of their friends. That’s not because I don’t know. It’s because any information I give you about my parents could be used to find out who they really are.

 I won’t even promise you that my parents’ real names are Loren and Alan. Or tell your our last name. Even that could be enough for the Yeerks to track us down. And I can’t let that happen.

 Usually, it’s parents who have to worry about keeping their kids safe. They make sure they’re eating enough vegetables and aren’t staying out too late or going to parties where there might be drinking. If they’re like my dad, they keep us from watching violent movies and lecture us on the dangers of teen alcoholism like once a week, because my dad takes the very special episodes of Boy Meets World way too seriously.

 My mom says it’s because he worries about us, and that I shouldn’t let it bother me. I act like it does anyway, because that’s what a normal kid would do, and I like to think that I’m still pretty good at pretending to be a normal kid.

 The truth is that it doesn’t bother me. I know that my dad’s right to be afraid. Even if it’s not for the reasons that he thinks.

 See, my parents don’t know everything about me, either.

--

I coast back in through my bedroom window, so tired that it’s a physical ache, like someone’s reached into my body and wrung out my bones. Two years ago, I didn’t know that you could be tired enough that your vision blurred. Two years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to find my open window on instinct, or glide through it on the silent wings of an owl and land on my headboard with no more sound than any other owl would make catching a mouse. Which is to say, no sound. Most people don’t think of owls as scary, because even the biggest ones only weight about three pounds. But they’re some of nature’s most silent and deadly predators. Silent flight. Talons that could crush a human’s hand. Better vision than humans at any time of day, and better hearing, too. Most of their prey die without knowing what hit them.

I hopped down onto my pillow and started the slow shift back into human. Morphing takes a long time, and demorphing takes me longer than it takes the other Animorphs. I’m not bad at it, exactly. It’s just that sometimes, when I’ve been in morph for long enough, I forget what it feels like to have arms instead of wings. Or teeth instead of fangs, or wavy blond hair instead of the curled horns of a bison, my battle morph. None of the others have this problem. I don’t know why I do.

 My toes split and shriveled. Marrow pooled in my bones. The other thing about morphing is that not only does it take a few minutes to go from human to animal and back, but the in-between phase is completely disgusting. I caught sight of myself in the mirror on my closet door. I was back to my full human height, but my face was still mostly screech owl, with huge yellow eyes and a thin beak where my mouth and nose should have been. Tufts of feathers stuck out of body at weird angles, and my fingers were still fused into long, chunky wings. I looked like a rejected design for the baby alien in Alien, or like somebody had skinned Big Bird. In short, totally gross.

 Which of course, was when my dad walked in.

 My already-human ears didn’t hear him coming until he was already opening the door. “Tobias,” he started to say, and then stops, eyes going wide. I froze. There was nowhere to hide, and no way to convince him that he was dreaming, or that this was all a trick of the light. It was a full moon, which had been convenient for our mission, but was now just letting me dad see that I was only maybe three-quarters human. My owl eyes saw every detail of his face as it sagged in shock, the color draining from his skin. I heard his T-shirt wrinkle as he sagged against the doorframe, the wood creaking as he gripped it for support.

 Jake’s going to kill me, was the first thing I thought. Or he’s going to kill my dad. Or Dad’s going to call the cops, and one of the cops will be a Controller, and then we’ll all be dead. I have to stop him before he calls the police.

 “Dad,” I tried to say, but it came out as a squawk. My vocal cords were still mostly bird, my lips hard and grey like a beak. I needed to get human, and say something, anything, that would stop him from screaming long enough for me to—what? Explain that I’d been given the power to turn into any animal I touched by a dying blue alien named Arbron, and that the reason I’d been making so many new friends lately was because we were fighting a guerilla war against mind-controlling alien slugs bent on enslaving humanity by masquerading as a coed youth charity organization? He’d think I was on drugs, or insane. Or worse, he’d tell me that I’d had a bad dream, that the stress of work was getting to him and making him see things. I’d go back to bed, and the next thing I’d wake up to would be Controllers swarming our house and dragging me and my mom and my sister down to the Yeerk Pool to be infested, while the thing in my father’s body looked on in approval.

 See, we’re pretty sure that Jake’s the only one of us with a Controller in his house. Ax keeps watch on our families while we’re at school, and the only one of them who goes to Sharing events—or inexplicably vanishes for hours on end, locked in a cage by the Yeerk pool while the slug controlling them soaks up Kandrona rays—is Tom. But we never really know.

 If my dad’s a Controller, I thought, I might have to kill him myself.

 “Tobias,” my dad said, “Are—are you morphing?”

 --

 We sat on the bed together, my dad in his sweats and old MIT T-shirt, me in the worn-out leotard that was the only clothing I could morph. My scalp itched where my dad was staring at me. I kept lifting my hand to scratch it, thinking that maybe there were still some feathers left in my hair. But it was just my dad staring at me like he always had when he thought I wasn’t looking. Like he thought that Abby or I would vanish into thin air if he took his eyes off of us for a second.

 “Does Mom know?” I asked.

 My dad nodded jerkily. “Loren knew me before I was human.”

 “But—how?”

 “She was abducted, abducted by a Skrit Na ship, along with another human. My fellow aristh and I were tasked with rescuing them and returning to earth.” His lips thin. “The mission became—became complicated.”

 My head spun. My mom had been in space. My mom had been abducted by Skrit Na, the dumpster divers of the galaxy. She’d been brought into space, and then met my dad, because my dad was an alien. An Andalite. An Andalite aristh, which meant he’d been a warrior at some point, or at least a warrior in training. Which was insane in its own way. I love my dad, but I was never one of those kids who walked around on the playground boasting that he could beat up everyone else’s dad. My dad was a California pacifist hippy, the kind of guy who goes to environmental rallies and puts bumper stickers on his Prius that say Give peace a chance, and meant it, and only owned a Prius because he was too uncoordinated to ride a bike. He had a stutter and shook hands like he was participating in an exotic foreign ritual. He cried during E.T. I mean, he didn’t even eat meat. It was impossible to picture him in battle. Impossible to picture him killing anybody, the way that my friends and I had.

 I love my dad. I love my entire family, so much that it scares me, sometimes. It’s why I’ve never been able to get mad at him for being so overprotective, even when it makes sneaking out to do Animorphs things way more complicated than it is for someone like Rachel or Marco, whose parents have probably never seen a very special episode in their lives. I thought I understood what he felt when he looked at us. The deep and terrifying love that comes from knowing just how easily the people you care about could be gone forever. We both felt it, even if it was for different reasons.

 Of course, it turned out that I didn’t understand at all. My dad’s fears came from a place that was a lot closer to mine than I’d thought. I suddenly got the insane urge to laugh, and had to bite down on my tongue to stop myself. All this time, we’ve been wondering when the Andalites will arrive to save us, and there’s been one in my house this whole time, warning me about the dangers of online chatrooms and making sure that I wear a jacket.

 When I was sure that I wouldn’t break into a hysterical giggling fit, or possibly start screaming and never stop, I said, “Does Abby?”

 “No.” He didn’t have to tell me not to tell her. Abby’s ten. She likes Archie comics and science books and learning baseball statistics. There are plenty of things a ten-year-old doesn’t need to know.

 “Are you going to tell Mom that I know?”

 “I already have.” He inclines his head towards the door, and I realize, thoughtspeech. This whole time, Abby and I thought that our parents always won at Catchphrase because they’d been married for so long. Weird that I’m thinking about Catchphrase. My dad is an Andalite. Was an Andalite.

 When I’d brought up my demorphing problem to Marco, thinking that maybe he’d felt the same thing, he’d looked at me like—well, I’d seen how Marco looked at me when I grew a third eye. This was weirder. “It’s two hours, dude”, he’d said. “I think it’d take me a lot longer than two hours to forget what it was like to be human. I mean, setting aside the issue of anyone ever forgetting this handsome face, have you forgotten about opposable thumbs? Buffalo can’t play Nintendo.”

 Of course, at that point Cassie’d had to chime in and tell him that my battle morph was an American bison, and then tell me that there wasn’t anything wrong with me. “Maybe your sense of self isn’t rooted in how you look,” she’d said, which would have been nice if it was true, like most of the things Cassie said. “I mean, you might not be the fastest morpher—“ She refrained mentioning that she was the fastest morpher, which was also very nice “—but you’ve always been the best at controlling new morphs, even ones with really strong instincts. You were the first one to fight off the ant morph, remember? You have an innate sense of Tobias that has nothing to do with the body you inhabit.”

I didn’t tell her that I thought the truth was something different. I thought it was just easier for me to come unmoored from my body. I wondered how long it had taken my dad to forget what it felt like to be an Andalite. I wondered if he was like me, and had forgotten quickly. I wondered if he still remembered.

 Sometimes when he was in human morph, Ax would shift his head like he was trying to use his stalk eyes to look around. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen my dad do that, but there was no way of knowing.

 “She’s making us tea,” my dad said, and it took me a moment to remember who he was talking about. My mom. Who’d known all along that her husband was an alien, and knew that I knew, which meant that were were probably going to have to have a whole other conversation about this.

 My dad reached out, slowly, so that I was prepared when he wrapped his hand around mine. I clutched his bony fingers in my fat ones and held on tight. Maybe some guys would’ve thought it was dorky for their dad to hold their hand, but I figured that I’d been fighting aliens an hour ago, and I could hold my dad’s hand if I wanted to.

 “I’m sorry,” he said.

 “What?”

 “I thought I was saving you,” he said. His voice sounded strained, like he was talking through a chokehold, and I knew that if I looked up at him, there’d be tears running down his face. He sounded exactly like Jake when he was trying not to lose it on a mission. I kept staring at our hands. My dad’s wedding ring, the hot-glue gun scar on his thumb, my total lack of callouses or scars or any sign that anything bad had ever happened to me at all.  Our bodies regenerate from our base DNA after we morph, and your DNA doesn’t store injuries. Even my chewed-up fingernails would come back whole. For all that my dad was a hippy, I’d never heard him cry before, and I knew that I didn’t want to see it. Just hearing it felt like my stomach was hollowing out. It was worse than Jake crying, because for all that Jake’s our general, he’s still technically another kid. My dad’s an adult, and he’s my dad. He might have been a pacifist hippy, but I guess part of me still thought of him as totally unflappable and capable of fixing all my problems, no matter how much I knew that it wasn’t true.

 “You and Abby. War is—war is a terrible thing, a terrible thing.” He was stuttering bad, the way he did when he got cut off in traffic or misplaced a semi-colon in his code. “I thought Earth was safe—safe and peaceful. They had just had a war. Loren said it was terrible, terrible, there wouldn’t be—another. Not this time. So—you would be safe. But instead you’re fighting your own war, you and these other children. Children.” He shook his head. A tear dripped down onto the back of his hand.

 Part of me wanted to scream at him for ever trusting that humanity could change for the better. For thinking that a species that invented the atomic bomb and then kept having wars would suddenly decide to lay down their arms and plant flowers. I suddenly thought of the psalm framed above his dresser. And they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, and neither shall they learn war any more. I always thought it was weird that it was on my dad’s side of the bedroom and not my mom’s. She’s the religious one. Ax told me that Andalite culture was mostly based around the military, but that before their long war with the Yeerks, they’d been nomadic grazers who wrote poetry about the beauty of how trees framed rivers.

 Rachel had snorted, and said that she couldn’t imagine any of the Andalites we met writing poetry, which had been my first thought too. But my second thought had been: Oh, that sounds nice. Like after the war was over, I’d like to wander and write poetry too. Maybe my dad had thought the same thing. I could be mad at him for taking that chance. Nothing I could say would unravel time until he took my mom—Loren, the girl he’d met in space—back to his homeworld and let Abby and I be born under a red sky. Or not be born at all. I don’t want that, and I need him to know that I don’t. That my life is violent and painful and worth living; that he gave me a life worth living.

 “It’s not all bad,” I say. “I mean, I get to fly. I’ve been a bird. I’ve seen the whole Santa Ynez mountains from above.” I tighten my grip on his hand. “That’s—that’s worth a lot terrible things.” I don’t’ have the words to tell him about the feeling that flying gives me. Feeling the wind rising under my wings and knowing exactly where I’m going, and how to get there, and that when I do, it’ll be under my own power. It’s like freedom, bottled and purified. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.

 I can’t tell my dad that, but when I look up at his face, it’s lifted towards the window, where a few stars peek through the orange smear of the street lights. I can see tear tracks drying on his face, but he’s not crying anymore. “Yes,” he says. “I had forgotten. There is a certain joy to flying.”

 --

 My parents read a lot of books about how to be better parents. There’s a shelf of them in the basement. The Aware Baby. The New Baby. Siblings Without Rivalry. Raising Boys. Raising Girls. Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child. Raising Positive Kids in a Negative World.

 I don’t know what any of those books said about what to do after your husband tells your kid that you’re an alien, and your kid tells you and your husband that he turns into animals and fights aliens after school. My mom had made tea, which as a response to family strife seemed like it would cover a lot of bases.

 We sat around the table in the kitchen, which felt overlit and yellow and slightly fuzzy around the edges, the way that kitchens are in the middle of the night. I drank my tea. My mom brought out a bowl of edamame, which no one ate.

 “You have to stop fighting,” she said.

 “We can’t,” I said, dully. “We’re the only ones standing in the way of the Yeerks completely conquering humanity.”

 “You’re children,” my dad protested.

 We were fifteen—mostly, Cassie and Marco hadn’t had their birthdays yet—but I was pretty sure that bringing that up wouldn’t do us any favors. I think that as soon as you turn into an adult, anyone under the age of eighteen might as well be a kindergartener as far as you’re concerned. There was a big difference between somebody my age fighting a war and somebody Abby’s age doing it, but try explaining that to my parents. “The Yeerks don’t know that,” I said instead. “And we’ve been doing a pretty good job so far. We destroyed a Kandrona generator that was supposed to be installed in a homeless shelter tonight, to transform it into a Controller recruitment center. That’s a couple hundred people we saved from being enslaved, easily.”

 My parents both looked shocked. I didn’t know if it was because I was talking so casually about aliens, or because I’d all but admitted that I’d killed somebody two hours ago. A few somebodies. I was pretty sure none of them had been humans, but then, neither was my dad. I imagined that I could taste Hork-Bajir blood in my mouth. I took another drink of tea.

 “What about the Andalite fleet?” It was mom who said it, which surprised me. The world Andalite sounded even weirder coming out of her mouth. “Have you made contact with them? Surely they’ll want to oppose the Yeerks on every front possible.”

 “We’re not an urgent case,” I told her. I could hear how flat my voice was, but the energy it would've taken to make myself sound gentle was so far beyond me that it might as well have been on the other end of the galaxy. “They’ll be here in three years. Maybe two.”

 My dad’s lip curled in anger. “I’ll contact them myself. They’ll listen to me—“

 “Will they, Dad?” I cut him off. “Will they listen to an aristh who abandoned his post? A voluntary nothlit? I’ve met Andalites; they’re not exactly accepting of alternative lifestyle choices. What makes you think that you can say anything that Ax hasn’t already?”

 “Then give me the morphing power.”

 It’s not what I’d been expecting him to say. My mouth fell open in shock, and he steamrolled on, stuttering but staring me down. “If you have the, the morphing power, then you must have an Escafil device. I may be a nothlit, but even a nothlit, even a nothlit can regain their morphing power, and acquire morphs in their new body. I’m an adult, an Andalite. I know the Yeerks, their strategies, their ships.”

 “Me too,” my mom said. She reached out and touched my shoulder. “I might not be an Andalite, but I’m not about to let my son risk his life without at least trying to keep him safe.” She paused. “Also, we can both drive, which I imagine would be helpful.”

 Weirdly, it sounded nice for a moment. I wouldn’t have to lie to my parents anymore about where I was going or what I was doing or why I was staying out so late. And they were right. They were adults. At least theoretically, it was their job to take care of us. To make the hard calls that Jake makes now, when there aren’t any good options. The ugly calls when there are good options, but the bad ones will hurt the Yeerks a little bit more. Or keep us alive for one more day. Or eliminate a threat that needs to be eliminated, no matter what the cost.

 I thought about David.  A bat cracking across my beak. Jake choking on his own blood. The terrible thing that Rachel had to do. I closed my eyes. “I’ll have to talk to Jake,” I said.

 “What does that mean?” my dad said.

 At the same time, my mom said, “Jake?” She said his full name. “That Jake? The sleepy-looking one who roots for the Padres?” My mom’s a Dodgers fan.

 “He’s our leader. Our war-prince,” I added to my dad. Though maybe my mom knew what a war-prince is, too. “If anyone’s making new Animorphs, it’ll be him making the call.”

 “He’s fifteen,” my mom protested.

 “I trust him, Mom. With my life, like once a week.”

 Her face got red and blotchy, which meant that she was about to start crying. My dad made a choking sound. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry we let this happen to you.” I stared at the chip in my mug and thought that I should have feel more awful about making my parents cry, twice. Or at least that I should have feel more awful than I did tired.

 I thought about explaining to my parents that the last time we’d given somebody else the morphing power, he’d snapped and tried to sell us out to the Yeerks before almost murdering half of us and forcing us to trap him in the body of a rat. That just made me feel more tired.

Mostly, I thought, I could have told them, all this time. I’d been lying to my parents for a year and a half. About my slipping grades, about why I was so tired, about what I was doing with the new friends that they were so relieved to see me make. About why I kept waking up screaming in the middle of the night. And all this time, they would have understood. Maybe better than anyone.

 “Dad,” I said, “Dad, I—I killed someone.” I hold out a hand like maybe he can see it, even though I’d used my back to crush the Hork-Bajir’s ribcage with a single blow and send them stumbling into Marco’s outstretched arms. Even though it had been my horns that had ripped someone open, stomach to sternum. Even though I’d demorphed inside the swimming complex at the Y and washed my feet and head off in chlorinated water before remorphing and flying home again, just like I did after every battle.

 I didn’t know how the others washed the blood off. I’d never asked.

 “I killed someone tonight,” I repeat, and my dad closes his eyes but he doesn’t flinch away from me. He wraps his hands around mine, and I think, this is what he will look like when he’s old. Then I think, he’s already old.

 “I love you,” he says, and I think of all the things I could tell my father.

[amandaj718]

Emmerdale Live and Organized - August 1, 2017

The hour long episodes always tire me out. There is so much going on and I can’t keep up on here. Anyway…let us begin!

Bob/Laurel/Faith

Oh, look. Sherlock and Watson of Emmerdale! (I love this!)

Why are they talking about this so loudly outside!

Faith’s advice is awesome.

The Whites

Poor Sam. He is so cute. Lydia. DATE HIM.

Gerry is still here. What?!?!

Geez, Ronnie. Keep it in your pants. Also, yes…forever. Suuureee.

What did Lachlan do now?

Lisa and Ronnie were friends. I forgot!

Lachlan is creepy. I’m enjoying this performance. It works really well.

Yeah. Lachlan is insane. Lachlan. Do you feel…shooty these days? *eyes made at Lachlan*

*GASP* WHAT A TWIST! *snort*

Poor Chrissie. She is having the worst day.  Already has a drink in her hand.  

I think Ronnie is going to leave Lawrence, isn’t he?

Yeah. I don’t care about this. White Family being terrible. Film at 11.

Louise is amazing though. You are awesome girl! *HIGH SNAPS*

God Emily is a terrible actress. Film at 11. *blink blink blink*

Bye Ronnie. See ya. I enjoyed you. What. This was weird. Still don’t feel bad for Lawrence. I have a heart of steel people. Especially when it comes to the Whites. *dances*

The Whites do ruin lives.

Oh good. More Emily acting. Yay. *eye roll* Also, NO BUMP. WTF.

Oh please. Rebecca. STFU. I hate her and nothing will change that. With Chrissie gone we are stuck with full blown scenes with her. Kill me now.

Louise is an amazing actress. Just her face got me. Her eyes got me. Emily doesn’t understand that at all. Maybe she could learn from some of her castmates. The screeching was so annoying. Gave me a headache.

The Café Crew

Rhona! *bubble wrap*

Faith and Laurel and Bob! YES. THIS IS GOOD STUFF PEOPLE!

Why is everyone talking so loudly about Emma? You guys suck at this! I love you, but you suck at this.

LYDIA AN SAM! My new pairing. Robron who? Lydia and Sam wouldn’t hurt me. They need a ship name. RIGHT NOW. Get on that for me lovely people!

He may have bird flu! – Lydia (I love you, Lydia!)

Listen to your son Sam. Lydia likes you. She is giving you a personal disco! *wink*

LYDIA. MY LOVE. OH, MY GOD. THIS IS GOOD. MY HEART IS HEALING.

Sam dancing is amazing. My crops are watered, my eyesight is clear, and I’m in love.

YES! LYDIA AND SAM FTW!

Robert/Victoria

Look how Robert is sitting. He is trying to make himself small. *bubble wrap*

Also, Victoria. YOU ARE THE WORST SISTER EVER. Why would you make Robert move in with you and Rebecca then make a comment that he needs to go back to being like he was when we met him. She is terrible! Seriously.

Aaron walking by with Adam. Sigh. Robert looked like he was in hell.

Oh god. Robert trying to tell Aaron he would never move in with Rebecca and Aaron pretending not to care. That broke my heart. DAMN YOU SHOW. DAMN YOU. Aaron

Robert is trying to be civil and nice by telling Aaron he would never and Aaron is still cold with the walls up. We need to see Aarons side of the sadness. I know he is sad. Show us his sadness to even out the plot.

Aaron/Adam

Oh. So. Aaron isn’t sad and is acting like its no big deal what Robert does. Aaron does not look good in my book. I expected some sadness. Something to level the story out. I KNOW HE IS SAD AND MISSING ROBERT. Robert is trying so hard. His heart is bleeding out in front of him, and Aarons is in a steel cage.

Adam doesn’t have it under control by the way. Aaron is hiding from him too. Also Adam…Leave Aaron be. God.

The Pub Crew

Faith is the Queen. All bow down.

I love that there is a beer called anvil at the pub. *wink at writers*

A Joint Experience with a Brick! HA. Nice way to put it.

Marlon, Paddy, and Vanessa are awesome. Film at 11:15.

That shouldn’t count. She was raped. That wasn’t out of love. I don’t accept that. BOOOO!

Wow. She is stuck married to him for a year? Seriously. She was raped. Don’t you have friends to take care of this for you Rhona?!?! Sigh.

Laurel/Emma

“Telling stories again?” – RUN LAUREL. TAKE DOTTY AND RUN.

Laurel is my girl. She has this.

Emma did not just bring up Ashley. WOW. EMMA. YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE. Laurel doesn’t push any guilt onto you. GRRRRRRRR.

YES LAUREL! YES!

BOB GO!

Laurel. You have it right. Emma is cornered. Like a rat.

Bob. Tred lightly. Think of the twins! Don’t upset Emma too much. You will be next!

BOB. Not cool Bob. Stick to Laurels side. You are Watson to her Sherlock!

‘It’s Just Speculation!’

As per usual: Stay off the message boards, respect each other's opinions, breathe, reboot and eat a Snickers. If you want to talk theory or the show come on over to my twitter @AmandaJ718 or my Tumblr @AmandaJ718

Until next time, see you around in Emmerdale!

[warriorqueen1991]

Memoria (pt. Four)

Pairing: Sam X Claire Warnings: pretty damn angsty some people may find this chapter triggering :( Notes: once again I'm very sorry for the lack of a "keep reading" option it's unavailable on my mobile device which is the only way I can post this fic...I hope this doesn't turn any of you away :( thank you so much for all of the support, you guys are amazing ♡♡♡♡ --------------------------------------- Sam glared at the closed door, his breathing heavy, his hands clawing at his denim covered knees. Hazel eyes burning a hole in it's cold steel, a deep snarl rising from his chest. It felt as if a mac truck was sitting directly on his lungs, sweat forming at his silver temples before he slowly began rocking back and forth on the edge of his freshly made bed. Fucking, fuck, fuck fuuuuck...he couldn't do this, he didn’t want to do this. Sam huffed out a defeated sigh, his head dropping between his knees. Gripping the back of his head he tangled his long fingers through his hair, absentmindedly pulling on its strands to the point of pain. His left knee bounced nervously before he pushed himself to his feet with a loud growl. “Fuck you” he hissed giving his door the bird, he didn’t need to do anything, he could stay here. In his room, safe. Sam hummed nervously, shaking his head as he made a solid attempt to wear a hole in the floor with his pacing. Pushing his brows together he narrowed his eyes once again at his self-made barrier. All he was missing was a tumbleweed and The Good The Bad And The Ugly chiming in the distance. Snorting at the absurdity of him dueling his door he strode forward gripping it's cold handle before pausing. He couldn't do this. He couldn't. Claire would understand, she would tell him being antisocial was normal given his situation. Sam nodded to himself, yeah...he could stay in here, what's the worse that could happen? As if on cue his eyes fell to the side of his mattress where he had stashed the scalpel. Sam swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing noticeably. It felt like he just swallowed a fucking baseball. “Fuck this” he grunted striding to his bed as he grabbed a cream colored sweater from his bedside drawer. His eyes once again falling to his hidden weapon. Sighing he pulled the sweater over his messy hair before finally yanking his door open. Sam remained frozen on the other side as it banged close behind him, his shoulders jerking at the uncomfortable noise. His hands shaking as he ran them over his salt and pepper beard. What the hell was he thinking? he never left his room unless he was smoking or going to the restroom. This was fucking stupid, he didn’t want to be around the others. He didn’t want there judgmental eyes tearing into him. But then his thoughts drifted to Claire, he knew he couldn't trust himself to be alone. It was just one day. Plus, maybe Claire would appreciate his effort to gain some normality in his life, despite his discomfort. The thought of bringing a smile to her face never failed to bring one to his own, and rather he ever admitted it or not, he did enjoy it. ●●●●●● The activities lounge was just about as lively as two day road kill, a fact that Sam was grateful for. The last thing he wanted was to be overwhelmed with through traffic. Having himself freak out in front of an audience was something he would rather avoid. The surrounding walls were the color of celery, void of anything that would suggest this was a medical building. Instead they were decorated with pictures of landscapes and baby animals. Ceramic pots with fake flowers in the corners, two gray lounge chairs, a love seat the color of blood and a large tan couch pushed against the opposite wall. Anything and everything was arranged to incite peace and serenity. Sam’s lips curled in disgust, if Claire asked him what his favorite color was again he could definitely mark some off the list. At the center of the room was a large table, round of course, the more he looked the more he noticed the lack of corners and accessible means of destruction. The room wasn't completely devoid of life though, a older woman wearing gray sweatpants and a neon pink tank top sat in one of the lounge chairs. Her long spiderweb like hair hanging around her face like a curtain. A young man was sprawled out across the couch, a book with the sleeve missing perched on his chest. He had blond hair and a cast on his left arm, Sam glanced over at the large caged off room to his left. Danny, the orderly who normally brought Sam his meals everyday was sitting behind the counter. Sam took a deep breath before making his way to the love seat. “Sam?” Danny stood up from his chair smiling as the man in question turned to face him. “Wow what's the occasion?” Sam stammered a bit as his eyes drifted around the room “decided to see what all the fuss was about I guess” he sighed. Danny chuckled “bout time” a small smile quirked the edge of Sam's lips as he plopped himself on the loveseats soft cushions “yeah”. Danny smiled, sitting back in his chair, flipping through his magazine as he sipped his coffee from a foam cup. Sam closed his eyes as he leaned back stretching out his long legs this wasn't so bad... “Well aren't you a tall drink of water” Sam’s eyes snapped open as the cushion next to him sunk down, a hand running roughly across his leg to his inner thigh. Growling he caught the offending limb by the wrist jerking it from his leg. His fuming gaze falling on bright blue eyes. Sitting far closer than necessary was a woman probably in her mid twenties, her strawberry blond hair in an elegant pixie cut. She had her standard white t-shirt tied in a knot above her navel, her faded blue jeans hanging low on her hips as she crossed her legs bumping his knee with her foot. Sam glared at her, scooting as far as he could in the opposite direction. The woman smiled leaning toward him causing him to lean farther away. “awww, you're so timid, it's adorable” Sam snorted “I'm cautious” she chuckled softly “same difference honey”. His eyes narrowed down at her “uh could you…?” he gestured to the opposite end of the loveseat. The woman giggled, her tongue peeking out between her lips “I don't bite sweet thang” much to Sam's discomfort she scooted closer flinging her arm around his shoulders. “I've never seen you out here before, what's your name handsome?”. Sam got to his feet wincing at the sudden pressure in his leg, the sudden movement causing the woman to flop onto his previously occupied cushion. “I'm Deanna” she purred stretching out on the cushions like a cat, Sam cringed at the display. Sure there was no denying her beauty but she was beautiful much like a poisonous tree frog was beautiful. “Could you leave me alone please” he grumbled moving to the now unoccupied couch, he hadn't seen ware the man had gone, but at the moment he couldn't care less. Deanna hummed deeply pushing herself off the loveseat, grabbing his hand before he could sit down “lord have mercy, look at these!!” she gasped running her fingers delicately over his “god your hands are gorgeous” she practically moaned before leaning up to his ear “I bet they look absolutely breathtaking covered in blood”. Sam grunted pulling his hand away, his eyes wide “what the fucks wrong with you lady, back off!!” his breathing began to increase. What the hell did she mean by that? Deanna laughed leaning forward “you got a killer's eyes gorgeous...so how many people have you killed?” Sam looked around nervously, he needed to get out of here. “I can't remember anything, I was in the military so I guess the eyes are justified”. Deanna shook her head “No this is different” she slowly ran her hand halfway up his chest before he pushed her wandering digits from his body. “I know a murderer when I see one, I'll give ya a tip sugar. Keep your memories to yourself, even if they come back”. Sam furrowed his brow in confusion “why would I do that?” the woman circled around him running her finger across his broad shoulders. “because handsome, if you're crazy enough to remain here then you're crazy enough to avoid the death penalty”. Sam turned to peer at her over his shoulder “who I was, is not who I have to be” Deanna’s eyes widened before she burst into laughter “and who the hell told you that garbage? Trust me honey, they want you to remember”. She raked her hands down his back before leaning up so her chin was resting on his shoulder “and when you do” she hissed “it's lynching time”. She erupted once more into hysterical laughter before pushing herself away from him skipping to the loveseat. Sam felt his chest tighten, that couldn't be true. Deanna was obviously off her rocker, Claire wouldn't lie to him...would she? Sam ran his hands through his hair as his breathing picked up. Is that all this was, some elaborate way to draw him in and convict him for something he couldn't even remember? Sam growled, fuck this, he should of known. He should've realized he was never in control. From the moment he gained consciousness he had been told what to do and what to expect. He was stuck in this hell, forever wading through the mess his previous life had left. He breathed heavily through his nose before taking off back to his room at a brisk pace. Fuck them, fuck this, he was gonna gain control one way or another. If he couldn't gain control over his life than he sure as shit was gonna have control over his death. He'd be damned if he failed to go out on his own terms. Sam shoved open his door letting it slam against the wall before walking over to his bed. He felt sick, the rage bubbling up in his chest like a volcano about to erupt, he was such a fool. A stupid, worthless fool. Sam roared flipping his mattress onto the floor, the scalpel tumbling to the edge of his toes. “Stupid, stupid, stupid” he growled smacking the side of his head before his eyes landed on the gleaming steel at his feet. His eyes widened, his breathing ragged, slowly he bent at the waist picking the scalpel up off the floor turning it over in his hand. Squeezing his eyes shut he sat at the edge of its frame, this time he was gonna be in control. Sighing he pressed the tip of the scalpel to his tan wrist, wincing as a small drop of crimson blood oozed out around the blade. Sam breathed out heavily as he pressed the blade deeper into his skin sending small rivulets running down his arm before dripping to the white floor. His hazel eyes darted from his wound to the growing puddle on the floor. “Fuck this” he hissed running the blade the length of his wrist as the loud clank of his door opening crashed like thunder to his ears. Sam jerked his head up to stare into bright green eyes. The blood soaked blade dropping to the floor with a small tinkling sound, “Claire?” Sam gasped his heart clenching as he fell off of his bed frame into the pool of blood at his feet. Claire screamed sliding to her knees as she turned him over on his back “Sam?...Sam open your eyes” His eyes fluttered open as a fresh gush of blood drained out of his wound. Claire turned to her side, her skirt and legs covered in his blood as she snatched the emergency call button from the side of his bed slamming her thumb over it. “Stay with me Sam, goddamnit” she gasped pressing both her hands over his wrist, blood hemorrhaging up between her fingers. “ Ahh” Sam groaned, his eyes snapped open rolling around before he attempted to sit up, clearly in shock. “Sam, no don't move, helps on the way” she placed one blood soaked hand on his chest shoving him back to the floor holding his wrist above his heart. Same gasped, his choked breaths feeling like ice in her veins. Suddenly he surged up from the floor once more shoving Claire away from him “no!!” he growled through his teeth snarling at her. The door to his room knocked against the wall for the second time that day as three orderlies barged inside. Sam shook his head, his face and hair streaked with blood as he attempted to fight off their assistance. Claire slid to the side her wrist over her mouth as her bloodied hands shook with adrenaline and fear. Sam growled as he was once again shoved to the floor. His body weak from blood loss collapsed with a defiant huff after one of the men straddled his chest to stop his movements, finally allowing them to wrap a temporary bandage around his wrist. Grunting in protest they hauled him off the ground by his arms and legs. Claire was thankful the infirmary was only two doors down from Sam's room. ●●●●●● Claire paced outside the infirmary, her hands caked in dry blood as she rubbed them against her shoulders. Fuck she couldn't stop shaking, What the hell happened? Shit, this was all her fucking fault, she knew he had been upset when she told him they wouldn't be having a session today. How the hell did he get a scalpel? A fresh wave of tears flooded Claire’s eyes bringing a halt to her frantic pacing as the realization hit her like a freight train. Of course, the damn medical kit. Claire sighed dropping into one of the nearby guest chairs lining the wall. God please let him be ok. She couldn't bare the thought of failing him. All she could think about was his deep hazel eyes full of hope when he asked if he was gonna see her today. Jesus, what the hell had she done? If she had just showed up an hour earlier. Or just...she ran her hands through her hair stopping when she noticed how sticky they were. Claire grimaced leaning her head against the wall. “soooo pretty” Claire’s eyes snapped open at the soft almost child-like voice. A young woman stood in front of her, her blue eyes bright as she reached out to touch the dried blood on Claire’s face. Claire stared at her in shocked confusion before the woman skipped down the hallway. Who the hell was that? --------------------------------------- ☆☆TAG LIST ☆☆ ~please let me know if u want on or off the list ;) @zoesmama2024 @fuck-yeah-lets-do-negan-ff @noodlecupcakes @dixonsbait @ashzombie13 @artemisxeros @chunex @magikat409 @memphisgirl1977 @jdmfanfiction @jdms-network @hereforthejeffrey

[dantediscoversfic]

Chapter 17: Migration

Our yard had a big cedar elm whose branches brushed pretty close to one of my bedroom windows. I think that’s why I would often get birds hanging out on my windowsill. I liked waking up and seeing them there. We kept several bird-feeders around the yard and I liked figuring out which birds were the same ones I saw on my windowsill. I recorded my sightings and observations in a Field Notes journal. One year for Christmas my parents got me a ‘Birds of Texas’ poster with beautiful painted illustrations of common backyard birds. I loved their names: white-winged dove, pyrrhuloxia, canyon towhee, vesper sparrow, crissal thrasher, white-throated swift, red-winged blackbird, house finch, starling. Their names were like poems. I liked drawing birds, too. But not Texas birds, entirely made-up birds: the persimmon-tufted rocketbird, the tawny tailblaster, the water wawso.

The day that I would come to think of as Dead Bird Day began like any other day. The radio alarm woke me up. Stevie Nicks was throatily belting ‘The Edge of Seventeen’ and a grackle was tittering around my windowsill. I took those as good signs. I whistled to the bird and tapped on the window to say hello. I went downstairs, ate breakfast, and went to the pool to meet Ari. After we were done swimming we went back to my house. We sat on my front porch. My shoes were off and I was staring at my feet. Particularly, I was looking with mild disgust and fascination at all the little hairs on my toes that had suddenly sprung up, as if overnight, like Jack’s beanstalk. I wasn’t sure what I felt about them. The last thing I wanted was to end up with hairy and knobby Hobbit feet.

I looked up from my feet and saw that Ari was smiling at me.

“What?” I asked.

“I was just smiling,” he said. “Can’t a guy smile?”

“You’re not telling me the truth.” I’d been trying to work on his whole not-talking thing by calling him out on it (with limited success). Sometimes it worked. Other times he stayed as close-lipped as a clam.

“Okay,” he said. “I was smiling because you were looking at your feet.”

“That’s a funny thing to smile about.”

“It’s weird,” he said. “Who does that—looks at their feet? Except you.”

“It’s not a bad thing to study your own body,” I said. This topic—my body and the changes I’d been going through recently—had been popping up more and more to the forefront of my mind lately. I wanted to talk about it with someone, but as much as I loved my parents they were definitely out of the running and Ari got squeamish about that type of thing. I desperately wanted to know if he was feeling some of the same things I was feeling.

“That’s a really weird thing to say, too,” he said.

But then he’d answer like that and I knew the topic was not open for discussion.

“Whatever,” I said.

“Whatever,” he said.

I changed the subject before either of us could get a chance to get annoyed. “Do you like dogs, Ari?”

“I love dogs.”

“Me too. They don’t have to wear shoes.”

He laughed, his throaty surprised laugh. I loved making him laugh (either intentionally or unintentionally; it didn’t matter to me as long as I was able to chase the sadness out of his eyes).

“I’m going to ask my dad if he’ll get me a dog.” I’d been thinking about it a lot, and I thought I was ready to put Ringo’s memory to rest.

“What kind of dog do you want?”

“I don’t know. One that comes from the shelter. You know, one of those dogs that someone’s thrown away.”

“Yeah, but how will you know which one to pick? There’s a lot of dogs at the shelter. And they all want to be saved.”

“It’s because people are so mean. They throw dogs away like they’re trash. I hate that.”

Then, we heard a loud pffft noise and rustling and boys yelling across the street. There were three boys and two were holding BB guns. I looked up and saw the trail of smoke, then smelled it. One boy was pointing his gun at a tree. “We got one! We got one!” his voice echoed. I realized that they’d killed a bird and were aiming to kill another. And then something fierce and furious inside of me burst open.

I leapt from the porch and ran over to them before I even realized what I was doing. “Hey! Stop that! What the hell’s wrong with you?” I wanted to grab the gun from them but stuck my hand out instead. “Give me that gun.” They were younger and smaller than me, but harder. My heart was thrashing and my right calf muscles were shaky with involuntary spasms but I wasn’t going to let it show to these heartless assholes.

One of the boys sized me up and said, “My ass if I’m gonna give you my BB gun.”

“It’s against the law.”

With one part of my brain I was staring at the boys and trying to make sure they stopped what they were doing. The other part of my brain was trying to figure out if we could still save the bird they’d shot. Could my dad bring it to the vet? I saw its rigid form, its tiny upturned legs, the puncture in the middle of its beautiful white and brown markings and thought crazily Maybe there’s still a chance.

“Second amendment,” the boy said.

“Yeah, second amendment,” his idiotic crony repeated.

“The second amendment doesn’t apply to BB guns, you jerk. And besides, guns aren’t allowed on city property.”

“What are planning to do about it, you piece of shit?”

“I’m going to make you stop.”

“How?”

One of the boys took a step toward me and spit on the ground. My body was already coursing with adrenaline and anger but then I got a sudden stab of fear in my belly. They had guns. The logical side of my brain tried to assure myself that I couldn’t die from a BB gun bullet. But it would still hurt like hell if they shot me. Or kicked me or punched me. Or any combination of all three.

“By kicking your skinny little asses all the way to the Mexican border.”

Ari said that, not me. I turned my head and he was right there next to me. I hadn’t realized he’d crossed the street until that very second, that’s how fixated I’d been on stopping the bird killers.

Ari knew how to fight. I didn’t. I’d seen it that very first day I met him but it almost felt like I’d been witnessing a dream or an apparition of him since he had never showed me that other part of him since that day. But here was that other Ari, tough as nails and mean as hell. I could almost smell it on him, how willing he was to beat the crap out of these kids without a moment’s hesitation, the way you can smell a coming thunderstorm. He eyed them down hard. One of the boys raised his gun like he was about to shoot it at us.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, you little piece of dog shit,” Ari said in this new voice that was menacing and low and slow as molasses. And then like lightning he reached out and grabbed the gun right out of the boy’s hand. “You’re lucky I don’t shove this up your ass.”

He threw the gun on the ground. It made such a loud clattering noise that I winced, momentarily afraid that he’d accidentally caused it to fire.

The boys also flinched at the noise and the shock of what he’d just done. I thought for sure they’d jump us. But then the fight deflated out of them and they left, cussing us out under their breaths as they went.

We watched them walk away. Ari’s fists stayed clenched and his shoulders stayed hunched until they were well down the block. Ari and I looked at each other. I felt like the wind had just got knocked out of me.

“I didn’t know you liked to fight,” I said. Though this wasn’t entirely true. I knew he could hold his own. I didn’t know that a willingness to fight was hovering just below the surface, ready to bolt into violent action at a moment’s notice.

“I don’t really. Not really,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “You like to fight.”

“Maybe I do,” he said. “And I didn’t know you were a pacifist.”

“Maybe I’m not a pacifist. Maybe I just think you need a good reason to go around killing birds.” I looked at him. His jaw was still clenched and his breathing was a little heavy. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to hug him. Or maybe I wanted him to hug me. “You’re good at tossing around bad words, too.”

“Yeah, well, Dante, let’s not tell your mom.”

“We won’t tell yours either.”

He looked at me. “I have a theory about why moms are so strict.”

“It’s because they love us, Ari.”

“That’s part of it. The other part of it is that they want us to stay boys forever.”

“Yeah, I think that would make my mom happy—if I was a boy forever.”

I looked at the bird again. I knew it was dead this time. I don’t know why I thought a few minutes ago I’d be able to save it, like I was a saint or Jesus or God. I hated those boys who killed it. I hated how careless and callous they were about wiping out such a beautiful, harmless creature without so much as a second thought. And then leaving it there like just another piece of trash on the side of the road.

“I’ve never seen you that mad,” Ari said.

“I’ve never seen you that mad, either.”

Neither of us spoke. We both just looked at the bird. I felt for a second like the bird was fluttering inside my chest, banging its fragile body against my throat and wildly flapping its wings like it was trying to escape out of a cage. But then I realized I was just trying to keep myself from crying in front of Ari.

“It’s just a little sparrow,” I said. I felt so sad and small, so useless and weak. I felt the tears coming hot and fast down my cheeks. I turned my face away from Ari.

Boys don’t cry Boys don’t cry Boys don’t cry

I hated that. I hated how ashamed I was that I couldn’t stop crying. I walked back across the street and Ari followed me. He didn’t say anything. I threw my shoes at the ground as hard as I could. That made me feel a little bit better. I sat back down on the porch and wiped my eyes.

“Were you scared?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“I was.”

“So?”

So? What did it mean that I was scared and Ari wasn’t? That Ari could defend himself in a fight and I couldn’t? That I was crying and he wasn’t? I’d made up my mind a while ago that I didn’t want to be ashamed of who I was. I told myself that it’s ok to cry. Crying feels good. Crying helps ease the crushing feeling inside before it gets to be too much to bear. But however irrational and stupid it was, I still felt like I’d failed a test.

We didn’t talk for another few minutes. I was going through in my head everything I could remember about sparrows. Most types that live in Texas don’t migrate in the summer months. They stay here year-round. They mostly eat seeds and insects. There are at least 35 species of sparrow. I wondered if the bird they killed was a boy or girl. I didn’t know why I wondered that.

Ari broke the silence and asked, “Why do birds exist, anyway?”

“You don’t know?”

“I guess I don’t.”

“Birds exist to teach us things about the sky.”

“You believe that?”

“Yes.”

By studying birds, humans had figured out how to build airplanes. Now we could easily traverse the globe, pick up and move far away from our original homes. Families could scatter like seeds on the wind. I pictured in my head maps I’d seen of different migratory patterns of birds across North America: the Pacific Flyaway, Central Flyaway, Mississippi Flyaway, Atlantic Flyaway. Birds migrate to go in search of better nourishment and to increase their chance of survival. My parents left their families for probably similar reasons.

I thought: fly away home, as free as a bird, empty nest, as the crow flies, swan song, wild goose chase, night owl, ugly duckling, odd duck, chicken out, the early bird catches the worm, take under your wing, kill two birds with one stone.

I took a deep breath. “Will you help me bury the bird?” I asked.

“Sure.”

We got a shovel out of the garage. Ari picked up the bird with it and brought it over to my yard. We dug a hole under an oleander and buried the bird there.

I started crying again. This time, I was thinking of when we’d buried Ringo. I still missed him so much. The ache was raw and wide open. Maybe I wasn’t ready to ask for another dog just yet. Or maybe this meant I was ready. My brain was too full to think clearly.

I was also thinking about how beautiful the oleander flowers were and how that made me happy despite the sadness I still felt because of the bird. The blossoms were pink and showy and fragrant. I wanted to pluck one and put it behind my ear. But I couldn’t.

I was thinking how I’ll never fit in anywhere because I’m a migratory bird with no real home to return to.

We stared at the bird’s grave for a little while in silence.

“Thanks,” I said finally.

“Sure,” Ari said.

I was suddenly so tired. I wanted nothing more than to fall right asleep and wake up tomorrow morning to a bird trilling on my windowsill like nothing today had ever happened. But I knew that was as impossible as me bringing the sparrow back to life after the boys shot it.

“Hey,” Ari whispered. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“We’ll go swimming,” I said.

“Yeah, we’ll go swimming.”

I went inside. Neither of my parents were home, which was a bit unusual. I took a hot shower and then fell asleep.

When I woke up, my room was dark and I was confused. I saw that I’d only been asleep for a few hours, but I felt like I had been out cold for days. I felt better, though, so I went downstairs. My dad was finishing up making dinner. I hugged both my parents for a long time. I didn’t tell them about the bird but I didn’t need to.

That night, during dinner, my parents told me they had big news. My dad was in the process of final interviews for a visiting professor position in Chicago and we’d know in a week or so whether or not he’d gotten the job. The minute they told me, I burst into tears.

[aerialflight]

Moana Snippet

Well, I did it. I wrote a Moana thing. I haven’t written anything in a while, so I just wrote a little snippet on how Maui could’ve possibly met our favorite sentient Ocean. Hope you all enjoy! Comments and reblogs are everything.

The burning, scorching sun was the first thing to greet Maui when he first woke up. Blinking away the familiar feeling of sand latched onto his eyelashes, he got up, grimacing when he felt gritty sand irritate the back of his neck.

Impatiently brushing away the golden grains from his rumpled curls, he glanced around and felt dread start to pummel in his stomach.

Rocks. An island of stones and not a single coconut tree in sight.

Te Ka sure knew how to pick them.

“Perfect.” He grunted, dread twisting into anger and indignation. “I try to help mankind and what do I get? A vacation house made of pebbles? No boat, no fishhook-”

Everything suddenly screeched to a stop. Fear made its way down Maui’s spine along with denial.

The gods can’t be that cruel-

He bolted, trying to find the magical gift in vain, desperation fueling his need to search. The one thing that made him worth anything, his ticket to escaping, his reason for being. Hours blurred as he fruitlessly tried to find the familiar tool that was an extension of himself. It didn’t even cross his mind that Te Fiti’s heart was gone until much later.

Nothing. Nothing but a deserted island he’s been exiled to unfairly.

He dropped to his knees, unable to stand anymore. He glanced up, seeing the night sky with its vibrant stars twinkling back as if mocking him. A map he knew so intimately that it was seared into his mind, the knowledge completely useless to him without having any way to leave. Another method of torture, a reminder of how trapped he was.

He curled into himself, burying his head into his knees and wrapping his legs up like a lost child.

It was the longest night he’s ever faced.

Solitude was a slow, creeping thing that snuck up on him.

It was a fact he didn’t accept immediately.

At first, he howled until his voice got hoarse at the sea, a volcano exploding at every syllable as he cursed the gods and the damn Heart for having him stranded here. He threw rocks, ripped apart shrubs and tossed shells far into the water just to send the message much more thoroughly. It went on for weeks, months, (he wasn’t sure how long to be honest) before all his fury eventually depleted itself and left him frantic.

He begged like never before on his hands and knees with his head resting the sand. He bargained like the trickster he is, admitted his crimes as if it would absolve him, honest pleads stumbled off his tongue, yet nothing happened. The gods weren’t listening.

The fact sunk in and left him colder than the sea’s abyss.

He laid on his back by the beach, completely listless as hopelessness and depression ate away his usually gregarious personality. He stared up at the blue expanse, longing to fly his way out and feel the breeze flutter his feathers as he glided above the glittering ocean. The best of both worlds at his fingertips, a free spirit in every sense of the word.

Now, he was a literal caged bird, wings clipped by the gods who gifted it to him in the first place.

It was a fitting punishment.

It left a lingering, bitter taste in his mouth.

This phase, however, was a passing thing. He wouldn’t have survived this long if he let something like this stop him. Resourcefulness and making the best out of his circumstances was practically his origin story if you think about it.

He eventually got up and started to explore the sorry excuse of an island, noting dryly that there was absolutely nothing he could use to build a boat or any means of leaving.

After that, there was unfortunately not much else to do.

Boredom became an issue really, really quickly.

Time may pass strangely to a demigod – one time, he sailed at sea for an entire decade without resting and wouldn’t have realized it if it weren’t for the fact his boat started breaking apart from constant use and his heavy bulk – but it seemed to crawl after he ran out of things to do.

He wasn’t used to being this antsy, usually always on the move to explore new islands or battle monsters that terrorize helpless mortals who later tell stories of his heroics and deeds. It always left him feeling accomplished, the praises making him more daring to prove himself even further that he was worthy of such legends attached to his name. Worthy of being loved.

(But the starstruck expressions so full of awe and thanks only partially filled up that loneliness that has haunted his every step, leaving him craving for more.)

This overwhelming isolation has led him into the habit of talking to himself.

Well, technically his tattoo, but it was the same difference really. He only noticed the miniature cartoon version of himself coming to life when he felt an unnatural tug pull his bicep that completely startled the daylights out of him.

And no, he did not scream like a little girl, thank you very much.

Turns out he created his own companion. Which was pretty sad even by his standards. The fact it has quite an attitude and apparently liked to nag him a lot was something he was not going to inspect closely. It said things about himself that he created someone like that out of his longing for any form of interaction. It didn’t help that he was irrationally jealous of the fact the little guy has its own fishhook.

He was evidently losing it.

With nobody around, he found himself narrating his actions, bickering with the expressive Mini-Maui who disapproved of his tendency to use bad words when he stubbed his toes on rocks or hollered at the sky like a crazy person whenever a storm rumbled above and left him drenched.

It kept him busy when he told himself his own stories that people have created about him, as if he needed reminding on how awesome he was. It was amusing to watch the miniature tattoo figure dance and whack monsters on the head whenever he did, following the story with zealous enthusiasm.

Most of the time, he did this near the ocean during the day, the sight of the sea always calming the restlessness inside him. It was a comforting view, and he could almost imagine himself sailing across the great blue if he closed his eyes, hand touching the water to test its temperature and hear the crashing waves. His voice unconsciously grew deeper whenever he spoke, as if whispering secrets to the water as he wove tales that weren’t just about himself if he ran out of his own adventures – a rare occurrence – and describing terrible sea monsters parents told their children as bedtime stories.

(Not that he knew. He never knew his own.)

There were times he swore that the ocean was listening, an attentive presence that left him feeling comforted and less alone. By this point, he was accepting the probability he was going insane.

So slowly he didn’t even notice, he formulated a routine. He was coping to the best of his abilities, telling himself he’s biding his time and waiting for an opportunity to escape.

And when he fell into deep slumber that stretched on for what felt like months, he dreamed of flying.

It happened on an ordinary day that turned his world view upside down and left him hanging there continuously.

He was having one of his bad days, brooding by the shore with cynicism poisoning his heart. The cheerful sun irritated him and the sea breeze was incredibly annoying with how his hair kept slapping him in the face and leaving him wishing for a stronger hairband that didn’t consist of braided plant stems. They were snapping far too quickly, much to his aggravation.

Pint-sized Maui was looking up at him anxiously, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to sit down and do nothing, delve deep into his pondering thoughts and bury himself in resentment that was becoming more familiar to him by the day.

“Oh who am I kidding.” He was muttering to himself, scoffing. “Escaping? There’s no escaping this place. I’m just going to waste away here and all anyone’s going to say about me is,” he raised his voice into a falsetto, batting his eyelashes for effect. “‘Oh, Maui? You mean the demigod who screwed it up and died on a rock from utter boredom? Wow, he sounds sooo amazing!’”

He sighed, his spirits plummeting even further. “Yeah, real amazing. Amazing you’ll be remembered at all.”

That, more than anything, terrified him beyond anything the gods could throw at him. What if hundreds of years pass and everyone forgets him? What if he really was stuck here forever and slowly be driven insane until one day he won’t be able to take it anymore and drown himself?

It was a gloomy line of thought.

He was so busy frowning down at his lap that it took him a few minutes to realize that something was shading him from the sun. He looked up, expecting to see clouds in the sky even though he was pretty sure the sky was spotless the last time he checked, and was met with something completely impossible.

The ocean lifted itself up and was looking at him.

“Aaah!” Maui’s screech did not resemble a squawking chicken as he scrambled away from the shore so vigorously, he didn’t even notice how he scraped his hands and feet on the gritty gravel.

The towering wave – Head? Arm? What in gods name? – jerked back like it was startled by Maui’s very understandable reaction to an animated ocean. The two beings that existed beyond mortal comprehension went into a standoff, staring at each other for a very long moment before Maui registered the stinging hurt on his palms and soles. He winced, holding his hands up to see them angry red with little cuts all over his fingers and the insides of his wrists.

He glanced up from his inspection and barely managed not to back away again, heart jumping into his throat when the ocean wave came impossibly close to him by stretching itself ahead of the shore line.

By Papa, he never connected the word sneaky to the ocean before now. You learn something new every day.

Heck, he swore that the ocean was nearly hovering in worry with how intently it was focused on the angry, red lines that were starting to slightly bleed.

Maui was briefly struck with an absurd thought. Has it never seen blood before? But people have died at sea, impaled by their broken boats or eaten by monsters or thousands of other scenarios more serious than something this minor.

He was giving himself a headache.

“It’s no big deal.” He found himself saying. He didn’t know if he was telling this to himself, or attempting to reassure the blue, apparently sentient sea that may or not be a figment of his imagination. “This is nothing to the great Ma-aaa!”

He yowled as a blob of water suddenly consumed his feet, the salt bringing needles of ratcheting pain. He involuntarily curled his toes and tensed his shoulders from shock. The ocean quickly retreated, releasing its watery grip at his shouting.

“What was that for?” Maui yelled, flailing his hands with all the refinement of a jumping jellyfish. All his frustrations at his general situation, inconvenient injuries, and constant black mood bubbled to the surface and was now targeting itself at the overcasting water. “Is this a pastime of yours? No wonder people say you’re a sadistic-Hey!”

He lurched back his hands, dodging the wave that was determinedly darting towards his appendixes like a fruit fly to a rotting banana.

“Would you just-Why are you so-Son of a-”

He didn’t get to finish when the ocean literally splashed him hard on the cheek, momentarily stunning him from the unexpectedness of it, and victoriously engulfed his hands with sea water.

Maui hissed, a hundred piranhas biting his tough flesh before the sensation disappeared as abruptly as it came when the ocean withdrew. His eyes widened when he realized rather stupidly that all the sand that had been irritating the injuries were cleanly gone, a much smoother process than if he had done it manually.

“Oh.” He voiced out, the word uncharacteristically small. He looked up and felt any sense of gratitude die a ghastly death when he sensed smugness practically radiate off of the ocean’s head.

Scowling, he instinctively tried to shove the water away, which was kind of senseless in hindsight. He ended up getting his hand stuck in the suspended water with the associating pain of his wounds already something he was getting used to.

He half expected the ocean to let go or pull some sort of mischief over him. Instead, it slowly bobbed up and down with his hand following the motion, a strange gesture that bewilderingly resembled a gentle handshake.

Hello. It seemed to be trying to say. Or even, Nice to meet you.

And then just as gently, it let go of its hold and sunk back, becoming a small unnatural hump above the lapping waves, akin to a child peeking at him with a cautiousness that made guilt latch onto his conscience. He didn’t have to glance down to know Little Maui was looking up at him expectantly to make a move.

Maui sighed and rolled his shoulders, bracing himself.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you.” He tried not to look down or cross his arms defensively. Pride and a lack of sustaining conversations made him unpracticed in the art of apologizing. “You didn’t deserve it.”

The sea seemed to go completely still, which was unsettling in how deliberate its lack of movement seemed to be. Maui’s not used to seeing the waters not be in constant flux, especially when he’s travelled across the waves countless times before. It finally rippled when a sudden stream of seawater hit him right in the face, breaking the tension effectively.

“You little-”

In the end, Maui had streaked into the ocean and spat out angry expletives in the water, uncaring and not noticing how much his feet stung for thumping on the sand so many times until afterwards. In response to his justifiable rage, the ocean kept dumping buckets of water on top of him or aimed at his ticklish armpits the moment he let his guard down.

When the rather one-sided battle was over, his hair was a mess and salt was permanently imbued in his scalp and locks, making it frazzled and smelling like fish. His feet and hands ached and itched, and he only got warm once he set a fire going as the skies darkened. Whatever brought the ocean to life had waded off and left him alone again, doing whatever it is annoying, lively oceans did.

He refused to think about the fact that not once did his sorry situation cross his mind during the entire day, having been fully distracted the whole time.

And hey, at least he learnt that the ocean was a mischievous brat instead of the wise, old revered force of nature everyone thought it was.

Who knew?

[amesu-chan]

There I go trying my best at fanfiction again~

It’s set post-game and the boys have decided to return to Insomnia.

“You guys sure we should go in there?”

“It’s been a week, Prompto.We should meet him one last time and vow our friendship to him.” Ignis said while walking through the rubble of the once beautiful and graceful Lucian capital of Insomnia.

“Prompto, there’s no turning back now. We’re almost there anyway. After all, we do owe him. He sacrificed himself for us, restored the light. Who would have thought... I still remember the days he wasn’t able to walk and was bound to that darned wheelchair. He was even a brat back then!” Gladio chuckled lightly.

“Those days were indeed tragic and tiresome. Not only for him. I remember taking him to the roof of the Citadel several times at night to watch the stars as he was recovering from his accident... It was heartbreaking at last.” The advisor added.

The men kept walking, heading for the Citadel. The city was in a miserable state as the buildings have begun to fall apart heavily, considering the damage of the coup was already terrible on Insomnia. The friends however have decided to give the king of kings a worthy tomb.

No. To their dear friend, Noctis.

The men hadn’t seen him ever since  the crystal had claimed his mind and body back then in Gralea. The memories of the friends’ roadtrip had faded in  those ten years. The time they had spent with Noctis when he returned from his long slumber hasn’t been anywhere enough to share all of the stories they had to tell.

‘He was a lamb, nessecary to get killed for the greater good. A sacrifice payed by a young man with no options left’, Ignis thought bitterly to himself as they got closer to the Citadel.

“Considering how much he loves sleeping we should just put him in a huge bed with fluffy pillows and warm fuzzy plankets, right?” The blond desperatly tried to lighten the mood.

“He’s definetly getting enough sleep now...” Gladio mumbled under his breath as the group finally reached the Citadel. Prompto turned around and exclaimed in his usual happy habit “Let’s hop right in, eh?”

“Prompto, you don’t have to come inside if you don’t ant to” Ignis assured him.

“No, no, I’m fine, really! Let’s take the elevator!”

Before Galdio could object, the gunman already had run through the hall to the elevator, wondering how this one still worked considering there was no maintenance for a decade.

“Do you guys think we should try to rebuild Insomnia? It defiently would be big enough to inhabit all of the people living cramped up in Lestallum” Gladio stated as he was entering the elevator. Prompto excitedly pushed the button to the 15th floor.

“It would be proftiable. There is enough work to be done here and it might become as beautiful as it once was. I doubt, however, many would want to put effort into this subject. Even with the light restored the people are hopeless and they are willing to cling onto old habits and are ready to stay in a cramped place as Lestallum. Maybe with some convincing?” Ignis wondered.

The Throne the female elevator voice said as they reached the 15th floor.

“Oh guys, that’s our stop!” Prompto ran out of the elevator almost too joyfully. It seemed as if he was about to see a friend he had missed for years. Truthfully, he had, the circumstances were questionable though.The door to the throne room were shut. Gladio reached out and grabbed the massive door’s handle to push it open only to be stopped by a frghtned squeak from Prompto. “What now?”“I-...don’t think I can go in there” the blond stated in a shakey voice. He continued: “I don’t think i can do it. I don’t think I can endure seeing him in there, not after.. everything”Not after everything they had gone through together.Noctis has been his motivation ever since young teenage years. The two of them spent most of their time other. They had overcome their loneliness together. Noctis was a bird in a cage whereas Prompto felt unloved by his parents and hated by his peers.As much as Prompto had tried to be the cheerful of the group and get everyone’s hopes up, he was saved by Noct from this very bitter and dark place. A place he was about to plunge back into he was afraid if he saw what was inside that room.Prompto would always cherish his memories of playing games until sunrise, going to the arcade after school and their usual shennanigans. How they had studied together and how Noct would always end up being a good student while he himself barely passed the tests. Failing over and over.It had never mattered to the former prince. He stayed his friend despite his bad influence as many used to say. Even king Regis himself had thought so but he saw how happy his son was around the blond, so he was accepted for once in his life.They were friends. That bond would be cherished and hold onto forever, even if one of them was no more.“I, ugh...I’ll just wait here, okay? You guys go and get him. Please...”Gladio furrowed his brows. “Good to know you are scared as easily as back then. Let’s go, Iggy!” And with this the door was opened and Prompto quickly turned away. There he was. Sitting on the throne like a real king, his father’s sword stuck deep in his chest. The crystal had begun to fall apart, making small crumbs fall down on Noctis and scattered around the dark floor of the room. The light of the setting sun shone softly on his features and was reflected by the crystals particles floating around the room. They almost looked like flower petals...Impaled by his father’s sword, he seemed to be at peace. One could assume he was just sleeping. Sleeping for eternity.An awkward cry and gross sobbing cut through the silence. The gunman had dared to to look into the room and he immedeatly regretted his decision. He felt his knees give in; he couldn’t hold back anymore. He felt his heart breaking into pieces and shards. Too many to collect to make a whole again.Why? Had he suffered terrible pain before his death?Prompto still heard his best friend’s laughter in his ears. Forever gone.  He was lifeless and dead.For 10 years he had clinged on the thought of going back to the way it used to be. He knew, evern back then, it would be impossible but as of now the pain was too much. It ripped him apart from the inside. Every cell of his body seemed to hurt, he could barely breathe.‘He was impaled by his own father’s sword...’All of a sudden he found himself in Ignis’ tight hug, petting his back and rubbing circles to calm him.“It’s okay, Prompto. I know. I miss him too... We loved him too. But we’re here, you’re not alone, okay?”Prompto’s crying quieted down and he wiped his tears on his sleves.“Yeah, we’re stuck together ever since back then” Gladio said as he approached Prompto and put a hand on his shoulder and tightly squeezed it. “I’ll get him. Take care of our little crybaby here, Iggy”.Gladiolus walked over to the throne and climbed its stairs. He sadly looked at his friend who seemed to have died a painful death, or was it suicide?He carefully removed the sword that stuck him to the backrest and cought his body falling on him. He was cold. Obviously...Nonetheless it made him long for the warmth they had shared at camps or when they had to share a bed since they didn’t have enough money for another room. He carefully placed the former prince on his back. Even though he knew Noctis was to sacrifice himself, he still mourned his friend. His face shortly shower a pained expression but he couldn’t allow himself to give in. He had to support the other two, he couldn’t be weak.“Alright, off we go. Get yourself off the ground Prompto, enough crying! Let’s get back home.”Ignis released the blond from his hug as he stood up.It was almost dark outside as they left the building but they wouldn’t have to worry. Deamons were forever banished and wouldn’t harm anyone anymore.‘Oh Noct, I hope you found your peace. We have yet to find it.” Ignis reminisced. “You were my sole purpose in life after all. My place was at your side but now I’m nothing more than a stray dog. You were my king and I was your advisor and friend. I have to find a place for my own. I hope you never forget that we need you Noct. We love you...”

[deathcomesinallcolors]

This will be personal. I'm sorry.

If I weren’t on mobile, I’d make it a read more. As it is, you can scroll on by.

I honestly don’t know how much longer I will last in my mother’s house. I live there now with my parabatai and roommate, and I’ve been stuck here for two years. I graduated college two years ago and, left with nowhere else to go, turned home.

I was going to save up to move to New York City. I was going to be a private eye. I had majored in criminal justice, and all my best professors had been supportive. “E-mail me when you get there!” my favorite professor said, a sociology teacher. “Tell me all about your wild adventures.”

Six months passed by without a job. Finally, I started work at a DIY hardware store. I was paid pretty well. I hated it there, but I was meeting important people. Federal agents and cops told me I should apply here and there. The manager at an Enterprise gave me his card, said he loved my lively personality and that I should join their manager’s program. My manager loved me and pushed me to apply for better, permanent jobs within the store. She begged me to stay past my seasonal term.

Yes, I was a seasonal cashier. My term lasted 6 months, unless they decided to keep me. In truth, I worked dozens of jobs around the store that wasn’t actually part of my job. Running deliveries of paper towels and cleaning supplies and leaving my post to check if there was a refrigerator hiding in receiving, because the guys back there were always too busy to help customer service.

Despite the horrid work environment, it was a stable job. Everything was going well. I felt my life hit the rails and click as it slowly progressed forward. I and my best friend decided to get out of our parents’ houses and move in together. We signed for an apartment. I applied to Enterprise, where I mentioned the manager BY NAME and waited for a phone interview. Our lives were looking great.

Then the apartment place never let us move in. Enterprise turned me down. My job let me go without even mentioning my last day. When pressed, HR shrugged a wishy washy “Oh, we’re considering you.” They never called.

I found myself fighting the apartment manager’s secretary (as their manager was invisible and avoided everyone, even tenants), then the landlord company itself. They owed me $600 of security deposits and application fees, not even including $200 for the uhaul expenses made the day our contract said we could move in. They voided our contract, and this criminal justice student was going to take them to court.

They paid up, but we still found ourselves jobless and homeless. My roommate’s family was six states away. Mine didn’t want me. But I was stuck with them anyway, along with my roommate.

For half a year, they pretended to care. I got a job at Target. But no matter how hard I worked, my parents always said, “You should be working harder. We won’t let you stay here forever.”

It’s been eight months that I’ve lived in my parents’ house with my best friend. In that time, I’ve lost $2000. My mother promised to give me a food budget, but refuses to give me money for food, because she “doesn’t trust” me. She thinks I’ll use food money on games or pizza.

They no longer trust me. That has partly to do with my friend (they always blame a queer friend of mine to blame for my changes in belief–he is just the most recent), my sexuality, gender expression, and also…the fact I saved a mouse.

After a long day at my hardware store job, I walked out into the parking lot, only to find a gray speck scurrying around the lot. I approached cautiously. It was a baby mouse, only a few days old. Its eyes were barely open. It must have wandered away from the hay bales we sold not twenty feet away, along with its little hay mouse family.

I rushed to my car–my mom’s car–retrieved an old pair of garage gloves, and chased it around the lot. Finally, I scooped it up, placed it in an upended plastic bin from the car, and drove to a pet store. I got it a turtle cage and all its little baby mousie necessities. I then snuck it upstairs.

A few days later, my mother stepped foot into my room and found the mouse cage sitting there, on the floor. She dropped a book on top of the cage to “keep it closed”, covering the breathing holes and nearly suffocating the poor dear. I came home to a very quiet, terrified mouse.

They tried to toss it out. They tried to toss ME out. I called their bluff. I refused to kill this helpless creature, this small, baby animal that would die without my care.

So I nursed it. I bathed it with Dawn. And after much pictures to my parabatai and his vet mother, I named her Eleven. Named for the days she survived before I found her.

My mother screamed it would give us all diseases and died. From its urine, from its fur, from its very air. I showed her links to medical websites, disproving all of this. I showed her texts from my friend’s vet mom. I debunked every single argument, but still she shrieked and cried and screamed. The moment I raised my voice in defense, she stomped to her feet and thrust her face in mine. Threatened to hit me. To throw me on the streets. My fists shook at my sides with anger and fear. But still I held my ground. I would not kill this small animal.

And that was before I brought home a trans gay boy to live with me. And the two stray secret kittens we saved from our local rescue. And his bunny and bird we brought from his family’s home.

Maybe I don’t deserve their trust. But I do deserve to eat. I deserve to live.

Today, I approached my mother about our food budget. Way back with our failed apartment expedition, The Deer Run, she had promised to give us a $200 monthly food budget. To help out. Instead, while we’ve been living here, she saves all our receipts and, 3 months later, pays us back for certain food items. Anything she pays us for, before she even pays us, is free game. It’s food for the house, not for us. Because if she pays for it, and it’s her house, she and the family gets to use it. That’s fair. IF SHE WOULD PAY US BEFORE WE RUN OUT OF MONEY.

I asked her if she could give is that stipend instead of…this. I channeled Gansey, reasoned with her. Offered multiple solutions so we can better budget our food spending, because…if we don’t know when and how much we’ll be paid, we don’t know what we can afford. And if she keeps the receipts, we don’t know what we’ve spent.

Instead, she talks over me. Accuses us of “living in the lap of luxury.” She outright refuses to give us grocery money for when they’ll be in Honolulu for two weeks, because we might “spend it all on video games and pizza.” Pizza. Really? Even foregoing the obvious fact that if we run out of money, that’s OUR PROBLEM, pizza is definitely food the last time I checked.

She said she wants to know what we’re buying, always, because she doesn’t trust us. Me. “I don’t care,” I told her, “ You can have all the receipts. I just want to eat.”

“You can eat anything in this house,” she laughs hysterically. “Everything here is open to you.”

Condiments. Chips. Clam soup that would make me vomit. And…pounds and pounds of frozen chicken far past due. Yeah. Thanks.

“We don’t really like anything you stock. You don’t even get spaghettios and ravioli, except when we ask you to. But if you’re going to pay for it either way, it’s much easier to get it ourselves than wait for you to go to the grocery store.”

Back up. Background. She once told me she’d go to the grocery store on Wednesday. Two days. Okay. I could handle that. We’d eat canned soup until then, and then I’d cook something decent.

Wednesday passed. Then Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. We then decided to go out food shopping ourselves or else we would have starved. Actually starved. We hadn’t eaten in two days.

Never does she go to the grocery store on time. It takes her two weeks from when she said she would to get food, which she then buys in bulk. Which then spoils before she can use it. Bags of blueberries, bundles of asparagus, it doesn’t matter. All trash. And her cooking? I can’t eat that much grease and oil anymore without vomiting. Her meat is frozen for five months (the safe length is three) at 20 degrees. The highest safe temperature you can possible keep food is 0 degrees F. HIGHEST. It’s best when it’s -10 or -20. The 3 month length for keeping frozen food safely is at 0 degrees at the highest. She is 20 degrees above that.

It’s no wonder her gruel makes me sick.

“Once you’re out of here,” she said, heated, “you’re not coming back.”

“That’s just fine,” I stated. “That was the plan.”

I thought parents were supposed to look out for their kids. I never considered my parents abusive. But my mother is manipulative, controlling to 1984 degrees, and passive aggressive. Every time I step foot downstairs, she beats me down emotionally. My dad just sits there, beaten too, and lets her. When he’s even here.

This is the way it’s always been. But it wasn’t always this bad. I was a kid once. Once, she was loving. But now that I believe in a pantheon rather than her Christian god, now that I’ve come out as bisexual and trans, my mother doesn’t love me. And, behind closed doors, my dad agrees with her.

Once I move out–once WE move out–I’ll probably never see them again. I’ll still look after my younger siblings, though. But that doesn’t change the fact that my youngest sibling, Dalton, is home for spring break. That boy eats four helpings in a five person family. He’s the type of giant to make four sandwiches at once and finish off the loaf while he’s at it. He’s inconsiderate and unaffected. He laughs everything off, especially actual problems, just lets them run down his back because it’s not HIS problem. First come, first serve. Thin as a rail and tall as a basketball pole, all Dalton cares about is himself.

And he’s been drinking our coke. The only drink my parabatai drinks, and the only thing my mom doesn’t “reimburse” us for. When I bring it up subtly…

“Hey, Mom. Did Dalton drink our coke?” I ask conversationally.

I’m staring at the two coke bottles in the recycling. I know he has.

“Oh, yeah… I saw him make a rum and coke, so maybe.” She laughs. “We have coke, too. It’s all the same.”

No, I think to myself, fists shaking. No, it’s not. It is our money spent. Our money wasted. And he always eats our food. Without asking. While I’m cooking. Right from under my nose.

I haven’t cooked for a week.

My mother throws around the word “job” like it’s a magic word, but that doesn’t make a college degree any more valuable in this job market. All that matters is experience, and jobs won’t give me experience unless I already have it; this student with a job and essays to write didn’t have time or money for an internship.

Oh, did I mention Target let me go just after Christmas? While every store is firing people rather than hiring? I haven't had a paycheck in three months.

So here I sit. Alone with my family of parabatai, two cats, a rabbit, a field mouse, and sort-of-a-bird. I’m lucky to have them. Because I’d be dead and on the streets without them. I would have killed myself by now.