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xtinyaurora · 3 years

Note

Hi! Can I request a Yandere!Ateez reaction to you running away? I know it’s the standard but I thought it would be easier for the beginning :)

Yandere!Ateez reaction: Their Y/N tries to run away

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➼ requested: yes

➼ genre: yandere, smut

➼ gender neutral + Ateez / gnxateez

➼ Word-count: 1386 words

➼ Warnings: nsfw content, strong language, cursing, spanking, slapping, punching, pet names, degradation, yandere themes, psychopathic, blood, violence, yelling, cuffing,...

➼ Note: This is not based on their real behavior or meant to represent real life. This is simply a fan fiction. In no way am I condoning, justifying, encouraging or promoting yandere behavior or lifestyle. Read at your own risk!!!

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Park Seonghwa

He slowly traced the knife over your naked body, you laying on the bed, cuffed and blindfolded. The only thing heard were your tiny whimpers, until his chuckle broke the silence. „What’s wrong, baby, did I ruin your plans?” Well, he did. Yes, you might be dumb for trying to run away, but it seemed so easy. Seonghwa was gone, going grocery shopping and since you weren’t locked in your room this night, you took that opportunity and broke the tiny bathroom window (since the other doors & windows were locked). So as you were trying to squeeze yourself through that window, Seonghwa returned. Scared and confused about his early return, he told you about the cameras. After harshly pulling you out of that widow, he got you into your current state. You cried, begged and tried to apologize but he didn’t wanted to listen to you. „Pathetic” said the male in front of you with an angry yet unimpressed face. The sound of his belt was heard. „Let’s teach you a proper lessen, yea?”

Kim Hongjoong

He told you to follow his rules, or there will be bad consequences. You didn’t listen. Oh how dumb you are to beak one of his most important rules. „Please, I will do everything you want but please stop!” you cried out loudly. Hongjoong only looked at you with his demonic eyes, smirking at you. „Oh, you want me to stop?” he mocked you with a voice, similar to your own. „Want me to stop pulling out your nails, to stop with the constant whipping and punching and to stop biting your skin so it doesn’t bleed? No, slut, I am not gonna stop, because I’ve told you many times not to break the rules. I’ve told you to never try and run away from me, but, you didn’t listen. So take responsibility for your actions and live with the consequences, dumb pet.”

Jeong Yunho

„You’ve hurt me.” said the guy in front of you, disappointed and angry. „Yunho, I am so sorry, but I can’t do this anymore, please try to understand me.” you cried, kneeling in front of him, hands behind your back. „No, I don’t understand, and I won’t ever understand and do you know why? Because I give you everything you want, everything you can dream of, take care of you and love you to death, and this is the way you repay me? Are you serious, Y/N?” He started to form tears in his eyes while talking. Honestly, you felt kinda bad and ashamed because he was right. He actually really treats you like a royalty, expect for not letting you out of course. He never forgot to buy your favorite flowers before coming home and he never failed to realize when you felt down, taking care of you and not leaving your side for a second. „I am sorry, but I need to show you that you can’t always have it your way, baby. You’ve tested my patience... Come on turn around and get on all fours.”

Kang Yeosang

Stupid. That’s what Yeosang thought of you right now. How could you be so stupid, asking his friends for help? Since you knew his phone password, you texted his friends and tried to explain what kind of a psycho your boyfriend was and that you needed help to escape. Of course, no one believed you. After deleting everything, you putted his phone back, sitting on the couch quietly. „Here.” your boyfriend gave you a bowl of popcorn, starting the movie you were planning to watch. After 10 minutes, Yeosang took his phone from under the pillow, checking what you were up to since he saw how you typed on it before. One of his best friends, Wooyoung, texted him, asking about what his lover told them earlier. Yeosang got red out of anger. „Hey, baby?” he asked. You slowly turned you head in his direction, panicking. „Yes?”. „Did you play with my phone?”. Silence. Now he looked at you and before anything else, you felt his fist in your face. Not once or twice but around 12 times in a row, face starting to bleed. „Stupid thing, what do you think you are doing?! I will make you regret this.”

Choi San

„Yea, you like that, slut?” growled the male behind you. He’s in the middle of ripping your ass apart, punishing you for trying to run away. You idiot thought you could cuff him to the bed while he was sleeping and take his keys to get out of there. Oh how dumb you are. „You little piece of shit, I am going to hurt you so bad. How dare you to pull something like this, huh?!” did the psycho scream at you. He turned you around, grabbing your neck, putting pressure on it and spitting on your face. Then he started slapping you in the face. „Learn your place, pet. Don’t you dare to do something as stupid as this again because next time, I am not only going to break those pretty legs but your arms too, is this understood?”. You only nodded, too terrified to speak. „Good. Now let me get a knife, so I can crave my name into your beautiful soft skin, hm?”

Song Mingi

You were tied to a chair, sitting in the cold and scary basement. Slowly, you heard the door opening. Mingi entered the room looking at you coldly. He had a small bag in his left hand, slowly placing it on the table a few feet from you. He then opened the bag, pulling out a hammer, a knife and an axe. He stared at them for a minute, until he took the axe into his hand and came towards your frightened figure. You began to panic, violently shaking your head. „Oh my god, please don’t.” you begged. As he didn’t stop, you closed your eyes. He kneeled down in front of you, placing the axe above your left knee. „I’ve told you to never run. I’ve told you that if you do something as stupid as this, I will hurt you. Not because I want to, but because I have to.” After finishing his sentence, he raised his hand, ready to chop you leg off.

Jung Wooyoung

You’ve seen this boy get mad, but this time he was completely different. This boy was an ass, now adding more annoyance and brutality to it. He made fun of your crying figure, calling you a crybaby and telling you to shut up. „Cut it. I said that I don’t want to hear your fucking voice. Annoying brat.” did he say while giving you another harsh spank with his belt. Your whole body felt numb at this point. Even if you wanted to move, you just couldn’t. „Ohhh, already giving in?” He laughed. „Come on you can do better than that. Straighten that back!” he started yelling at you. Since you failed to move nor talk, you remind quiet, angering him even more. He pulled you up by your hair so you could look him deep into his eyes. He then started to smirk „Oh, we will have so much fun tonight!”

Choi Jongho

Smack! A few more following close behind. Your ass probably had the shades of red, no, purple by now. I mean, Jongho is a strong man, of course his hits are a lot harder. He had you bend over his leg for over 30 minutes now, not a single glimpse of pity. You felt how the blood floated over your tights all the way to the ground. „What? Does it hurt?” you couldn’t make out any emotions in his voice. Was he still mad or was he trying to show some sympathy? You nodded your head, hoping that he would stop. But the only thing coming out of his mouth was a simple „Good.” When he stood up, you thought it was over but dang it, how dumb you were to think that. He placed you on the bed, then took his clothes off. He grabbed his phone and told you to strip. He stared filming you while so, fucking you roughly afterwards, still filming. „After our little session, I will send and post this everywhere so everyone know who you belong to and who’s names matters to you. Show everyone how good you can be for me, come on.”

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waiting-for-motivation · 4 years

Text

duck feeding

summary: During a walk in a park, Diego and his adoptive daughter meet someone familiar.

request: Hey! Hope you’ve been keeping safe, I missed u! I’ve been rewatching TUA again and felt nostalgic for ur Diegoxreader fics. Request for the academy’s reactions to finding out Diego raised up a teen daughter kid (the reader) who he found in like a dumpster or something and they’re so much like him. Thanks 💜 ~ anon

pairings: Diego Hargreeves x Daughter! Reader

warnings: (angsty) fluff

words: 1001

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

“Please! Please! Please!“

Diego groans and covers his head with a pillow, trying to ignore the begging of his daughter. Nevertheless, (Y/n) continues to plead. She grabs one of her fathers hands and pulls with all her strength. With a thud Diego lands hard on the ground and groans.

“You promised!“

(Y/n) is still pulling at her fathers arm and even manages to move him a little from the bed. Then Diego stands up slowly and lets his hand wander all over his face to waken him up. His eyes focus on the girl in front of him. She is ready to go. A dark coat covers her form and the cap on her head keeps her ears warm. There is even a bag full of old and hard bread in her left hand.

“Dad! Please.“

Although Diego had only a few hours of sleep and is exhausted from being a vigilant at night, he nods and turns to his wardrobe to dress. The fake tears in (Y/n)s eyes convinced him. He hates seeing his little girl upset.

While (Y/n) jumps out of his room and to the front door, Diego puts on some dark jeans and a grey sweater. Next to the door he laces his boots and takes his jacket. The little family leave their home and Diego locks it up.

“Why do we have to do this on a Sunday morning?“, Diego asks rather annoyed. He looks around and realizes no one is on the street. Most people probably are still fast asleep.

“We can do it everyday if you want“, (Y/n) returns with a cheeky smile and takes her fathers hand, to pull him closer. Diego rolls his eyes but follows his daughter.

“If it makes you happy to feed some stupid ducks“, Diego whispers more to himself but the next moment he feels a sharp pain in the right shoulder. His daughter punched him.

“Don‘t insult my ducks!“

The two of them continue on their way and after ten minutes they are standing in front of a little pond inside a park. While Diego leans against a nearby tree and watches his daughter, (Y/n) crushes the bread and throws it at the ducks. She laughs because she hit a duck against the beak with a piece of bread.

“Five bucks if your ducks can catch a piece in the air“, Diego requests and takes a step forward to take a piece of bread from (Y/n).

“You forget that I‘m a teenager and have no money.“

“Well, then you have to wash the dishes for a week!“

“So you compare five bucks with a week full of work?“

Both laugh. Diego throws the piece of bread to a duck and uses his powers to navigate it right in the animals beak.

“Hey! You used your powers. That is cheating!“, (Y/n) exclaims and hits her fathers arm. Diego only laughs and pulls her cap over her eyes.

“Diego?“

That moment everything changes. Diego stops laughing, turns around and covers his daughter with his whole body, protecting her. Three of his siblings stand in front of him with confused expressions.

“Dad?“, (Y/n) asks frightened and looks over Diegos shoulder, only to be meet with three familiar faces. She knows the three but never met them because Diego was too concerned.

“Who is that? Your underage girlfriend?“, Klaus asks with a silly smile and takes a step forward to greet the girl but Diego growls at his own brother.

“No, Klaus. I believe she is his daughter“, Vanya explains because she heard what (Y/n) called her brother. She smiles at the girl.

(Y/n) steps at her fathers side and returns the kind smiles of the Hargreeves siblings. Then she introduces herself and looks questioningly to her father. Diego looks rather displeased and takes a hold of (Y/n)s hand.

“Why did you never tell us about her?“

“Because you would only endanger her!“

Vanya, Klaus as well as Allison look offended and that is why (Y/n) squeezes her fathers hand. With that she tells him to calm down and that she is save here.

“Are you guys hungry? Dad would like to invite you to some cake“, (Y/n) says with a smile on her lips and pulls her father from the pond and through the park. The three Hargreeves siblings follow them perplexed.

Soon they enter (Y/n) favorite café and are sitting around a table next to a window. The teenage girl watches the dogs in the park while the siblings keep quiet. The waitress serves them their orders. (Y/n) takes her favorite cake, stuffing it inside her mouth without hesitation. Diego stops her with a hand on her shoulder and tells her to eat slower. He has a black coffee. Vanya and Allison are having the same cake as the girl. And Klaus has some fancy cake with a flower on top.

“So is she your biological daughter? Or did you adopt her?“, Allison asks after her first bite and humming happily.

“He found me after my parents literally threw me away like some kind of garbage“, (Y/n) explains with a sad face but the moment Diego slides closer on the bench, she smiles at her protective father.

“I‘m so sorry. But that sounds just like our stories. So you officially belong to the Hargreeves family. Welcome!“, Klaus returns and waves his hands enthusiastically.

(Y/n) thanks him and then they start to talk about everything and nothing. The Hargreeves siblings share some embarrassing stories about Diego. After a few hours Klaus, Allison and Vanya say their goodbyes and invite Diego as well as (Y/n) to the mansion tomorrow.

The moment Diego and (Y/n) are alone at their table, they smile at each other. (Y/n) is excited to finally meet her real family. Diego is still concerned for his daughters safety but he is happy to know that his siblings accept her the way she is.

“Now I have a person for almost each weekday to go duck feeding with me!“

permanent taglist: @lightning-wolffe

#diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x you #diego hargreeves x y/n #diego hargreeves imagine #diego hargreeves fluff #diego hargreeves fic #diego hargreeves oneshot #diego hargreeves one shot #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x reader

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aurora-the-kunoichi · 3 years

Text

A Change For The Better

A comfort piece, mention of verbal abuse.

A slumbering giant lies beside you; massive, intimidating in his own right but when he slept you were reminded of just how gentle the mutant could be. Those hands, enormous three fingered mitts capable of such destruction even death if permitted but those digits brought pleasure and comfort beyond anything you could have dreamed.

Your finger tips glide over the green scales of his beak watching him as the handsome terrapin mumbles what sounds like your name in his sleep. His lips curl into a soft smile while he leans into the touch and your heart swells with adoration. The turtle was extraordinary, different and absolutely perfect and he was yours, every rigid, powerful inch of the colossal mutant yours.

He wasn’t what you had expected when you prayed for someone caring, someone that loved without consequence but you wouldn’t change anything, he was just what you needed.

You remember those words like it was yesterday; stupid, pathetic, dumb, the bouts of anger fueled by his bad moods. That child before left you full of anxiety, unhappy and emotionally drained with his rage and insecure shortcomings. Those years you endured his abusive verbal tirades, years wasted on a festering ball of hate that projected his weakness onto you. A verbal punching bag that he used regularly then acted like nothing had happened a short time later.

When you finally had the courage to rid yourself of his toxic behavior you felt like a weight had been lifted. No longer walking on eggshells or dreading going home, your confidence returned and that fateful day that changed your life for the better finally came.

You had been sitting on your balcony watching the city come alive, when you heard something above you. You lived on the top floor so the roof was just above and you were the only one that utilized that space.

Curiosity killed the cat but you still climbed the final stairs to the roof to investigate. Using the light of your phone to find you patio lights, you plugged in the cord and your little section of roof illuminated. Just then a shadow just to your left slipped back into the shadows.

“Please.” You urged quietly stepping towards your guest. Truth be told you had sensed this presence before, many times as you took your verbal lashings. It was funny, you really hadn’t thought about it when it happened but your subconscious knew someone else was there with you those nights, listening, waiting.

Again you called, “Please come out. I’d like to meet you.”

The silence bore on for a few moments before his voice came through the darkness, low, rough yet it held such an unthreatening tone. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“Are you here to hurt me?”

“N-No, I would never…” He responded quickly and adamantly and there you could see the movement in the darkness. He was big, very big but you weren’t afraid.

“Then I promise you won’t scare me.” With your words you can see him step forward, but just one step, he stopped just before the line of light that ran across the rooftop. He was hesitating.

“I’m not like other men.”

With a soft titter you let out a long breath and closed your eyes, your hands moved over each other fingers tangling and untangling with your excitement. “God, I hope not. I would be disappointed if you were like them.” Those words gave him hope and he stepped forth into the light. Eyes lighting up with admiration you watched in awe as his enormous green muscled form came into your life.

Since that fateful night your life had made a change for the good, you had never felt so loved in your life. Appreciated and adored you had never been happier. He was a champion of the city but to you he was your savoir, protector and had brought you peace.

For someone who lived in the sewer he smelled amazing and tasted even better. Those lips of his were magic, leaving trails of fire along your flesh. His body though, that immaculate temple bestowed upon him from the heavens itself was a gift in itself. Every inch of him was well defined, thick, and built for bringing you to the highest peaks of pleasure. Nothing like anything you had ever experienced with anyone else. Years of training had left him talented in so many ways that had nothing to do with ninjutsu.

His face was not traditional being half human and half turtle in all, but you found him handsome, sexy and quite frankly perfect. And those eyes, vibrant and full of life and when they were locked with yours you had no room to breathe, just utterly mesmerized by his gaze.

If his looks weren’t enough the terrapin was brave, honorable and the most loving man you had ever met. Dotting, caring, grateful and you felt blessed.

The warmth of his hand sliding over your exposed hip broke you from your thoughts. Your hand had found its way to his cheek resting the heat of your palm there and those sparkling vivacious orbs were trained on you leaving you once again breathless. His hand abandoned your hip resting on the top of your hand to move your palm to the warmth of his mouth. Lips parted and the turtle pressed a kiss to your hand and set it back where it had been.

“Where were you just now?” he asked softly running his long fingers through your hair before running down your arm to rest on your hip once again.

You toke this moment to realize you suddenly felt he was too far away and you moved swiftly into his arms which he eagerly allowed. His arms wrap around you and the mutant rolled to his shell pulling you onto his chest. Both your hands gripped the top of his plastron and you pressed your ear to the platelets just above his beating heart. It’s strong and the rhythm steady, a reminder he was real, flesh and blood, not your imagination.

When his large hands ran down your back in soothing circles you were reminded he had asked you a question and you let out the breath you didn’t even know you were holding. “I was thinking of where I’ve been and where I am now and how so very lucky I am.”

Using your hands as leverage you push up and your lips move over the top of his chest with a few sloppy wet kisses. When you look upon his face you can see his smile in the moonlight, he looked content and happy giving you a sense of calm in the moment. “What are you smiling about?”

“That’s funny.” He started. “I was just thinking the same thing.” His left hand came forward and cupped your face running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. “Can I- can I tell you something?” His voice wavered just a bit and he suddenly looked a little sheepish.

“Of course, you can tell me anything.”

The terrapin let out a deep breath and you could see him mentally gather his courage. Curious and curiousier.

“That night we first met……”

He paused for a moment as if worried you’d get upset with the next words he was about to speak. You roll your cheek into his large palm and give him his reprieve. “That wasn’t the first time you had been up there was it?”

“No.”

You wanted to laugh but you didn’t want him to feel like you were laughing at him, “I know.”

“You do?” his head lifted a little off the pillow in shock.

“I could sense you up there each time……” you didn’t want to finish the sentence.

Slowly his hand moved from your cheek down to the back of your neck squeezing it gently for reassurance. “I was out on patrol one night and I heard him yelling at you. I stayed, listening, ready to jump in if things….escalated. Each time I was out I made sure to stop by and check on you. There were a few times I watched you from the adjacent building making dinner tortured by the smells of what you were creating. I wanted to taste them so bad but….he was there. Then I didn’t hear him for days, no shouting just the calm presence of just you. That night when that brick shifted under my foot was the best ninja fail ever. I finally got to meet you.”

A sudden rush of love swarmed your heart, tears ready to spill and you surged forward capturing his mouth with yours. The mutant accepted the kiss hungrily opening his mouth at the urgent push from your tongue. They mingled swiping over each other until he rolled bringing you beneath him. He quickly settled himself between your thighs and rocked his hips forward.

You could feel how quickly he filled out as the length traveled up your inner thigh fueled by his growing arousal. There was no barrier between you both and you quickly realized how easily you could be stuffed full with every inch of him. Rolling your hips down you showed him just how eager you were and broke the kiss panting against his lips.

“I love you.” You gasped as he plunged forward locking himself inside you.

“Always.”

#tmnt #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michaelangelo #verbal abuse #comfort #slight smut

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bored-storyteller · 4 years

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uh I love your storys about Uta ^^. You write him so good and in character . Could you maybe write a story about him were him and the reader ( human) meeting at an auction like reader was captured and meets Uta there . But maybe they escape the auction house and meet Uta sometime after this again. I`m sorry I love Uta angst and fluff .

Dear anon. I'll tell you, your request inspired me a lot (that's why I did it right away), but I must confess that I'm not really satisfied with the result and I'm sorry (I rewrote it three times). I have to thank my poor summary skills for this defeat, I don't think I managed to really give you what you asked me. Feel free to send me clarifications or a further request for me to remedy!

43- Tokyo Ghoul, Uta x human!reader

“The bird of ill omen and the broken toy”

You are in front of his eyes, huddled in a corner of the cold and dark container. On your knees, tied up, you are the condemned to death ready to face the gallows, or rather you are a delicious dish wrapped in its most beautiful dress to entice the spectators.

"Oh, look here ... what a delightful creature."

You are not the main article, you are not the rare object, yet your smell has brought him there. Uta is not a glutton, but he couldn't resist the temptation to peek at whoever was carrying such an inviting fragrance.

"This is really a shame ..." his voice is sweet, calm, yet ironic and cruel. Yes, it's a shame that he has to give you to some miserly ghoul.

Uta doesn’t usually prefer a certain type of food, he is not delicate or picky, nor does he have problems eating even his similar ones. But he has to admit that while those bright eyes of yours, shining with tears and desperation, look at him, he really would like to be able to eat them. Yes, it is rare for someone to stimulate his appetite in this way, customers really have to thank him for his self-control.

You are so small in his shadow, and even if you tremble, even if you smell of fear, he sees no hope in your eyes.

You know you have no escape. As little as you may be when it comes to ghouls, you know you can't save yourself. You heard them talk.

You would rather die now than continue that torture.

He feels it, and oh, how tempted he is to grant your wish.

He leans over you, he wants to see you well, he wants to hear you. The demonic beak of his mask brushes against you, rubs against your temple like the muzzle of a mother cuddling his cub, or the muzzle of a lion that is playing with his prey.

Maybe, if he had met you in another situation ... maybe ...

No. He doesn't necessarily have to devour you. Nothing is ever said with Uta, even he knows it, he knows himself. Who knows what would have happened if you had met somewhere else. Who knows who you were, elsewhere.

In conclusion, you were both unlucky: you cannot survive, and he cannot be the one to eat you. You have something in common.

"Uta!"

Roma's voice makes its way, muffled by the metal container in which you are locked up - like a ready meal -

"I'm coming!" It's time for him to go on stage, for you it's time for the final bow.

He doesn't tell you anything anymore, he doesn't need to. He will say goodbye to you that same evening, but he feels a little happy that you are among the last items to be exhibited.

He still gives you a look, you, little shaking puppet, sweet broken toy. Who can fix you anymore?

After that, he leaves you behind, abandoned in the cold darkness of your last hours in solitude, as he plunges into the cold light of demons, ready to entertain his fellow men with his affable ways. What a crazy world you are both in.

. . .

Locked in your cold prison, if you could you would cover your ears in a desperate attempt to get away from the announcements and screams, but it's impossible for you. So you wait, trembling in your shell of panic, not knowing what to do. If only you had at least a vain hope, a false chance. If only you could save yourself, for some reason, any reason then yeah, oh, how dear life would be to you thereafter. But you can't even think now.

And you don't even realize that the noises change. The cries of the victims become the cries of the executioners, and the applause becomes breathless footsteps in search of a safe place. But you don't know it, or at least not until they get closer, more distressed. They are probably running away. But who can save you? Who knows you are there? Who can remember you?

And in fact, no one stops, no one frees you, and the footsteps and the screams brush against you and pass you, without bothering to kill or save you. At least you think so.

But as soon as the silence comes, the creaking of the doors opening makes you lift your face, towards the light.

He is there again, and you wonder if that Bird of ill Omen is not your hallucination. With that bizarre suit, that hateful mask, and those ancient letters around his neck that seem ready to strangle him.

He doesn't talk to you. He is simply looking at you, you feel him looking at you, behind that deadly beak. In the silence that surrounds you, whether it is a real silence or created by mutual presence, he suddenly occupies your every thought in those few seconds of eternity. Maybe it's the touch of death that wanders your mind, but suddenly unusual questions arise in you. Who knows who he is, what he does. What does he like and what not ... does he live in the alleys of the city, or maybe, instead, without that mask he pretends to be someone?

He came to take you and devour you. But it almost seems like a strange barrier is keeping him away from you.

And while you are suspended in this limbo of cold resignation, as he came he disappears, and with his disappearance he takes away from you that sad calm that had enveloped you.

The panic returns as someone approaches.

Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Clean eyes, a clean face, no mask is looking at you agitated. You don't know how to answer, you don't even know if what you are seeing is true.

“I'm a human, I'm a CCG investigator. Don't worry, it's okay, we'll get you out of here. "

Without your being fully aware of it, you find yourself in warm, safe arms that take you away from hell behind you. You didn't even realize you were crying.

. . .

He recognized your smell right away.

Even if it's been some time since his meeting with you, it's hard to forget something that has affected him so much, especially if it is something that has particularly touched his sensitivity over that of others.

And it's not that Uta is then easily surprised, he is ready to expect anything from that crazy world, yet you manage to upset him without even knowing that he is there.

You are smiling. And that's not the fact, but at the same time it is. You are smiling sweetly, sincerely. Your eyes are clear and bright, and you are listening to someone talking to you about their petty problems without batting an eye.

That night, that night he met you, he came back to eat you. He was not a ghoul who got lost in gluttony, but given the situation he had a particular interest in the statement "carpe diem".

He hadn't, in the end. In the end he just looked at you. It would have been easy to swallow you, but he had left you there. He had told himself that he hadn't made it in time, but who knows what was really going through his head at that moment.

It doesn't matter anymore, however. What's a broken toy like you doing so quietly exposed? How can you smile at people like that, when surely the world around you has crumbled into millions of little bits?

You make him angry, you know? Humans like you, whom the world keeps getting back on their feet despite everything, provoke anger in him.

And you are there, a few steps away from him, and you do not realize that the one who had the task of trampling your life is watching you.

And no matter how much anger he may feel inside of him, he can't help but look at you, as you speak comfortable words to someone, while you give your attention as if you have no problem.

"Uta?" Renji's voice, intent on looking at him from behind the coffee shop counter, makes him look away from you.

"Nh? Ah… ”His gaze falls on his now coffee-stained lap. The stain is almost invisible on the black sweater, but it is damp and warm.

"Don't laugh ... can you give me a towel please?"

"I'm not laughing." Yet Uta could swear that in the serious voice of his trusted friend a note of amusement is audible even to those who do not know him.

Carefully he puts the cup back on the saucer, making sure not to do any further damage.

This then. When was he ever so distracted for a human?

But when he instinctively looks for you, after all that nice little theater, you're not there anymore. The table you occupied is empty.

Only one object remained abandoned on the shiny surface. A book lies alone, the bookmark sticking out in the middle.

It is placed on the side where you sat. Did you leave in such a hurry that you left it there?

It is not that he has a real reason to do it, yet, while he is about to leave :Re, with all the tranquility that characterizes him, he picks up that literary volume in his hands, hiding it inside his jacket. Even that printed paper is imbued with your smell by now.

. . .

You talk to books, apparently. The edges of the pages are filled with thoughts written in pencil. They are all yours, it almost seems like you use the books as your diary, but there is nothing so personal about you. They are just… points of view. The world told by you, depending on the inspiration that the phrases in the book give you.

"It must be difficult to live in a world where you can talk to your food about your favorite book."

When Uta's eyes had settled on that particular phrase, he had closed. For someone else it might have been a stupid phrase, probably, but for him it was like a punch in the stomach.

He doesn't know if you wrote it before or after the accident, but in any case that simple sentence arouses a mixture of emotions that he doesn't really know where to place. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't understand what it meant to be a ghoul in that world, but on the other hand, the utopia in which Renji seems so hoping could be made up of people like you. If only he believed it, Uta could like that world, as long as there was a place in that world for someone like him.

“Excuse me, did you happen to find a book yesterday? I'm afraid I left it here by mistake. " Your cordial voice betrays a note of alarmism as you speak to the young girl. Your hands grip the counter as if it were a rock of salvation, but your feet are ready to run elsewhere, to look somewhere else in case it isn't there.

"Oh ... no, I'm sorry, I haven't seen any books." Touka's voice is sorry, an apologetic tone hovers between her words.

"Oh, damn ... sorry, thanks anyway!" Your words are so hasty, so quick that he doesn't have time to interrupt them.

The bell rings and the door closes with a click.

"You have it, don't you?" Renji never misses anything - or almost -.

"Yeah, it’s better that I give it back to them before they run all over Tokyo on foot."

"How long have you been so thoughtful?"

Uta allows himself to take a last look at the silver-haired ghoul from over his sunglasses, as he prepares to leave the cafe: "I'm always thoughtful."

. . .

The snow has just started to fall. It is light and silent, the parks of the metropolis have not yet begun to turn white.

You would gladly stay and watch the show from the heat of your home, if it weren't for that damn book you forgot somewhere. Oh, you love your books, but they're so good at hiding. You were convinced you left it in the coffee shop!

"Excuse me…"

A cordial voice caresses your eardrums. It's so warm and peaceful, yet a chill shiver stops the blood in your veins.

Turning around, you meet a man dressed in black. He is strange, but it doesn't surprise you, there are a lot of strange people in such a big city, even people who wear sunglasses on a snowy day.

You had already seen him in the cafe, but you didn't dwell on him. Not because he doesn't get your attention, just… it was an instinct.

“I think you were looking for this. I found it yesterday by chance. "

Clear and tapered fingers hand you your much-desired book. On fair skin, intertwining dark patterns form inexplicable designs, at least for you, but you're sure they have a lot to say, don't they?

Slowly you reach out your hand, and hesitantly touch the cover, to resume what you were looking for.

The night of the accident did not disappear. You are scared. You are afraid of death, but even more of pain, of imprisonment. You are afraid of fear itself. However, you are also afraid of not living, of wasting, of losing.

You are in a limbo that does not let you escape, and you can not help but continue your life, savoring every second, waiting for the Bird of ill Omen to come and get you.

So you push back the mistrust again, and a grateful and kind smile goes to the one who helped you, without asking for explanations.

"Thank you very much." Your voice reaches his pierced ears with such unexpected sweetness.

"It was a pleasure." His smile, decorated with the piercing, is barely hinted at, but delicate - reassuring? -

And for endless moments you look at each other, in silence, without speaking and without thinking. And then, as if nothing had happened, the dances between prey and predator begin.

"Can I buy you a coffee?"

. . .

Your eyes look at him shiny, frightened. You are still in a cage, imprisoned by a body that will soon be ready to consume you.

Uta wonders if you really never anticipated this. All the times you've crossed paths, have you really ever been in doubt? Every time you looked at him, every time you smiled at him or laughed at his words, did you never guess the truth? No, maybe you've always known it from the start, broken toys never work too well.

The mask of that evening, like a macabre mockery - both for him and for you - is leaning on the work table, not far from you, looking at you placidly. It’s a coincidence that he pulled it out just in the morning.

Suddenly the images of that day come back between you two, like a dream. The incomprehensible to you tattoo on his neck has a creepy look overwhelmed by the shadows that the soft lights create on the ghoul.

Fear invades you, like a script. Yet, while the Bird of ill Omen looms over you, trapping you in the corner of the room with his arms, your terror is different from what he had already seen in you. Today it is almost more visible, less controlled, as you tremble beneath him.

Maybe it's the surprise of being caught in a trap by someone who – perhaps- you had slowly begun to love – despite everything-, or maybe, simply, inside you a little hope still survives.

Uta's head bends, and the tip of his nose brushes your neck, smelling the coveted perfume that had so attracted him.

If you're so scared, how did you smile all that time? How did you keep going? How did you keep loving that world?

Beside his mask, as a warning of future torment, your dear book lies silent, ready to say goodbye. You lent it to him last time, he asked you for it.

Your smell is as strong, sweet, delicious as ever - so why is his stomach closing up? -

His jaws open, and as delicate as cruel they enclose your fragile neck. In them, the accelerated beats of your heart, still alive, make him tremble.

One bite and you will be nothing but dead flesh, and he hesitates.

He had to kill you before it was too late, right? Uta should know himself well enough, he had to understand right away what was happening inside him.

A sigh, and then his lips pull away, his saliva stops wetting you. He is not hungry, he has already eaten.

He is still upon you, but now he is only looking at you, with his eyes of blood and darkness. You, like a frightened puppy, remain shaking in a corner for a few moments, lost in his pupils. And then, like a crazy lightning bolt, you run away, as you have always run away. You slip under his arms, and as fast as you can you reach the door of the shop.

Uta watches you go, swallows bitter air, and then bows his head, surrendered.

What will happen now? Will you shut up in fear? Will you tell anyone? Only time will tell.

He slowly gets up, his hands caressing each other's tattooed arms, in a distracted gesture of protection, as he approaches the table. His fingers touch it, and then squeeze it, while he looks at the book that is left alone again, without your eyes on it.

And then, suddenly, as if he had woken up from a dream, he notices something: your smell has not vanished.

Turning his view, he sees you. You are still there, or maybe you are back there.

Now it is you who are on the side of the light, and he is in the corner of the cage. The Bird of ill Omen has become the broken toy, left alone among his masks.

"What's up?" No matter the crack inside, Uta always looks so mature, peaceful, even after he has threatened to kill you.

You take a step towards him, but your outstretched arm continues to secure yourself to the door jamb. If you left he wouldn't follow you, you know that right?

"I ... I think I'm crazy, Uta ..." You too realize how much your behavior is against logic, how foolish it is to remain - to search - in your nightmare. But on the other hand, humans ... no, people, when they are desperate, lose the light of reason, and do wrong things. Things the world says are wrong. That world, which claims to be the only one, when it is nothing more than a facade, a corner of something much larger.

"Yes, I think so too." He really thinks so. You have to be crazy to still be there, at least as crazy as he is. "Why are you still here?"

You shrug your shoulders, hugging yourself more out of shyness than out of fear - yeah, you're no longer afraid, it's as if you've run out of batteries.

"I ... as long as I'm alive I can choose, right?" It came out of your lips so naturally that you didn't even realize it was you who uttered that sentence, yet it's a truth so deep, so intense that it has guided you from that damn night to this day.

"And what are you choosing?"

Your eyes cast a fleeting glance outside, at the glimmer of the city, and without hesitation you gently accompany the door to close, imprisoning you. Imprisoning both of you.

Maybe it's a prison, but this time it's really your choice. You are with that Bird of ill Omen, but you are not tied up, you are not thrown to the ground in a cold corner. You are with him, surrounded by works of art that stare at you impassively, but it was you who decided it.

"I choose not to ignore anymore ..." Your fingers intertwine with each other, you play with them as if you need to keep them busy as you approach him. He is waiting for you. "I want to understand."

"How can you understand?" He would like to tell you, but he doesn't say a word, because not even he can understand you. What kind of mask would suit you? Who knows, yet he has learned enough about you that he should be able to think of at least one. But no, you are always there, hoping for something, believing that after all, living is worthwhile.

So he stays there, even when you lean against him. Not a contact, but a fusion. Stomach against stomach, lungs against lungs, heart against heart. Your hands cling to his arms only to hold him closer, and as he looks at your closed eyes he knows you're listening to him. You're trying to feel his every breath, every twitch of him. You want to get inside him, and he lets you do it - isn't that what he wanted too?

The predator and the prey united in a single entity for an eternal instant.

It's all so against the moral and social rules, but what do you care now? You already know he could kill you. And in that world that goes round and round without stopping, a black writing in an ancient language that also goes around a greedy neck could be your starting point for putting the pieces back together. Maybe it's a disease, maybe it's madness, but deep down, why not? Why not go a little further? Better to die than to be afraid to live, right?

"How much confidence ..."

His voice further softened by his whisper makes your previously closed eyelids lift. His nocturnal eyes look at you slightly narrowed, a slight upward crease caresses his lips without even knowing it. It is difficult for Uta to do something without being aware of it.

He is very beautiful. Beautiful and awful.

"Can't I?"

The world out there, the crazy little world is gone.

"Well, why not ... you are my food, after all."

#tokyo ghoul #uta tokyo ghoul #uta x human reader #uta x reader #tokyo ghoul uta #tokyo ghoul oneshot #tokyo ghoul fanfiction #tokyo ghoul x reader #reqest

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

Text

Quick Thoughts: Nickelodeon All-Star Brawl Reveal Trailer and Initial Roster

Whelp I didn’t expect to be doing another one of these so soon but welcome to quick thoughts where I give well quick thoughts on stuff instead of the longer form reviews I usually do.

So as longtime or even short time readers of this blog might know I love NIck. I don’t review shows from it as often as Disney or Cartoon Network, but it was still a beloved part of my childhood and still makes great shows today such as the Loud House, Harvey Beaks and Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It’s horribly mismanaged, which is why two of those shows are no longer with us and the last of them is weirdly missing from this game, and have a long and storied history of screwing things over.. and i’m not exagerating when Mr. Enter, no matter your opinon of him now, did a whole marathon of every nicktoon almost every entry included the fact the show had been screwed over in some way.

But as anyone who knows my history with Disney will tell you just because I don’t sugarcoat a brand I like’s fuckups dosen’t mean they aren’t near and dear to me at the same time. I”m a grown up: I can have complex emotions towards a chlidren’s tv network. So I love it’s varied shows some of whom (Avatar, Harvey beaks again, Danny Phantom, Hey Arnold) are among my all time faviorites.

Now something readers of my blog probably WOUDLN’T know is I love Nintendo, they have their own fuckups like weird release strageies and never doing a remotely decent discount like the competition, but their still a company I love and since I only play handhelds most of the time are my primary source of good shit. So naturally Smash Bros is my faviorite franchise of theres. I love the idea of fighting games but often struggle with the combo heavy nature. So Smash Bros, having a roster of some of my faviorite characters ever, a plaformer style control scheme, and a deceptivley simple style that’s easy to learn and fun to master with the right character, is my shit. Sure I won’t rush out to buy every dlc character, but you better belivie I played the hell out of Ultimate, will likely go back to it again some day, and did buy Banjo and Kazooie because fuck yeah.

So yeah I needed to talk about Nick making their own smash bros clone. When I heard the rumors I wasn’t sure, mostly because Rumors can be just that.. but nope this game is happening and i’m all on board for it. This isn’t Nick’s first crossover rodeo in recent memory either also making a pair of Kart Racing Games: one I KINDA wanted to play till I looked at the roster, had a good laugh and lost that i want, and the other I really want to play as it seems like the first game if it were you know an actual game with a decent track selection, a deep character roster and an actual love of it’s properties.

So making their own Smash Bros was a logical step and one i’m here for. We haven’t had any of the big cartoon networks make one since well.. Cartoon Network, and Nick has just a deep a bench to pull from, one that will hopefully get CN to get their cast to throw hands once more.

For now though the idea of the vast history of nick all throwing hands with each other is amazing. Look i’m honest with myself: this looks like a decent smash clone,functional but nothing specail, but with the expressive character animation and solid roster you need for a game like this. I know going in i’m not going ot get Smash Ultimate quality of brawler, but i’m probably going to have fun with it.

The only downside I see so far is , like the Kart Racers, theyd idn’t seem to get ANY voice actors for this which smacks of laziness, especially since most of the voice actors for these characters are still active, and in some cases like Spongebob or Loud House are still working with you. So you have no real excuse for this, shame on you.

But yeah the game looks good.. despite the trailer being pretty bad. It’s just some generic music set to “LOOK WHO WE GOT”. And granted look who they got is really spiffy and i’ll be diving into that in a second, but it dosen’t give any of these characters a reall chance to show off how they play or how awesome they are. It’s just a bland montage of whose in the roster in the same 2 or 3 stages. And when you have 15 stages overall to show off that’s not excusable. Again i’m not expecting Smash level quality revelas, this game dosen’t have the marketing budget, but you have a really great concept and roster here, you coudl’ve revealed it better and this game better. The Kart Racers 2 Trailer was also mildly bland but it did show off the game better, showing off several tracks and how VASTLY improved the roster was, so you CAN make a good trailer you just didn’t. It felt like they thought the poitn of all the smash reveals trailers was here’s a character and missed all the style and substance to them.

That being said while the trailer was weak.. it was boyed by the fact this roster is REALLY damn good. Let’s face it I woudln’t even be talking about this game if the roster wasn’t this minty but they clearly learned from Kart Racers not to half ass it and while they learned the long lessons from Smash in how to promote the fighters they have, they learned the right lessons in having a nice mix of crowd pleasing faviorites for kids and vetrans alike along with a few deep cuts for said longtime fans. And this is JUST the intitial reveal roster: Given the Box Art isn’t out yet, I feel there’s more to come, especially since despite being perfect for the game there’s no one from the Avatarverse yet, but I also feel that Nick is saving that for a second trailer to announce the release date. But I can and will go into who i’d LIKE on the roster in another one of these sometime soon. -

Spongebob, Patrick and Sandy (SpongeBob Squarepants): I’m getting these three out of the way as their essentially to this what Mario and Co were to smash: necessary and inevitible. As for who was chosen.. it was as obvious as putting spongebob himself int he game. Sponebob is Nick’s mascot, Patrick is nearly as iconic and Sandy is well loved as well as the spongebob character most associated with buttkicking. Being an expert martial artist is both part of her character and a cerntral part of her character and relationship with Spongebob. So yeah not a lot ot say here: it was ineivible but I don’t mind at all having grown up with them and with my niece and nibling being huge fans.

87 Leo and 87 Mikey (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles): This one i’m mixed on. Not on the turtles being here: i’m a MASSIVE TMNT fan and i’td be stupid to leave them out since Nick Owns them, made the last two series, and they fit this kind of game like a glove, even having had their OWN smash clone to themselves once.

No my issue is obviously in the version choseN: The 87 turtles. Again I have no beef with the guys themselves, I haven’t seen much of 87 but I want to and they look really gorgeous and nicely cartoony. It’s just a REALLY weird choice. The 87 turtles have never been on a nick network due to rights issues, have never been associated with nick, and aren’t the ones most kids of EITHER DEMO would be familiar with: Grown up fans of nicktoons from the 90′s like myself would be more familiar with 2003, and kids and teens from more recent eras would be more familiar with 2012 and rise, which REALLY should’ve been the rep. I mean their weird shame of rise bothers me enough on a good day but not using EITHER show you actually made bothers me, it bothers me a lot. I’ll still probably play Mikey, i’m not made of stone and as I said I have no beef with the 87 turtles, I just wish nick had used the others or hell just gone all lin and used one turtle from each cartoon. I mean if your going to use stuff you’ve barely aired why not give me some 2003 nostalgia too huh? Though it could just be that since, unlike the rise and 2012 turrtles the 87 turtles have the same body type and colors it was easier to just do all 4 and just give each unique facial expressions. Who knows... I knows it was probably that.

Lincoln and Lucy Loud (The Loud House, Duh): Another pretty obvious one as The Loud House is currrently nick’s co-flagship show with spongebob. Still waiting for my diffrent world spinoff with Bobby and Lori guys. So yeah Lincoln isn’t a suprise and Lucy is only minorly one as it was a matter of “which sister”... and Lucy is one of the most popular. Neither really fit a combat setting.. but given this is a fun crossover game, that really dosen’t matter and in fact is kind of the fun: taking just the most insane matcchups imaginable and mashing them together. I mean this is a game where Lincoln and Lucy can beat up Leo and Mikey, why wouldn’t I want that kind of crack on my nintendo switch? I am hoping for Luna to make her way to the stage next as she was absent from Kart Racer 2 and would be really fun to play. Plus having ANOTHER bi fighter in the mix if korra gets in there would be awesome, let alone letting the two beat up or punch each other’s face. But again I could and probably will mak ea whole article about other possible fighters i’d want.

The Plesant Suprises: Nigel Thornberry , Oblina and Powdered Toast Man (Wild Thronberries, Ahhh! Real MOnsters1 and Ren and Stimpy) : Yeah while only one of these cartoons was a faviorite as a kid (Wild Thornberries)... I have nothing but respect for these choices. One of the funnest things about Smash is while you can see some roster members coming sometimes you get utter curveballs like Mr. Game and Watch, Pirana Plant and MInecraft Guy. They also go for more cult franchises like SNK or Earthbound (the latter of which is fucking awesome localize mother 3 already dammit) too among the big heavies, making it feel like a true tapestry of Nintendo’s history.

Nigel is the only one of these three that’s really obvious. He’s a meme, he was the best part of his show.. but it’s still just uniquely batshit to put NIGEL THRONBERRY in a fighting game. You better belivie he’ll be one of my mains.

Oblina is more a suprise because I thought they’d go with Icket, but instead went wtih the character who was more popular and had a really unqiue and cool design, so i’m pleased as punch to have her. Finally while I don’t have any real attachment to ren and stimply apart from Log, and really it’s hard to gain any now knowing i’ts creator was a pedophile piece of shit, the franchise is still a cornerstone of nick history, the rest oc the crew didn’t abuse power or not make deadlines or be a com plete piece of shit, and powerded toast man is genuinely great. I”d love to see Really Big Man too, clash of the weird superheroes, I love me a weird as hell superhero. This also speaks promisingly that w’ell get some real weird curveballs to come and i’m here for it.

The Rest: Helga, Zim, Danny and Reptar. (Hey Arnold, Invader Zim, Danny Phantom and Rugrats! ): Note i’m not lumping these together because their bad: their all graet nostalgic picks from timeless shows and with the rugreboot currently running on Paramount+, it’d be weird not to represent them.

And since I brought it up reptar is a fun chocie, another oddball but one more understandable as no one wants to beat the shit out of a toddler. Or rather no one playing the game would care you could because it’s a silly fighting game and a 12 and 8 year old are also beat upable, but someone would probably throw a fit somewhere. Plus again it’s a game where you can have danny phantom fight reptar. Shut up and take my money.

The rest are all great choices if ones I’m not suprised by: Hey Arnold’s an all time classic and being tough is a lot of Helga’s character, and again I can have her throw hands with nigel thornberry, reptar and a ninja turtle in the same match. Zim is another fan faviorite and fits the game like a glove and Danny Phantom is the one out of Nick’s three suprehero classics it actually still cares about so my boy getting in there isn’t a shocker, though his attacks lookw eird. Hopefully they green them up before the final prduct.

So yeah overall it looks really promsing and really fun and i’ll probably check this game out if I get enough money when it comes out or more likely put it on my christmas list. But I will get it somehow this i swear.. speaking of which put manny in the roster dammit. If you liked this.. thing consider joining my patreon for a buck a month fo exclsuvie reviews and ot help me review tuca and bertie, amphibia and more as part of my memebership drive.

#nickelodeon #danny phantom #the wild thornberry's #spongebob squarepants #hey arnold #teenage mutant ninja turtles #ren and stimpy #the loud house #ahh! Real MOnsters #rugrats

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bluemoonbeam15 · 3 years

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After whatever happened with the bird, Hopper awakes somewhere as a human guy. What will happen now?

Okay, so I was just gonna write out this little drabble but then my brain was like, "WE GOTTA DRAW IT!"

So...here you go XD

My humanized version of Hopper!

This took me so long so I didn't do Flik even though I wanted to. But enjoy this and the fanfiction!

I'm adding Flik in it as well for more plot development.

<><><><><><><><>

"H-Hopper!"

"You think this is over?" The grasshopper stalked toward him, the lightning illuminating his rage. Flik vainly pleaded as Hopper drew closer, eventually trapping him beside the bird's nest. He hoped Hopper wouldn't realize their situation before it was too late. "All your little stunt did was buy them time!" He wrapped his hands around the ant's neck, "I'll be back next season with more grasshoppers...but you won't!"

Just as Flik felt close to collapsing, Hopper's grip loosened when a chirp sounded above them. "Is this another one of your tricks?" he sneered down at the ant.

Flik grinned, "Yep," he choked out.

"Are there a bunch of girls in this one too? Hello girls!" The screech from the bird blew back his antennae. Flik desperately wished he could have drowned out that noise. It would bring him nightmares tonight if he survived this. Hopper screamed and released Flik. The bird jumped before both of them as the grasshopper slipped on the ground to get away.

The ant shrieked when the bird's beak came crashing down just inches away from him. He had to get out fast. The bird straightened a moment and closed in on the two. Flik tried pushing himself off the ground, but Hopper hadn't noticed his form and fell back over him.

"Atta run!" Flik called toward the rock he'd left her behind. The bird's beak slammed down close to them again. Flik was suddenly pulled back just as it tore the ground where he lay. He glanced back to see Hopper scrambling to get up, gripping Flik's arm to pull him up as well. "Let go of me!" He resisted whatever it was the grasshopper was trying to do. Feed him to the bird, most likely.

The bird screeched again and Flik stumbled as Hopper drug him toward the cliff. "What are you doing?" he tried digging his feet in the ground but Hopper was far too strong from build and fear to notice the drag. The bird lifted into the air and sheathed its claws. It grazed against Flik's other arm just as Hopper jumped off the cliff.

Flik screamed when his feet didn't land on anything solid. He looked down at the rising waters, the currents becoming torrent as the wind picked up. At this point, the waters were deep enough to drown both of them. For the first time, Flik was praying Hopper didn't let him go. He grappled the air until he had both arms wrapped around Hopper's, eyes darting between the river and the bird.

It took off in their direction, knocking Hopper off course from its wings. He struggled to keep the both of them airborne while the wind threatened to knock him off balance. Flik felt his grip loosen and he screamed, "Hopper! I'm begging you! Please don't do this!" He was certain the grasshopper was going to drop him into those waters at any moment.

Hopper yanked Flik up by the arms, baring his teeth, "Shut up so I can concentrate!" A drop of water crashed down on his back, causing his wings to falter. The two no sooner went hurtling toward the river, crashing into the waves.

The ant fought to find a sense of direction. Which way was up? Which was down? Where was the bird? Where was Hopper? Something wrapped around his waist, pulling him. Flik screamed. Was he getting pulled to the bottom? He was going to drown! He gasped when air filled his lungs and he blinked the water from his eyes. Flik coughed, whirling his head around to find the bird. It must have flown back to its nest.

Whatever had a hold of him pulled him through the currents until soft sand was felt beneath his feet. He was dropped suddenly onto the ground and the ant tried catching his breath. He held his head in pain, everything still blurred around him. It was then he remembered that Hopper was still around. Hopper couldn't have been the one who rescued him, could he?

Flik turned his head wearily and gasped at the sight. He scrambled back in fear at the monster before him. What was a human doing this far out in the country? The man was coughing, down on his hands and knees as he struggled to regain his bearings. He drug a hand down his face before pausing in the action. He drew his hand back...

It took a few heartbeats before it registered and the man screamed, looking over his body. "W-What happened to me?" Strange, it almost sounded like...

"H...Hopper?" Flik cautiously asked, not daring to move lest the human attack.

The man looked up in response before taking a few steps back from Flik, "You...Y-You're..."

Flik's heart dropped and he hesitated to lift his hand up. His breath quickened as his eyes trailed down his new form, "What's happening?"

"How should I know?" Hopper growled. He looked out over the raging river, "Something happened while we were in that river. Now..." he shuddered as he looked down at his body, "we're...human."

Despite the circumstances, Flik felt anger boiling inside him. The previous events were not lost on him. "What were you thinking? Running off the cliff like that! Are you insane?"

"Hey! I was trying to get us out of there! You and your stupid little girlfriend flew right toward that bird's nest, so don't even blame this on me! You should've been paying attention to where you were going!"

"I knew exactly where I was going!" Flik finally stood with his fists balled. Even as a human, Hopper stood a good foot or two taller than him.

Hopper blinked, reeling back for a second. "You...intentionally flew toward the nest?"

It felt almost like a punch in the gut for Flik. Did...Hopper not realize Flik's plan? Looking at his confused face, it almost seemed like Hopper thought the entire event was an accident. "I...," he lost that rage in him suddenly.

Apparently, it had been given to Hopper. The gras--er...man snarled and stalked closer to Flik, "That was your little idea? Feed me to the bird? What kind of--"

"Now hold on!" Flik had found his voice just moments prior to this freak show, and it was about time he decided to use it. "You're not innocent here! You were going to strangle me! Before that, squish me! I wish you'd gotten eaten by that bird! It's what you deserve after everything you've put this colony through!"

Hopper grabbed Flik by his wrists, coming nose-to-nose with the boy, "Believe me, kid, I could've done worse things to you and your stupid colony," he growled. "The only reason you're still alive right now is because I saved your sorry abdomen."

Flik kept his mouth in a fine line. There were so many things he'd kept pent up over the years that he dreamed of having the guts to say to this brute. Now he found himself struggling to even look him in the eye after he found a backbone. But they had bigger problems than the tension still resting between them, "We need to figure out how to change back," he stated quietly.

The rain was still pouring down heavy, only this time the droplets did no harm to them. Hopper reluctantly let go of Flik's wrist and brushed the wet strands of hair from his face, "I have an idea." Before Flik knew it, he was scooped up in Hopper's arms and flung into the river. The boy spit out the water in a panic before realizing he could now stand in the water.

He whirled on the man, "What the heck?" Flik brushed back his drenched, blond hair.

"Well, so much for that." Hopper deadpanned. "Looks like both of our plans failed."

Flik took his foot and kicked it against the water, splashing Hopper, "You're a real brute, you know that? Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

"What? Like that bird, you wanted to feed me to?" Hopper wiped the water from his face angrily. "The only reason we're in this situation is because of you!"

The boy stumbled out of the river, "You were the one who was oppressing us!" Something was unraveling in Flik. All the events that had transpired were fueling this rage he'd kept stuffed deep inside him. Flik began picking up rocks and throwing them at Hopper, "Every...single...year...we had to go on the brink of starvation! All because you and your greedy hoard of grasshoppers couldn't do it yourselves! A bunch of lazy...good for nothing--!" Hopper twisted the boy's arms behind him, pinning Flik against him, "Let go of me!"

"You don't think we tried getting food for ourselves? How easy do you think it is to harvest in the middle of the desert?"

Flik slammed his foot down on Hopper's causing the man to growl and push the boy to the ground. "Then go live somewhere else!" He struggled as Hopper loomed over him, pinning Flik's arms to the ground.

"There are predators everywhere else! The only place bigger bugs can survive is in the middle of nowhere! In places too dead for anything bigger than us to live! We risked our lives coming here to collect that offering!"

"Well, congratulations, you're such a hero!" Flik snapped back. "I'm sorry you're just a big coward who pushes around anyone weaker than you, just to make yourself feel better!"

With only two arms now, Hopper found strangling the kid more difficult since he was trying to keep him pinned down. "Says the one who was going to let a bird do all his dirty work of killing me off!" Hopper pulled the boy to his feet, keeping his arms pinned behind him. He forced him toward the water, "I oughta drown you right now," he pushed Flik down on his knees toward the water.

"Stop!" he strained against Hopper, "We have to find a way back! I know you don't plan on figuring it out yourself!"

Hopper let go of Flik's head, contemplating his actions. "And who says I need your help?"

"B-Because we have no idea what will happen to us now if we stay like this." He craned his neck to look up at the man, "You really want to risk being out here alone? Humans are monsters, Hopper, you know that. They kill each other all the time. You might end up finding one who can pin you down."

As much as the thought of being subdued angered him, Hopper bit down on his growl. "Fine," he released the boy with a shove and walked back along the shore. "So what's your plan now, genius?"

Flik couldn't believe he was considering teaming up with this guy. Death sounded almost promising as he watched Hopper scrutinize him. "Let's go find Ant Island. It can't be too far from here."

"And do what? Squish them?" Hopper sneered.

Flik took that comment more seriously than Hopper intended it. He rounded on the man, "If you even think about killing them--"

"Relax, kid, learn to take a joke once in a while," he flicked the side of the boy's head. Walking past him, "Let's go find the island, then."

<><><><><><><><><>

This was actually really fun to write! I hope it was what you were expecting, Anon. I kinda didn't know where to go with the idea so I just expanded upon a plot already given in the movie. Sorta like another 'What If' scenario.

#a bugs life #pixar #human au #digital art #drawing #hopper #flik #this was really fun to write tho #fanfiction #writing

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lettheladylead · 4 years

Note

Are you flirting or starting a fight? #scroldie

Her heart was racing. Never in her entire life had she been so bewildered by anyone - he was certainly a unique duck and a strange, strange man. The way he managed to frustrate her with his insensitive pride and severely lacking social skills while simultaneously saying the sweetest things she’d ever heard in her entire life kept her on her toes in more ways than she was comfortable with.

Particularly, she hated being saved. She hated that her life worked out in a way where she needed to be saved on multiple occasions - most of which were when she was young and naive. Now she was an adult woman and a business owner and an adventurer and there was no reason she should ever need someone else to save her life.

And that thought process kept running through her head as Scrooge was pulling her out of some rubble from a cave-in that she somehow managed to get caught in. He grabbed her arm and tugged her out and she had just a few extra moments of consciousness to understand who was with her before succumbing to sleep.

She wasn’t surprised to wake up who-knew-how-long later in a random bed, though she immediately noticed it wasn’t a hospital. Scrooge was sitting at a desk nearby, staring out the window and muttering to himself.

“...Scrooge?”

Her throat was scratchy and sore and she wondered how long she must’ve been out for that to happen. Either way, the hoarse whisper of his name whipped Scrooge’s head around and he stared at her like he’d never seen her before in his life. Only a few moments later and he was at her side, hesitantly reaching out to grab at her limp hand.

“You’re awake,” he mumbled softly. “I’m sorry, I didne know where to take you. The nearest hospital is too far away...I couldne…”

Goldie scoffed and tried to shrug, realizing at that moment that she couldn’t feel much in her arms or back or legs or anywhere and her head was a bit cloudy. She felt very drugged and very tired. “...why can’t I feel anything?”

Scrooge moved his hand a bit, and though she couldn’t really feel it, Goldie knew he was rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “You woke up a few hours ago and downed all the medicine I could get at the local pharmacy...here’s to hoping there’s no consequences for that.”

Goldie chuckled and turned her head away from him. She didn’t remember that at all, which probably meant the drugs were pretty good. She let out a sigh and fully laid her head back on the pillow again.

He tilted his gaze up to stare at her face, lingering for such an obscenely long time that Goldie felt like she might turn to stone. She looked back at him with a curious expression, which made him blush the tiniest bit.

“Goldie…” he started, staring down at their hands. “I...I thought you were dead. And then I started thinkin’ about what I’d do if you were dead...what it’d do to me. I couldne...I’d...I wouldne know how to deal with that.”

She stared at him, unblinking and silent, which just encouraged him to continue.

“You make me so mad, but then...you’re always there,” he mumbled. “There for me. And not just in Gumption or in Cabo or in Casablanca...but anytime I need you, you always seem to be there for me. And I wanna be that person for you. I want you to feel safe when I’m around, even when we’re arguin’ or challengin’ each other. I...I cannae lose you.”

His grip on her hand tightened and Goldie would swear she could feel it that time.

“You just...you need to be more careful. I donnae want to think about life without you around, alright? No matter what I’ve said before and what I’ll say later, I just...I need you.”

With his confession complete, Scrooge still didn’t shift his focus from their hands even though he desperately wanted to see her reaction. He was anxious and nervous and ready for her to laugh him right out of the room, but when she didn’t say anything for another ten seconds, he finally looked up.

Her face was contorted into an expression of joyful confusion - her cheeks tinged pink and her beak partially curved upwards with a hint of a smile.

When they locked eyes, Goldie sheepishly looked away for a moment before looking back.

“...aren’t you gonna seal that with a kiss?” she asked with a small smile.

Scrooge’s cheeks were engulfed in a deep red as he frowned and started to stutter. “D-do you...do you, um...you want me to...to kiss you?”

The stupidity of his question immediately soured her expression and Goldie scowled. “Do you want me to punch you?” She felt empty knowing her threat was hollow without the visual of her raised fist, but instead her limbs just continued to lay down at her sides.

Scrooge was taken aback by her comment and glared at the bed, darting his eyes back and forth. Eventually he looked back up at her. “I...I cannae tell if you’re flirtin’ or tryin’ to start a fight.”

She sighed loudly, taking her once-a-year opportunity to swallow her pride and somehow managed to stop herself from saying something sarcastic in response. “Will you please just come over here and kiss me, you obnoxiously stupid little sourdough of a man?!”

#ducktales #scroldie #scrooge mcduck #goldie o'gilt #fic #fics #takes place early-ish in their relationship i think #think 1910ish #anon asks #carro answers

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter Seven (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: After the kiss, Rosé and Denali struggle to deal with their feelings while trying to reach the end of the Games.

A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback on the last chapter! It really means a lot, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. Also, thank you to haiplana for letting me talk this one through with you.

*I know I made a general disclaimer at the start and in the tags, but I want to say that this chapter is probably more violent than the others, so please be aware.*

---

In the bakery, Rosé’s father has a giant rolling pin, and she feels like she’s been trampled with it ten times over. Her joints are stiff from days of shivering and her leg twinges when she walks. But she’s alive, and she’s grateful to be. She and Denali wash up in the stream, and Rosé savors the cool water on her sweaty skin, enjoys the sun warming her back. She tugs her shirt and jacket back on, stroking the lion pin. There was a time in that cave when she thought the pin wouldn’t get home, that she’d never feel the sun again. But she made it, and she’s going to go home and try to appreciate that, and tell her sisters she loves them even though they know.

And she can do that because of Denali.

Denali, who refused to leave her, who got leaves and water every day to keep her alive, who stroked her hair and whispered that everything would be okay when Rosé was too sick to believe it. Denali had kissed her without hesitation to save her life, and Rosé will never be able to thank her enough for it. For her life.

But part of Rosé feels awful about it. She knew, in theory, that their fake relationship might require kissing, even if a relationship is so much more than kissing. She pictured a little cheek kiss for their post-Games interview, but last night was something else entirely. It feels like she just used Denali, begging for a kiss so she could live. That was part of it, admittedly, but Rosé cares for Denali too much to just use her, and she wouldn’t have done it unless she absolutely had to. What if Denali hated it? What if she never wanted things to go that far? What if she hates Rosé? She needs to talk to her. She can’t push Denali away like she did after her first Games.

Rosé trudges over the rocks, stopping at Denali’s side. “Your hair,” Denali laughs, pointing to Rosé’s tangled mop of wet curls. “Forget the pin, that’s why they call you the Lion.”

“Well, some of us can’t braid our hair in five seconds, Miss Foxx.” Rosé glares at her, but she can’t help the laugh that escapes, and soon they’re both laughing, the sound so strange after days of fear, but also the most natural thing in the world.

“Okay, okay,” Denali gasps, holding her sides. “Let me do your hair.”

Rosé’s heart skips a beat. “Okay.” She shivers as Denali’s hands brush against her neck, fingers expertly weaving through chunks of hair.

“Much better,” Denali says, admiring her work.

Rosé recovers her breath, neck still tingling. “So, um, last night.”

Denali bites her lip. “I didn’t think you’d remember. You were pretty out of it.”

Rosé was out of it. Her skin was burning, her head was foggy, and all she remembers is an endless stretch of time where dreams melted together, and she has no idea what was real and what wasn’t.

But she remembers the kiss.

She remembers waking up and seeing Denali, feeling in her heart that it was real. She remembers telling Denali she loves her, the surprise in Denali’s eyes. And she remembers the kiss: cool lips melting over the feverish heat of her own, her heart racing until she thought it would burst.

And she remembers how much she liked it.

“That kiss was...memorable,” Rosé says.

Denali’s eyes go to her feet, to the sky, to anything but Rosé, and Rosé wonders if she said the wrong thing. What if she did something else last night that she can’t remember? What if Denali hates her?

“Are you...okay?” Rosé asks, voice low in case of cameras. “I know the kiss was a lot, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable putting you on the spot like that--”

“I’m fine. You didn't do anything we didn't agree to. It’s just a game, right?” Denali looks away again, cheeks bright red.

Rosé feels like she got punched in the throat. “I...right. Just a game.”

It is just a game. That’s all it ever was, all it’s supposed to be. A way to help even the odds. Of course that’s how Denali sees it; Rosé’s mumbled love confession was strategic at best and delirious ravings at worst. That’s all it’s supposed to be.

So why did it feel so real to Rosé? Why does she want to kiss Denali again, on their own time, in their own space? Why does it hurt so badly that Denali thinks it’s a game, that it’s fake?

Denali is gathering their stuff, and the arena comes flooding back, like a dream after days in the cave. A dangerous dream. Rosé needs to focus. They’re so close, and she can’t cost them the victory by being distracted. Whatever she’s feeling, whatever she wants, can wait until they’re back home. Denali is right. This is a game.

And they’re going to win it.

---

Denali guides them through the forest with purpose. She doesn’t know when things changed, but she knows, as they silently step over twigs, that they’re no longer the hunted, but the hunters. She feels the change in her, the tightness in her hand around the bow, the eyes darting around for tributes. They’ve been holding back, letting the others weed themselves out, but now it’s time to show what the Lion and the Fox can really do. She can’t afford to spare anyone like she did with Finn. Not now.

She keeps alert, no chance of getting caught off guard like she did in her first Games. She’s focused. She’s not thinking about her knee shattering last time, or the strange warmth in her chest when Rosé laughs, or kissing Rosé--

Her lips tingle with the memory, wanting it again so badly. She can’t. Not with their lives on the line.

Rosé points between the trees, where the District 8 tributes walk.

Denali pulls her behind a tree, holding up her bow and signaling that she’ll strike from afar. She aims her bow, pulling back on the string--

Something crashes into her arm, the arrow releasing into nothing.

“The hell?” A giant gray bird digs its talons in Denali’s arm, beak pecking at her face. She shoves the thing off her, only to see two more. Rosé gets one with her sword, and Denali sinks an arrow into the other’s neck. She sees more in the trees, but they seem to be holding back for now.

“These are the ugliest birds I’ve ever seen in my life,” Denali mutters, spearing the first bird that attacked her.

“Their scales look like that one dress Symone had you try on.” Rosé smiles. Her eyes shine with glee, and Denali can’t look away, because Rosé was so sick in that cave Denali didn’t think she’d see her like this again.

“Don’t remind me.” Denali groans. “Although you should not be talking after that zebra dress--”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the lovebirds.”

Their smiles are instantly gone, and they turn to see the tributes from District 8 scowling at them.

So much for a silent attack.

District 8 looks rough, torn clothes covered with dirt and blood, faces hollow, down to just the weapons in their hands. You’d think they’re easy kills at this stage, but Denali knows it's the opposite: they’re desperate, and have nothing left to lose, so they’ll fight to the bitter end.

“Long time no see,” Rosé says, and only Denali can detect the quiver in her voice, because she also knows this won’t be easy. They can stand around staring at each other all day, but they’re only delaying the inevitable. Denali forces away the memory of the District 8 woman nodding in approval at her knots.

The man grips his sword and leans forward, that tiny heartbeat of calm before a fight begins.

“You go left, I go right,” Rosé says.

“My left or your left?”

“They’re the same left, Denali!” Rosé cackles, and Denali knows purposely asking a stupid question was worth it just to hear the sound, and it carries her into the fight.

The man towers over her, but his longer limbs are slower. His sword slices across her arm, but she uses her speed to dart away from his strikes, sinking her spear into his chest.

But it doesn’t stop him.

He pulls the spear out and breaks it in half, and Denali is left facing his sword with nothing but a knife and panic flooding her chest. Things slow down around her, like when she’s in that hunting zone, and she knows the next move.

“Switch!” she yells to Rosé, and they spin around, back to back, before taking on their new opponents.

The woman’s spear is easier to block; the edges are smooth, and Denali only has to worry about the point. Denali dodges hits, and when the woman staggers back, Denali pulls an arrow from her quiver and fires in a heartbeat. The double cannon fire tells her Rosé succeeded as well.

They drop on the grass, panting as the adrenaline fades, and for a few seconds, they rest.

---

Barely five minutes after the fight, they find a body.

It’s the woman from District 7, dead eyes open toward the sky, mouth stained not with blood, but with berry juice.

“Poisoned by nightlock,” Denali says quietly.

She gets an idea, and pulls out the silver container they’d saved from the medicine delivery. She plucks berries from the bushes and drops them inside.

“I doubt we can trick the others with them, but you never know,” she explains to Rosé.

Rosé nods.

They’re at the final four.

---

It’s a quiet night.

They climb up a tall tree and settle on a thick branch, to keep an eye on what’s going on below. Neither of them is planning to sleep tonight, not with two tributes out there, ready to kill.

They’ve only exchanged whispers, not wanting to risk attention. There’s no way to discuss the kiss, and Rosé thinks maybe that’s a good thing. When this is all over, when they’re finally home, then they can talk about it. If there’s even anything to talk about.

Rosé’s stomach growls. They couldn’t find any food today. After those birds, every animal seemed to vanish into thin air. They’ll manage tonight, but how many more days are left? What if they can’t get any food at all? Rosé’s trying to calculate the odds when two parachutes land on their branch. She nudges Denali, who’s curled against the tree trunk like she’s part pine, looking so at home up here.

Denali takes one parachute and Rosé takes the other, and she gasps when she opens it. The first thing she sees is a cake, with white icing and delicate blue swirls. She’d recognize Lagoona’s handiwork anywhere. Next to it is a loaf of round bread, Jan’s favorite kind to make. There’s days worth of food inside too, and God, Rosé loves her sisters so much.

“From your sisters?” Denali asks.

“Yeah. What about yours?”

“Kandy and Kahmora,” Denali says quietly, wiping a tear. “I just--it’s nice, you know?”

“It’s like there’s hope again,” Rosé says, because she does know. The parachute must have cost a fortune with the Capitol fees, and it’s a reminder of what’s waiting at home, a reminder that happiness and joy are still out there. A reminder that she’s loved.

“Yeah.” Denali sighs. “I’m not even as close to them as I used to be. But it’s nice to know they’re still thinking about me. That they still care. That someone sees us as more than just people on TV.”

Rosé nods. To everyone else watching, they’re just people on TV. But to her sisters, to Denali’s friends, they’re watching someone they really know, someone they really care about. For all the stress of being in the arena, Rosé can’t imagine the stress of her sisters, watching her fight and nearly die through a screen, unable to do a thing to help when they’ve helped each other their whole lives. And to do it not once, but twice. Rosé imagines hugging them in a giant bear hug when this over, and burns with a new determination to get home.

“It makes me want to get back home,” Rosé says softly. “And maybe--maybe be better. Try to live more, I guess.”

“I get it.” Denali bites her lip. “Maybe we can still be ourselves after. Not let the Games destroy us.”

It’s what they talked about the night before the Games began, but it feels different now. Less a fear and more a hope. A hope that they can come out on the other side of this, together, and learn to live again. The last time Rosé did this, she was fifteen and terrified and desperate to get home. She didn’t know that the arena would change her idea of home, that she would spend years waking up gasping, expecting to see blood around her. The Games kept her in their grip, made her push away the people who cared about her. She suspects the same is true about Denali--she knows Denali and Jan drifted after Denali got back, that Denali only has Kandy and Kahmora over once or twice a year. But they’ve done this round together, been there for each other the whole time, and maybe they can try to live and heal together. She wants to stay close with Denali after this, wants to laugh with her sisters more, wants to find things she enjoys again.

“I'd like that,” Rosé says. "First thing when we get home, we're making our victory cake."

Denali grins, like sun after a storm. "Only if you let me show you this meadow in the woods."

"Deal."

“Let’s eat,” Denali says, and they eat with the joy this food deserves, passing things back and forth and teasing each other for making a mess.

They cut the bread, and then Rosé finds the note. She remembers their father showing them a special paper that could be baked into something. He said they used to be popular for wedding cakes. Rosé unfolds it, heart swelling at Jan’s handwriting.

Rosie,

You have some explaining to do when you get home! We want all the details on you and Denali! I knew she had a crush on you when we were kids, it’s about damn time she figured it out. Also, I don’t know how it took you that long to realize I wasn’t the one humming in that cave. I’ll cut you some slack because you were delirious and I love Denali, but I would never hum that off-key. Anyway, we hope you like the stuff. Lagoona says make sure you share the cake and don’t hog the whole thing. Please come home soon, okay? We love you.

Jan and Lagoona

Rosé doesn’t even care when her tears escape. She loves her sisters, and she isn’t embarrassed about it. Her eyes fly over the words several times, reading it in their voices, the words tracing paths on her heart. She presses it to her chest and pretends she’s hugging them, and only then does she fully comprehend the first few lines.

Jan thinks Denali had a crush on Rosé when they were younger? That can’t be right. Though if anyone would know, it would be Jan. She and Denali were best friends from kindergarten. But Denali hasn’t mentioned it, and according to Jan, wasn’t even aware of her own crush. But what if Jan is right, and Denali really does like her? But that wouldn’t matter, wouldn’t lead to anything unless--unless Rosé likes her too.

Rosé looks at Denali, eating a piece of bread, and her heart swells with the answer her brain won’t acknowledge. Rosé does like her, maybe even loves her. She likes Denali’s laugh, the warmth in her eyes, that wrinkle between her eyebrows when she aims her bow. She likes Denali’s humor, how she can always make Rosé laugh. She likes that when she looks at Denali, she thinks of home. This relationship was fake at the start, purely an attempt to improve their odds. But somehow, it’s turned to Rosé’s heart bursting every time she looks at Denali. She doesn’t know the last time she felt this way, about anyone--hell, after the arena, it was sometimes hard to feel anything. The hope when she looks at Denali used to seem impossible, but isn’t now.

It burns inside her, but it has to stay inside. Springing this on Denali when they’re in the final four is a distraction that could cost their lives. And she doesn’t have proof that Denali likes her--just the hope of an old crush. Not to mention confessing that she loves Denali for real will discount the relationship they’ve built for the arena, exposing them as liars. There’s no way to tell her now. It has to wait until they’re home.

They share the cake, and Denali wipes frosting off Rosé’s lip, and Rosé wants more than ever to go home.

---

They spend the day walking through the arena, and Denali’s shoulders are tighter than her bow-string. All this walking is giving her too much time to think. Time to think about Rosé, about the smile Denali would do just about anything to see. About how Rosé makes her feel safe enough to share things she wouldn’t tell anyone. How Denali wants to see her every day after they go home, wants to learn things about her she hasn’t discovered yet. But would Rosé want the same thing? Denali knows things have been hard for her since the Games, and what if things collapse without the arena holding them together? But she thinks of what Rosé said last night, about her hopes for the future. Maybe there is hope. Once they get out of here, and Denali stops thinking about how soft Rosé’s lips are, how nice it might be to kiss her again--

She stumbles on a tree root and swears softly.

“Everything okay?” Rosé asks, hands immediately flying to Denali’s sides to steady her.

Denali nods, praying Rosé can’t see how much she’s blushing, though her face is warm enough to combust. There’s no thinking of kissing right now. She’s about to lead them in another direction when she hears flapping wings. But there’s only a huge gray cloud in the sky, that can’t be--

“Run. Run now,” Denali says.

They sprint through the woods, the swarm of birds scratching at their backs. There’s no direction, just running away, and they only stop once they’re back at the Cornucopia, now an empty shell of scraps and bloodstains. And they’re not alone.

Both tributes from District 2 stand in the grass, loaded with weapons.

The birds have vanished, no longer needed after bringing the final four together.

This is it.

The end is close enough for Denali to grasp, close enough to feel the plush train seat bringing her home, to smell the woods of District 12. She doesn’t want to kill these two. But she wants so badly for this to be over, to go home, and she knows the price she has to pay for that.

“We can do this,” Rosé says quietly.

Denali nods, gripping her spear as they saunter to the other tributes. There’s no hurry, no point rushing the inevitable. She can imagine her friends and Rosé’s sisters glued to their TV’s, and Denali gives another nod to herself, a vow that they’ll win.

“The Lion and the Fox. At last,” says the man. Denali thinks his name is Cato, and the woman is Glimmer.

Rosé just pulls out her sword as Cato grabs his axe. There’s nothing to say, nothing that can change what’s about to happen. Two of them will win, and two of them will die.

“Do you hear that?” Denali asks, cutting through the tension.

“I don’t hear anything! Quit stalling, Fox!”

“No, I--” Denali gasps at what her hunter’s hearing had picked up.

Enormous wolves circle around them, growling and baring razor-sharp teeth. Even on all fours, they’re nearly as tall as her, with claws longer than her fingers.

“The eyes…” Rosé says, face paling.

Denali looks at the wolf closest to her, with shaggy tan fur. Its eyes are impossibly blue, bluer than the sea. She’s seen these eyes before, had watched them close one last time while Rosé hummed a lullaby.

“Finn,” Denali breathes. She doesn’t know how the Gamemakers created wolves with the tributes' eyes; she doesn’t want to know. All she knows is that she now needs to fight off not only two tributes, but twenty wolves. They’re probably the worst odds Denali’s ever seen.

Denali knows animals, knows hunting, and she pulls Rosé away a second before the leader signals the attack. They sprint for the trees while screams fill the air behind them, screams so terrible she’s grateful when the cannon sounds and puts Glimmer out of her misery.

Denali jumps for a tree branch but she’s not quick enough--a wolf sinks its teeth into her calf, her leg burning with pain as the wolf tears through it. Shifting her weight to one hand, she grabs an arrow and jams it in the wolf’s eye, hauling herself up after it falls. More wolves scratch at the tree, but she’s safe for now. She has to stop the bleeding but her vision is blurry—

“Denali, it’s okay.” Rosé holds her up, positioning them both on a branch. “Please stay awake, okay? Please. You have to tell me how to help.”

“Bleeding too much. You have to...stitch it,” Denali mumbles. “Stuff...in my bag.”

“Okay.”

Things blur and Denali’s only aware of Rosé giving her water and painkillers, of Rosé’s gentle hand on her leg, of the needle passing in and out. There’s more water, and food, and Denali opens her eyes to meet Rosé looking at her in worry.

“I stitched it,” she says frantically. “There’s probably stuff wrong internally, but it should hold until the doctors can fix it.”

There’s definitely internal damage; it feels like her last leg injury, and she can barely move her leg without an explosion of pain. Once they win, the doctors can fix it. As if on cue, the wolves retreat and the cannon fires, meaning Cato is gone. Relief and joy slam into her, overtaking the pain, and she reaches for Rosé.

“We won,” she says breathlessly, “we won.”

They hold each other in silence, hearts full of the relief of going home, of being together. It’s over, and there are no words. It’s over, and she can breathe again. She can live again, can create the future she wants.

“Where’s the victory cannon?” Rosé pulls away after a minute.

“Maybe--maybe it’s late. Or maybe we should get out of the tree,” Denali says, but trumpets sound as she hits the grass with a wince, and her stomach twists like snakes. Why is there an announcement when the hovercraft should be arriving to get them?

“The earlier revision has been revoked,” the announcer says cheerfully. “The rules hold that only one winner is allowed. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

Denali can’t move. She’s numb and cold and even the pain fades. She should have known. The Gamemakers were never going to let them both survive, not when putting two teammates against each other is the most dramatic finale in history. She wants to scream, wants to fight, but she can’t. All her talk about being more than just a piece of the Games--she played right into their hands, growing close to Rosé, believing they could have the futures they dreamt of.

Rosé is shaking beside her, shaking with fear and pure rage.

“Rosé,” Denali tries, but her mouth is too dry.

“I should’ve known,” Rosé spits. She tears her hands through her hair, breath coming in frantic spurts, vulnerable and undone. She's never seen Rosé like this, and it hurts her heart. “I should’ve known, I should’ve known…” Rosé trails into sobs, shaky hands clutching at her jacket like it can hold her together.

If Denali were to listen to the cold part of her, she’d see that Rosé is defenseless and in shock, an easy target. But that part was created by the Games, and it isn’t her anymore. After resigning herself to the cold for so long, Rosé has brought a summer’s warmth, and though the cold and dark still exist, it doesn’t mean there isn’t light.

“There--there has to be another way.” It’s what Denali’s built her life on, searching for new ways to help a tribute survive, to stop the Games from hurting her again. But none have ever worked.

“There’s no other way, Denali.” Rosé is still trembling, but she stands up straight, pointing below her lion pin, at her heart. “Just don’t miss,” she says, laughing bitterly, humorlessly.

“Rosé, what are you--I’m not killing you!” Denali shakes her head frantically, trying to calm her heart.

“You heard the announcement. It has to be one of us. I’d rather it be quick than get torn apart by those wolves.” Rosé sounds so small, so tired. She’s been cheated and destroyed by these Games before, and she doesn’t have it in her to do it again. She’s giving up, and that scares Denali more than anything, jolting her out of her numbness. She knows how much Rosé wants to live--they both do, talked about it together. The only way to live is to kill the other, and living with that wouldn’t be much of a life.

“No,” Denali says. “I’m not killing you. You have your sisters, you have a family. I don’t.”

“That doesn’t make your life worth less than mine,” Rosé says firmly. “You do stuff, I barely leave the house—“

“That doesn’t make your life worth less either. Look, if those wolves come back, you have a better shot than me. I’m not going anywhere on this leg.”

Rosé sighs. “You have to go home, Denali. You have to live.” Rosé’s lips twitch, and more tears fall. “I’m betting on you.”

I’m betting on you.

The words strike something in Denali’s memory.

Denali’s leg bounces as she waits to enter the launching room. In a few minutes, she’ll be in the arena after years of seeing it through the safety of a screen, and she forces in a strangled breath.

“Everything okay?” Rosé asks.

“Fine,” Denali says. Help with fighting is fine, but getting help for panicking is too embarrassing, even if it’s from someone she knows. Maybe especially because it’s from someone she knows.

Rosé obviously doesn’t believe her, but she nods.

“Wait.” Denali can’t keep it in anymore.

“What is it?”

“Rosé, do you—do you really think I can win?” Denali's convinced herself that she can win all this time, not thinking about whether she really believes it--because she has to believe it, because what’s the alternative? But she wants to know what Rosé thinks, to hear from someone else whether she really has a chance.

Rosé is quiet as she thinks. She’s only twenty, but her eyes are so much older, and Denali realizes that while she’s thought about the joys of returning home, she hasn’t considered the other parts. The parts Rosé has been dealing with every day for the past five years.

“It’ll be hard. I can’t lie about that,” Rosé says finally. “Most of the tributes are bigger, stronger. But you’re tougher. The audience loves you. They’ll help you, and don’t feel embarrassed about taking their help. And you’ve got talent. You’ve got fire.” Rosé smiles hesitantly, and Denali swells with hope. “So I’m betting on you. Denali Foxx, I’ll always bet on you.”

Denali Foxx, I’ll always bet on you.

Denali looks at Rosé now, looks at the love in her eyes, and--

Oh.

Denali understands now. Understands why she’s been thinking of kissing Rosé for days, why her teenage fantasy kissing partner looked like her. Understands why Rosé looks at her in such wonder. Understands why being around her makes Denali’s chest ache from feelings she hasn’t felt in so long. It's not a game anymore.

Denali loves Rosé. And Rosé loves her.

Losing Rosé would be losing part of herself, the part that still hopes. If Denali looks into those green eyes and fires a bow-string, part of her will never leave this arena. She can't kill Rosé, and she can’t go home without her either, can’t give up the future she hopes for with her.

It sparks something in Denali, an idea from the back of her mind. Maybe you can find a loophole, Jan said that day in the Justice Building. If anyone could, it’s you two.

“Rosé, I love you,” Denali says. No matter what happens, she’s not leaving without telling Rosé, without letting her know that the love is returned.

Rosé’s eyes widen, and Denali can tell she knows it’s real. That she really does love her.

“I love you too,” Rosé says.

“I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

“Denali--”

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” Rosé says softly, and it’s another way to say I love you.

Denali pulls the nightlock out of her bag. The Games need a victor, or this whole thing blows up in their faces and becomes the worst Games ever. If they can make the Capitol think there won’t be a victor, maybe, just maybe, there’s a shot.

She hands Rosé the berries, and she nods in understanding. “On three,” she says.

“One.”

Denali takes Rosé’s hand, memorizing the softness of it against hers.

“Two.”

Rosé squeezes back, squeezes with all the love and fight she has.

“Three.”

The berries reach their mouths, and Denali is wondering if the Capitol will let them both die when the trumpets erupt.

“Stop! Everyone, I’m happy to present the winners of this year’s Hunger Games--Denali Foxx and Rosé McCorkell!”

#rpdr fanfiction #denali foxx #rosé #rosnali #lesbian au #hunger games au #angst #ever in your favor #athena2 #tw violence #tw blood #concrit welcome

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waveypedia · 4 years

Note

“I’m in love…shit” the quintessential gyro

Gyro never meant to get attached to Fenton.

If he had known the bumbling, awkward, cheerful coworker would carve out a little nook for himself in Gyro’s heart, Gyro would have fought his superiors twice as hard on hiring an intern.

He had already given every excuse he had, but Scrooge was worried for him alone in the lab day after day, and the Board was tired of shoving precious funding at doomed inventions that blew up in their faces.

(Gyro was tired too.)

But somehow Gyro’s sheer force of will wasn’t enough, and he ended up saddled with the literal ball of sunshine and energy that was Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. The duck essentially transformed into a mini hurricane in his precious lab, wreaking havoc and wrecking Gyro’s concentration. He never seemed to tire, both physically and emotionally, no matter how much meaningless work and hurtful insults Gyro threw at him.

Gyro never remembered dancing on Dr. Akita’s heels and shoving his thousand inane ideas in his mentor’s face. Yet Fenton greeted Gyro every morning with his too-bright grin and a plethora of new ideas. He followed Gyro around the lab like an unwanted puppy, asking a million questions a minute, forcing Gyro to multitask and make mistakes on his precious inventions. He also seemed to have a special knack for popping up in Gyro’s personal space right as Gyro was about to finish an important and tenuous process, startling him and, more often than not, making him mess up and have to start over.

Gyro did not regret making the bathroom his workspace, which was rather immature by his standards, but Fenton took it in stride, just like everything else. He didn’t even realize right away! What an idiot.

Although, the personal space and questions may have been the only characteristic of young Gyro that Fenton didn’t adopt. Despite them having zero similar physical characteristics, the younger duck served as a painful window to Gyro’s past self.

Gyro… didn’t really know how to handle it. He certainly was no Akita; he lacked his old mentor’s eerie calmness and quiet confidence in spades. But Fenton was unmistakably Gyro, but a Gyro lost to time, a Gyro that crashed and burned and died twenty years ago.

Sooner or later, something was going to to go horribly, terribly, miraculously wrong. Something was going to break Fenton’s spirit forever. It would break him, like how 2-BO broke Gyro, and how the Spear of Selene ensured he would never recover.

Fenton was just a disaster waiting to happen, and as Gyro’s intern, Gyro would most likely be there for his failure. The thought of essentially watching a repeat of 2-BO from the outside, watching Fenton’s unshakable friendliness and passion crumble and shatter irreplaceably, terrified him. It was like watching a horror movie with dramatic irony, where the audience knows about the killer but the characters don’t, and the audience just watches them die slowly one by one, with the sickening sensation that something bad is about to happen and there’s nothing they can do to stop it.

Truthfully, there is something he could possibly do. He could talk to Fenton, but the thought of laying all his failures and terrors bare on the table terrified Gyro. For all his scientific genius, he is a disaster in a conversation, and not even Fenton’s inconceivably strong friendliness can save him. He can’t go to Mr. McDuck about it, because his boss would probably tut gently and pat Gyro’s back awkwardly and spout nonsense about rewriting history and we can handle it and good on you, lad, you care about him!

Wait. Since when did Gyro give a shit about Cabrera?

Only because watching Fenton skip and stumble down his old path, knowing only disaster and hardship awaits him at the end, felt like someone cut open old wounds that never really healed.

He didn’t care. No, sir.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

When Gyro, Fenton, and a few of the McDuck clan ended up in danger, Fenton hotwired Project Blatherskite. It was still under construction and never meant to be used as anything vaguely resembling a superhero, but here they were.

“How could you be so stupid?!” Gyro snapped at Fenton over and over in the aftermath, but he was drowned out by the adrenaline-infused praise of his peers and Beaks’ creepy hero-worship. Scrooge, Dewey, and Launchpad seemed to have somehow developed the idiotic idea that Gizmoduck was prescisely the superhero Duckburg needs, and that Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera was just the duck to wear the suit. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Like all well-written dramatic irony, Gyro saw the picture fall into place before it happens. The Gizmosuit will be Fenton’s downfall the same way 2-BO was Gyro’s. His intern was about to crash and burn, and there was nothing Gyro could do about it since no one seemed to listen to him.

He felt like screaming and screaming until his throat was hoarse and his voice was gone, but it wouldn’t make a difference.

He was only a kooky, crazy scientist with a sharp tongue and a pessimistic, nihilistic worldview in their eyes.

So he took matters into his own hands and fired Fenton and the first sight of heroic activity.

Really. A robotic suit built by Gyro Gearloose supposedly protecting a city? Yeah, please. Gyro may be an idiot but he’s learned from his mistakes. He knew Gizmoduck would be Fenton’s 2-BO already, thanks universe. He was just trying to minimize the damage. Fenton would have to get hurt whatever happens, but at least maybe the city of Duckburg can remain standing for another day. Unlike Tokyolk.

But the firing blew up in Gyro’s face, and Scrooge, crazy and reckless old man he was, hired Cabrera back. As a fucking superhero.

As soon as Mr. McDuck was out of sight, Gyro slammed his back against the hospital wall outside of Fenton’s room and let his knees give out, sinking into gravity’s embrace on the cold, hard floor. He buried his head in his hands, bunching his fingers into fists under his glasses. Hot tears pricked against his eyelids.

He had failed. Failed to protect Fenton from the casualties of the Gizmosuit. Failed to stop it from happening again, with more fatal results next time, despite his vehement protests.

He was going to watch Fenton’s spirit get crushed, or worse, watch Fenton die, in this stupid suit, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Fenton’s scary mom came around and berated Gyro for firing her son and letting him get into danger. Gyro wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He had been trying to prevent Fenton from getting into danger!!

“Have a heart,” Officer Cabrera had snapped at him. “See if you can find the ability to actually care a little bit about my son.”

That’s why I did what I did, Gyro wanted to scream. And then he froze, because he doesn’t care about Cabrera.

Does he?

Oh fuck, he does.

Gyro would have buried his head in his hands had it not already been there.

Caring only makes it harder.

He cared about Dr. Akita, and 2-BO, and look where that got him. He cared about Della, who was lost to space because of an invention Scrooge trusted him with making. He cared about Lil’ Bulb, which got him stolen by Mark Beaks and twisted into a trashy piece of tech that nearly killed them all.

He still cares about all of them.

As time went on, and Gizmoduck became a household name, no one seemed to catch onto Gyro’s fears. Not even when Fenton nearly died, twice in five minutes, and Gyro had to rebuild the entire suit from scratch instead of letting Gizmoduck die out like a sane person. Not even when Mark Beaks’ insane obsession with Gizmoduck ended with Huey and Webby in danger, Gyro himself locked in a closet and electrocuted (he’d very much like to have a talk with Ms. Dee for that offense) and Fenton’s secret identity in the hands of a very dangerous woman. All so Beaks can feed his stupid ego.

Gyro’s daily nightmares, once filled with images of 2-BO wreaking havoc on Tokyolk and Della vanishing from any and all communications permanently, had a new element to them. Fenton, sometimes in his Gizmosuit, sometimes without, dies and fails and breaks in a million different ways each time. Gyro woke up screaming every night. It never got easier.

He can no longer play at not caring about Fenton.

Then Della came back, crashed a Spear of Selene outfitted with more gold than original parts, but it was a Spear of Selene all the same, and it brought Della, alive and well. The Spear of Selene had doomed her, but Oxy-Chew had saved her. When Della squeezed all life out of him in a tight hug and then punched him in the arm because black licorice, Gyro?!? Seriously?! Gyro didn’t know how to react.

He had always thought his invention killed her, but it turned out to have saved her.

Gyro’s worldview, previously unshakable, was suddenly rocky, cracks winding through the foundations, with this discovery.

Maybe his failures weren’t as black-and-white as they seemed. Maybe he wasn’t an irredeemable monster.

Maybe Fenton won’t fail at all.

It all came to a head one day when Huey brought 2-BO, somehow alive but malfunctioning, into his lab. Gyro shoved down his long-lost, precious memories of 2-BO in Akita’s lab before he- it- destroyed the city it was supposed to protect. They returned to the site of Gyro’s greatest failure, where he broke the way Fenton might will soon, and Gyro’s careful plan falls apart.

Just like the Spear of Selene, Gyro realized he was wrong. Tokyolk’s destruction was never his fault. It was never his failure or his weight to bear. It was Akita’s, not his or 2-BO’s.

And when he rises from his slapfight with his former mentor to see his invention, riddled with Akita’s corruption, towering over Fenton, helmetless, injured, and vulnerable, he had a lot of decisions and epiphanies to come to in a split second.

2-BO- Boyd- was not evil. Gyro wouldn’t let Akita’s tampering bring death and destruction to Tokyolk, again, and to Fenton.

Tokyolk may have never been a true failure of Gyro’s, but he still won’t let Fenton fail here.

He brought Boyd back in a way he never would have thought of previously. He had acquired a kid now, and that means it’s time to come clean to Fenton.

His intern- no, coworker- accepted Gyro’s terrors more easily than he expected, and somehow weaseled Gyro into promising to call him the next time he has a nightmare.

Gyro didn’t expect to keep that promise, but he did. And he called again, and again, and again.

And somehow that turned into a budding friendship, one based on a mutual passion for science and care for each other.

Because Fenton cared about him, Gyro realized one day with a shock, the same way he cared about Fenton.

Gyro buried his head in his hands and hoped he was done with heart-stopping epiphanies. But he wasn’t, not yet.

He had one more to go, and it came at one of Mr. McDuck’s fancy company parties that his kids and Mrs. Beakley had weaseled him into spending a lot more money than he would have liked. Gyro allowed himself a small chuckle at his boss’ indignation before he dragged Fenton off to make fun of all the frivolities of the party.

As he and Fenton pushed their way through the mingling crowd towards the food table, Gyro hapazarded a glance back. Fenton, clad in a white-and-lavender tux that he had blushed and fingered at Mrs. Beakley’s inspection of it before the party, claiming it belonged to his father. But it fit him well, and accented the soft color of his feathers. The warm yellow light of the candles and chandeliers did as well, and as Fenton passed Launchpad his face lit up in a brilliant smile that warmed Gyro’s heart and brought a small smile of his own to his face.

Then it dropped just as suddenly.

I’m in love… shit.

Gyro stiffened and dropped Fenton’s hand, causing the aforementioned duck to immediately pause his quick greeting to Launchpad and whip around towards Gyro, his beautiful face twisting in concern. Gyro waved him off and sprinted away, ignoring Fenton’s cries of protest and worry, and dove into a small storage closet stocked with brooms and mops. (Mrs. Beakley would be furious if she found him here.) He slammed his face into his hands and dropped into a crouch on the floor.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

How on earth was Gyro supposed to handle this?! He had just gotten used to Fenton as a coworker and friend.

Surely Fenton would resent him if he confessed and upended their already tenuous relationship.

A small, hesitant knock sounded on the door. Gyro groaned. Ugh, speak of the devil…

“Uh, Gyro?” Fenton’s voice drifted through the door. “Are you in there? I thought I saw you run in here… I could have lost you in the crowd, but you kind of stand out… I know you don’t like parties, but it’s not like you to run off unless something’s really wrong…”

Gyro stayed poised on his toes to run, despite the fact that he was trapped in a tiny supply closet with nowhere to go. He didn’t trust himself to reply, so he stayed there silently, holding his breath in anticipation.

After a moment of silence Fenton groaned and dropped his head against the door. The bang startled Gyro, his already-racing heart speeding to new heights.

“Ugh, stupid. Talking to an empty supply closet.” Fenton muttered to himself. Gyro’s heart ached, especially since he really was listening.

“Fenton, it’s okay. I’m in here,” he called nervously. His voice was quiet, never rising above a whisper, but somehow it reached Fenton’s ears and he heard the other duck slump against the door in relief.

“Oh, good. I was worried about you, Gyro,” Fenton replied softly. Gyro thought he might have heard a bit of affection in his tone, but he scoffed to himself. Obviously not.

Fenton was an idiot, but even he wasn’t enough of an idiot to actually care about Gyro. Not in the way Gyro apparently cared about him.

Ugh, love was stupid. Harder to figure out and navigate than friendships, and that was saying something! And it was on its way to destroying one of the only precious friendships Gyro had managed to secure.

Ugh. If only he was aromantic like Huey, who had nervously come out to him recently. So much easier.

(Huey would happily debate him on this later for sure.)

“Gyro?” Fenton called again, and Gyro realized he had never replied to his worried coworker. Another failure.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he replied back awkwardly. His tone was stilted and hesitant in a way that juxtaposed his usual unshakable aggressiveness and bluntness, which gave Fenton pause and only made him more worried.

Fenton hesitated for another moment before calling a worried goodbye and ducking away, probably to find Della or Mr. McDuck. Gyro groaned and cursed his own misfortune.

He knew he cared about Fenton, and he had for a long time. So why did it have to get infinitely more complicated?

He pulled out his phone to text Della and Launchpad. They both had been through many relationships, and knew the ups and downs well.

Gyro sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead in frustration.

Somehow he’d figure this out. He just had to make sure his stupid feelings didn’t get in the way of his friendship with Fenton.

Since there was no possible way Fenton could reciprocate them, right?

HI I FINISHED A WRITING REQUEST FOR THE FIRST TIME IN TWO YEARS DFGHKL;LKHGFGHKL LET’S GO this actually isn’t one of the old ones i got it recently so it doesn’t feel like a full victory but we’ll get there!! I’ve actually been in major writing block recently so I wasn’t expecting to write today, but I woke up this morning with this idea and wrote this in two hours (which is why it’s so bad sdfghgfd) but i finished it and i’m so happy enjoy

this ended up being a little more of a gyro character study than i intended and it feels shitty and a lot like my old writing sorry. it’s unedited mostly, so i apologize for any grammatical errors.

anyway hope you like it! thanks for reading! if you liked this (why) check out my other writing under the #my fanfic or #wavey writes tags, at my ao3 analyticamethyst, or at my wattpad PurpleDragon2003 (I’m not really active there though). I also might open writing commissions soon, so if you like my writing and you’re in a position to commission me please keep an eye out for that! Thank you I love you so much <3 <3

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #gyro gearloose #fenton crackshell-cabrera #wavey writes #my fanfic #ducktales fanfiction #fenro #fenton crackshell cabrera

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une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir · 4 years

Text

rickon <3

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster.

Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair.

little Rickon called his Shaggydog, which Bran thought was a pretty stupid name for a direwolf.

"Rickon needs you," Robb said sharply. "He's only three, he doesn't understand what's happening. He thinks everyone has deserted him, so he follows me around all day, clutching my leg and crying. I don't know what to do with him."

little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet

Wherever the boy went, Grey Wind was there first, loping ahead to cut him off, until Rickon saw him, screamed in delight, and went pelting off in another direction. Shaggydog ran at his heels, spinning and snapping if the other wolves came too close.

Whenever he was away more than a day, Rickon would cry and ask Bran if Robb was ever coming back.

She remembered her own baby, three-year-old Rickon, half the age of this boy and five times as fierce.

The memory still gave him bad dreams. He had been as helpless as a baby, no more able to defend himself than Rickon would have been. Less, even … Rickon would have kicked them, at the least.

His baby brother had been wild as a winter storm since he learned Robb was riding off to war, weeping and angry by turns. He'd refused to eat, cried and screamed for most of a night, even punched Old Nan when she tried to sing him to sleep, and the next day he'd vanished. Robb had set half the castle searching for him, and when at last they'd found him down in the crypts, Rickon had slashed at them with a rusted iron sword he'd snatched from a dead king's hand, and Shaggydog had come slavering out of the darkness like a green-eyed demon. The wolf was near as wild as Rickon; he'd bitten Gage on the arm and torn a chunk of flesh from Mikken's thigh. It had taken Robb himself and Grey Wind to bring him to bay. Farlen had the black wolf chained up in the kennels now, and Rickon cried all the more for being without him.

Rickon had refused to come down. He was up in his chamber, red-eyed and defiant. "No!" he'd screamed when Bran had asked if he didn't want to say farewell to Robb. "NO farewell!" "I told him," Bran said. "He says no one ever comes back."

"Shaggy," a small voice called. When Bran looked up, his little brother was standing in the mouth of Father's tomb. With one final snap at Summer's face, Shaggydog broke off and bounded to Rickon's side. "You let my father be," Rickon warned Luwin. "You let him be." "Rickon," Bran said softly. "Father's not here." "Yes he is. I saw him." Tears glistened on Rickon's face. "I saw him last night." "In your dream …?" Rickon nodded. "You leave him. You leave him be. He's coming home now, like he promised. He's coming home."

"Rickon," Bran said, "would you like to come with me?" "No. I like it here."

"I want one too," Rickon said. "I want four. I'm four."

A raven landed on the grey stone sill, opened its beak, and gave a harsh, raucous rattle of distress. Rickon began to cry. His arrowheads fell from his hand one by one and clattered on the floor. Bran pulled him close and hugged him.

When the Walders had arrived from the Twins, it had been Rickon who wanted them gone. A baby of four, he had screamed that he wanted Mother and Father and Robb, not these strangers.

Both of them were called Walder Frey. Big Walder said there were bunches of Walders at the Twins, all named after the boys' grandfather, Lord Walder Frey. "We have our own names at Winterfell," Rickon told them haughtily when he heard that.

Rickon yelled, "Me! Me now! I want to play!" Little Walder beckoned him on, and Shaggydog started to follow. "No, Shaggy," his brother commanded. "Wolves can't play. You stay with Bran." And he did . . . . . until Little Walder had smacked Rickon with the stick, square across his belly. Before Bran could blink, the black wolf was flying over the plank, there was blood in the water, the Walders were shrieking red murder, Rickon sat in the mud laughing, and Hodor came lumbering in shouting "Hodor! Hodor! Hodor!" After that, oddly, Rickon decided he liked the Walders.

With Rickon by their side, the Walders plundered the kitchens for pies and honeycombs, raced round the walls, tossed bones to the pups in the kennels, and trained with wooden swords under Ser Rodrik's sharp eye.

Rickon was to his right, his mop of shaggy auburn hair grown so long that it brushed his ermine mantle. He had refused to let anyone cut it since their mother had gone. The last girl to try had been bitten for her efforts. "I wanted to ride too," he said as Hodor led Dancer away. "I ride better than you."

Ser Rodrik talked with Maester Luwin above Beth's curly head, while Rickon screamed happily at the Walders.

“Where are the direwolves?" "In the godswood," Rickon answered. "Shaggy was bad."

Rickon tugged at the maester's robe. "Is Robb coming home?"

"Tell Robb I want him to come home," said Rickon. "He can bring his wolf home too, and Mother and Father." Though he knew Lord Eddard was dead, sometimes Rickon forgot . . . willfully, Bran suspected.

Theon Greyjoy was seated in the high seat of the Starks. He had taken off his cloak. Over a shirt of fine mail he wore a black surcoat emblazoned with the golden kraken of his House. His hands rested on the wolves' heads carved at the ends of the wide stone arms. "Theon's sitting in Robb's chair," Rickon said.

"Are we going home?" Rickon asked excitedly. "I want my horse. And I want applecakes and butter and honey, and Shaggy. Are we going where Shaggydog is?"

"Take me home!" Rickon demanded. "I want to be home!"

"No use," said Luwin. "I'm dying, woman." "You can't," said Rickon angrily. "No you can't." Beside him, Shaggydog bared his teeth and growled. The maester smiled. "Hush now, child, I'm much older than you. I can . . . die as I please."

Outside, they made their farewells. Rickon sobbed and clung to Hodor's leg until Osha gave him a smack with the butt end of her spear. Then he followed her quick enough. Shaggydog stalked after them. The last Bran saw of them was the direwolf's tail as it vanished behind the broken tower.

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quiverwingquack · 4 years

Text

You Are Right At Home

Donald deserves love and Scrooge is there throughout the years to make sure he receives it.

Late, but written for @teamuncleweek‘s “physical affection” prompt. Also the very ending bit is a gift for the commenter who said “please write more Donald carrying his children fanfics,” I have been thinking about it for days.

AO3 link in reblogs.

------

“Sorry to leave him with you on such short notice,” Hortense apologizes, which makes it five—or was that six times? Eh, it doesn’t matter. Scrooge doesn’t mind babysitting anymore, at least not if it’s his nephew. Donald’s a sweet kid.

“It’s alright, I promise,” he reassures her. “What’s a few hours with the lad?”

“If you’re sure you’ll be okay,” she hoists Della onto her hip. The toddler babbles softly, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I just need to take her to this appointment and keeping an eye on two kids is harder than it looks.”

“Dinnae ya worry, lass, Donald and I’ll be fine fer the afternoon.”

“Thank you,” she says, and turns toward the door. “So much.”

Scrooge feels a pull on the end of his sleeve, and looks down to see a sad-eyed Donald watching his mother and sister leave. He points with one little hand, and babbles quietly. Then he turns to look up at his uncle.

“Mama,” he says pleadingly. “Dewwa, Mama.”

“I know, lad,” Scrooge picks him up. “They’ll be back soon.”

“No,” he murmurs, grabbing a fistful of Scrooge’s coat. “No-oh-oh.”

“I know,” he pats the kid’s back, and closes the door, earning another distressed wail. He wouldn’t mind it much if it weren’t right next to his ear, but he supposes Donald can’t be blamed.

“Come now, let’s get some lunch. That’ll make ye feel a bit better.”

He trots to the kitchen, turning the teakettle on and beginning a search for something to eat. He pulls the bread out, and then a jar of jelly from the fridge.

“Where’d Duckworth put the blasted peanut butter?” Scrooge asks quietly, standing in the door of the pantry. “Cannae find anything in this house.”

Donald, helpful as a toddler can be, pulls the brim of Scrooge’s tophat down to cover his eyes.

“Aye, lad,” he laughs, pulling the hat off and putting it on Donald’s head instead. “Ye can hold onto that fer me.”

The little one laughs, troubles apparently forgotten, and Scrooge spots the peanut butter at last, hidden in a corner.

“Ah, now,” he sets the jar down beside the rest of the ingredients. Then he moves to put Donald down so he can finish the rest with the use of both hands. The duckling protests with a drawn-out wail of “no,” and clings to his uncle as if they were glued together.

“Aye, lad, I cannae make yer food with one arm. Ye’ve got ta let go.”

“No!” He cries sharply, and the tophat falls over his eyes.

Scrooge shakes his head as the kettle whistles, and resigns himself to making tea and lunch with one hand. He loves Donald dearly, but it’s going to be a long afternoon.

———

“I hate you!”

Donald slams the bedroom door, hard enough his guitar across the room tips over, hitting the floor with a soft thump. He balls his hands into fists, cheeks hot and red and—and—-ugh.

“Stupid Dumbella,” he stomps over to his bed. “Stupid Gladdy. Stupid Fethry. Stupid Mom, for leaving us here with them. Stupid Duckworth for telling us to go outside.”

He punctuates his sentence by flopping into bed, muffling his grumbling by burying his beak in his pillows. His feathers and flannel are wet from the rain, and his whole bed will surely get wet too if he lies here. He just… doesn’t feel like doing anything about that.

His throat hurts from yelling, a dull ache all the way down, and his chest hurts, although that’s less physical and more… something else. He doesn’t know. It’s like he’s missing something that he never even had at all.

His sister sucks. He does know that. She’s mean and stupid and she makes him feel like a firework about to blow all the time! He hates it! He wants to scream! And maybe punch something, while he’s at it!

His cousins aren’t any better. Gladstone with his dumb luck, always getting the good stuff and Donald getting the short end of the stick. Plus, he’s just as much of a bully as Della is. And Fethry, always being the baby and the—well, it’s not Fethry’s fault he’s the favorite. Donald just wishes he was someone’s favorite. Just once.

“Ugh,” he groans, beak squished flat against his pillow. Why does every time he hangs out with his family turn into him feeling all torn-up inside? Like he’s broken, when there’s nothing for him to fix?

Thunder claps outside, and he curls in on himself as the lighting flashes. As the storm begins to pour down outside, the one within his broken little heart does too, and he’s left clutching his pillow and crying. He feels an awful lot like wailing, maybe, if he didn’t think Della’d call him a baby for it.

His shoulders shake, and he chokes on the sobs, his crying turning to a cough. He’s freezing cold but can’t find the strength to move from lying on top of the blankets to being under them.

A knock at the door draws him out of his emotional haze, and golden light spills forth in a sliver as the door opens enough for the visitor to look inside.

“Donald, lad,” his unca’s unique accent whispers into the darkness. “I brought ye some tea.”

“Thanks, Unca,” he manages, and his voice definitely doesn’t waver with the thought that someone cares enough to come help.

The floor groans as he walks in, and there’s a clinking sound, presumably the cup being set down. He sits down on the edge of the bed and Donald half-heartedly turns to look up at him.

“What was all that yelling about, lad?”

“They were makin’ fun of my voice again,” Donald grumbles. “It’s not my fault I don’t sound right.”

“Ye cannae change yer voice. They just need ta learn ta accept ye fer who ye are.”

He reaches out to rub Donald’s back reassuringly, eventually settling his hand on the teen’s shoulder.

“When I was younger, people used ta make fun my accent,” he reveals. “But if ye just remember that yer okay, and that they’re wrong, ye’ll be alright.”

Donald raises an eyebrow, and with a scratchy voice, asks, “did they really?”

“Ah, they did.” Scrooge gestures for him to sit up, and when he does so, the warm teacup is pressed into his hands. “Drink a little, lad, ye sound like yer voice is about ta give out.”

“Thanks.” His first sip is hot, not scalding but nearly so, and gentle on his throat. Scrooge’s hand is still resting on his shoulder, a gentle affection Donald wordlessly soaks in like a sponge. It says for them what they both cannot.

———

The wind whistles through the damaged mansion roof. It’s a mildly windy night, and the damage done in Magica’s desperate scrabble for revenge is severe. The houseboat is at the bottom of the bay, though, so they’re doing the best they can to sleep safely tonight, and tomorrow they’ll work on repairs.

Scrooge put Webby to bed in her room, which is thankfully mostly intact, and he’s still reeling quite a bit from it. He’d all but turned out the light when she sat up quickly, clinging to him tighter than he’d ever thought a hug could be.

“It’s okay. I forgive you, Uncle Scrooge.”

Her whisper is still ringing in his head when Donald sits down beside him, in what used to be the boys’ bedroom. Or what still is? He just knows they put the triplets to bed in his room because he got theirs destroyed dealing with the wicked witch, and he’s still trying to earn his place in their lives again. His plush bed is the least he can offer tonight.

“Nice night,” Donald murmurs. “After we got rid of the shadows, that’s….”

“A sky Della would’ve liked to see,” he finishes. They both go quiet, letting the thought hang between them like a ghost. Hauntingly silent.

She loved the night sky after an adventure. Always said it gave her her second wind to see the stars. But now, looking out at the starry expanse he lost her to, Scrooge feels more tired than he has in all his years.

Donald has his knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around them. He’s gazing up as if trying to spot his sister within the glimmering night. As if she’s stuck in the silence between the stardust, and he can take her hand and pull her to safety again like he did once on an adventure, when she slipped from the deck of the boat. Like a true sailor he rescued her from the depths, catching her moonlight-colored feathers and pulling her free of that wine-dark sea.

This time, though, there’s no saving their missing piece.

She’s still with them, Scrooge supposes, in some ways. He sees her now and again, in the way Dewey runs ahead on their adventures. She’s in Louie, and his cunning choices. She’s there when Huey’s curiosity drives him to solve mysteries. She’s in the way Donald sings the kids to sleep when they’re restless. And she’s in Scrooge, too, in the way that thinking of her reminds him to keep going.

He leans his head on Donald’s shoulder. It’s been a long day. Donald, seemingly just as tired, tilts his head to rest it on top of Scrooge’s. They both take a breath then, sighing into the quiet night.

“I missed you, Unca Scrooge.” Donald’s confession is barely audible, but there. It stings the old man’s heart as much as it warms it, and he knows his eternally costly mistakes are forgiven.

“I… I missed ye too, Donald,” he replies, and the two of them stare out into the night. Sitting there among the broken pieces of the day’s adventure, Scrooge knows they’ll get back up again. Together.

———

“You faked your death!” Donald squawks. “And you didn’t even think to tell me!”

“Ah, ye cannae get mad at me for that, I was only trying ta give ol’ Flinty a scare.” Scrooge retorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

Donald’s cheeks are red-hot, fists clasped tight as they can go. He’s simmering now, only one poorly chosen sentence and he’ll boil over and leave a mess behind. Or, well, a worse mess, anyway. The window over the stairs is in pieces scattered mostly outside, and there was quite a bit of trash left behind by the funeral attendees inside. They’re standing among it now, and it’s almost fueling Donald’s rage more. The kids shouldn’t have to help clean this up, but they’re walking around doing housekeeping with Mrs. B right now!

However, they’re also kind of helping him keep his cool. He tries his best not to blow up when they can see—he’s usually unsuccessful, but he does try—and he’s really trying now. Especially with Huey, he wants to encourage them to find better outlets than giving into that infamous temper they’ve all got a bit of.

Someone starts sweeping and Donald flexes his fingers, breathing deeply. Someone around here has to be a good example.

“You need to tell me things like that. At least have one of the kids text me.”

“Why, so ye can stop me?”

“No, so I don’t—ugh.” Donald spots Dewey behind his uncle, throwing garbage into a bag but entirely focused on their conversation. Of course the kids would be listening in. He chooses his words carefully.

“I thought you died, Unca.” He looks straight at Scrooge, hoping he doesn’t have to spell out that he’s thinking it felt just like losing Della.

Luckily it clicks quick, and the old man’s anger turns apologetic. His beak opens, as if he’s going to say something, but the words get lost in the distance between them. Which, honestly, is way too far for Donald’s comfort, especially considering how long they’ve been in each others’ lives again.

He closes that distance, both the physical and emotional, by quickly pulling Scrooge into a hug. Holding him tight, as if to emphasize the toll today’s temporary loss took on him. The old duck is only taken aback for a brief second before returning the embrace just as fiercely.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Donald whispers, hoping nobody else hears. “And I thought I did today.”

“It’s alright, lad,” Scrooge replies, equally softly. “I won’t leave ye.”

He holds on for as long as he thinks he can get away with, relishing the touch after so long without. When he was smaller this was a frequent occurrence, but now Scrooge’s hugs are usually reserved for the—

Webby giggles with delight as she joins their hug. Her brothers aren’t far behind. Donald picks up Huey, giving Dewey a bit more room when he wraps his arms around both of his uncles. Louie just quietly finds his place beside Scrooge, but smiles like he does when a scheme goes right.

Only these kids would turn patching up their family’s disagreements into an adventure.

Huey leans his head against Donald’s, as if absolutely exhausted, and when their little group hug is over, Donald checks the time. Way past bedtime.

“Alright, you guys. You’ve stayed up more than long enough.”

Dewey and Webby both groan, but Scrooge gestures to the stairs, and herds the kids toward their beds. Donald follows, with Huey in his arms like he’s still a toddler and not an almost-too-big kid. His little hands are clasped on Donald’s opposite shoulder, holding on the whole way up the stairs.

Everything feels alright.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #donald duck #scrooge mcduck #huey dewey and louie #webby vanderquack #teamuncleweek2020 #fanfic #mine!#jay’s fics #done at last and hopefully this try at posting will work! i really hope you enjoy.

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dear-alex-chill · 4 years

Text

Ducktales Story from Discord #1

Louie: what's the one thing mark Beaks doesn't have?

Webby: a brain?

Gyro: originality.

Scrooge: as much money as me

Fenton: Morals

Huey: an honest plan

Dewey: these sweet dance moves!!

Louie: all correct, but no.

Louie: he’s single

Scrooge and everyone: ooooooohhh

Mark beaks walks in: what’s so funny?

Everyone: nothing-

Louie and Gyro: your depressing life.

Webby: you tell him!

Scrooge: I’m too old for this-

Mark: Hey!! I- I HAVE MORE FOLLOWERS ON QUACK CHAT THAN YOU!!

Louie: oh please, when you’re the nephew of the richest duck in the world—*hold up phone*

Everyone wants to be your friend

Gyro: then how come you can’t get somebody to love?

Mark: speak for yourself robot dude

Fenton: well actually-

Gyro: Uh- yeah-

Mark: oh. Oh wait! Ohhhh!!! This is so going on my feed!

Louie: ha look at that.

Webby: never would’ve guessed

Louie: really?

Webby: no it was so obvious

Gyro: Why are you posting about something you don’t have?

Mark: it's just the way the world works nerd

Louie: got ‘em

Fenton: blathering blatherskite *summons arm

shoots phone*

Gyro: Yes, get him.

Mark: Hey!! Not cool Chico! Thankfully I have my backup phone..

Mark: y-yeah well I don’t see any of these kids having love lives!

Webby: actually *holds lena’s hand*

Louie: oooooOooooh what’re ya gonna do now Mark?

Mark: I am so not accepting your friend requests now!

Fenton: bold of you to assume any of us want to be your friends to begin with

Louie: you’ve been blocked

Gyro: ->- and plus, we actually have more with our lives other than looking at a screen all day.

Dewey: Yeah. Who wants to be friends with this jerk?

Huey: a masochist

Dewey: what now?

Louie: you mean like duckaplier?

Huey: yeah..

Mark: At least I have a social life. Unlike some Chicken I know..

Gyro: Excuse me?

Scrooge: alright Goldie stole the fountain of youth let’s go kids, before this..”thing” keeps talking

Mark: whatever old man. I got a business to run anyway

Louie: actually you’ve just been canceled

Mark: WHAT?!!??!

Louie: yeah, apparently you’re..just too “Mark beaks like”

Mark: *storming out of the room*

We'll see about that

Louie: hmm the moment he tries to tries to become trending I’ll cancel him again

Gyro: snickers

Dewey and Huey: Louie!

Gyro: No, please keep going green nephew.

Louie: whatttt? Im just doing what need to be done

Webby: looks like gyro has a favorite nephew

Louie: and now he’s been canceled again.

Gyro: I do not! All of you are equally annoying!

Fenton: what about me?

Huey: your his boyfriend-

Louie: and? He’s probably annoying to some extent

Gyro: You’re the most annoying! *mumbles* In the best way-

Mark: Awww #ship it!

Fenton: awwww

Gyro: WHA- Where did you come from!?

Louie: here comes the bride- all dressed in...uh tech

Gyro: ->- green nephew, I order you to stop

Louie: yeah alrighty

Webby: I swear I have no idea what’s going on anymore this conversation is just madness

Louie: uhh he’s trending somehow- and it looks like it’s just a bunch of picture of you and Fenton. He’s calling it #fenro

Gyro: What? Give me that! points to Louie’s phone

Louie: *hands it over*

Gyro: Oh this is ridiculous.

Fenton leans over to see the screen

Louie: yeah it’s gone viral everywhere

Gyro: *Shows Fenton* there

Fenton: grabs phone and stares

Gyro: well can we stop..whatever this is?

Gyro: And hey! I was holding that!

Louie: I’d cancel it, but then I might be canceled myself-

Fenton: scrolling though the tags they made fan art

Louie: I saw some links to fan fiction too

Gyro: WHAT.

Fenton: they made us kids

Mark beaks: Ha! I win

Louie: they do based on these pictures from mark’s new phone

Louie: they’re calling you the bottom

Gyro: I AM NOT!

Fenton: well how do they know that-

Louie: well whatever the truth is, they are now saying that they want a kiss pic from Mark, who probably won’t get that and then they’ll riot

Louie: we could also just give them a cuter couple

Louie: like Webby and Lena

Webby: wait What?

Louie: or Scrooge and Goldie

Huey: penumbra and mom

Dewey: Donald and daisy

Fenton: let’s just calm down, maybe we should just see if it goes away on its own

Lena: oh come on, we are the cutest couple to exist

Louie: doubt that’s ever gonna happen

Fenton: ummm *blasts all the phones in the room* solution!

Lena: well that’s one way to solve the problem ?

Louie: *pulls out another one* yeah you’re still trending

Fenton: *sighs*

Lena: okay never mind

Louie: our motto at Louie incorporated is always have a backup phone, and after that another backup

Mark: hey that was my motto first

Louie: are you sure about that?

Louie: cause now it’s mine and trending

Louie: a lie is simply a truth that has not been repeated enough times yet

Lena: he’s not wrong you know

Louie: ayyyy

Webby: LENA!

Louie: just listen to your girlfriend Webby, she’s clearly got the right idea

Huey: LOUIE!

Dewey: *posts this on Dewey Dew- night*

Mark: your just a kid! You can't possibly *looks down at phone to see Louie trending* Oh YOU-

Louie: wait, how long have you been filming for?

Dewey: the entire time

Louie: *looks over at mark* I told you it was mine

Mark: Whatever. I'll just start a new trend

Louie: too late I canceled you

Mark: *takes a selfie* Canceled Selfie!

Gyro: *sighs* will you ever shut up Beaks?

Mark beaks: i Don’t know Gryo when will you stop making evil inventions?

Gyro: Not until I crush you.

Mark: woah woah. Assassination is not a good look on you

Fenton: who said it was on him.

Webby: I don’t think it’s a good look on anyone

Louie: oh Webby, when you’re older you’ll understand

Mark: 'specially with your little project in tokyolk

Webby: and you do?

Gyro: *punches him*

Louie: uhhhhh yes?

Gyro: Now, what was that you said?

Fenton: oh my god *starts fanboying in spanish*

Mark: who PUNCHES a guy?!?!

Gyro: Me.

Louie: you’re not a guy, nor a man. Just sad little baby

Mark: *disgusted* Augh!

Huey : uhhh Dewey did you get that?

Louie: who relies on his it list mama

Dewey: yeah

Huey: should we be worried?

Dewey: nah

Gyro: No, not at all.

Louie: get out of here beaks

Mark: Fine! But I'll be back!

Scrooge walks in the room

Gyro: uhh, no you won’t

Louie: no you won’t

Scrooge: what in the blazes happened in here?!

Mark: Your children are maniacs!

Louie: Mark was bullying us

Gyro: It was simply business Mr. McDuck.

Scrooge: oh was he now?

louie pulls out puppy eyes

Scrooge: in that case, GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!

Mark leaves mumbling: stupid grouchy old man

Louie: hah! Woo

Gyro: I can now finally get away from it.

Louie: you’re welcome?

Fenton: thanks. *pats on head*

Louie: HEY!

Huey: well with that settled-

Fenton: we should probably get back to whatever it is we were doing

Louie: which is?

Gyro: I actually do not know

Scrooge: Adventure!!

Louie: oh no not again

Gyro: Ah, yes. That.

Louie: *tries to walk away*

Scrooge: Now where are you going lad?

Louie: I- Uh..I’m dying?

Lena: pffft nice

Gyro: What-

Gyro: What am I even doing here, I’m leaving this chaos

Louie: y-yeah came down with the common cold of uh WAIT FOR ME!

*runs after gyro*

Gyro: No, I won’t. *continues to walk away*

Fenton: Wait what about me?

Louie: I promise to not speak or even breathe!

Gyro: hmmmm. No

Gyro: well if you don’t hurry up Cabrera then I’m leaving you

Louie: Fenton can I come? *puppy eyes*

Fenton: yes-

Gyro: *sighs* fine.

Webby: it feels like we’ve been talking for 53 years!

Lena: I know right

Huey: I know what you mean, I feel like I’m being controlled by a teen and typing out unoriginal dialogue in a phone

Credit to the Discord Chat (for making this a proper story), specifically:

@shadybelievercat

Queen_of_bread

Neighborhood Nerd

#gyro ducktales #gyro gearloose #ducktales 2017 #ducktales scrooge #ducktales huey #ducktales #dt dewey #dt gyro #dt mark #mark beaks ducktales #mark beaks

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heistmaster69 · 4 years

Text

pariet lilium (3)

pariet lilium by @heistmaster69 chapter 3

I cannot believe all the love this is getting! also, let me know I anything is confusing because I do not have beta readers, and my brain gets a Lil scrambly sometimes but ily all-mwah!

tw: self loathing and jealousy. too much pining that’s just ignored on both ends. overuse of italics. BLOOD FROM AN INJURY AT THE END.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 4

After what had happened, Draco and Frankie couldn’t sleep, so they sat in a plush nook lined with green pillows and velvet blankets in the Common room, lit by the silver moonlight. Frankie laid her head in his lap as they spoke.

“In there,” Draco began. “You said you had been studying this for years. What exactly?”

“You remember Kendra?” She began.

“She was your tutor, right? Hired by-”

“Don’t say their names, please.” She interrupted, gripping his forearm

“Your parents?” His eyes widened. “May I ask why?”

“They were crap parents” Frankie paused. “They don’t deserve it.” She said with a chuckle. “Anyway, Kendra taught me about spell creating when I was about six, and I still think it’s the coolest thing in the world.”

“You wanted to reverse the Killing Curse.”

“All three. Plus the Memory Charm.”

“Wow.” Draco began running his fingers through Frankie’s hair, fiddling with the dark strands. “You think it’s possible?”

“I know it is. I figured it out this year. I just don’t know how to actualize the spell just yet.”

“You are amazing, Chess.” He whispered.

“I know.” She giggled. Realizing the position they was in, Frankie felt her face get hot. She cleared her throat and sat up. “So, Malfoy. Call me crazy, but I’ve seen how you look at Cher. How’s that going?” It hurt to ask, but Frankie saw how he looked at her. She knew.

“What do you mean?” Draco scoffed. She could see his walls slam back up in an instant.

“Malfoy. Come on. You like her!” Frankie lightly punched his arm.

“Psh. No.”

“Malfoy...”

“No!” He snapped. “I don’t like her, Chess, c’mon.”

“Wow, sorry.” She sighed. “But you have been awfully chipper recently. Haven’t seen you bothering perfect Granger in weeks.”

“You really hate her, don’t you.”

“I wouldn’t say hate, exactly. Just a strong dislike. She just has to be so perfect all the time and she gets all the credit when Cher and I are above her in classes.” Frankie cleared her throat before continuing. “You are too! Like, she’s smart and all, but it just bothers me how pretty and perfect she is. All while friends with Wonder Boy Potter. She got hot last summer and now everyone is drooling over her. Blaise even is! It’s just frustrating how someone can be so much better than you in almost every way.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Granger.” He rolled his eyes.

“Dr-Malfoy. You’ve seen her. How could I not be?”

“Shut up. You’re fishing for compliments.” He shoved her shoulder.

“Okay, no? Telling the truth is not fishing for compliments. I swear if I didn’t hate her so much I’d be in love with her.” They shared a laugh a laugh before Draco said;

“You shouldn’t be jealous-”

“Okay I’m gonna stop you right there.” Frankie tutted. “I really don’t want to hear it.”

He tipped his head, a confused look in his gray eyes.

“I-nothing.” She scrambled out of the nook, dying to escape from what she knew would be an interrogation. “Goodnight, Malfoy.”

“You’re not getting away that easy.” He spun her around, placing both hands on her shoulders.

She quickly maneuvered out of his grasp. “Don’t make me say it.” She whispered, unable to meet his gaze. “Please.”

“But why? I’d never judge you, you’re my best friend. And I tell you all my secrets, I told you the time I got a boner from-” Frankie interrupted just rambling with a laugh. She tried to lighten up the atmosphere with a joke;

“We don’t need to hear the boner story again. And fine. I’ll tell you if you promise not to be weird about it.”

“There’s nothing to be weird about.” Oh, Draco.

“Okay.” Frankie took a few steps away. A smirk growing on her face. “Just kidding!” She sprinted towards the dorms, giggling.

“Hey!” He chuckled quietly to himself, watching her as she went away. “Good night, Chess.”

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. ohmygodohmygod.

She had almost said it. She had almost told him.

I like it too much when you tell me I’m beautiful.

I like you too much.

The students shuffled along the stone path towards Hagrid’s Hut. The sun was high in the sky, yet the air had a chill regardless. Trelawney had spouted off some random omen that Wonder Boy was in danger, but honestly, when is he not?

Draco always had to pull something. His stupid dementor jokes on Harry, albeit funny, were a little mean. She had to stifle her laughs.

Merlin, that smirk. It would raise hell one day. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him as he challenged Harry. When did he get so attractive? The way he sauntered up to Harry with that stupid grin on his face made her heartbeat quicken. She had to look away.

The forest was beautiful. Frankie couldn’t help herself from just staring at the way the sun shone through the treetops, gorgeous golden rays illuminating her freckled face

“Everyone gather round the fence here. That’s right. Make sure you can see.” Hagrid shouted, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. The group of students shuffled around the paddock. “Now, first thing you’ll want to do is open yer’ books.”

“How?” Draco sneered while Crabbe and Goyle laughed. They laugh at everything he says, those goons. They can be sweet when they’re on their own, though. Goyle can make a mean chocolate chip cookie.

“Aye?” Hagrid grunted.

“How do we open our books.” Malfoy drawled, a firm scowl in his face.

How can this boy constantly pull 180s? Doesn’t he get tired?

“Hasn’t anyone been able to open their books?” Hagrid asked nervously. “You’ve got to stroke ‘em!”

A few students let out an Oh, but Frankie just sighed. “Oh how silly we’ve all been. We should’ve stroked them.” Draco scoffed.

How were they supposed to know? One thing caught her eye. Draco Malfoy took out two of his fingers, adorned with his family ring, and slowly stroked the spine of his Monster Book Of Monsters. Now that was a sight to see. Hagrid mumbles something to Granger that Frankie couldn’t hear, but Draco did.

“Oh tremendously funny. Really witty giving us books that try and rip our hands off.” Draco said.

“Shut up Malfoy.” Wonder Boy Potter here to save the day.

“He does have a point, though. Sorry Hagrid, the book went straight for my throat when I tried to read it. Malfoy here might’ve saved my life.”

“I thought you were better than that, Reed. You can shut your arse up too.” Potter glared at Frankie, making her shrink behind Draco.

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Draco

“Whatever, just keep you and your girlfriend’s noses out of my buisnees.” Girlfriend.

“She’s not-”

“He’s not-”

They looked at each other with flushed faces. Hagrid went to fetch the magical creatures, leaving an uncomfortably hostile tone around the students.

“God this place is going to the dogs.” Draco laughed. “That oaf teaching classes. My father will have a fit when he hears about this.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Harry reiterated.

“Careful, Potter, there’s a dementor behind you!” Lavender shouted. Normally, Frankie wouldn’t have joined in. But Perfect Granger was looking at her like she was scum. So Frankie pulled up her hood like the rest of them, echoing a chorus of ooohs.

Hagrid came jogging in with two beautiful beasts on a sort of leash, their silver and bronze feathers glowing in the sun.

“Hippogriffs.” Frankie said, admiring them and remembering Kendra’s lesson on magical creatures.

“That there’s right, Miss Reed! Beautiful aren’t they. These here are Hippogriffs. This one is Storm.” He gestured to the bronze feathered creature. “And this one’s Buckbeak.” Hagrid began telling the class a few facts about them, she didn’t even realize that the rest of the class had taken a few steps back. Hagrid called everyone to come closer, but no one really did, except for Harry’s trio and Frankie. She already knew what to do, so she began the slow process, starting with a low bow. Storm wasn’t paying attention at first, so Frankie whispered a small incantation she used to get stray cats to trust her.

“Scio et observare.” The copper colored hippogriff began a slow trot towards her. Frankie made sure to keep her gaze fixed on the ground. When Storm was a mere two feet away, Hagrid turned his gaze from the class to Frankie.

“Wow! You’ve got a way with ‘er.” He chuckled. “Now you can pet her.”

She reached a tentative hand up to Storm’s beak and gave a few gentle pets, Harry next to her doing the same with Buckbeak. Frankie began to circle Storm, scratching her feathers and smiling so hard her face hurt. All of a sudden Hagrid grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted Frankie onto Storm’s back.

“What-?”

“You two are gonna ride ‘em.” He did the same to Harry and the two soared into the distance.

Flying with a Hippogriff was unlike anything she’d ever done.

When the two touched down, the classes clapped, all but a few annoyed Gryffindors and Slytherins.

“Harry! Reed!” Hagrid snapped her out of her daze. “Amazin’!”

“Hey.” Potter whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Frankie shrugged. “The book did try to attack me.”

He chuckled. “Malfoy really saved you?” Frankie nodded. “Guess he’s nice to girls he fancies.”

“He does not fancy me, Potter. Get your head on right.”

“I’ll help speed things up.” He pulled Frankie into a tight hug, arms wrapped swift around her waist. “Just go with it.” Frankie obliged, curious to see Draco’s reaction. She put her arms gently around Potter’s neck and leaned into the embrace.

Just as Potter said, Draco stormed towards the two. “This must be easy if Potter could do it. You aren’t dangerous at all, are you? You great ugly brute.”

“Draco stop, stop!” He didn’t stop, obviously envious of Harry’s success, not the embrace. Frankie ran out in front of Storm, who had gotten on her hind legs in anger or fear. It happened in a flash of sharp, stinging pain. Storm had slashed her talons across Frankie’s back, leaving a sizable gash in her clothing and skin, blood beginning to seep through her clothing and onto the grassy floor.

Storm was upset by this. Not wanting to have hurt the girl who had been so kind to her, but was afraid of the boy who shouted. Storm nudged Frankie’s side with sorrow, just bringing forth a strangled cry of pain from Frankie’s throat.

“Chess, Merlin, I’m so sorry!” Draco cried. “Hagrid, please, I’m so sorry, she needs to go to the hospital wing!”

A/N: ON THAT ROAD TRIP GRIND pumping out some content! let me know what you think!

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98prilla · 4 years

Text

Falling Apart: Part 2

Dark Side Logan part 5

Ao3

...

“JANUS! CYG!” He screams, hearing twin pairs of footsteps racing down the hall, bursting through his open door, he’s sobbing openly now, gross sobbing, snot running down his face, tears streaming down his eyes.

He feels someone trying to remove Roman from his arms, and he clings on tighter, incoherently babbling about blood and guts and poison and death, and fear, fear, fear-

“Rem. I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?” He inhales deeply, something in Cygnus’s voice calming him, the soft surety getting his attention. “I need you to let go. Not for long, and you can stay the whole time if you want, but you need to let go if you want me to help him get better. Can you do that, please?” Cygnus explains softly, calmly, and he nods, hesitantly relinquishing Roman into Cygnus’s arms.

“What should I know?” Cygnus asks, assessing the damage done to Roman, inhaling sharply as he takes in his current state.

“Cockatrice. Poisoned talons, beak, stinger tail. I don’t… I don’t know an antidote, can’t make one, can’t heal, useless, I’m useless.” Instantly, Dee is there, wrapping his arms around him, and he buries his face against his shoulder, letting Dee soothe him, rub his back up and down as he cries.

“Roman-“

“Will be taken care of, love. He’s in good hands. Let Cygnus do his work in peace. He’ll get us if anything happens.”

“What if he dies? What if the poison stops his heart? What if he bleeds out on the floor? What if he’s left in a vegetative state and can never think or speak again? What if, what if, what…” He trails off, slumping against Janus, shaking.

“Shh, I know, love. I know. But he’ll be ok, ok? He always is, he always bounces back.” He shakes his head.

“He doesn’t. He pretends he does, pretends he’s ok, pretends he’s fine, but he isn’t, he’s not, he hasn’t been, not for a long, long, long time, not since before you started showing up, he isn’t sleeping, he isn’t stopping, he isn’t taking breaks, he’s working himself to death and no one notices and no one cares, and no one listens, and everyone shuts him down, and he cries all the time, and he’s broken, so broken, but he won’t tell anyone.” Remus blurts out, shoving away from Janus, shoving to his feet, fists clenched and shaking as he lets out a shout, summoning his mace.

He screams, slamming it into the wall, chipping away at the wood, not stopping his furious assault until his arms are aching, until the head of the mace flies off the handle, across the room, crashing through his desk, until he’s screamed his throat raw and tastes copper, and still, it hurts, Roman hurts, and he hates, hates, hates, that all he is good at is breaking things.

He punches the wall with his fist, relishing the crack of his knuckles against the hard wood, the delicious pain that bruises his hand, sends a jolt up his shoulder, and it feels so good, to hurt, because he can feel Roman’s hurt, and he needs the wounds to match.

“Remus. Enough.” Then Deceit is holding his arm, pulling him away from the wall, talking softly and gently and quietly, and his anger fizzles into hot, exhausted tears as he lets Janus guide him to bed and tuck him in.

…

Cygnus is sweating, doing his best to patch up Roman. His healing power is still intact, though it takes a bit more effort to use, since his swap to a dark side, but it’s still there, and he’s using every ounce of it now.

He’s managed to repair the tissue missing from his shoulder, as it was the most serious injury he had. He has also closed up the puncture wounds, the scratch across his cheek, that was relatively easy, it was the venom that was giving him a run for his money, as they say.

“l…lo…? Wh… wh…” Roman’s eyes are open, though they’re unfocused, glazed over with fever. He is burning up under his hands, and nothing he tries is breaking it or bringing it down.

“Roman. You got injured. You’re sick. I’m doing everything I can. You’re going to be alright.” He isn’t sure about that last sentence, but he can’t bring himself to say otherwise.

“n-not w…worth it. D…don’t wa-ste yo..ur time.” His breath catches as Roman’s eyes slip closed, going limp as his breathing continues to barely wheeze in and out.

He stumbles back, leaning heavily against the wall, eyes widening as he feels himself trembling. Because all of Roman’s desire is focused on one singular thought, as loud and strong as if he’d screamed it from the rooftops.

“Just let me die.”

…

“Roman. Please. Please, I need you to get better, you need to get better.”

No, I don’t. I’m not worth the effort. I’m not worthy of it. I don’t deserve it. I don’t want it. You would do far better than I ever have. I hurt you. I hurt everyone. I can’t do anything good, or right. Every time I think I understand the rules, they change on me again, and everyone gets mad, everyone gets hurt, everyone is angry and I don’t understand what you want from me, so just let me go.

“I won’t stop. I won’t leave. I won’t until you wake up. I’m not letting you give up, I’m not letting you blame yourself for everything, I’m not letting you tear yourself apart.”

He can feel someone holding his hand in a death grip, a cool rag on his forehead, as he shivers, feeling both too hot and too cold all at once, shaking at the waves of fierce agony washing through him. He moans, feeling soft hands on him, cradling him in someone’s lap, and he peels open his eyes, vision blurred and stomach churning.

“RoRo? Can you see me? You awake?” He doesn’t want to be. But he is. So he nods, trying to clear his throat, but his throat is raw, it feels like someone has shoved splinters into his larynx, and he chokes on his breath.

Someone else holds a glass to his mouth, and he sips the cool water gratefully, blinking to clear his vision, flinching back at the silver/indigo eyes of Ambition.

“why?” Ambition’s brow furrows, his head tilting slightly, in a way that had always meant Logan was trying to decipher something, understand something. Some things never change. “why save me?” He clarifies.

“RoRo, why wouldn’t we help? You scared me, you scared me so badly.” Remus holds him a little closer, but he shoves him away, shoves off of his lap, hissing as he pulls something in his shoulder, his chest burning.

“Roman-“ His eyes flash as he glares up at the two of them, ignoring the tears streaming down his face, an angry kind of hurt seething in his heart, because if he isn’t angry he doesn’t know what he’ll be and being mad for nothing is the whole reason he’s here in the first place, and god, he never learns, does he? How useless, how stupid, what an idiot.

“You knew what I wanted.” He hisses, staring down Ambition, shoving venom into his voice. Because what’s the point of knowing what everyone wants if you don’t honor their wishes? “You saved me anyway, you know how it feels to not be listened to, to have nobody give a shit, to have everyone ignore you and speak over you and shoot down every single one of your ideas, no matter how hard you’re trying, gods know I’m sick of trying, I try so hard and I can never do anything right, just look what happened with you, because I’m an insensitive, insecure, worthless, asshole and I just want it to be over and done with already!” He yells, crumpling in on himself, hands laced through his hair as he shakes, breathing unsteady. “I’m so… useless. I’m so tired and dried up. I have nothing, I am nothing, I just… I’m so… done.” He whispers, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. He feels Remus reach out, place a hand on his shoulder, and he shivers, hiccupping on his sobs. “I’m sorry.”

“Roman!” Ambition calls, reaching for him, feeling what he is about to do, but not fast enough to do anything about it as he sinks out, back to his room, locking his door, before stumbling to his bed, collapsing atop it before passing out again, embracing oblivion as his fever spikes.

…

Everything is a haze. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying here. It could be hours, it could be weeks, it could be minutes.

He drifts in and out of what could generously be called nightmare filled bouts of sleep.

Sometimes he can’t tell the difference between being awake and asleep. Sometimes he can’t tell if he’s alive or dead. He doesn’t know which one he wishes for more.

Sometimes the cockatrice is back, ripping into his flesh, tearing him to shreds, devouring him alive as he screams and writhes, desperate cries going unanswered, because who would come save him, now?

Sometimes it’s Patton, gently stroking his cheek, before his eyes go cold and his hand plunges into his chest, ripping out his heart and crushing it in his grip, as he collapses to the floor, life draining out of him.

Sometimes he’s on stage, a crowd of people watching, waiting, but he can’t move, can’t speak, he’s frozen to the spot, and he misses his cues. The crowd starts to whisper, then murmur, then boo. Things are thrown at him, but he’s forced to stand still, to take it, to absorb all the hatred and failure and ruin.

Sometimes his vision just swims in and out, colors blending and forms shifting until his room almost looks like an alien landscape, and it would be almost soothing, if it weren’t accompanied by waves of vertigo that have him clenching his fists, clinging to anything within reach, trying to convince his body that no, he’s not moving, he’s lying down, he’s perfectly still.

In his clearer moments, he knows he should drink something, knows he should eat something, knows it will help him get better. Sometimes, he thinks he hears someone speaking on the other side of the door, sometimes he hears knocking, frantic voices. Sometimes, he almost has the motivation to open it, thinking of Remus’s distress at his state.

But he doesn’t. He lets himself sink back into his fever dreams, lets his apathy overwhelm him again and again, because it will hurt, at first, but he’ll forget, soon enough, he’ll be brilliant, as the one and only creativity, it’s what he’s always wanted, after all.

And he is tired. Tired of trying his best only to be told it isn’t good enough. Tired of trying to be on the good side, only to be told every time that, somehow, he wasn’t right. Tired of always being wrong, no matter how hard he is working to be better, to be right. Tired of giving up on his dreams for everyone else to be happy, tired of being pushed aside, tired of being broken over and over, tired of being tired!

He just wants to let it all go.

When the summons comes, he doesn’t fight it. He’s too tired, too empty, too done, to even care enough to not show his face.

He rises up in his corner of the room, arms hugging himself tight around his middle, eyes glued to the floor, because he doesn’t want to see the pity or disgust in their eyes, doesn’t want to open his mouth just to be berated again, doesn’t want to do anything other than curl up in a ball and disappear.

He looks like shit. He knows it. His hair is an absolute mess, the bags under his eyes rival Virgil’s darkest eyeshadow, it’s only been a few days, at most, but he is thinner, gaunt, eyes red rimmed and puffy, from the ceaseless, empty tears that never seem to stop, even though his emotions have. He thinks the fever is gone, the venom worked its way out of his system, but he still feels off balance, still feels a bit hazy and wobbly, though that probably goes back to the not eating or drinking thing he’s been doing.

“Oh, buddy.” He hears Thomas exhale, and he shrinks back farther, yet again, a disappointment. What kind of hero shows himself at his weakest? What kind of hero fails the way he has, can’t even fight off his own demons, much less others’?

Then again, he’s not a hero. He never has been. He’s a nobody.

“Roman, please. Please talk to us.” Virgil, a soft kind of desperation in his voice, and once again, he’s failed, because he’s scaring them. He really can’t do anything right, can he?

A choked sob escapes his lips, before he covers his mouth with his hand, refusing to let anything else out, though he can see the tears dripping to the floor, he wonders if he’d collected them all, how big a pond they could fill, surely nothing would survive in them, the salt too much to bear.

“Roman…” Patton, who can surely feel his pain more than anyone else, surely by now it is leaking over to him, no matter how hard he is trying to keep it contained. He flinches at Patton's touch, pulling away.

“What happened, Ro?” Thomas asks, and he has to choke back broken laughter. What hasn’t happened, what hasn’t he fucked up, what hasn’t he failed?

“Ask him. He knows.” He leans against the wall, vision swimming as he uses his power to summon Ambition.

“Logan? What-" Thomas squeaks out, no doubt taking in his new appearance. Ambition winces.

“Is now the time for this conversation? I was hoping to avoid this until-"

“Ambition.” Virgil interrupts softly, nodding towards Roman, so small looking that he hadn’t even seen him there. “He called you.”

“Roman-“ He feels Ambition take a step toward him, and he shakes his head.

“Tell them.” He says, wincing at his own voice, because it sounds so unlike him.

“Roman. Please.” Ambition is before him now, and he manages to lift his head, to look at those endless eyes, the warmth in them breaking him further until he thinks he might shatter. “I will. If you let someone, anyone, take care of you, I’ll tell them.” He doesn’t flinch back this time, as Ambition reaches out, slowly tucking back his hair. He shudders, leaning into the contact, eyes slipping closed for a moment, at the warmth, at the soft comfort, as he feels Ambition gently wipe away his tears with his thumb.

“ok.” He whispers, eyes flicking open once more, though he doesn’t meet anyone’s, instead staring down at the carpet.

“who do you want, Roman?”

“Deceit.” He doesn’t hesitate, though he can feel Ambition’s surprise at his answer, though he recovers from it quickly, with a sharp nod. “remus can come too, I know he must be losing it.” He mumbles, feeling a bit lighter at the upwards tug he can see at the corner of Ambition’s lips.

“he is. I think he’s broken every piece of furniture in his room, and added about a dozen new holes in the wall.” He hears the slight pop of Deceit and Remus appearing, and instantly, he is surrounded by warmth. He melts into the embrace, slowly wrapping his own arms tight around the warmth, shoulders shaking as more endless sobs escape him.

“brobro.” Remus’s voice is choked, and he can feel his twin’s tears staining his pajama top, but he doesn’t care, folding tighter against him. “you had me scared. I thought you were really gonna do it. I thought you were really gonna leave me.” Remus’s voice breaks.

“m sorry.” He mumbles, feeling Remus pulling back, a pained sound escaping his throat at the loss of contact, the loss of warmth, but his twin’s hand slips into his, and Deceit is standing before him, rubbing up and down his arm, eyes dark and nearly unreadable.

“hey there Princey. Can we start getting you cleaned up a bit, love?” Deceit’s voice is soft and mellow, an almost musical lilt to it that helps soothe him, helps ease something loose in his chest as he nods. “alright, darling. How about a bath? You wouldn’t believe it, but I am a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to bath bombs and scented oils, helps with the shedding. We can peruse my collection, and pick out something you like, to help relax those sore muscles. Does that sound alright?” A small smile tugs at his lips as he quietly acquiesces, letting Deceit take the lead as they sink out to the snake sides room.

…

“Ok, ok, ok, so what is going on? Why does Roman look like… like that? And why do you look like that?!” Thomas asks, turning to Ambition, who sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“His name isn’t Logan, anymore, Thomas. We… neglected him. All of us. You included. So, he changed, moved over to the dark side. That’s why his look changed, along with his role and his name. He’s Ambition now, not Logic, and we… don’t know his name. He hasn’t told us. We haven’t earned it. Haven’t earned his trust. Which is fair.” Ambition looks over to Virgil, who’s seated on the stairs, hood pulled up over his head, chin on his knees, a bit startled. Of all of them, he hadn’t expected Virgil to be the one to explain so evenly and truthfully what had happened. Virgil catches his glance, and smiles wryly. “What? I get it, dude, I did the same thing. Just glad you’re doing better.” Virgil gives him his two finger salute, and he finds himself smiling just a bit.

“That about sums it up, yes. I am now known as Ambition. I sense desires and wishes, what everyone wants. And… that is where Roman comes into play.” His smile fades.

“We were trying to get to him, but he locked his room. We tried talking to him, begging him, really, but he wouldn’t open it up. We… we didn’t want to involve you, if you weren’t ready to see Thomas, but we needed to get him out of his room, and this was the only way. I didn’t know he would summon you.” Patton explains apologetically, and he nods.

“I understand, Patton. I wish this reintroduction were under better circumstances. I had hoped giving Roman some time in his room to settle down would help his emotional state, but I believe you did the correct thing.” Patton nods, a bit of relief in his eyes that he’s not upset.

“Ok. So, what happened with Roman? Why… I’ve never seen him look like that.”

“He hasn’t been feeling his best for a while now.” Virgil says softly, sinking a bit further back into his hood as everyone’s eyes turn on him.

“What do you mean, Virg?” Thomas asks softly. Virgil exhales hugely.

“He hasn’t been as loud, as he usually is. He’s been quiet. He hasn’t been singing, or dancing down the halls, or coloring in the living room, scattering his art stuff everywhere. He hasn’t been spending time in the imagination, either. Any time I pass his door I felt him inside, just… sitting there, running on autopilot. I’ve tried, to get him to talk, to get anything out of him, but once he sees someone’s there, he squares up his shoulders and puts on his smile, as if nothing’s wrong. He won’t… tell me.” Virgil sighs, plucking at loose strings on his hoodie.

“I… hadn’t noticed.” Thomas sounds a bit lost, looking around at his sides, or the ones who remain, and sits heavily on the couch. “I’ve been neglecting myself, haven’t I?” He murmurs, running a hand through his hair.

“Yes. You have. But that’s nothing you can’t fix, given time and space. I know you’ve been busy, and had a lot on your mind, but it’s time to take some time for yourself.” Ambition says gently.

“He’s right, kiddo. We… I’ve been pushing you pretty hard, lately. Putting a lot of pressure on you, to be perfect, and everyone’s suffered for it. I’m sorry, Virg. I know you’ve been more stressed that usual, cause of everything going on, how hard I’m trying to be perfect. And I’m sorry again, Ambition, for not being there for you, for not listening, because you are right. And I’m sorry, Thomas, for making it so impossible to be who I want you to be. You don’t have to be perfect. You shouldn’t be! Nobody is! I know you always try your best, to do what’s right. And… and that is always, always, good enough for me. I’m proud of you, kiddo. No matter what, I’m proud of you. All of you.” Patton lets out a little laugh as he swipes at his eyes. “I’m just a big sap, aren’t I?” He mumbles, letting out a squeak as he’s pulled into a hug.

It takes him a moment to realize it’s Thomas, Thomas is hugging him, one hand cradling against his head, the other pressing against the small of his back, and he makes a soft noise, burying his head against Thomas’s shoulder, letting himself sniffle, letting himself let out his feelings.

“Thank you, Pat. That means a lot, to me. I know you’re always trying your best, too, even when that means you go a little overboard, sometimes. I forgive you, Pat, even though I was never mad to begin with, I forgive you.” Thomas hugs Patton a little tighter, his head nestled against Patton’s hair, as he smiles smally, looking at his other sides.

Virgil is smiling smally to himself from his perch on the steps, sitting straight and uncurled, a lightness to his posture that Thomas doesn’t see enough, that he’ll work harder to bring out. Ambition has that small upturn to his lips, proud glint in his eyes that he gets whenever someone learns something new, a subtle soft fondness to his eyes. He wants to see that look more often.

“come here, you two.” He says fondly.

“I don’t think that’s necessary-“

“Nope-“ Ambition and Virgil say at the same time, and Patton lets out a giggle, looking up at the two of them, eyes wet but shining.

“Get over here, kiddos, before you make me come over there.” Virgil rolls his eyes, but his lopsided smile lights up his face as he joins the hug.

“Come on, Teach, if I’m doing it, you gotta join in.” Ambition pauses at the use of his old nickname, but hesitantly joins in regardless, loosening up as he feels Virgil’s arms around him, then Patton’s and Thomas’s and somehow, he’s become the center of the hug.

“I love you all, so, so much. We’re all gonna do better, to listen and take care of each other. I’m going to do better to take care of all of you.” Thomas murmurs, and Patton can feel the love swelling in his own chest, the tender fondness filling him up from the inside out. Ambition feels pride sweep through him, feeling how much Thomas wants this, means this, will work towards this. And Virgil is just glad that the tension that had been filling the mindscape has broken.

“Someone keep me updated on how Roman’s doing, yeah? And… and let him know I wanna talk, whenever he’s ready to. I don’t wanna pressure him, but…”

“I know, kiddo. We’ll send him your way. Now go eat some cookies and watch a movie. You deserve it.” Patton says, finally pulling away, flashing him a shaky but sincere smile, before sinking out with a little wave.

“Welp. Guess that’s my cue. See you next time, Thomathy.” Virgil says, smiling a bit wider at Thomas’s snort, before vanishing like a ghost.

“I suppose I should be going, as well. I want to check up on Deceit and Remus. See how they’re coming along with him. Ideally, he’ll be sleeping by now.”

“Lo-Ambition, wait.” Thomas calls, and he freezes, absurdly afraid that, for some reason, now that they’re alone, he will be rejected. “I know I don’t know exactly what went down, but I want you to know that this doesn’t change anything. Ok, let me rephrase that,” Thomas laughs, at Ambition’s incredulous look, “It changes a lot of things, but it doesn’t change us. You’re still the coolest person I know, bud. And when I said I’m gonna do better to take care of everyone, I meant you and Deceit and Remus, too.” Ambition smiles, looking away, letting out a soft breath.

“Thank you, Thomas. I will take that under advisement.”

“Ambition?” He pauses again, turning to give Thomas an exasperated glance, that makes him laugh.

“I like the new look.” Ambition smiles, a radiant, full face smile, that absolutely melts Thomas’s heart, because when was the last time he looked that happy? Ambition nods once, before sinking out, leaving Thomas to collapse onto the couch and fumble for the remote. Time to replay some kingdom hearts and give everyone a break.

…

Remus looks up at the whoosh of someone sinking in, relaxing as he sees its just Cygnus. Roman is snuggled close to his chest, burritoed in a blanket, sleeping peacefully. He can hear Janus in the kitchen, humming softly, the scent of warm, comforting soup wafting through the dark side.

“How’s he doing?” Cygnus asks lowly, not wanting to wake Roman, who desperately needs the rest. He’s relieved to see him sleeping, the prince already looks better, a little less pale, a little less hopeless, bundled against Remus, who is holding him as if he’ll never let go.

“Better. He opened up a bit, with Jan, he helped him with the bath. He was halfway asleep when he got out, but we got a little bit of food in him, before he passed out. How’d it go on your end?”

“Good. A lot better than I’d expected. Virgil was surprisingly helpful in keeping Thomas calm, explaining everything to him very, well,” his lips twist in a bittersweet smile, “logically. He’d noticed Roman’s deteriorating state, he just hadn’t been able to get Roman to open up.” He replies, sitting carefully on the couch, so as to not shift it too much.

“Yeah. He’s pretty stubborn, pretty dedicated to the knight in shining armor bit.”

“Unlike anyone else I know, I’m certain.” Remus scoffs at Cygnus’s side eyeing him, mock offense playing across his face.

“Please. I don’t do all that rescuing damsel in distress shit.” Cygnus raises an eyebrow.

“You did with me.” Well. There’s nothing he can say to that, and he finds himself for once speechless, blushing furiously, because when the hell did Cygnus get smooth!? “Besides, I know you’d fight anyone and everyone for us, Rem. For him, too.”

“Is that Cyg?” Janus pokes his head out from the kitchen, eyes pinched with worry as he leans against the end of the couch, looking hard at Cygnus.

“I’m fine. Thomas… assured me that our relationship is still intact, that he holds nothing against me. He said he liked the new look.” He mumbles the last sentence with a blush at Deceit’s soft chuckle, feeling his fingers ghost over the scales dotting his cheekbones.

“He should. You’re stunning, darling.” Deceit laughs harder as his face burns.

“He’s going to take a break. Thomas is, I mean. Everyone agreed it’s necessary. Patton… apologized. To everyone, for his impossible standards. For pushing so hard. And Thomas wants to spend time with everyone. Wants to take more time, for everyone. Including you two.” Deceit nods, a soft smile on his lips as he slips onto the couch beside Cygnus.

“How are you doing, lovely?”

“Good. I’m good. I think… I think things are going to start getting better, Dee.”

“I hope so.”

“I hope someone fucks me like a porn star on the dining room table.” Remus comments idly, surprising them into silence for a moment before bursting into uncontrolled laughter, shattering the heaviness of the moment.

It’s still a long road to a full recovery. To any of them being close to okay. But they’ll get there. Together, they’ll all get there.

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