#your uncle is puking in an alley

[othernaut]

Othernaut Plays Board Games!

Game 1: Sagrada.

Score: 98 out of 115 Nautis.

Review: I went into the board game cafe wanting to play something iconic, something I'd seen played, reviewed, photographed and loved online but haven't personally picked up yet. Sagrada, being the shiniest thing on the shelf, qualified. I had seen pictures of peoples' completed boards before - a little thing fell out of the box when we opened it, in fact, encouraging people to post them - but without context, all I was left to do was stare at the shiny dice and pristine boards without any idea what it meant. It felt arcane, almost, this clearly meaningful, beautiful thing with a secret code that I could not comprehend by sight alone.

And now I've played it. I understand the code. I still can't explain at a glance what the hell is going on.

Sagrada is a very tight, carefully-considered dice-placement game that absolutely would not work for my spectacle-poisoned brain if it wasn't as effortlessly pretty as it is. At its base level, it's fairly simple: You draft dice from a centrally-rolled pool, starting by placing one on the edge of your board and building out from there, restricted primarily by board spaces showing which number or color must be placed and a general rule that adjacent color or number matches can never be placed. From there, it's a matter of keeping this in your head, along with both private and public scoring goals, through rounds of shifting circumstances leading to, hopefully, a completed window of lovely, hateful color.

In practice, Sagrada is a game about picking a die, placing a die, smiling placidly at your board, and immediately going, "Oh! I've fucked myself." This, turn after turn, game after game, because Sagrada manages to find the balance where there's just enough information to kind of know what you're doing but just slightly more than is comfortable to keep it in your head all at once.

It's an enjoyable thing, the kind of pleasing, strategic play that makes you feel alternately brilliant and idiotic, intricate and incomprehensible from outside. I have not photographed my game board because I am bad at this and they are shameful masses of mostly purple.

Game 2: 5 Minute Mystery

Score: .65561920 out of 1.0 Otheros.

Review: 5 Minute Mystery is a hard game to qualify and this, primarily, because it barely feels like a game. It's got all the requisite game parts and objectives, it sits on the shelf with the other games, it's possible to win and lose, but still, it doesn't quite feel like a game. It feels like a toy. Let me explain.

The major difference between a toy and a game, as I understand it, is victory. It's possible to lose a game. And with this, it's very possible to lose 5 Minute Mystery; in fact, you'll probably do so immediately. But the overall structure is engaged with like a toy, with the same sort of poking, prodding, shaking, jostling, and discarding on the floor to go drink juice that you'd do with a toy.

It has lovely, toylike components. Central to 5 Minute Mystery is this hexagonal puzzle-cylinder thing that clicks and shifts intriguingly. The way you play with it is by identifying hidden symbols in various clue cards, locking in matching symbols on the cylinder, and checking them against an answer key: this leads you to a clue, which helps eliminate or identify suspects in the terrible crime of "who stole my hat" or "I fell asleep and lost track of my pocketwatch".

The other central component of 5 Minute Mystery is the titular five minutes, or rather, the strict timer (which isn't always 5 minutes!) you're given to identify the culprit. This is the main element of pressure in the game, as time is in everything ever. The way the game engages you over a longer period is by providing multiple mysteries over multiple rounds, running through a progression of perfidy until you're just sort of done.

And this is where it feels like a toy: You just sort of play 5 Minute Mystery until you're done with it. You read the rulebook, fail at the first mystery, figure it out, and so immediately master it. You do the weird mysteries where you can't talk to each other and that's about it, you've done all you need to do. You put it on the shelf.

This game would very much benefit from talking to the Escape or Exit people and merging their mechanics. Escape-room games are built around single-session chained progression play and are, primarily, limited by being a card medium unable to engage the player on a more tactile level. They fit each other's failings. Absent that progression, the failings stand out starker.

Game 3: Happy Dim Sum

Score: 🍮 out of 🍑 🍜s.

Review: This was our end-of-night "We're going to pass out in half an hour" palate-cleanser game, a spot usually reserved for things we have no attachment to and just want to screw around with. And boy, Happy Dim Sum worked, primarily because it was so immediately charming and flavorful and easily carried that flavor through its entire run of mechanics.

The narrative idea behind Happy Dim Sum is that you're sitting around a restaurant table with your friends, who you love, and who you also want to kill. With food. You want to fill your loved ones with so much dim sum that they fall over, an overstuffed, insensate wreck, ideally while you're also picking up the check. They have the same goals, so it's a back and forth of politely forcing food onto each other, calling toasts so they have to eat your spring rolls, and covertly overspicing the cabbage rolls so that you cannot possibly eat them, it's okay, you can have them, it's already paid for, go ahead.

The entire endeavor is a gamification of an already delicate social procedure and just invites immediate narrative buy-in from anyone who's ever experienced it. You click your fingers together like chopsticks when the Chopsticks card has you steal a card from another player. You dread grandma coming around because she will make you eat, you can't refuse her. Check battles come with the kind of exaggerated puffed-chest generosity that playacts the wonderful reality already occurring in thousands of restaurants worldwide. It's culturally universal: If you married into an Italian family, or a Greek one, or a Jewish one, anything, you've been killed by the appropriate foods in the exact same way. Chances are, one of your players is already in an all-too-familiar food coma.

There are one or two gameplay snags - the two-card draw and three-action multi-card play drains your options pretty quick and would benefit from a reduction in some element of this particular balance - but it doesn't matter because it's hilarious. The smile on your face when you're forcing a handful of char siu buns and tea on someone who is two seconds away from caloric unconsciousness is wonderful and wonderfully familiar. I'm going to own this at some point and no one can stop me.

[castexpectopatronum]

May I request a Neville Longbottom one shot where we are visiting a relative in St Mungos and we run into Neville

thank you for requesting for neville I LOVE HIM that boy deserves the WORLD

Masterlist

Ghosts of the Past

relationship: neville longbottom x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: angst and sadness :( a few f-bombs, gn!reader but mentions of them wearing nail varnish

“So whatever you do, never buy anything from a chap of the street because it's probably rubbish.”

You raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Hadn't planned to do that.”

Your uncle shook his head. “Never should have listened to that Fletcher bloke. Your aunt was right, if it's a bargain, there's probably something dodgy about it. Don't tell her I said that, though,” he added quickly.

He had been in St. Mungo's for a week already, though only now had you gotten round to visiting him. Apparently, from what you'd gathered from the letters your aunt had sent your parents, your uncle had thought it a brilliant idea to buy a cheap set of blue wizarding robes from a man in Diagon Alley, ignoring all the perfectly good shops lining the street and also ignoring how obviously dodgy he was. His own avarice had turned against him the very next day when he'd tried them on and not only discovered that they tickled him at random intervals, but also that he was unable to take them off, landing him in St. Mungo's after a fit of tickles had left him laughing so hard it had sent him straight into unconsciousness.

“I think the lesson here is don't buy rubbish that's obviously jinxed,” you said. “There aren't shops for nothing. And it's not like they don't have sales.”

Somehow you managed to survive your uncle's heated speech about the market ripping off poor working wizards and the useless Ministry and how they should make activity like that illegal. You didn't deem it worth the trouble to remind him that it was illegal, but that the Ministry didn't have the time nor the resources to hunt down every little scammer, and that it was his own fault for falling for something that was so obviously a scam. But he finally excused himself, claiming he needed a nap (all this tickling and giggling left him quite exhausted and his stomach muscles were set in a constant painful cramp), which was your not-so-subtle sign to leave – though not without the promise of coming back next week. With an amused smile on your lips you kissed him goodbye.

You had meant to just leave the floor, but before you had even reached the door, you bumped into someone or rather somebody bumped into you.

“Oh, sorry-” you said, turning around and coming face to face with an unknown woman. She looked quite young, but her hair was white and oddly life-less, her face thin and pale. But the most frightening thing were her eyes. They were looking at you, but not at you, rather through you, as though you weren't even there, as though she couldn't see you.

“Ma'am?” you asked, slightly taken aback by her strangeness. “Are you okay?”

She didn't answer. She didn't didn't move and you would have guessed she was contemplating talking to you or just leaving, or perhaps that she had just forgotten what she'd wanted to do, but you were certain she hadn't even heard you.

She was like a ghost.

“Ma'am?”

You looked around, trying to find someone who could help you or someone who looked like they belonged to her, when a voice made you turn around.

“(Y/N)?”

It was Neville.

You blinked in surprise. “Oh – hi.”

You and Neville weren't best friends, exactly, though not for any particular reason. Neville was shy and more of a loner and there always seemed to be something that kept you busy, be it schoolwork, friends, or Fred and George's Puking Pastilles you had the unfortunate luck of accidentally ingesting, leaving you hanging over the toilet seat for half the night. But you always smiled at him when you saw him at breakfast, waved at him in the corridors, sat next to him in class. More often than not he was carrying an odd-looking plant, hands covered in soil, hair messy and cheeks rosy from the cold air. It was rather cute. You couldn't help but smile when you saw him.

And yes, when you were working with the same plant during Herbology lessons or leaning over the same cauldron during Potions class, you often talked. You knew he felt pressured in school, that his favourite sweets were Cauldron Cakes, and that he once fell down eight flights of stairs without getting so much as a bruise. And if you'd been in Hogwarts, you would have told him about your uncle and those stupid robes of his.

But now Neville wasn't smiling. He looked almost aghast. It was never an expression he had considered you with; you were always friendly with each other. But now there was a red flush on his round face and you couldn't quite tell if he was angry or embarrassed and that confused you even more. He was standing next to an elderly lady who was wearing a positively obnoxious hat with a giant stuffed vulture on it, a big red handbag swinging on her arm. You knew her to be his grandmother, though only from catching quick glimpses of her on the platform, and considering the rather stern look on her face, you were quite glad for it.

“A friend of yours, Neville?” asked Mrs Longbottom.

“Um … I'm (y/n),” you said, extending your hand for her to take. She did and you tried your best not to scrunch up your face in pain; for such an old woman she had quite the handshake. “Neville and I are in the same year.”

“Ah, (y/n).” Recognition flickered over her face, which suddenly softened. Or perhaps that was just your imagination. “Yes, Neville has talked about you quite a lot.”

“Has he?” The answer pleased you and you looked over at Neville, whose cheeks were suddenly turning a deep shade of red.

“Gran … She's just a friend from school.”

The corners of your mouth twitched. “What are you doing here?”

Something flickered across Neville's face, a closed-off expression you had never seen before. He was timid, sure, but never dismissive. Perhaps he was visiting a relative – didn't he have an uncle? – and they didn't have as much of a funny story to provide as yours. Some people in here had it quite bad. On your way inside you had passed a witch who was in hysterics because she was convinced she had a pumpkin for a head. And of course there was-

Your turned around again. The strange woman was still standing with you, not looking at you, not listening. Just standing there. It made your stomach churn.

“We're visiting my son and his wife,” proclaimed Mrs Longbottom. “But I see you have found them first.”

“Uh …” You looked back at Mrs Longbottom, then at Neville, then back at the woman. “This … this … Neville, is this your Mum?”

Neville was suddenly very interested in the floorboards beneath your shoes. But his silence was answer enough.

Your hand found the woman's – Mrs Longbottom's – and although she seemed in no danger of running away, you had the sudden urge to hold her, to ensure she stayed by your side.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know …”

The corners of Mrs Longbottom's mouth dropped down as she frowned. “I had assumed you … Neville, did you not tell her about your parents?” Her tone was accusatory.

Neville seemed to shrink into himself. He drew up his shoulders and shook his head.

“Why not? I thought she was your friend. Do you not tell your friends about your parents?”

Your face felt very warm and you wanted to say something in Neville's defence, but couldn't think of anything. You didn't even quite understand what was going on. Why had Neville never told you about this? And not just you, anybody. The gossipers in Hogwarts were worse than Rita Skeeter in the Daily Prophet, if Neville was telling people about his parents, you would have caught wind of it sooner or later.

But you hadn't, meaning he probably hadn't told anyone. Which meant nobody had any idea what kind of a heavy weight was resting on Neville's shoulders, nobody knew of this horrific thing that he, for some reason, had decided to keep a secret.

“Why not?” said Mrs Longbottom harshly. “Are you ashamed of them?”

“Of course not.” It was the first time Neville had spoken, but his voice was quiet and timid, though with an odd sort of defiance in it that you also didn't know from him.

Nervously, you began to knead your hands. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”

“Nonsense, my dear,” she said. “Everyone should know, even if my grandson,” at this point she threw a sharp glance at Neville, “seems to think otherwise.” She straightened her shoulders and though she wasn't particularly tall, it suddenly seemed as though she was looming over you. “My son and his wife were tortured into insanity by Death Eaters.”

All colour drained from you face. Your gaze trailed to the woman next to you who was playing with a loose thread on your jumper while softly humming to herself.

“They were attempting to find information about You-Know-Who after his downfall,” said Mrs Longbottom. “My son and his wife were highly respectably Aurors, the pair of them. They've been residing here ever since.”

Shame crept over you, hot and sharp. You knew Neville lived with his grandmother, but for some reason you had never questioned why. Now you wondered how you could have ever been so stupid. His Mum's presence next to you seemed to burn into your skin.

And to think that all this time you've known him, all this time you've chatted and you've complained to him about your favourite fucking nail varnish being discontinued …

“I'm … I'm so sorry,” you stammered. “I didn't know …”

Your eyes flickered helplessly over to Neville, but he was still refusing to look at you.

“Thank you,” said Mrs Longbottom. “But we are very proud of them and their loyalty to the right cause. Or at least I am.”

You didn't miss the sharpness in her voice and neither did Neville. He turned his head away, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. Perhaps it was just your imagination, but you thought his blue eyes were red-rimmed.

“Um …” You weren't quite sure what to say to such a statement. “Yes, of course, I – I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business.”

“You should have known,” replied Mrs Longbottom. “I don't understand why Neville decided to keep this information from you.”

“There just wasn't an opportunity,” he mumbled.

“There wasn't an opportunity?” Her eyebrows shot up. “You have been going to the same school for several years.”

“We talk a lot about-” You stopped, realising there was no way you could end that sentence without sounding like an absolute moron. “School.”

“School.”

Your cheeks heated up. “Yeah.”

Mrs Longbottom was silent for a moment. “Well, it's good that you take your studies so seriously. Very responsible.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Neville suddenly said and you jumped a little at his sudden exclamation. He sounded almost reproachful.

“I was visiting my uncle,” you stammered. “He bought a set of robes and they kept tickling him …”

“The Ministry should really do something about that,” said Mrs Longbottom. “Unbelievable, the kind of things they come up.”

You set your face in what you hoped was a mild but polite expression. “Yeah.”

“Well.” Mrs Longbottom heaved a sigh. “I'll leave you two to chat. Come on, Alice, dear, let's find Frank …” She hooked her arm into Alice's and led her down the floor. You stared after them for a moment before turning back.

“Neville … I am so sorry.”

Your voice was no more than he whisper. Neville refused to look at you. He was silent for so long that you shifted in your spot, wondering if you had done something wrong, if he was every going to speak with you again, when he finally said, “Are you going to make fun of me?”

“What?” you breathed incredulously. “No – Neville, of course not!”

“Grans wrong, you know,” he said. There was a strange harshness to his words that you didn't know from him. “I am proud of them. I just-”

He stopped.

“I know,” you said and swallowed thickly. “I understand.”

Of course you didn't understand. You had no fucking idea of what he was going through.

“Is she …” You hesitated, not knowing if you should ask that question, but deciding now was the best possible moment. “Is she always …”

“Like this?” Neville shrugged. “Yeah. My Dad too. They don't say anything. Don't do much either. They just … exist. I don't think they really know where they are or what's going on.”

You stomach dropped.

“I'm so sorry.”

He shrugged again. “Didn't mean for you to find out. Not like this anyway …”

“Do you not … want me to know?” you asked carefully, afraid of the answer he was going to give you.

Neville took a deep breath. “No, it's just … I've never told anyone about this.”

“Why not?”

He huffed. “How would I?”

You couldn't tell. You tried to imagine what it was like, parents who weren't parents, who were barely even people, and trying to explain that to others, and them following with prodding questions the answers to which you didn't have and didn't want to have.

I'm so sorry, you wanted to tell him. Because you didn't know what else to say and you were so, so sorry. But you already had and you felt like he wouldn't appreciate it very much, so you didn't.

“They have no idea who I am.”

Neville's voice was so quiet you'd almost missed it. And you kept quiet because you didn't know what to say to that while trying to ignore the hot, churning feeling in your stomach. You wanted to hug him so bad.

You didn't.

But then Neville shook his head and took a deep breath. “I need to go.”

“Oh,” you said. “Of course.”

“I'll see you at Hogwarts.” He walked past you, barely brushing your shoulders and you stood there frozen to the spot. You wanted to run after him, hug him, tell him that you were sorry and that it would be okay. But his parents were … How could it be okay?

And you hadn't known. Hadn't even bothered to ask.

“Hey, Neville!”

He stopped and turned. His face showed clearly that he'd rather be anywhere else. That he'd rather you be anywhere else.

“Write to me, would you,” you said. “It gets terribly boring without you telling me about your new plants.”

Neville blinked in surprise, but then the corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but almost.

“Alright.”

I'm sorry.

[selfwriting-sugarquills]

70 George Weasley headcanons in celebration of 700 followers!

A/N: I hate to repeat myself but I do still love and appreciate all 700 of you! Thank you for reading my stuff and here’s to 700 more! <3 

Find the 70 Fred Headcanons: Here 

George is well known to be the brains behind the twins’ operations. He sorted out finding the location for the shop in Diagon Alley, he came up with most of the names for their products, even if Fred came up with the idea for the product itself, and for the longest time, he was the one who sorted out sales and orders for stocking their wares as well as overseeing the owl post-service while Fred sorted the more practical parts.

It might sound crazy, but if you ask George, he didn’t actually like Fred very much until they were about eight or nine years old. George was a lot more quiet and emotional than Fred and frankly, probably feared his mother more than his twin, and so George always thought Fred was too brash for his liking. Eventually, as we know, Fred’s crazy ideas rubbed off on George, and he started liking his twin more and more until they became the inseparable duo we know and love today. Mostly this was because the two found out how well they complimented each other, which meant that whatever they got up to turned out a lot better than when they’d attempt the same alone. 

Fred added an extra oomph to their escapades, daring to aim just a little higher, and George was sensible enough to make sure that a little higher wasn’t too high. 

It’s only their older siblings who noticed this change and remember the times where Fred and George didn’t get along as well as they did, which is why Bill, Charlie and Percy tend to treat the twins more as individuals whereas Ginny and Ron are more likely to see them as a duo. 

Since George is more sentimental, he’s also the bigger worrier. Did they like that joke? Did that prank go too far? Is this worth it and what are we going to do if it isn’t? He’s usually also the twin who’s more likely to step back and apologise to anyone they’ve pranked or teased, not liking the idea of upsetting someone.  

This also means he’s incredibly considerate concerning relationships, he’s not afraid to voice his concerns and worries. If his s/o is struggling with something, he notices, worries and tries his best to support them. 

Essentially, if their s/o is upset: Fred is more likely to make a joke to make them laugh and take their mind off it, George is more likely to take them aside and talk to them about it, letting them let their feelings out for as long as they need, he’ll listen for hours if that’s what his s/o needs. 

Speaking of letting feelings out: It’s been pondered if the reason George is the better beater, despite Fred being the more brash and extreme of the two, is because he uses the quidditch pitch as an outlet for his aggression and considering his anger doesn’t just involve beating bludgers but also resorting to elbowing people in the face (or beating Malfoy up) I’d say that this is incredibly true for him. Most people share the opinion that if something angers George, he’d let it build up until he explodes (myself included) and playing quidditch is a good way to let off steam without it being directed at anyone in particular, making him extremely violent on the pitch, though after every game he plays, he’ll probably be in his most zen and relaxed state of mind.

I do also like the idea of George being very emotionally mature in the sense that he knows how his feelings tend to build up, and since George is also a worrier, he probably doesn’t like the side of him that explodes in people’s faces and yells until he’s done being angry, so: He does try to confront his feelings as soon as he feels them so they don’t get a hold on him. If he’s angry with you, he’ll tell you, if he’s upset because of something that’s happened he’ll tell you. If he doesn’t and seems all quiet and broody (cause he’s not a saint and sometimes he doesn’t confess his feelings) then it’s probably a good idea that you ask him about it. 

George is also not afraid to cry, or at least he’s not as afraid to show it as Fred. He actually cried quite often as a small child, as Fred will happily remind him. The only times George will hold his tears back is when he doesn’t want to make the people he loves the most worry, like when he lost his ear. 

He was so close to crying he thought his throat would split open but he kept it in while his parents and Fred were there; he couldn’t bear to worry his mother more. Not to mention Fred for that matter. Instead, he waited until he was allowed to take a shower and let it out as quietly as he could, though little did he know Fred was standing guard on the other side of the bathroom door, crying as well. 

George doesn’t want a lot of children, he’s so used to the large family dynamic. It’s not that he disliked having many siblings but he’d prefer to have a few kids, three at most and be able to spoil them rotten. 

George has only broken one bone. It was his collarbone from a bludger. Besides that, he has dislocated his arm once due to hitting a bludger too forcefully from a wrong angle and sprained his ankle from landing too quickly more times than he can count. He’s also been concussed from taking bludgers to the head twice. 

George is actually a bit of a neat-freak. He likes having things in order and in the right place so he doesn’t lose track of things. He can’t put too many things in cupboards because if he can’t see them he’ll forget he has them and buy more and more (cause ADHD, baby), so instead he keeps things where he can see them, though in racks and specific orders which Fred often messes up.

Generally, once they moved out, George was better at doing the housework and he didn’t mind at all. Doing all the housework means it gets done the way he wants it done. 

His favourite season is winter and his favourite holiday is Christmas because it’s “a time for family”. 

George prefers Molly over Arthur (though it’s a tough pick), and he especially loves spoiling her once the shop takes off. He’ll buy her gifts often and always writes to remind her how much he (and Fred) appreciate her. 

He’d never admit it but he also does this as a way of proving himself to her. It really hurt him in those years where Molly would disapprove of his and Fred’s plans and even when he found success he still grappled with the feeling of his mother not being proud of him, despite her telling him that several times. All this just added to his disliking of Percy when he was at his going through his insensitive-git-phase.  

 George’s favourite time of day is the evening. When everything’s quiet and still he can concentrate better. He wrote most of his essays and came up with most products for the shop during this time. 

George loves intimacy. He’s not big on PDA. Cuddling alone together, being all tangled up in each other and having whispered conversations when everyone else is asleep are more his thing. 

He does love being close to you in public though, he’ll sit next to you, hold your hand, have an arm around you, lean his head on yours, bump his knee against yours under the table if you’re in a lesson or at a meal together. Small yet intimate touches are George’s romantic love language. 

George’s favourite sweet is chocolate. Anything with chocolate is good. If there’s caramel or coffee involved too then even better, mint is also accepted (his favourite flavour of ice cream is mint chocolate chip and he will fight you on why it’s the superior ice cream flavour) 

George prefers tea over coffee and drinks AT LEAST two cups a day but can easily have up to four or five depending on how long his day is. 

George takes a lot of naps. He’d occasionally nap at Hogwarts, like most students. He really started after he lost his ear because Molly kept fussing over him and forcing him to go lay down and rest, then it became even more of a regular thing after the battle of Hogwarts when he’d stay with Fred at st. Mungo’s, while he got better, and then when Fred forced him to go back to work because “sitting here, is not going to make my leg work, now go make us some galleons you git!” he’d work the shop mostly by himself, well, actually completely by himself beside his employees, which was still a small team at the time and he’d often just have to excuse himself to go upstairs and take 30 minutes to nap before he’d pass out from exhaustion. 

George struggles with some sensory problems since losing his ear, he gets a faint ringing sound in his ear every now and then, and though he can hear out of his missing ear, it’s less than his other one and he struggles determining where sounds are coming from which is distracting sometimes. He also got a bit of vertigo every now and then as well as some nausea for the first few years after he lost the ear, it got better and better and today it barely bugs him, though he gets dizzy easily.

On the subject of the ear: George enjoyed telling his nieces and nephews (and heck his own kids too) these wild stories of how he lost his ear: he paid it as a toll to an ancient spirit to gain superpowers, it froze off on a particularly cold camping trip with their uncle Fred, a bludger blew it right off, he was possessed by the spirit of van Gogh…. the list goes on. 

George was also slightly self-conscious of his ear for a while, he often worried if people were grossed out by it, though with time he forgot about it more and more until he hardly noticed it himself. Now he doesn’t notice if others notice and frankly, he couldn’t care less if they do.

Fred and George mention in OOTP that they took turns testing products, George tested puking pastilles and ended up taking several days off because of what Madam Pomfrey thought was a bad case of the stomach flu, nosebleed nougat (he said himself how it kept bleeding and at that point he let Fred do more testing because Madam Pomfrey was starting to get wayyy to suspicious of him having some terrible disease that was thought to be long gone) and fever fudge though Fred also tried that one. 

George takes after his mother as a parent, his platonic love language is definitely cooking for his kids, making them hot cocoa and baking with them during Christmas breaks. 

Does he fuss over his kids as Molly does? Noo, absolutely not no. no way. no. no. (yes)  

George’s boggart is being left alone. 

Despite that, he hates it when people assume that he and Fred are interchangeable and incapable of being without each other. He loves his friendship with Fred, he’s very happy to be his twin but he’s still his own person and it would be nice to be seen as such and not just “one of the Weasley twins” 

Mostly his hatred of being seen as “one of the Weasley twins” stems from the fact that people always assume Fred first, meaning George has been mistakenly called Fred more times than he can count. 

George is very timid, to begin with, in any relationships because he’s worried his s/o wants him to be like Fred, and that they don’t really care about him as a person but see him more as an asset or “the next best thing to Fred” Which is also why he’d never marry Angelina after she’d dated Fred, even if it was just for a while. 

George spent his first salary from the shop on a gift for his mother, a necklace, and a mixed bag of sweets from Sugarplums'...He knows it’s stupid but he just wanted to buy as much candy as he wanted without feeling guilty about spending money for once. 

George is not squeamish what so ever. He has got a stomach of steel. It’s almost kind of freaky how unfaced he is but then again, he did invent and test puking pastilles and a product called you-no-poo, so he’s seen a lot.

George’s favourite dates are movie nights and going for ice cream. 

George (and Fred) regularly attends quidditch matches, they also love to go back to Hogwarts to watch their kids play (you know at least one of their kids would be into it, considering the Weasley’s history with the sport) and they always yell out their support v e r y loudly. 

George really likes wine. The older he gets he appreciates it more and enjoys talking about it without any knowledge on it at business dinners, he’s impressed quite a few potential clients and business partners by giving them a long tirade about wine, without a single thing of it being necessarily true. 

George (+Fred and Lee, lol) experimented with eyeliner for a short while, they stopped because it was quote-unquote: “too much work” which made a lot of their female friends roll their eyes because, oh you’ve no idea, do you, Weasley?

I mean someone had to test the wonderwitch products, right?

George is a very light sleeper, and since Fred is anything but that- what with his sleepwalking and tossing and turning- George rarely got a lot of sleep, meaning there’s a large percentage of his detentions in school that were solely from “inattentiveness” aka “falling asleep in class.” 

George always thought that if he really really couldn’t work with the joke shop, he’d be a healer. He doesn’t know if he’d be any good at it but it’s a nice thought and he does have a caring gene from his mother. 

George’s first sign of magic was when he was a year old. He summoned a blanket into his crib, so it wasn’t much. His first noticeable thing he did was three years later by blasting Fred off him when they were play-wrestling, he basically shocked him with a defensive charge which sent Fred flying onto his back. Fred’s reaction was sitting up, looking shocked, rubbing his head and then whispering: “cool!” They spent days trying to recreate it but to no avail. The story of the event has been greatly exaggerated by both Fred and George to their nieces and nephews. 

They still joke that George has a secret superpower that can only be unlocked by play-wrestling him. 

As George gets older, he requires glasses like his father, though mostly for reading and sometimes for working on products. 

George’s favourite genre of music is soft rock, he’ll belt out an 80’s power ballad any day (and preferably while cooking) 

Oh, cooking. George gets super into cooking and baking after the twins move out, he tries his best to recreate his mother’s recipes and is still to this day attempting to perfect her cornish pasty (a personal favourite of his) and every Christmas, George and Molly practically never leave the kitchen in the burrow, as George desperately tries to learn everything he can. 

George is the godparent of all Fred’s kids as well as Albus, Dominique and Lucy. 

George buys the best gifts, I’ve already touched on this, but he has a weird ability to get you not only what you wish for but what you really need. 

Also, his gift wrapping skills are out of this world (his kids + nieces and nephews will never not receive those gifts that are wrapped in like 100 layers of paper)

George loves pet names, he loves the overly sweet, cliché ones and the simple, common ones. His favourite to call his s/o is darling, sweetheart and, weirdly, pumpernickel (he just thinks it’s a funny word).

George’s favourite dates he’d take his s/o on is: museum dates, cooking for them at home, picnics and going to the beach. 

George actually kind of liked the Hogwarts uniform. It was easy to keep track of and it meant he could spend minimum time in hand-me-downs that rarely fit perfectly. 

George would love to have (and probably has already got) a dog, he doesn’t care what size or breed (but personally I can see him getting on well with a cavalier or a Stabyhoun) 

George (also) has a small size kink: He loves wrapping his arms around his s/o from behind, enveloping them in his jacket when it’s cold and resting his head on top of theirs. 

George is either full of energy and wants to do five things at once or wants nothing more than to lay flat on the nearest soft surface he can find and watch movies until he falls asleep. 

He often takes his s/o on random adventures, he does it as a way to escape boredom or if he’s lost his inspiration. He finds it helps to come up with new ideas if you throw yourself off your rhythm (if you get it you get it) by doing something random you don’t normally do. 

George has big John Mulaney energy and if his s/o ever showed him his shows, he’d probably never stop quoting them. 

George’s favourite body parts on his s/o: Neck, hands, lips (and butt) (this is where it gets steamy just fyi) 

George is very respectful in bed, he’s the type to ask “are you ok?” and “is this ok?” a lot, at least the first couple of times he’s together with his s/o until he gets to know them better. 

George def. has a praise kink, he loves giving praise but he also loves feeling like he’s appreciated and loved and doing a good job, you know? 

We all know George has a thing for lace, we’re way beyond that at this point. Consider silk, though. He’d totally be into silk over the lace, it’s a light fabric, pretty and really easy to tear away…. *wink* 

George is surprisingly good at opening bras. 

Generally, he’s really good with his fingers…

He has a pretty dirty mind when it comes to sex but is also super embarrassed about it so he’d only admit his kinkier thoughts when he really trusts and knows his s/o. 

I think he’d be pretty two-sided in bed, he loves the intimate, sweet sex but also the rougher, tearing-your-lingerie-off-you sex. 

He prefers receiving more than giving oral but it is by such a small margin, he’ll happily give. 

He can only last one round (maybe two if you give him a long break) but he’ll absolutely make it count.

George’s fav position is missionary. As much as he likes trying other positions, he prefers the intimacy of missionary. Plus he thinks being able to see your face as you unravel under him is really hot. 

[neo-culture-mafia]

NCT 127 Mafia Dad Reaction to Their Daughter Getting in a Fight

Yes yes yes, here I am. Back with a very long...and long awaited return. Idk I hope someone wanted me back atleast lol.

I have been gone alot recently because I am getting ready for college and May 15 marks the last day for online class for my Senior Year! So I'll be graduating and needed to get some stuff sorted out. I don't want to be away so much but there's not a day I don't go on here just to read everyone's lovely comments and asks that they don't ask me to post. I love you all and will hopefully give you more stuff to read soon.

As I have stated in most of my nct mafia dad reaction (s) I will only be doing the older members because of reality and making it seem believable (??) So '94-'98 line. Sicheng, Kun, and Ten Will not be in this because...idk...maybe...WayV version...coming soon...??...possibly...

Love always,

~J

But here we go~~

Taeyong

To say that he was pissed was an understatement. He had gotten the call that you were in the school office; a girl being hauled off to the infirmary while you sulked in anger.

"Please don't call my dad. Please." You had pleaded the principal as her phone was already next to her ear. Her finger hovered over the 'dial' button. "Then who am I supposed to call?" Her eyes squinted menacingly. "My...my uncle...Jaemin." You ran over all the memorized numbers in your mind.

"As in Na Jaemin." Her words carried his name so poisonous. Your nod had her scoffing. "He's caused more trouble in this school than you have." Her finger dropped onto the dreaded button and it sent you reeling into your office chair.

"Hello, Mr. Lee. This is headmaster Ms. Kwan at your daughter, y/n's school. How are you today?" She had this sinister smile as you stared her down across the dark wood desk.

"Well I'm afraid to inform you that I am not calling you on good terms. It seems as if y/n was involved in a fight today during the school assembly."

The principal nodded as you could tell that your dad was asking questions. "Well we can all talk about that when you come to retrieve her. Unless you send one of her family member's to pick her up." She nodded and smiled. "Thank you and I will relay the message." She said and hung up the phone.

Once the phone was down, her smile fell. "Your father is coming to retrieve you." She said and motioned towards the door.

You waited in the hall in the uncomfortable wooden chair and decided to get some shut eye. You dozed off for the best and quickest nap ever.

Flick

Flick flick

Your eyes opened to your dad infront of you. "What's with you?" He asked and grabbed your arm. You looked back to see the principal waving him off nicely.

You groaned as he dragged you out of the school. "I was in the middle of a meeting, y/n. There was no reason for you to fight." He ranted, eyebrows furrowed.

The black SUV had an empty seat next to the drivers that made you want to puke.

"Then people should learn how to keep their mouths shut." You said and he only picked up speed towards the car.

It was a long car ride home as he lectured you on fighting and the effects it could have on the mind; his position and job totally slipping his own.

(stern dad! Tae?? UGH a fan fav...also i like this gif. Concentrated boi)

Taeil

He was more shocked than anything. Not his precious daughter. No way that it was actually you. As well as he knew, you were the person usually getting picked on and slow to anger. The headmaster just got your name confused...right???

wrong

He hurried to your school to see you sitting in the office with bruised knuckles and tears threatening to spill. He opened the door and didn't even ask questions, just taking you and wrapping you in his arms.

"What happened?" He whispered as he felt you shake with cries. "I want to leave." You whispered. "Mr. Moon. Thank you for coming so quickly." The headmaster approached slowly behind him. "According to multiple witnesses, your daughter was the one who initiated. So if you take a step into my office we can discuss disciplinary mea-" "yeah. Witnesses. Yet when she's come to you on teacher referrals for class bullying, there was 'no witnesses'...right?"

Taeil's mind was racing with anger. The phrase being looped in his head when he had enough of you coming home upset from the constant teasing. He had taken it into his own hands to call the school and the phrase 'no witnesses' now seemed mocking for the situations that had taken place earlier.

"Mr. Moon. We can discuss this as civilized adults in my of-" "No what's going to happen is you are going to get withdrawal papers from your office and bring them to me." His voice commanding and as if the headmaster was programmed; walking into her office and grabbing a stack of papers and returning moments later.

Your dad gripped the stack of papers with one hand, yanking it towards his own figure and turning you both around. You both walked out in silence as his hand rested on your shoulder lovingly.

"Did you eat lunch?" His words trying to distract you from the situation. You shook your head no and he smiled sweetly.

"Let's go get some food and then go to that new dessert cafe that Jungwoo was talking about." He pinched your cheek softly, seeing your usual smile like through a little bit.

You would be okay. You were with him. No one could hurt you when he was around.

(soft taeil is also a fan fav)

Johnny

Jaehyun had popped his head in to the training room, his ear to his phone. "Y/n is about to get jumped." He was so nonchalant that it threw him for a loop.

"She's calling you in a sec- yes. honey, I told him. No. You're not gonna DRAG anyone. NO YOUR NOT GONNA DO AN EVIL DROP BY ON ANYONE'S KNEE CAPS. YOUR MOTHER WOULD KILL US BOTH ARE YOU INSA-." The boys could hear Jae as he walked off down the hall.

Your phone call already had Johnny heading in from training.

"Dad."

"What's up, pumpkin?"

"I'm about to get my ass beat."

Your cold tone died down his smile. "Why?"

"I don't know. The girl. Her boyfriend. Whatever." Your tone seemed flat and like you couldn't be bothered by it.

"What are you doing now? I can be up there in 15 minutes." He said which got the attention of Mark and Taeyong who were training with him.

"I'm eating ice cream at lunch. Just waiting with Jaehyun's daughter." He could basically hear you shrug your shoulders. "Why aren't you in the office or something?!" He asked grabbing his keys and waving the concerned boys off.

"There's no point. If I run away today then the same threat will be there tomorrow." He was already halfway to his car.

"Stop trying to be a hero. Go-"

"Don't touch her, bitch." Then a bunch of muffled and girly screams from the other side...they weren't yours.

He groaned as his engine roared and he was off towards your school.

"You have my temper and your moms attitude." He sighed to himself.

He heard the fight being broken up by what he presumed to be staff of the school.

"Someone call an ambulance!" He heard someone shout and be automatically knew it wouldn't be for you.

~~~~~

You sat in the passengers seat unscathed except for a busted knuckle.

"...that bitch ruined my ice cream..."

"That's all you can think about?!"

"That's all I care about right now!"

"You sent her to the hospital!"

"She started it! She touched my friend and expected me to just be a pushover about it?! I stick to my own and protect who I want to." you mumbled, looking out the window.

"its not my fault she couldn't finish it."

"Can you stop acting like me for 10 seconds?! You don't have 'your own' yet. You're in highschool." He spat and anger etched into your face.

"I'm your kid. I'm going to be like you, Dad. And my own is whoever I want them to be. We've been conjoined at the hip since birth. If I want to stick up for her then I-" "You'd what, y/n?!" His voice now raised.

"I'd do it again." You truthfully spoke and he could only huff through his nose, car becoming deathly silent.

"Her aim was terrible-" "ENOUGH." Your dad rarely shouted but when he did, you knew you were in deep shit.

"Why are you so angry with me?! Jaehyun's daughter was there too. She laid some hits in too. He was smiling when he picked her up!" You said looking at how his knuckles turned white against the steering wheel.

"Because he's not me. I care about you and what you put yourself in to." He said firmly.

"I gave you a heads up, though." You rolled your eyes, sinking into the seat as he pulled into the base. "She did. Not you. You should've called me or atleast told me before it happened." He was now eerily calm. You bit your tongue for any further argument.

"Well it's all over with me now. You have to answer to Mark." You turned towards him with a dropped jaw.

"No Mark."

"Yes. Mark." He smiled and got out. You turned to leave and was met with Mark waiting for you to open your door. He did not look friendly. Your beginning position in the Junior Forces was now going to be exercised.

"I would've rather just gotten jumped."

(angry dad Johnny??? No cap I think he'd be scary when angry)

Yuta

He was just overall confused about the whole situation you had told him about.

"You're doing what?"

"Run...running, dad." He looked to his advisors as if they could hear your out of breath voice in their own ears. "Okay. But, why?" He asked for more clarification.

"Boys. Alot. Jumping. Punched. Running, now." He could hear you wheeze. "Okay well I'll be there but you have to tell me where you are.

"Down street. Open gates. Please." Your voice was calm but draining. He got up and started walking with his advisors close to him. "I'll meet you out there." He had sighed when you ended the call.

"Open the gates. She's in trouble...or started it." He finished off and one of the advisors broke away to carry out orders.

"She's a handful." His advisor had said as they made it out the door and we're walking towards the opening gates. "What do you expect? She's my daughter." He smirked as they now waited.

As if on cue, your slowing form came around the corner of the alley that housed the entrance to the large house; the high and old gates giving the façade of an abandoned or old house.

Behind you was a large group of boys and some men who trailed along loosely. Yuta could tell you were tired and giving up fight with help looking so close.

"Backup at main gate, many people, possibly armed." Yuta's advisor had murmured into his earpiece. Doors opened as more armed guards came to protect their boss and his loving daughter.

While your legs had slowed, some of the group had gained. But once you crossed the path of the gate, your feet were skidding for a stop into your dad's body. He caught you and you practically fell onto your knees for a feel of relief. Your bloody cheek and bruised arms caught his attention as he could examine and treat them later.

The boys skidded behind you and stopped infront of the like of armed guards. Your wheezing didn't quit quickly as you were still facing down danger.

"Are you okay?" Yuta's hands patted your hair in a comforting manner. You nodded, holding onto his suit jacket just to be grounded to reality for a little while longer.

"What's the problem?" He asked the group. "She has our money." One of the representing boys accused. "Money for what?" Yuta has his questions laid out from the moment he had seen you running. "Yakuza fine." He huffed. "I didn't take anything. That wasn't me." You started marching towards the boys but Yuta pulled you back.

"What do you have anything to do with that group?" Yuta asked, his arm around your shoulder so you wouldn't attack.

"Pay-off. We pay them. We get to run our small organized crime unit in Kyoto." Yuta was now pissed at the group. "Why do you think she took-" "She has the tattoo of the enemy." They pointed towards your wrist, a small tattoo of neo cultures symbol on your wrist bone, in sight.

"Do you boys know who I am?" Yuta asked quickly. "And the land I own?" The group had fallen silent. "I am apart of something way larger than the group you ARE scared of." Yuta had let go of you and began walking towards the group himself. "So big infact that I only run our operation in Japan. But I own so much land here," he stood face to face with the representing boy. "I own you." Yuta stated.

The group could see their 'leader' crack. "We got bills to pa-" "Kyoto is my land. You're practically giving donations," Yuta's voice stern, "getting robbed."

Yuta turned around to start walking towards you again. "Her problems are my problems. Stay away from what's mine and don't start trouble~" he sang as he turned you around with him and began to walk towards the door. "Leave and we'll get in contact when we need to. You're on my land," Yuta continued his ramble as he opened the door, poking his head back out once more to look at the group with a fake smile,

"and you have bills to pay." the next order came towards the guards. "Get them off my land."

He shut the door and put both hands on your shoulders, examining your face intently for bad injuries. "Are you okay?" He asked and he was met with a reassuring nod.

"Good. Now let's go eat some food. You need to eat more. You're looking so thin lately-"

(I literally g i g g l e d. this man scary)

Doyoung

He knew your anger popped and sizzled at random moments. You had learned to take care of it but there were always slip-ups and...accidents.

"She did WHAT?!" The whole practice building shook with his scream of disbelief. Everyone jumped as his voice shook the walls.

Taeyong coming in quickly to check on him and was met with a red-in-the-face Doyoung. His hand was gripped onto a knife he was working on before he got the call. The knife now halfway through his work table.

"Tell her I will be there in 30 minutes. No more. No less." He slammed his cell phone down, surprisingly going crack-free.

"What happened?" Tae asked quietly from infront of his friend's desk.

"Y/n. Got in a big fight. Took. Hostages. Weapon? Hairbrush." Doyoung's voice was flat and held no emotion.

"I can go get her if you want. Give you time to cool down." Taeyong offered fearlessly. "No. Its gonna be a long drive home with lots of yelling." He sighed, rubbing his temples.

"There's a bigger issue here that we need to address though." Taeyong said and Doyoung was about to pop himself.

"What. Now." His hands gripped his chair's arms roughly.

"She's been out of her medication for the past 2 weeks. She's honestly, probably going through withdrawal." He broke the news that had been slipping over Doyoung's head.

"I just got her medication-" "2 months ago." Taeyong was firm with this matter. "I only know this because Kun called me this morning. He still has her medication for this month in China. No one wrote off the approval to send it." Taeyong sighed and Doyoung now just felt guilty.

"That explains so much." He rubbed his eyes. "Mood swings. Appetite loss. Fatigue. Rage and violent outbursts. Sweating. Throwing-up. Depressive state. " He started listing off everything he had noticed for the past 2 weeks or so that had been getting progressively worse.

"Please write it off. I'll be back with her in a little bit." Doyoung said getting up and grabbing his keys and phone. "Should I make something for her to eat?" Tae called down the hall. "Please." He sang.

You were unusually calm when he arrived. The rest of the families were there. Doyoung had to apologize profusely and try to explain on why you acted the way you did. One of the students even piped in to say that you were usually so calm and most students knew something was going on but no one knew how to help.

Now with parents and students calmed, you were next.

He walked into the hall again and saw you staring at the floor.

"Come on, sweetie. Let's go home." He held his hand out and you looked up with tears in your eyes. "We're not going to yell are we?" You asked and his heart broke into a million more pieces. "My head hurts so much."

"Of course not. I know what's going on. We're just going to go home and relax. Taeyong has some food waiting for you at home." He pulled you up and walked down the hall with you stuck onto his side.

He was in as much fault with the situation as you were. He wasn't angry at you because he knew you couldn't control it and you didn't know what you were doing. He was mad at himself for not protecting you from something he could have easily fixed if he caught it in time.

Jaehyun [longer - continuation / other half of Johnny's]

He didn't want to train today. He had a long fight with his wife the night before. No one in his house had good sleep last night.

He had woken up early to take you to school and make his wife breakfast before high-tailing it out of there before the aftershocks came.

You both sang songs the whole way to school and laughed at eachother's jokes. "Can we go pick up Uncle Johnny's daughter since it's early?" He looked at the time and shrugged. "Nothing else better to do." He revved and was off down the street of the school to Johnny's place.

You had let both of you in as it was basically a second home.

"John!" You dad shouted and you laughed as you opened your best friend's door. She was still asleep in the muted sheets, sun cascading through the window like in magazines.

"Yah. Wake up already." You nudged her sleeping form and with a groan she was up. "Morning, already?" She asked as you threw her uniform onto her bed. "Yes. Now let's go." You laughed at her expression.

"I just have this off feeling about today." She confessed groggily, wrapping the thick blanket around her shoulders.

You sat down across from her, "well I promise you. We won't face it alone. Whatever it is." You stuck out your finger and she hooked hers around yours with an amused sigh.

"Can you guys not be us for like 10 seconds?" Johnny's sleepy voice said from the door where him and your dad were having a cup of coffee.

You and she laughed for a moment before you actually helped her get ready. "Remember you both are training tonight!" Jaehyun called down the hall from the kitchen. You helped your best friend pack her training bag and get her hair done for school.

"Can you believe her? Acts like I tried to break them up." She shook her head, an anger set into her eyes. "Well I'll break her if she does anything today." You said from her bed. She became cold and gave you a hard look from infront of her vanity.

"You're not going to do anything. You'll get hurt and I'm not going to let that happen." She put her necklace on and grabbed her bags. "Besides, you're supposed to be the nice one out of the two of us." She smiled softly at you. "Your family all acts the same." You huffed and she laughed quickly. "We're caring people. Now let's go." She grabbed your hand and pulled you up.

"Breakfast." Johnny called and held out a plate towards his daughter. "Not hungry. Running late. Love you, dad." She said and ran with your hand in hers.

"Love you too. Eat something!"

"Bye dad, call you at lunch!" You called qyickly.

The front door slammed.

~~~~~

You walked with your friend to lunch. Word around your class is that she's gonna get jumped during lunch. "Please don't fight." You said taking her hand and tugging on it softly.

She only looked at you quickly. "I won't start anything. But I'll finish what I need to." She pulled yours and her seat out and both of you sat down. "I'll go get our lunch. Yell if you need me." Like that she was off into the line.

You grabbed your phone once you saw the group of agitated girls stalking on your friend like she was prey.

"What's new?" Your dad picked up his phone like usual. "She's going to get jumped." You spoke quickly. "Who? You?" "No. ..." "Oh. Well what happened?" He asked. "These girl are mad at her I guess. Go tell Johnny. She's going to hurt people if she fights." You could only hear a sigh and shuffling.

You saw your friend get approached and automatically got a rush of confidence. Your dad's voice was low. "She's calling you in a sec-" "Did you tell him?" "Yes,honey, I told him-" "Dad I'm going to drag them by their hair if they star-" No. You're not gonna DRAG anyone." "-i'm just gonna go pow right on their knees." "NO YOUR NOT GONNA DO AN EVIL DROP BY ON ANYONE'S KNEE CAPS. YOUR MOTHER WOULD KILL US BOTH ARE YOU INSANE?!" "probably." and with that you hung up.

A try was set infront of you as she sat down next to you with her phone to her ear. You ate slowly as you tried to pick up on the conversation. Her ice cream was quickly being eaten as you leaned closer to her ear. You saw her smile as she smeared the cool substance on your cheek.

You gasped and wiped it off quickly. Next thing you knew, your ass was lying cold on the ground with a welt on your cheek. You sat there stunned for a moment. "Don't touch her, bitch." And you watched in slow motion as your best friend lunged at the girl who had been at bark and no bite up until this moment.

You scrambled but were pushed back by eager eyes. You fought your way through to the front so you could pull her off of the unprepared girl who was currently getting her ass beat.

"Get off of her. Please." You were pulling but she didn't let up. Someone grabbed you and knew you had to fight for yourself first though. Your fists were leading as the girl that latched onto you was now on the ground too. But you knew you had to stop.

"Someone call an ambulance!"

~~~~~~

Your legs were jittery as you waited to be picked up. "Its okay." You kept repeating to your still worked up and angry friend. "Don't touch me right now. I love you and I'm sorry but I just don't want to pop on you too."

She stated flatly and you nodded, tears pricking your eyes as you played with your hands. Dried blood making them feel like paper.

"Are you okay though?" She asked and you nodded, wiping the beginning to fall tears with the back of your hand.

"Yo." You both looked up to see Johnny. "Let's go." He pointed to his own daughter.

"I'm not leaving till she gets picked up." She was being hard and uncooperative since she was carried down her by staff.

"No, you need to go." You sniffled and nudged her off the wooden bench.

"I'll be fine." You smiled and you could see your best friend fight against her better judgement and personal morals.

"Your dad is just in the office signing some stuff." Johnny looked at you, rubbing your head in a comforting manner. "I'll see you at training." She pinched your cheek softly and returned to a cold persona.

She got up annoyed and lead the way down the hall. Your own dad rounding the corner at the same time with a smile on his face.

The dam behind your eyes broke as your dad motioned for you to walk closer. "Don't cry." He put his arm around you and brought you in for a hug.

"Nobody is mad at you." He said but that didn't help your situation.

"You were defending yourself." He reassured you as he began leading you both out of the school. "The principal saw everything over the cameras. You're not in trouble at all." He said and you nodded, wiping the remaining tears.

"Are you okay though?" He asked and you nodded once again.

"Let's go relax before training. Knowing Mark he'll probably do team punishment today." He sighed but you didn't really care. You just wanted everyone to be okay in this situation.

Jae was super scared when he got the call from your principal saying you were involved. Yet as he watched the clips of you defending yourself and trying to break it up; proudness swelled into his chest and it was threatening to pop.

It showed how you were growing up right before his eyes and were gaining your own morals. You knew when something was too much and when to stop. He could never be happier than when you were smart, but most importantly safe.

("yo who messed with my daughter?" -mark)

Jungwoo

You got your attitude from him and your firecracker-like anger from your environment. It shaped you but it was also helpful in certain situations.

He wasn't expecting to get a call on a lunch date with his wife to hear that you had been in a fight during school.

"We'll be right there." He said and hung up, his wife looking with curious eyes. "Y/n was in a fight." Then she sighed. "Oh thank God. I thought she was going to be a pushover." She said and Jungwoo could only stare in shock. He looked to his phone to his wife and just have this shocked look on his face.

"We'll take everything to go and just. Go and see...what...our daughter...got in a fight about." Jungwoo and she didn't know what to do. They didn't teach them what you do in the situation in their parenting books.

"Do we scold her? I can't scold her. She's too cute-" "I don't know." She cut him off. "We should see what happened first." She said and he nodded in agreement. "Yes. Good plan." She laughed at his blown-away state.

~~~~~

"Are you mad at me?" Your voice spoke from the back seat.

"Well." Your mom spoke with uncertainty. "Candy?" Jungwoo asked for what felt like the millionth time. "You punched a boy in...his parts...over candy?!" He asked and you had to stifle a laugh.

"You and mom always said to make sure boys understood when I said, 'no'." You shrugged. "He kept reaching and grabbing." "No. That's for another- oh whatever." She didn't fight it anymore.

"Uncle Mark always told me to stand up for what is mine." At the red light, Jungwoo banged his head lightly against his steering wheel.

"The candy was Mine." You kept going.

I don't think Jungwoo would know exactly what to do once you all got home. Or how to explain to Mark what he indirectly caused.

Both Jungwoo and his wife would need to go to one of their parent-y friends to figure out what to do yet would have a hard time enforcing any punishment.

They both knew you didn't mean trouble. You were just a very literal kid that...quite literally did what you were told and taught.

(domestic jungwoo = best jungwoo)

[lostinaseaoffictionalbliss]

RPTL-Run Ins

A/N: I am so sorry I forgot to post this yesterday. Things have been busy and I forgot what day it was

Summary: Danielle goes out on her own

Pairing: eventually Stabler x fem!OC

Warnings: assault, mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of abuse, PTSD attacks

This is an AU. Kathy and the kids don't exist

Word Count: 1042

As the sun rose and the smell of coffee percolating filled the air Danielle looked down at the photos in her hand. Her hair was all over the place from running her hand through it. Dark circles were under her eyes and her clothes extremely wrinkled. Her foot tapping on the ground as she chewed her thumbnail was the only sound other than the coffee pot inside the house. 

Nightmares had plagued her, waking her in the wee hours of the morning. The birds weren't even stirring as she made her way to the kitchen with the photos she had roughly pulled from her duffle. Take them to Uncle Don, tell him their names, come back. Elliot doesn't need to be woken for this. I'll be fine. 

Once the pot finished she got up and fixed herself a cup. Just a few spoonfuls of sugar. She sipped at it and nodded. Her mind was made up. She downed the hot liquid, burning her mouth and throat, but not caring; she'd suffered worse pain. Quickly and quietly she went down the hall to her room. 

After dressing in yoga pants and a loose-fitting Henley to cover the marks that marred her body. She slipped her shoes on and left her room. At the end of the hall she glanced back to Elliot's room. He was still asleep and she hoped he stayed that way until after she was back.

Danielle made her way down the street. She only had two blocks to go and she would be at the station. She walked past an alley, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Her stomach twisted into knots, making her want to puke, but she breathed through the feeling.

After taking another ten steps she felt like someone was watching her. She stopped and looked around. People walking down the street, a food cart, a dog running after a cat, and vehicles going by were all she saw. "Fuck, now you're just being paranoid," she grumbled. She shook her head and kept going. 

Passing by another alleyway she screamed before it was cut off. She grunted as her back came into contact with the brick wall. Her eyes widened as she gazed into dark browns she recognized. A whimper tried to escape, but couldn't. She struggled and tried to get free. She kicked and scratched.

Hot breath brushed over her ear as cruel hands gripped her wrists tight and slammed into the wall again. The man leaned close to whisper in his ear, "Danielle…"

A door slamming shut woke Elliot. He jumped up, gun in hand, and went to the hall. He looked down the hall and didn't see anything. Then the faint sound of sobbing reached his ears. He looked the other way and noticed a small trail of blood leading to Danielle's room. He frowned and made his way to his room. 

He knocked lightly on the door. "Danielle? Hey are you hurt? I saw blood on the floor." He waited for an answer, but got nothing but silence. He knocked again. "Danielle, talk to me." He tried the door, but it was locked. He sighed and leaned against the frame. "Please open the door. I know you're bleeding. I don't know how bad or what you've done, but I want to make sure you're okay."

Danielle was curled up on the bed, her bleeding face hidden in her pillow. She could hear Elliot, but was scared to get up. She hated that what progress she had made talking to him the night before was for nothing. What little confidence she had regained that made her brave enough to go out on her own was gone. 

"Go away, Elliot," she mumbled, her voice cracking. She rubbed at her tears and hid her face in the blanket again. She didn't want to talk to him and knew he would question her the moment he saw the gash on her cheek, her busted lip, and cut brow.

Elliot sighed and rubbed his face. "I can't do that. Look you don't have to talk to me, but I need to take care of your injuries. I don't want them to get infected. Please?" He wasn't above begging if it meant he was able to help her. When silence was his answer he sighed again. He was about to turn and leave when he heard the lock turn. Slowly he reached up and gripped the doorknob, turning it; the door opened. 

"Danielle?" He moved slowly to keep from scaring her. His hand came up to her chin. He felt her flinch, but she didn't pull away. He looked over her injured face and frowned. "What happened?"

Danielle sniffled and rubbed her nose with her sleeve. "I tripped and fell. I'll be okay." She really didn't want to open up and talk about what happened. She was scared of what the man would do if he found out.

"Hey, no. I told you that you didn't have to talk, but don't lie to me. Please." Elliot gazed at her. "Take a seat. I'll get the first aid kit."

Danielle huffed, but sunk down on the edge of her bed. She fiddled with the hem of her shirt while she waited on him. 

Elliot came in and knelt in front of her. He wanted her to feel safe, like they were on the same level. He grabbed a small rubbing alcohol pad. "This is gonna sting, but they need to be cleaned."

She gave a barely perceivable nod. "Okay," she whispered. Seconds later a hiss left her as the alcohol came in contact with her brow. She shut her eyes tight. "Shit that stings."

He smiled a little. "Means it's working." He kept gently rubbing at the gash. Luckily the bleeding had stopped, but he was still concerned. He knew that she hadn't tripped.

By the time Elliot was done and cleaning up the mess Danielle had stopped crying all together. She watched him move about the room. She was debating telling him the truth. She wanted the people responsible for her pain to pay, but she was scared. 

"You can keep me safe if I stay with you at all times, right?" She whispered. 

****

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[darnittumbleweed]

What I deserve: A Spencer Reid Oneshot.

A Spencer Reid/Reader Oneshot. Inspired by this pic and this scene:

The convention you attend with Penelope and Spencer leads to you confessing some insecurities, a drunk Penelope, and a confession from Spencer. 

some light angst with fluff and comfort.

You ran your fingers through the wig you wore relieved to see that the fabric softener you’d soaked it in the week before had done the trick in making the long auburn toned wig less plastic and fake looking. It almost looked as though the wig you donned was your actual head of hair. Those who weren’t aware that you weren’t a redhead would probably be easily fooled.

You’d been a bit unsure of this method of treating the wig, given it had been years since you’d tried your hand at cosplay and a tiny part of you had been afraid that you were just too out of practice to make it work.

As you stood in the hotel bathroom eyeing yourself in the mirror it was becoming clear though that your fears were left unfounded.

You were relieved that you’d managed to save enough cash over these past few months to afford the hotel room. Sure you might be having to share a hotel room with Penelope, but still you’d saved enough to at least afford your share of the cost. The wedding and prom season had both managed to line your pockets well through the appointments that had been booked with you at the salon.

Sometimes your work could be slow, but people were always looking for a beauty treatment when prom and wedding season started up. 

You were relieved to have a fun weekend for once. 

Though this convention was taking place in D.C. it had quickly been decided between your friends that sharing a hotel room would make the experience a little more fun.

It was like a little mini weekend vacation, assuming your friends weren’t called away on a case that is.

It almost seemed unreal at times to think that you a hair stylist had somehow managed to befriend two FBI agents.

Well you’d befriended Penelope Garcia first, given you’d been doing her hair for a few years now. You’d had a lot in common despite your differences in careers. Your friendship with  Spencer Reid had simply been a side effect of your friendship with Penelope.

Penelope spoke her voice full with as much energy as she always seemed to possess. “Thanks for coming to this convention with Reid and me. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

You shot Penelope a small smile as you uncapped your lip liner pencil and began lining your lips. “Thanks for inviting me.”

You paused long enough to finish applying your lip liner before you began to apply a fresh layer of lipstick. You spoke once you were satisfied with your lip color. “I haven’t cosplayed in years. I think the last time I actually did anything like this I was in high school. I cosplayed as Princess Peach. It was a lot of fun, that is it was fun until my idiot boyfriend got drunk and puked on me…do you have any idea how hard it is to get puke out of a tulle gown? I had to toss the entire thing in the dumpster. I was so heartbroken.”

You paused shaking your head a small huff leaving your lips, even as an adult in her twenties you were still bitter about that entire incident. “I was so pissed. I’d worked my butt off at my uncle’s bowling alley just so I could afford to buy the fabric to make that dress.”

Penelope gave you a small smile hoping to cheer you up. “Did you at least get pictures?”

“Only one…I think I used a sharpie to black out my boyfriend in that photo though. Needless to say that relationship didn’t last long.”

Penelope let out a small chuckle shaking her head not helping but to tease you. “Underage drinking though, you were a bad girl?”

You shook your head a small laugh leaving your lips as you began to apply mascara. “No, my dad would have killed me, and believe me I was a daddy’s girl. So, I abstained from that kind of crap. My boyfriend on the other hand, he and his friends loaded up on wine coolers on the drive down to the convention. I was the one driving of course, like I was going to let one of those idiots wreck my dad’s van.”

You paused again another laugh leaving your lips though you couldn’t hide the bitter tone that seeped into the final part of your statement. “Yeah, like I said…that relationship didn’t last. I guess even back then I had great choices in men.”  

Penelope frowned not missing your tone of voice. “I’m guessing from that statement that Geoff and you are on the outs again.”

You rolled your eyes reluctant to even bring it up. The last thing you wanted to think about was your on again off again boyfriend Geoff.

You spoke unable to hide the bitterness from seeping into your voice. “Yep, he really sucks at this whole monogamy thing…I guess both you and I are going to be on the single train this weekend.”

Penelope cringed not wanting to think about her recent breakup with Kevin Lynch. Things had become tense between Penelope and he after she’d turned down his proposal. They’d just drifted apart and it had become clear that they needed a break from each other. Penelope just wasn’t ready to settle down, not yet. It didn’t mean that she wanted to break up, it was just, it was complicated.

Penelope took a deep breath pushing back any heartache over their breakup choosing instead to speak up. “Actually, there’s going to be three of us hanging out on that single train, Reid’s just as hopelessly single as you and I.”

Penelope paused watching your face for any reaction at the mention of one Dr. Spencer Reid and his current lack of a romantic life.

She spoke again not helping but to push a little further. “It might actually kind of be a blessing…Boy Genius and you both being single at the same time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You blurted out Penelope noticing that your cheeks were flushed. She had a feeling that your pink cheeks were more of a result from her comment about Spencer Reid than the pink blush you’d applied to the apples of your cheeks just a few moments ago.

Penelope couldn’t help herself, she decided to just come out and say it. “Come on Y/N, everyone knows you have a gigantic crush on Reid, but for some reason you refuse to admit it.”

“I do not. That’s ridiculous. I don’t know where you got the impression that Spencer and I are anything other than friends.” You insisted shoving your mascara back into your cosmetics case refusing to meet Penelope’s eyes.

Penelope shook her head quick to speak up. “You don’t want to be his friend though; you want to shove him against a wall and kiss his neck. You’re so into him. You want to make out with him and have like a dozen baby geniuses with him. Admit it, you are so crazy about him.”

You let out a huff wanting to argue. This was ridiculous. Spencer Reid wasn’t even your type.

You usually went for the bad boys, and Spencer was pretty far from being a bad boy. He was one of the rare good guys. In fact, Spencer Reid was so good that he might as well be Mary freaking Poppins.

Sure, Spencer was kind of cute, in an odd sort of way. You’d have to be blind not to admit that.

It was those lips of Spencer’s that did something weird to your heart-rate, no man should have lips that kissable. Not to mention that slight curl his hair sometimes had; it was kind of cute. Those cheekbones were what really made your pulse race though, you’d always had a thing for a guy with a good set of cheekbones.

It wasn’t just that he was attractive. He was brilliant, of course saying that was a bit of a understatement. He was beyond brilliant. You’d almost been sure he was screwing with you when he’d first told you how high his IQ was.

It was amazing to think that he could fit so much knowledge about the world in his brain. Sure, his little rants where he liked to share that knowledge could get old fast, but you’d never had the heart to really stop him when he went off on his tangents.

Spencer Reid had a beautiful mind. That wasn’t the only beautiful thing about him though. The more you got to know Spencer Reid the more you realized that he hadn’t had an easy life.

You just didn’t understand it, he’d had so much trauma in his life and he still somehow managed to be a good person.

He had a gentleness to him, a sweet compassion that you hadn’t found in many of the people you’d known.

You let out a soft sigh reality crashing down on you, okay fine…you maybe sort of kind of did love Spencer Reid…more than just a little bit.

What use was it though? He was the sun and you were a clump of dirt as far as you were concerned.

You couldn’t stop yourself from voicing this out-loud. “If I was was into him what difference would it even make? He’s out of my league.”

Penelope opened her mouth to argue with you, but you didn’t give her the opportunity.

It was better to give her the cold hard truth than it was to allow her to try to feed you some comforting lie.

“I mean let’s be realistic here Penelope…Spencer has how many PhD’s again? Three? Meanwhile I barely graduated high school…it’s not that I’m stupid, it’s just that school never interested me all that much. I was bored by it…I remember being in community college and feeling so bored out of my mind that I thought I might cry…Spencer meanwhile eats up that academic crap. He’s accomplished so much in his life…and he’s living comfortably…he sure as hell doesn’t have to worry about making a box of pasta stretch out over a few days because he’s in between paychecks and he can’t afford anything else…meanwhile I have been working my ass off in a salon living paycheck to paycheck for a few years now…I don’t mean to sound bitter…because I know it’s my own damn fault because I could have probably done more with my life. Don’t get me wrong, because I do love my job…I’m happy with what I do even if I do struggle…I’ve just accepted that it’s nothing special. What I do is insignificant. I know that I place on the importance scale a bit lower than Spencer and you.”

You paused shaking your head still refusing to meet Penelope’s eyes as you tried to keep your temper and your tears to yourself. It was better that Penelope hear the truth.

You spoke again laying it all out for her. “Spencer is out of my league. He needs to settle down with some smart as shit neurosurgeon or some other super genius so they can have like three gifted kids and get a golden retriever and live in a nice quiet house in the suburbs. Meanwhile…I need to stick to my station in life. I’ll do what girls like me do…I’ll keep on dating jerks who cheat on me and drink me out of house and home, until one of those jerks probably knocks me up and I just settle on them. It’s a fact of life…girls like me don’t get to wind up with guys like Spencer Reid. It would never work. It’s no use disillusioning myself into thinking that we would ever have a chance. Like I said…people like me don’t get to fall in love with people like Spencer.”

Penelope reached out again wanting to comfort you she barely managed to get the words out “Sweetpea, you know that’s not true Spencer…”

You spoke up interrupting her, you didn’t need her to coddle you and lie to you. “Trust me Penny. I know how life really works. I know you are full of optimism…maybe that’s why we became friends in the first place…you have hope whereas I never have…but trust me I’ve played it out in my head more than once. I’m not meant to be with someone as great as Spencer. Maybe in another life Spencer and I would work out, but I know that this is how it has to be.”

You paused turning from the room before Penelope had a chance to stop you. You spoke again rather quickly wanting to escape from this entire situation. “Just forget it, okay. It’s been….I’ve been having a hard time lately, with crap with Geoff. I’m just overemotional from his bullshit…Can we please just forget we ever had this talk…for this weekend at least. I know you’re going to want to try to convince me I’m wrong, but can it just wait until later.”

And with that you disappeared from the room before Penelope had a chance to stop you.

She sighed staring into the mirror her heart aching. She knew that your self esteem had never been great, but she had no idea it was this bad.

She wanted to chase you down and demand you listen to her, let her tell you how wrong you were.

She knew you weren’t ready to hear it though, not right now.

Instead she let out a heavy sigh saying exactly what she wanted to say to you to the mirror. “Y/N, you’re a fool. Spencer is so into you. It would kill him to hear you say any of that. You haven’t seen the way he looks at you. You deserve him, you deserve the best.”

Penelope shook her head knowing this was going to be one long weekend.

………………………………………………………………………

Penelope was proven right by this thought. Things between you and her had been awkward most of the morning to say the least, but sweet naïve Spencer seemed oblivious to it, or at the very least had chosen not to profile either one of you.

Things had gone from tense to awkward as Penelope spotted the last person in the world she wanted to see right now.

Kevin had shown up, and he hadn’t shown up alone.

There was nothing like seeing your ex with a girl on his arm, and it really stung when that girl was the pretty redhead who you knew he was most likely very attracted to.

Y/N and Spencer at least managed to talk Penelope out of leaving the convention gently coaxing her into actually going inside.

That hadn’t stopped Penelope’s sour mood though. As the day had worn on and nightfall had come, Y/N had suggested stopping at a bar not too far from the hotel they were all currently staying at.

You’d exclaimed that “Alcohol solved all heartache.”

Spencer of course wasn’t too keen on the idea. You’d tried not to roll your eyes as he’d spoken up as you’d entered the bar. “Alcohol is a depressant. It will only serve to make Garcia’s depressive state more severe.”

You’d hushed him sitting down at a bar and ordering a few rounds of shots.

That was how you’d found yourselves sitting at a bar looking completely out of place given that you were all still in your cosplays, but at least Spencer and you found yourselves both a bit too caught up in Penelope to take too much notice to how much you all stuck out.

Penelope let out a groan as she stared down at the line of empty shot glasses in front of her. “I can’t believe he seriously brought her here…we went to this convention last year together…it was our thing, and he brought her.”

Spencer thought about opening his mouth and pointing out once again that Penelope had brought Y/N and he, but a quick nudge from you stopped him.

You spoke up giving Penelope’s back a soft pat. “I know hon, we’ll plot revenge tomorrow okay?”

“I want to kill him. I want to rip his throat out…you should help me rip his throat out Y/N.” Penelope exclaimed downing another shot.

“We’ll work on that…even if Spencer won’t help.” You remarked giving Spencer a playful nudge not taking notice of how pink his cheeks had grown.

He couldn’t help but to feel flustered at times like these, when you playfully teased him. You weren’t the only friend of his who gave him a hard time, but none of his friends managed to get the reactions you drug from him.

Penelope let out a heavy sigh shaking her head. “Spencer loves you though, he’d bail you out of if you got into too much trouble.”

Neither Spencer nor you had too much time to focus on this comment, though both of your cheeks flushed at it, as Penelope began to wave calling out to the bartender. “I need more drinks! More shots over here!”

The bartender who was a gruff looking buff older man rolled his eyes nodding to Spencer. “Tell your friend to keep it down, I’m cutting her off. You guys need to get her out of here.”

Penelope let out a huff not helping but to cry out. “I can’t be cut off. I’m heartbroken. Come on man, have a heart. I’m perfectly sober, I just need a few more shots.”

You managed to pull Penelope up from her barstool before she got either of you into any trouble. “Come on Penny, let’s go back to the hotel. There’s a minbar there.”

Spencer spoke up as you led Penelope outside into the fresh night air. “I wouldn’t suggest allowing her to have more alcohol. Statistically 2,200 Americans die from alcohol poisoning every year. Approximately three in four deaths in those aged from 35 to 64 are related to instances of alcohol poisoning and…”

You spoke up interrupting him before he got too lost in one of his tangents. “Alright no more booze, but at the very least we can put something in her stomach.”

“Pancakes sound good…ooh no they don’t” Penelope groaned clearly trying to fight off a bout of nausea.

You rolled your eyes at this taking notice of how pale Spencer grew at the possibility of Penelope puking.

Yep, you needed to get back to the hotel.

……..

Penelope thankfully managed not to puke on the cab ride back to the hotel, though she did rest her head against your shoulder making you swear once again that you would seek revenge against Kevin.

Spencer managed to help you lead Penelope back to your hotel room, the drunker she became the harder it became to lead her anywhere.

You were relieved as you finally managed to get Penelope to lie down in bed her eyes slipping closed she once again murmuring something about revenge.

Spencer was the first one who spoke nodding down to your sleeping friend. “Do you need help watching over her tonight?”

You let out a sigh shaking your head. “Probably. I just want to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Spencer tried not to stare too hard as he watched you remove the police vest that had been part of your cosplay. He cleared his throat pretending that he wasn’t currently admiring the curve of your body underneath the crisp white blouse you wore. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“She should be, I mean other than hating herself tomorrow that is.” You remarked as you kicked your boots off making your way over to the minifridge and pulling out two bottles of water.

You tossed a bottle to Spencer as you sat down on the sofa it feeling good to rest after what had turned out to be one long awkward day.

Spencer stood watching you as you sank back into the sofa taking a sip from your bottle of water.

You had long ago ditched your wig tossing it down into your tote bag, and although Spencer had liked the red hair, he couldn’t help but to find your natural hair color a thousand times better.

He couldn’t help but to speak up knowing he’d already said it, but somehow talking seemed better than sitting in awkward silence. “I know I already said it, but I really liked your cosplay.”

You gave Spencer a small smile shrugging your shoulders. “Thanks, I figured since Penelope and you were both going as different variations of the doctor, that it only made sense for me to be a companion. Amy Pond was always my favorite companion.”

“Well, you definitely did her justice.” Spencer remarked as she sat down beside you not helping but to feel his heart-rate speed up as it hit him how close he seemed to be pressed to you on this loveseat.

You only made his heart beat faster as you reached out running your fingertips along his scarf. “I like your cosplay too by the way...I still can’t get over this scarf. I didn’t even know you could knit.”

“Yeah..thanks, I mean...my mother taught me to knit years ago...I just picked it back up a year ago. I took me a ridiculous amount of time to make this scarf.” Spencer replied his cheeks flushing as he watched you examine his scarf.

He could smell your perfume and he couldn’t help but to feel lightheaded from it in the best way possible.

He felt almost disappointed as you pulled your hand away from his scarf turning your attention back to the bottle of water in your hands.

He cut his eyes over to you trying hard not to let himself become too entranced. He’d found that it was a struggle when it came to you; not letting himself get too lost in you.

He’d liked you from the second he’d met you.

When Penelope had introduced him to you he’d expected you to be just like Penelope, and in some ways you were. You both had similar interests, but your style was a little different. Penelope was bright colors and sunshine and you were more into black and rainy days.

Spencer liked that about you though; you seemed mysterious somehow; alluring.

Of course, he’d never quite had the balls to admit that to you, besides you were usually dating some jerk, and even when you weren’t Spencer couldn’t help but believe that anything he felt for you might just be unrequited. It didn’t help that Spencer quickly noticed that you usually went for the bad boy type. He had a feeling he wasn’t the bad boy type or at least he was pretty sure he wasn’t.

Spencer had long ago decided that he was better off just accepting that you were only friends, no matter how much he liked being around and no matter how much more he wanted, it wasn’t meant to be.

He’d rather keep your friendship than risk losing you all together.

Despite your darker sense of style and your occasional pessimism, Spencer did like being around you.

It wasn’t just that he thought you were pretty.

He couldn’t help but to think you were beautiful inside and out. You were sweet to him despite your occasional sour mood. You brought him soup when he was ill. You remembered to send him Christmas cards. You invited him over for Thanksgiving with your friends pointing out to him that you didn’t want to spend it with your dad and your new step mom, and Spencer’s own mom was having a rough time, so you didn’t want him to be alone.

Little things like that had made him fall for you.

You had read books he recommended. You liked the same forms of entertainment as him. He’d taken you to that Edgar Allen Poe puppet show last Halloween and you’d made him promise to take you again. You laughed at his jokes, and he liked to think that maybe his sense of humor had become a bit more universal since befriending you.

Of course, Spencer didn’t understand some things about you, like your taste in men for example.

Most of the guys you dated seemed to treat you badly, but you always brushed off his and Penelope’s concern.

Then there was your self-esteem. Spencer had long ago noticed how poor it seemed to be. Your jokes usually tended to be at expense to yourself. You put yourself down far more often than Spencer was comfortable with.

He didn’t know how to push the issue though. He’d never been good with the emotional aspect of life.

He’d wanted to confront you about everything, but he was unsure of how to do it. The last thing he wanted you to think that he was profiling you. He knew you’d take it as a judgement. You were insecure, and Spencer wasn’t sure how to fix it.

Spencer cleared his throat trying to keep the conversation light so that he would distract himself from focusing on how nice the rose scent from our perfume was. “I’m glad you decided to come to this convention…. even if it has been pretty crazy so far. Penelope wasn’t sure you were going to come.”

You shrugged your shoulders the words falling out of your lips before you had a chance to stop them. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able too…Geoff was kind of being a dick about it, but ya know…we’re off again, so that took care of that.”

“You broke up?” Spencer blurted out trying to pretend that he wasn’t delighted to hear the news.

Geoff hadn’t been Spencer’s favorite person and he had a feeling the feelings were mutual.

The guy was a jerk. He wouldn’t even shake Spencer’s hand when he’d met him. He’d just glowered in the corner with his beer the first time you’d introduced Geoff  to Spencer and Penelope.

Spencer could admit that there was a spark of jealousy that had rested deep down inside of him when he’d first met Geoff. Geoff didn’t even realize what he had with you. He didn’t appreciate it.

Spencer would be lying if he tried to pretend that he hadn’t lost sleep on occasion trying to figure out why you would choose someone like Geoff.

For someone with such a high IQ Spencer couldn’t wrap his mind around Geoff and you. More importantly Spencer was left pondering one question: Why Geoff and not him? Couldn’t you see that Spencer could love you far better than anyone, if you’d only give him the chance.

You rolled your eyes not exactly thrilled to have to bring up the subject. You were still livid about it to be honest. It was a slap in the face when you really thought about it. “Yep, I found an earring in the backseat of his truck.”

Spencer frowned not getting it at first until you clarified. “It wasn’t my earring, and that hickey on his neck wasn’t placed there by me either.”

“Ouch…sorry.” Spencer blurted out hating that you had to spell it out for him.

He sucked at social cues sometimes, but you never seemed to mind it. You were far more patient with him than most people.

Spencer placed down his water not helping but to kick himself mentally. Of course, Geoff had cheated. It was what the asshole did.

You shook your head not helping but to let out a bitter laugh. “Yep, and the sad thing is I’ve lost count of the amount of times this has happened….and the sadder thing is I know when he comes back with flowers and an apology I’ll wind up taking him back again so we can continue this freaking song and dance again.”

Spencer frowned stunned by this comment. He couldn’t hide the irritation from his voice as he spoke “Why?”

You frowned spotting the tone of voice Spencer had taken. You took a long sip of water shaking your head. “It’s just how things are.”

You spoke again not helping but to sound a bit bitter. “You wouldn’t get it, trust me.”

“What wouldn’t I get? I know I’m not that socially aware but what wouldn’t I get about it? He treats you like crap Y/N.” Spencer blurted out turning to face you a frown crossing his features.

You sighed hating that he was even upset about this. Of course, he was though, he was tenderhearted. He was too kind for his own good. He didn’t understand it though. You sighed knowing that you had to be honest with him. “It’s just what people like me do Spencer.”

“What do you mean people like you?” Spencer blurted out even more confused now.

You shook your head, of course he didn’t get it. “I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed Spencer, but I don’t exactly attract the highest class of guys… It’s just who I am…I attract what I deserve.”

“That’s not true, you deserve the world. You should have the best.” Spencer exclaimed wanting to hold you against him.

How could you think that this was okay? How could you be so resigned to any of this?

He spoke again trying to make you see the obvious. “Why would you settle for someone like him when you could have so much better?”

Spencer let out a heavy sigh his mind spinning, you’d take Geoff back, just like that…even if he hurt you. You didn’t think you deserved better.

Spencer couldn’t stand it, the thought of you thinking that you should accept guys like Geoff’s treatment of you.

He spoke up not helping but to sound harsh. “You’re completely out of your mind if you think that you deserve what Geoff puts you through.”

“Excuse me?” You blurted out stunned that Spencer had actually called you out on this. You slammed your bottle of water down on the table in front of you astonished that Spencer was actually saying any of this. Since when had he gotten so ballsy?

Spencer let out a huff not helping but to say the words. He’d held this in for so long telling himself that accepting your friendship and watching you date jerks was okay, because at least he was keeping you in his life.

Hearing you admit that you honestly didn’t believe you deserved more was like a slap in the face for Spencer. Why couldn’t you see the truth? What did he have to do to make you see the truth? “I’ve watched you since we met…you date these total assholes because you don’t think you deserve more. I know the truth though.”

“And what is the truth?” You asked glaring up at him your frustration growing.

Spencer took a deep breath deciding to just come out and say it. Admitting the truth was better than letting you go back to some jerk only to get your heart trampled all over again. “The truth is that you deserve the world. You accept the love you believe you deserve.”

He paused watching your eyes begin to water he resisted the urge to reach out and wipe your eyes needing to just come out with it. It was like ripping off a band aid. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve stood by and watched you date that jerk? Do you know how many nights I’ve laid in bed beating myself up because I knew that I didn’t have the balls to own up to the fact that I could do way better than anyone else.”

You stared up at him your eyes widening, what was he saying? Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

You spoke wanting to tell him how wrong he was. He didn’t get it. He deserved way more than you. “Spencer…”

Spencer spoke shaking his head not letting you finish. “I’m sorry it took this long for me to gain the courage to admit it out loud. The truth is that I love you. I’m in love with you, and I can’t stand the idea of you going back to Geoff or anyone else.”

You sighed your eyes beginning to water as you tried to talk some sense into him. “Guys like you don’t fall in love with girls like me Spencer. Think about it, you should date someone who’s on your level…like a freaking heart surgeon or some other super prodigy. You deserve someone on your level.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. I don’t want anyone else. The only girl I want is right here in front of me.” Spencer remarked reaching out his hand resting against your cheek.

You frowned wanting to pull back from him, wanting to make him realize that he was making a huge mistake, didn’t he see that he could do so much better.

You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into his touch though, the words falling from you. “Why me?”

Spencer took began to stroke your cheek the words he’d been holding in for so long now falling out of him. “I love you because you’re you. You’re perfect. I’ve liked you from the start. I was crushed when I realized you were already taken. I told myself that of course you were taken, how could you not be? Then when I met Geoff I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. I didn’t see how you could settle for him.”

“I guess you’re right…I accept the love I think I deserve.” You remarked hating how pitiful you sounded. You felt weak and pathetic.

Spencer shook his head his lips pressing to your cheek wanting to do everything in his power to soothe you. “I love you Y/N, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life trying to show you exactly what you deserve.”

He paused taking a deep breath almost fearing the worst. “If you’ll let me show you.”

You stared up at him almost sure that this couldn’t be real. Spencer Reid loved you? A guy like him wanted a girl like you?

You searched his eyes for any signs of the dishonesty you were so accustomed to seeing in men’s eyes. You found nothing but sincerity though.

He loved you, he really did.

“I think I’d like that.” You replied taking a chance.

You leaned in your lips sliding along Spencer’s your eyes shutting as you felt yourself sink into the kiss.

Spencer was taken by shock at first, but surprised you as he easily took charge dominating the kiss. He deepened the kiss the embrace he had you locked in growing tighter. He coaxed your mouth open his tongue sliding along yours.

You whined at the sensation thankful that you were sitting down because you were almost sure if you’d been standing you would have collapsed.

When did Spencer Reid learn to kiss like this?

Spencer reluctantly ended the kiss your eyes opening to stare up at him completely astounded that tonight had wound up like this.

You spoke your comment drawing a laugh out of Spencer. “I think I need to cosplay more often.”

You spoke again deciding you had a few words to say as well. “For the record, I plan on showing you what you deserve as well.”

You paused it your turn to caress Spencer’s cheek. “I love you too.”

And with that your lips met again Spencer and you both knowing that this was the beginning of something amazing.

When Penelope Garcia woke up the next morning hungover and exhausted, she would be puzzled to find Spencer Reid and you fast asleep wrapped up in one another’s arms on the sofa.

She stared at the sight in front her of a small smile crossing her lips. It was about time you two figured it out. “I love cosplay.”

[maandags]

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon! reader) {part iii}

something resembling peace n  quiet (ish) b4 the real shitstorm yeet

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Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Word count: 6.3K

Genre: Angst 

Notes: ft witch!Coran bc he doesnt get enough love -- masterlist -- {previous} -- {next} --

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small-town boy in a big arcade

i got addicted to a losing game

 ~ Arcade, Duncan Laurence

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His fever isn't going down.

It's been five days and his fever just won't go down.

He's passed out on your couch, waking up occasionally so you can feed him and give him water to drink. Sometimes you have to shake him for minutes at a time just so he wakes up. You tried everything you knew, but the medicine you give him has no effect and the medicine you probably need is nowhere at your disposal.

It's safe to say you have no clue how to proceed and also are frustrated: you're risking everything here. You're risking being found by everything you have been outrunning for years and years. The combined auras of an angel and a demon are the closest thing to a signal flare you know.

And he just might die, and it will all have been for nothing, and you might still be located by Management and you would have to move. Quite bittersweet, you think wryly.

So Keith dying isn't an option. That much is clear. But as you sit in your armchair and glare at him, arms wrapped around the knees you pulled up to your chest, you have no idea as to how you're going to stop it from happening.

You clumsily wrapped him in a blanket when he collapsed on your couch. He's kicked it off since, and it lies in a bundle at his feet. His skin is ashy and pale and sweaty and his hair sticks to his forehead.

And his fucking fever isn't going down.

Usually you'd go straight to a doctor if any of your human friends were to contract a fever this stubborn–but you suspected bringing a dying angel to the average doctor won't do much good except frighten the poor sod to death. He looks like Death, you remark. What with his black wings and overall dark aesthetic, which is quite rare for an angel to have. You think, at least. It's not like you've met lots of them.

You sigh, filling a glass of water and holding it to his lips. He reacts almost subconsciously–he's not quite all there, but he's gulping the water down with gusto and you can only pray to the Dark Below that he'll hold it down, though that did seem to get better the last day or so.

The first two days were a nightmare. Keith tossed and turned and held nothing down, his stomach too upset. You had him spend his second night in your bathtub because he puked all over your couch. When he was asleep (which was most of the time) he had nightmares and whimpered constantly, and when he was awake he had hallucinations, his eyes clouded over. He even tried to attack you at one point ('tried' being the keyword here–he took a most pathetic swing at your face and cried when you dodged it easily).

If you had any common sense, you would have kicked him out long ago–hell, if you had any common sense, you never even would have considered taking him in.

Yet he is here. And you are here. And you don't exactly know how to feel about that.

Half the time you wish he'd just die already so you could be done at least with all of this. The next moment you feel horribly guilty and internally yell at yourself for thinking that way–because you made this choice. You decided to help him, and you should go through with it, even if it meant to be woken up at three in the morning because Keith was wailing again.

You brush your fingers across his forehead, hoping against better knowledge his fever had gone down, but he's still burning up. He's not tossing and turning anymore, he's not throwing up everywhere anymore. The last time he had a nightmare you actually noticed was more than a day ago. His breaths are shallow and irregular, and while you're no doctor, you know that's never a good sign.

You'd almost gotten used to having him in your apartment, and now you barely even notice he's here.

You've been on some extensive phone calls with Allura since Keith flopped into your life (which mostly consist of you yelling and Allura listening, occasionally muttering "go off, sis" into the horn) and you were itching for one now. You pull out your phone. Allura picks up on the third ring.

"Y/N, love, I have time for like, maybe a ten minute rant, because I'm at work and even though it's my break time my co-workers are giving me huge side-eyes and I still have four hours to go–"

"That's okay," you say quickly. "I'm fine, actually. No rants."

Allura pauses. "Sure about that?"

"Positive. I just had a question." You decide to throw in your favourite excuse whenever you have a weird question. As a nurse and your friend, Allura is often your first choice if you need to fact-check anything health-related."I'm writing this story..."

"Ah," Allura says. "Of course. Shoot."

You feel kind of bad for lying to her. But then again, telling the truth isn't really an option here, is it? "What does one do to break a fever that's been going strong for, say, five days, and literally no kind of aspirin is working and you can't take them to a doctor?"

"Huh. Well. All you can really do without, like, medical intervention, is wait, really. Yes, Jane, I'll be done in a minute. Have them sweat it out. Keep hydrated, remove excess layers of clothing, all that jazz. How high of a fever are we talking?"

"Um..." You glance at the thermometer on the coffee table. You'd taken his temperature just before calling Allura, to see if there was any change. Spoiler alert, there wasn't. "41.2 degrees Celcius."

Allura whistles. "For an adult? 'Cause if this is a kid, they have a problem."

"No, no, it's an adult."

"Okay. Well. You know, fevers aren't inherently bad for you. It's actually a way for the body to, like, kill heat-sensitive bacteria and viruses. So it's actually a good thing. Honestly I'm gonna just advise your character to stay in bed and drink water and sit in front of a fan. They should be fine."

You pucker your lips, poking Keith's arm with your toe. He doesn't move. "All right."

"You sound kind of unsure," says Allura, a tinge of concern to her voice. A pause. "Certain this is a fictional character?"

You bite back a curse. "Well. You know. I was–I was just curious."

Allura sighs. You imagine her rubbing the back of her neck as she shakes out her legs. "You know... as a medical professional–" the sarcasm drips from her voice– "I'm not really supposed to, like, recommend these types of methods to people because generally everyone thinks they're bullshit, but..." She hesitates. "My uncle Coran has this shop. He sells lots of weird, like, plants and crystals and crap like that. God, I can't believe I'm saying this. He might be able to help. Here's the address."

You lurch over to your desk and snatch a pencil and a post-it block, scribbling down the address she dictates. "Thanks, Allura."

"You are very welcome, dearest, but I really need to get back to work now. Bye."

"Bye."

You stare at the note for a while after Allura hung up. You don't exactly know the place, but a quick Google search helps you pinpoint it. It's not even that far, maybe a 20 minute walk. But something makes you feel uncomfortable about it.

He sells lots of weird, like, plants and crystals and crap like that.

It definitely sounds like something you should be a bit suspicious of. Plants and crystals. Hm.

But then again, you think as you cast another look at Keith who hasn't moved in over an hour, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, it's not like you have many other options.

Allura said to wait it out. But maybe fevers aren't as harmless on angels as they are on humans. Maybe waiting it out will kill him, and you will have to live with it knowing that you did nothing to stop it.

Grumbling through gritted teeth, you yank your jacket from its hanger, write out a quick note for Keith in case he wakes up (he probably won't, but just in case) and dash out the door.

It takes you surprisingly long to find the place.

What was a 20 minute walk turned to a 30 minute walk, then to an hour long walk. You zoom in on your phone's map, narrowing your eyes and combing through every little alley you passed, gnashing your teeth. No matter how hard you look, the shop simply doesn't seem to exist anywhere but on the map. Is this Allura's idea of a prank?

But that's not like her, you remind yourself. And somehow, the fact that you can't seem to reach the place only makes you want to find it more. So you grit your teeth and clench the note with the address (that you just can't seem to memorize, no matter how hard you try) in your fist and march on.

You round a corner and slam into a tall and lanky body.

You yelp, arms flying out to regain your balance. The person in front of you gives a surprised hum–they don't seem to be fazed at all. You look up, prepared to give them a scolding about how they've got to watch where they're fucking going and blink, all words dying in your throat.

"You okay, kiddo?" says the most eccentric-looking man you've ever seen.

"Uh..." you give your head a shake, trying not to stare at the man's bright orange hair and moustache, or the fact that he's dressed like one of those fortune tellers out of fantasy stories, complete with the huge ornate earrings and everything. "Yeah. Fine. Thanks."

The man's light eyes narrow ever so slightly, and you make a mental note to not let his appearance deceive you: you have the feeling he's much smarter than he looks. "Were you looking for something?"

You clamp your mouth shut, running a hand through your hair. "Hm. Actually. Yes." You frown, wondering if this is a good idea, but if anyone would know where Coran's shop is–the shop selling weird crystals and plants and crap like that–this dude would be it. You hold up the crumpled note. "Do you know where this place is?"

The man takes one look at the writing and smiles, a wide and slightly unhinged grin that has you almost instantly regretting your choice. "Well, I sure would hope I know where my own shop is!"

You try and resist the urge to flinch. "Oh, really?" you squeak, shrinking back. It's not a very demon-like thing to do, you think at the very back of your mind, but this guy looks like he could give even the scariest entities of the Below a run for their money. "Neat."

The man–who you assume is Coran–grins even wider and whips an arm around your shoulders. "Well, then! Let's not beat around the bush any longer!" He has an accent you can't place. It fits him, strangely. Everything about the guy is strange.

He whirls around, dragging you with him, and walks exactly three steps before slamming open the door to the shop on the corner. You frown, ducking out from under his arm and giving him a suspicious glare. "What is this? I've passed this shop at least five times." You glance up at the sign and do a double take. Where had previously hung a sad wooden board announcing a tailor's shop hangs now a weirdly pretty sign that seems to be made out of plants. Vines twisting to and fro and entwining and overlapping, fluorescent yellow-and-blue flowers you have never seen before dropping from it in clumps. It sways slightly in the air. There is no wind.

All the hairs stand up at the back of your neck and your fists clench at your sides.

"Maybe you weren't looking hard enough," comes Coran's amused voice from behind you. You spin on your heels, narrowing your eyes at him. You're not unfamiliar with these kinds of experiences–the supernatural, the unsettling, the technically-impossible–yet Coran manages to throw you off in a way nothing really has before.

The atmosphere around you has dimmed, the sole source of light the doorway and the glowing flowers dangling from the sign. You're not in the alley you were in not one minute ago anymore. Coran raises an eyebrow and cocks his head, and you notice how different he looks in this new environment. He fits here perfectly. The slight curl of his lips says, Well? What are you waiting for?

You think of Keith. How he would react if he were in this situation. If the roles were reversed and you were the one dying on his sofa. You push the door open and march into the shop.

You almost slam directly into a tree.

"Careful, careful," says Coran quickly as he grabs your elbow. He slips past you and leads you into his shop that looks like no other shop you've ever seen.

Shelves are stacked with pots and vials and little baggies, all propped one on top of the other. It looks extremely unstable. You resist the urge to pluck out one jar from the bottom and see if everything tumbles down.

Every price tag is hand-written, and when you take a closer look a chill runs down your spine. One never-before shared secret. Three childhood memories. none of the prices ask for actual money, which now seems pretty useless and weighs down the wallet in your pocket. One particular tag says Your deepest fear. How dramatic.

Every plant seems to glow, for some reason. You notice more of those fluorescent yellow-and-blue flowers like the ones hanging from the sign outside, and flowers that look similar but in different colours. There are plants that remind you of grapevines, snaking around trees and shelves and tangling themselves around every support they can find. Clusters of small transparent bells float from the branches, even smaller flicks of light trapped inside them. You squint at one of them, grabbing it out of the air and studying it closely. Something is fluttering inside of the little sphere. A firefly, maybe. Maybe. When you release it, it zips back to its original spot among the other glowing bubbles.

Coran plucks a few dead leaves from a tree stump partially hidden from view by a huge black-and-white striped candle. He grinds the leaves to dust in the palm of his hand and drops them in the candle's flame. It glows bright green for a moment, then a comforting scent begins to spread through the air. You inhale deeply out of reflex. It smells like nothing you've ever smelled before, vaguely familiar scents all mushed into one; your favourite hot chocolate (with a hint of caramel), Allura's fruity conditioner, the animal shampoo you use on the dogs at the shelter. The air when it's just stopped raining. Towels, fresh out of the dryer.

You blink yourself back to reality with a sharp jerk of your head. Coran is already moving on to the very back of the shop and you hurry to catch up with him, ducking to avoid the arms of a rather sad-looking ragdoll as they reach for you. "Hey, hey–who are you?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Coran."

"Yes, I know that, but like–" you gesture vaguely to the general space around you– "who are you?"

Coran thinks about that for a moment, one finger pressed to the side of his nose. "A hobbyist," he decides.

"Right." You take a step back, eyeing the dark and slimy substance shlorping across the floor towards your feet suspiciously. It shrinks back beneath your glare. "What are those hobbies, exactly?"

"You know," says Coran, waving his arms around, "plants. Medicine. The occasional cursed artifact. Just regular stuff like that."

"Regular stuff like that," you echo. Caws sound from above you. When you look up, you spot a bird slightly hidden in the shadows of the tree in which it is perked (was that tree this big before?), glowing red eyes fixated on yours. You raise an eyebrow at it, cocking your head. It mirrors you, feathers ruffling and swooping from one side of its head to the other. It screams again, then spreads its wings and climbs up the tree with a speed you didn't expect. Literally climbs: there are claws on the joints of its wings that it uses to hack into the tree's bark. You brush a bit of dust off your shoulder and continue walking.

Stepping over the puddle of dark slime, you follow Coran even further into the shop. "You said you do medicine," you shout after him. "I need medicine to save my–" The words hitch in your throat. What is Keith to you? An acquaintance? An enemy? A guest? "My friend," you settle on.

Coran throws you a look over his shoulder, throwing off his ornate blue coat and suspending it in the air where it floats obediently beside him. He plants a hand on a bony hip. "Your friend," he repeats, a glint in his eyes you don't trust at all.

"Yeah." He's not getting more out of you, you assure yourself. That's it.

Coran watches you for a moment. "Hm." He turns around and starts rummaging through the shelves packed with jars and boxes and bottles, pulling out a number that all look the same to you, but evidently Coran knows exactly what he's doing. Occasionally he asks you questions.

"Reasonably high fever, is that right?"

"Yes."

He fumbles for a mortar and dumps a clump of brown-reddish leaves in it.

"Hallucinations? Nightmares? Inexplicable bouts of extreme hunger?"

"Yes, yes, and... no? Not that I know of?"

Humming, he adds a few drops of a clear liquid and a pinch of powder from a leather pouch. The mixture starts to sizzle and you eye it cautiously. Its colour shifts from a muddy purple to a darker blue. Coran whistles through his teeth, narrowing his eyes at the many pots around him as he searches for the next ingredient. His eyes focus on something behind you and he gestures with his pestle. "Grab that round orange pot for me, will you."

You turn. The pot in question is small and kind of hard to spot, and you have to twist your arm in strange shapes to reach it from where it's blocked by other plants and rocks. It's dusty and surprisingly heavy, and when you turn it over there's a crudely painted picture of a skull on the lid. Your head snaps up and your fingers tighten around the pot.

Coran rolls his eyes. "I didn't have any other pot to put it in. I'm not gonna murder your friend."

You hand the pot over to him reluctantly, keeping a close eye on whatever it is he's doing. Inside is a reddish-brown paste, and Coran scoops two heavy spoonfuls out and mixes it into the blue mixture. It becomes a pleasant shade of violet. He grabs a round marble-like thing from a vase filled with similar spheres and chucks it into a fire pit at your feet. Flames burst to life, searing hot and sending you stumbling back from the wave of pure heat that comes rolling over you. Coran puts a lid on the mortar and drops it into the fire.

"So, that's gotta bake for a minute," he says cheerily, spinning around and clapping his hands. He snaps his fingers, and immediately vines begin writhing and entwining until a stool has formed. He plops down, facing you. "You have questions. Ask them. Go on."

"Will you answer them?"

he flashes that wicked grin of his. "Maybe."

You grit your teeth, staring into the flames roaring in their pit. The longer you look at them, the wilder they grow. Agitated.

"Oh, dear, don't look at them. They don't like being watched."

Your gaze snaps back to him. "How did you know what's wrong with my friend?"

"I didn't. I guessed," he adds with an eyeroll when you narrow your eyes at him. "It's easier to guess than you might think. When customers are especially preoccupied with something I can usually read it right off of them. You were no different."

"Right." You pause, not sure which of the hundred and forty questions swirling through your mind to ask next. "What if the medicine doesn't work? Can I come back?"

"It'll work."

"But if it doesn't–"

"Are you doubting my abilities?"

"What? No, but–"

"It'll work."

His tone makes it clear there's no room for discussion. At the sight of his dangerously glinting eyes (or maybe they're just reflecting the flickering flames) you decide to veer onto a safer topic. "Can everyone get into your shop? Why couldn't I find it until you showed me?"

Coran slouches a bit in his throne of vines (it's got a back and armrests now, too, and it's growing those little glowing grapes) and considers the question. "Everyone can technically get into the shop," he says slowly, as if carefully choosing his words, "but not everyone will. It's not hidden, exactly–not to the people who aren't looking."

That confuses you. "So you're saying one won't be able to find the shop if they're actively looking for it?"

"Sort of."

"Does that mean that the people who do find it aren't looking for it in the first place?"

"I guess so? Man, kid, you're asking difficult questions."

"I'm curious." You fold your arms, tucking your chin down to your chest. "And that makes no sense anyway because I found it and I was looking for it. So."

"Yeah, but you didn't find it until you actually ran into me and I showed you." Coran leaps up and stretches out his lanky limbs. "So, we still have a bit of time left before that's ready. Do you want to arrange payment now?"

Caution crept into your veins as you remember the strange price tags you saw upon entering the store. But you're not getting this medicine for free, you remind yourself. Keith won't get better by himself. The price was the price and you're willing to pay it. So you nod.

Coran grabs a box. He opens it, and inside are the last things you expected: stacks of paper, each one scribbled upon with minute precision, every sheet adorned with different handwriting. He hands you a blank sheet: it's about the size of a business card, yellowish-white and kind of grainy to the touch. It reminds you of parchment.

He also hands you a pen. It looks like a regular ballpoint pen, and when you shoot him a questioning look–you had expected at least, like, a quill with purple ink or something–he shrugs. "They're cheap. And easy to charm."

Right. You roll your eyes. "So what's the price?"

His eyes are just a little bit too shiny. "What do you want most?"

You sigh, long and drawn out. Your grip on the pen tightens ever so slightly. "Really? The way too overused one?"

Coran shrugs again, gesturing to the blank card in front of you. "It's overused for a reason, kid. It just happens to work really well."

You clench your jaw, tapping the pen against the wooden surface of the table, forcing yourself to think about the question in a serious manner.

What do you want most?

You rack your brain for an answer, puckering your lips. There are a lot of things you want. You want Allura to be safe and happy. She's got a demon for a friend, for fuck's sake. You want to not have to worry every day about Management finally tracking you down and locking you up in the Below. To feel safe.

You bring the point of the pen down to the paper and start writing, frowning when the ink doesn't appear. You go over the lines a few times, even scribble a bunch of lines in a corner to get the pen to work, but to no avail. The ink stubbornly refuses to stain your piece of parchment.

"Your pen doesn't work," you say, irritated.

Coran casts you a knowing smile. "It works just fine. Try again."

You try again. No results. You throw down the pen, letting your head drop and taking a deep breath as you lean against the desk, because you know exactly where this is going. You have experience with these kinds of enchanted objects. You chew on the inside of your cheek, glaring at the pen as if it personally murdered your firstborn.

It wants the truth.

And you refuse. You refuse to give it what it wants because it's ridiculous. Absolutely and utterly ridiculous.

But this is the price. This is the price you told yourself you would pay no matter what.

A deep breath. One more.

You snatch up the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles go white, and press it down onto the paper. Immediately the ink flows out, letting you write your re-evaluated answer. It almost seems to sneer at you and when you throw the pen down, handing the card to a way too smug-looking Coran, you refuse to look him in the eye.

The medicine is ready.

Coran pulls it out of the fire using tongs (because it might be magical fire, but it's still fire, and it's generally not a good idea to stick your hand in fire) and drops it in a tub of water you're sure wasn't there before. A moment later he pulls it out and removes the lid.

The paste has transformed itself into a rock-hard ball about the size of a large pill, perfectly round and kind of rough and sandy at the surface, and when Coran hands it to you it's almost freezing to the touch. It startles you so much that you almost drop it.

"Smash it to bits and put the shards in this here baggie–" he hands you what looks like a tea filter– "and let it hang in a glass of cold water for a while. When the thingie's drained of its colour and goes clear and the water has turned bright blue you make sure he drinks the whole thing before it goes warm, yeah? That's very important. He's gotta drink it right away, and he's gotta drink the whole thing. It might not work as well if he doesn't drink the whole thing."

The fact that Coran refers to the pill as "the thingie" makes you more than a bit uncomfortable, but you decide to take his word for it, because what other choice do you have?

"Right." You turn to leave, when one more thing pops into your mind. "Actually," you face him again, "I have one more question."

Coran sighs. "You have a lot of questions."

You ignore him. "How do you know Allura? Or, rather, how does Allura know you? She's the one that gave me your address in the first place," you explain. "She's my friend."

To your surprise, Coran smiles–a genuine smile this time, where his eyes crinkle in the corners, not the manic grin he's shown up till now. "I knew her father very well. I've watched her grow up. She knows she can always knock on my door."

It doesn't make much sense–what business would Allura's dad, world-famous scientist, have with this man? You decided to give it the benefit of the doubt. "How much does she know? About all this?"

"I think she knows, deep down. I don't know how much she believes. What she tells herself is real, and what isn't."

You hesitate. "Does she know about me? What I am, I mean?"

Coran heaves an exasperated sigh. "Yeesh, kid. How am I supposed to know that? I didn't even know who you were up till now!" But you get the feeling he's lying. "Now get going. Go on." He starts shooing you towards the door, gently pushing you through the shop.

You blink in surprise, too stunned to do anything but follow suit. "Wait," you stammer. "Wait, I have more questions! Will I be able to come back?"

But Coran waves you off, giving you nothing but a smile and a "Bye-bye!"

You stumble over the threshold, the pill and its baggie in your clenched fist. Cold renders your fingers almost numb, and you open them, exposing the pill to the night air. White smoke curls up from it, and you turn it over to your other hand, wincing as you rub your fingers to get a bit of warmth in them again. It's like you're holding a hailstone.

When you look up, you're disoriented by the bright lights from street lamps around you, and the fact that you're not in the same alley you were in before you entered Coran's shop. It's not even the same block. You make a full turn, dazed, before you recognise the little grocery store on the corner of the street: it's the store where you do most of your shopping. It's right across from your apartment building. Coran deposited you as close as he could to your home.

You push open the door to your apartment with your shoulder, icy pill in one hand and two bottles of chocolate milk and scotch whisky in the other, letting exhaustion creeping into your muscles as soon as you enter the familiar environment. One look to your sofa confirms Keith has barely moved over the hours you were gone. The note and the glass of water you left for him sit untouched on the coffee table.

You make your way to the kitchen and set down the bottles, grabbing a small tray on which you drop the pill. Smash it to bits, said Coran. The back end of a kitchen knife does the job just fine. To your surprise, the pill shatters immediately, shards flying everywhere. You curse, sweeping them all up and dropping them into the tea filter and filling a glass with cold water. As soon as you hang the bag in the glass, blue drips out of it in wisps, slowly tinting the water a cool blue colour. You drop onto a kitchen chair and watch with your chin in your hands, the droplets of blue seeping from the bag mesmerising.

When the water doesn't seem to get any bluer, you peek into the bag. The shards are completely colourless, now resembling bits of clear glass more than anything else. You carefully pick up the glass, hissing through your teeth at the coldness of it.

Keith is still fast asleep, shivering. He's thin, you notice. You can see his ribs through his shirt. Setting the glass down on the coffee table, you try gently nudging him awake. He doesn't respond.

"Come on," you grumble, grabbing his face and tapping his cheek. "Wake up!" Your stomach twists at the thought that he might not wake up in time. The medicine will have warmed up. You should have woken him before preparing it! "Please," you whisper, swallowing back the lump in your throat. "Don't let this have been for nothing. Come on. Wake up, dammit!"

He groans under your touch. You breathe out a shaky sigh of relief as you coerce him into sitting up. "Don't you fucking dare fall asleep again." He looks at you groggily.

You raise the glass to his chapped lips. "Drink up."

He takes a sip and flinches, bursting into coughs. "Cold," he manages. You almost wince at how weak his voice sounds–barely a whisper. He'll get better, you remind yourself. He just has to drink this and he'll get better.

"I know," you mutter, nudging the glass to his lips again. "Drink it. It'll make you feel better."

He eyes you suspiciously but obliges, squeezing his eyes shut as he gulps down the contents of the glass. He shivers, smacking his lips when it's empty and you put it on the floor. "Ah. Gross." But as he shifts, you can already see the colour return to his cheeks.

"Rest," you say, brushing strands of hair away from his forehead. "You'll feel better in the morning." Your voice is shaky and your hands tremble as you bring the glass back to the kitchen and thoroughly wash it, using about a quarter of the bottle of dish soap, running it under the hot water until the stubborn cold is completely gone.

You're tired. You don't even have the energy to shower, so you brush your teeth and crumple into bed, only taking off your boots and trousers. You keep your socks on and pull the comforter tighter around you. You're cold.

As you turn to face the wall, you think back to Coran's stupid enchanted pen. Wondering if you've made a mistake. The words you ended up writing down looping through your mind, over and over again, lighting up in front of you whenever you close your eyes. What do you want most?

I want to be safe from Management, was your first answer. The answer the pen hadn't let you write down. And it was what you wanted most–or at least what you wanted most until Keith had shown up on your doorstep just over a week ago.

What do you want most?

You drift off to sleep, the question nagging at the back of your mind.

You jolt awake at the crash, bolting up from your bed and racing for the kitchen, where the sound had come from. In your hand is the knife you keep in your nightstand. Your knuckles are white around the hilt. You slam a hand on the light switch, and the person bent over and hidden behind your fridge hits their head and yells in pain, and you brandish your knife and scream at them to Stay back!

"It's just me! Y/N!" Keith says, holding up his hands above his head.

You huff out a breath, letting the knife drop to your side. "Keith?"

He nods, blinking and squinting against the bright light. You're only barely over the shock of seeing him up and about, yet you can't help but notice how thin he looks and how weary and sunken his eyes are. His eyes keep flicking back to the knife still in your hand, and you quickly snap it shut, slipping it in the pocket of your sweatpants.

"So I take it you're feeling better?"

He nods again. "I'm hungry," he says. His voice isn't quite back to normal–it's still quite hoarse from not having used it in over five days–but you suspect it won't take very long. "Sorry for startling you. I'll go back to sleep."

You grab his arm before he can walk past you. "Nonsense. You've slept for five days straight. I'm hungry too, anyway. I can order takeout?"

He gives you a tentative smile. "That'd be great."

And that's how you end up sitting in your brightly lit kitchen at four in the morning, eating out of cardboard Chinese takeout boxes, with an angel whose life you saved. His wings are completely concealed now and don't bother him when he sits in a chair or lies down. While neither of you talks much, you both sneak glances when you think the other isn't looking.

What do you want most?

He looks nervous, and even though he insists he's not tired you can tell he's fighting against the weight of his eyelids, his movements droopy and slow, as if he's moving through layers of syrup. When he almost drops his fork (at four A.M. you're allowed to eat Chinese with a fork) out of exhaustion, you nudge his leg with your foot under the table.

"Go back to sleep."

"I'm fine. I'm still hungry."

"You can eat tomorrow. You're barely able to hold yourself upright, idiot."

He sighs but pushes his chair back and stands up. His knees immediately buckle beneath him, and you shoot out of your chair and only just manage to catch him before he drops to the ground. "All right, okay. There we go. I got you."

"Not feeling as good as I thought," Keith mutters into your shoulder as you practically drag him to the sofa.

"Evidently."

You tuck him in (it seems like such a childish gesture–but curled up like that, looking thin and fragile, Keith reminds you of a small kid and it just feels like the right thing to do) and resist the weird urge to plant a kiss on his forehead. You settle for a somewhat awkward pat on the shoulder.

You stick the leftover food in the fridge and make your way back to your own room. You're still kind of cold, so you keep the sweatpants and sweatshirt on, bringing the knife out of your pocket and setting it back on your nightstand before climbing into bed.

The buzzing of the city outside of your window keeps you up for hours as you toss and turn. Feelings you don't know what to make of churn through you. Relief at the fact that the medicine seems to be working. Fear, because you don't really know how to proceed now. A demon saving an angel's life–that one's pretty much unheard of, you think bitterly.

Oh, if Management were to find out... not only would your fate be settled, you would have signed Keith's death warrant along with it. The comforter bunches in your clenched fists and you twist around, shutting your eyes resolutely.

What do you want most?

[donaldresslerfanfic]

Wedding Bells.

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language, Sexual Content.

Word Count: 2838

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Fifty-Two

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Ressler

"You can't" Ethan called my attention next to me, I led my eyes to him as I held my hands in front of me "you can't be this calm"

I gave him a little dismissing smile and shook my head a little.

"I am. I've been waiting a lot for this, and Mags has worked really hard for this day to come so..." I made a motion with my hand "I just want her to get here and marry her, that's all"

"I'm just saying, I love my wife and all but I puked my guts out when I was suiting up to get married" he said looking behind me towards the aisle

"He's an agent" Madison intervened from my other side, standing in line with the other bridesmaids "he's got nerves of steel"

Truth was, I was maybe over caffeinated. My only source of food had been just coffee for dinner last night, breakfast, lunch, and just before the reception started I'd drank another cup.

Anything else, anything solid, I couldn't get pass. My throat had been closed ever since our flight back from Vegas, when it really hit me that when I stepped out of the plane, those would be the last 24 hours of me being single.

The last 24 hours were maybe the loneliest I'd ever been. I had been around people, sure, but it made me realize how much I had missed my girl, we hadn't even been allowed to text to eachother, and I needed that overtly enthusiastic good morning text, the 'how was your flight', the 'have you eaten anything'.

God, I just wanted to see her. To see this woman, and marry her, and have an excuse to be so obsessed with anything about her.

Madison was right, I faced situations more difficult than this every single day, and I wasn't nervous about getting married because this was the only thing I'd been so confident about. I wanted to do this.

When I heard the music start to play, I honestly didn't know what to feel, and as soon as I turned around to face the alley, I couldn't pick a particular emotion.

Mags had once again outdone herself. Everything about her was right out of a dream. The dress she was wearing was beautiful, hugged her chest perfectly, the layers of tulle hung from her waist down delicately, but the tail followed graciously behind her.

Her make up was so delicate and bold at the same time, those lips I had missed over these last few days were decorated with a dark violet tone, kind of maroon.

They curved into the biggest smile I had seen her while she walked towards me, being accompanied by her Uncle Patrick, who was her dad's brother and the closest one to being her dad.

Once she was standing in the step below were I was, I pulled my hand out to shake his, then got ahold of Mag's soft hand. I watched her step for her since she has heels and her dress had to be lifted up. When she moved her eyes over me I smiled at the way she looked surprised, placing a hand over my chest.

She gave me a look and muttered that I looked so good, and honestly I couldn't resist pulling her in for a kiss, holding her by the waist to my chest. Luckily, she turned to give me her cheek, and I still gladly kissed it.

She stood next to me, our hands still holding, and as we looked ahead to the priest who was going to marry us, her fingers slowly tangled with mine, and her thumb went up and down on my hand.

The priest did the whole "we're gathered here today" thing, but as soon as I had the chance I turned my head to look at her. She looked so radiant, so smug, so goddamn beautiful this woman.

It took a few seconds of shamelessly staring at her and not paying attention to the priest for Maggie to actually turn her head around and give me a scolding squeeze in the hand, motioning at me with her eyes to pay attention. She still had a smile on her face.

I did turn around to face the priest and listen to what he said about love and marriage, faithfulness, trust and all that.

The ring exchange couldn't come too fast for my liking, by the time he finished the short introduction and made us face eachother, Mag's other hand came to hold mine while we turned on our heels to stand face to face.

There was something about her, about her eyes, her smile, everything about her. She looked so radiant.

I knew the vows were coming up, and I felt an increasing knot in my stomach, fearing that something would go wrong.

"Do you both pledge to share your lives openly with one another, and to speak the truth in love? Do you promise to honor and tenderly care for one another, cherish and encourage each other, stand together, through sorrows and joys, hardships and triumphs for all the days of your lives?" The priest said, and I couldn't feel more attacked by those words, because I felt like they resembled me more than Mags. I hid a lot from her, and she hid a lot from me.

The look on her face made it all better, because she gave me a twist of her eyebrows as if 'you better start letting me in on stuff'.

"We do" we said in unison. She accepted me for me, flaws and all, and I accepted her in her beautiful self, flaws and all, as minimal as they were to me.

"Do you pledge to share your love and the joys of your marriage with all those around you, so that they may learn from your love and be encouraged to grow in their own lives?"

"We do" we said again in unison.

"May these rings be blessed as a symbol of your union. As often as either of you look upon these rings, may you not only be reminded of this moment, but also of the vows you have made and the strength of your commitment to each other."

Of course, Talia was our ring girl, and Ella had been our flower girl.

When the priest presented the rings, Talia walked from her mother's side and held up the pillow with the rings. Mags hadn't seen them, but of course, mine was a simple gold band, while hers was a little curved to frame her engagement ring. Maybe Mags would have wanted to go simple for the both of us, but I wanted her to show off.

I held her ring up to match her hand, and took a breath, looking up at her, and readying myself for the vows.

"Maggie. I promise to grow with you and build with you a better life each day as we learn from each other to be patient, kind, giving, and to always cherish each day together. Do you take me as your lawfully wedded husband?"

She had the biggest smile, because obviously I hadn't mentioned her what my vows would be about, we'd just agreed to keep it short.

She nodded before she even said "I do" as her hand squeezed mine. I matched the ring to her finger again and slowly slid it up, fixing it right above her engagement ring.

She immediately looked down at her hand, how those two rings decorated her hand.

She moved one of her hands to the other ring still left on top of the pillow, I saw her hand shake a little in nervousness, and I ran my thumb over the top of her hand, reassuring her that it was fine to be a little shaken up.

She moved her gorgeous green eyes to mine and gave me a smile once again.

"I'm gonna start crying" she whispered while she quickly cleared a  year that fell from her eye, then squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, smiling again at me and reciting.

"Don, I love you without knowing how, or when or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know. Home is wherever you are. I love you not for what you are but what you are when I’m with you. Do you take me to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do" I said , smiling myself. Maggie slid the wedding band on my finger and held my hand, waiting for the next words from the officiant.

"Go now in peace and live in love, sharing the most precious gifts you have, the gifts of your lives united. And may your days be long on this earth. I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Yes, that part was the one I was waiting for, because hadn't I missed those lips. I pulled her by the waist as her hands came to my neck and our lips joined, I felt her smile on top of mine as our guests applauded and cheered at us. The kiss ended too quick for my liking, I could kiss her forever.

We got off the the little altar, Maggie watching her step as I helped her down, and we both walked down the aisle whilst our friends and family clapped and cheered.

We walked down the side of the wedding venue where we were supposed to stay for a bit until the guests were led inside for the reception, meanwhile we had to make good out of the remaining sunlight for some pictures.

When we were out of sight we stopped, and looked at each other, Mags had a smile from ear to ear.

"Hi" she said, then unexpectedly jumped at me, I caught her and held her tight to my chest as her lips downed to mine in a kiss that was more like the one I was needing, the rough and needy. "Mm" she move her hands to my arms to make me put her down "my God let me look at you" she said excitedly, taking a step back and placing her hands on her waist. "You look delicious, you're like porn for women, that's what you are" she said, making me chuckle and extending my hand to hers, which she quickly took.

"Me? What about you?" I said giving her a little spin, her dress danced around her and moved delicately over her legs "you look flawless" I said, she gave me another smile and took the sides of her dress, moving it around.

"Do you like it? Look" she said hiding her hands on the sides "it has pockets"

I chuckled and took a step to her, pulling her by the waist and kissing her again.

"I like the back, it's like a rainbow with the pot of gold at the end" I moved my hand from her waist and gave her ass a firm grasp, making her spring up and chuckle, swatting my hand away and muttering to stop over my lips, kissing them again.

She sighed against them and placed her arms around my neck and shoulders, longingly kissing me.

She pulled back after a few seconds and placed her hands in my neck

"I've missed you" she said with a little voice, then smiled again "this lipstick is bomb, you've got nothing on you" she led her lips to mine again and kissed them.

The next 5 hours of my life happened in such a quick succession that it was almost as if I was looking at pictures of it as it happened. We did the little photo shot outside, then we walked into the venue we're again we were applauded and congratulated. This time we took a little more time to get to everyone who was coming to us to gave us their congratulations and good wishes. I remember Mags didn't eat a single piece of food during the actual dinner, but by the time we cut the cake she was more relaxed ate three pieces. I remember us in our first dance, slowly swaying and taking turns with everyone else at the party.

I remember my mom tearing up a little, she said she was happy she was happy for me, she loved Maggie with all of her heart, just like everyone.

I remember almost not speaking during the event, I was always abstracted in my own world just watching, watching Mags walk around, talk to people, laugh, smile, dance. She was the happiest I'd ever seen her, which meant that the whole ordeal had a big "mission accomplished" stamp on my part.

I remember reminiscing about her wedding vows, when I recalled her vows, the "Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know" part suddenly made my heart squeeze. She was the love of my life. I even blurted it out of nowhere.

"You're the love of my life" I said, she was sitting on my lap at the dawn of the party, with a half finished piece of cake on a plate, I'd caught her mid bite. She gave me a little tender look with a smirk

"Even after three pieces of cake?" She joked.

"Of course. Even after three kids and thirty years and three hundred grey hairs"

She knitted her eyebrows together and pouted at me

"Stop, you're gonna make me cry" she wined, leaning to me and giving me another kiss "I love you"

"I love you too princess" I kissed her cheek and watched her give me a sweet smile.

The party winded down very late, it was almost 5 am when we finally drove off the wedding venue and to our hotel, there had been a lot of gifts to be taken to the cars and later back home, by the time we reached the elevator of the hotel either of us could keep their eyes open, Mags had given up on the high heels ages ago. The weather had been nice up until 2 am, Mags had stolen my suit jacket, I don't think either of us had strength to take out clothes off before we passed out on the bed, I hadn't slept a wink the night before and had been up for at least 40 hours.

We both got a chuckle out of three girls that were obviously very inebriated and got into the elevator with us, giving us compliments and oh-ing at Mags in here wedding gown.

When we got to our room, she only had to unzip the side of her dress and let it fall to the sides, she didn't even bother to put on a pijama or something to sleep, and not that I minded, I loved the sight and feel of her body cuddling next to mine. I kissed her forehead goodnight and heard her mumble

"We can do the whole consumption of the marriage tomorrow"

Oh, and we did. After waking up at past lunch time the next day, we asked for room service and after Maggie spent half an hour taking off the clips of her hair, we had the entire day to ourselves, which basically was just sex with intermittent talking topics such as "how was my bachelor party, how was yours, thank God Uncle Pat didn't got drunk enough to attempt to debug the cake" I joked something along the lines of  "it was the wedding of a federal agent, of course the cake was bugged" she gave me a laugh and whilst climbing on top of me, she kissed my lips again.

As if I didn't knew my girl already, I knew she would be craving some real food after being on a diet for months, she very gladly accepted my invitation for a not so romantic dinner at the local fast food place in Virginia.

She was happily stuffing her face with bacon a cheddar cheese french fries when my phone rang. I hesitantly picked it up and after a short exchange of words with AD Cooper, I gave her a little disappointed twist of my lips.

"Duty calls"

"I've had a blast today, you know, as our first day as a married couple" she said sweetly, reaching my hand over the table.

"I've had an amazing day too, considering I haven't seen you in almost four days, I missed everything about you" she smiled at took my hand, leaving a kiss on the back of it.

"You know, we still have the honeymoon, just say the word baby, I'll take you somewhere amazing" she grinned.

"Can't wait. I'll have to deal with this first" I said motioning at my pocket where my phone laid.

She sat back on the chair, signaling that she was finished eating.

"We'll just have to see where it takes us"

"Yeah, we'll see"

[lloydskywalkers]

skywalker syndrome

-and its resulting karma, ahaha

Coming in late to the party here, but this Lloyd-gets-a-robot-arm is the good stuff, you guys. Good enough to drag me from homework for 7K words worth of rambling, apparently. And hngh I know that it’s movie-verse but I just. I had an idea for the show, and it wouldn’t let go of me so here’s! this disaster, mostly spawned from my excessive reading of FMA fics back in the day. 

(Takes place during season 9, btw!)

It’s nearing the height of dusk when the scream rings out across the city, the sky a midnight blue behind the smoky streaks left from fires as the agonized cry echoes loudly across the empty, near-haunted streets, reverberating from building to half-wrecked building. Ronin stiffens at the sound, his hands clenching sharply around the hilt of the knife tucked in his belt. He goes still, the tail end of the scream slowly fading around him where he stands half-hidden in the alley, shrouded in the darkness left by the shattered street lights.

The group of bikers he’s hiding from seem to take a similar reaction, their normal manic expressions replaced by the same alarm, the same looks of discomfort Ronin knows he wears as the hairs on his neck crawl. There are several exchanged glances, a burst of rude chatter, and the Sons of Garmadon are gone, racing back down the streets with a roar of engines as loud as they came with.

Ronin exhales, letting his hand stray from the knife. He’s never been one to avoid risks, but in a time like this, cutting it close is a little too close for him. He ought to keep a better eye out as he heads back.

He spares one last glance at the darkened sky, his thoughts straying to the scream. While it’s not uncommon to hear a cry echo out across Ninjago City, especially in these days, there was something undeniably eerie about this one, a sinking kind of dread that claws at Ronin’s heart even now that it’s long-faded.

He swallows, shaking off the feeling best he can. Whoever they are, he can only hope they either escaped or met a quick, painless end. Either way, it’s not his problem.

He really should have known better, with the crowd he hangs out with.

********

“M’sorry.”

“It’s not your fault — Pixal, help me, I’m losing my grip-“

“Sorry.”

“Here, grab his ar-“ There’s a sharp, shaking inhale. “Just hold him up, we’re almost back to the warehouse-“

“M’sorry, Nya-“

“Stop apologizing and stay awake, just —! Pixal, can you - hey, no no no, eyes on me, okay?”

“S’my fault.”

“I said eyes on me!”

********

It’s Lloyd’s own stupid fault, that’s what it comes down to.

Not that everything going horribly-pear-shaped wrong due to a classic Lloyd screw-up is anything new, but Nya’s trying her best to push that it’s not, and Lloyd appreciates it, but this time, it actually, truly, very-much-without-a-doubt is his fault.

“Five minutes,” Ronin growls, stalking through the warehouse. “I leave for five minutes, and - and this happens?”

He gestures wildly at Lloyd, who’s still lying half-trapped in Nya’s embrace and is unlikely to escape anytime soon. Skylor glares at him.

“Keep it down,” she says, her voice hushed but strained. “We didn’t have anything to sedate him with.”

Ronin swears, but the horror’s more evident in his voice now. He gives the busted table chair a half-hearted kick, before collapsing wearily in it, grinding a palm against his eyes. “How’s he holding up?”

Lloyd feels a gentle hand card through his hair, and his heart hurts at how he can feel Nya’s fingers still trembling.

“He’s alive,” Nya breathes, small and quiet. “That’s what matters.”

“The surgery was successful at halting the bleeding,” Pixal murmurs from somewhere to his right. “That’s the best we can do for now.”

There’s a choked sob nearby, which Lloyd recognizes as his mother. Mystake’s gravelly tones pick up, though her words don’t entirely make it through the cloudy haze that’s settled in Lloyd’s brain. He frowns — or tries to, he thinks — when his mouth won’t move. He wants to tell them that he’s fine. It doesn’t hurt that much anymore, really. There’s a constant ache, and if he moves there’s a seventy percent chance he’s gonna break down crying, but compared to the fiery agony from earlier, this is nothing. He feels off-balance if anything, like someone’s shifted him too far to one side. Lighter, like he’s lost some heavy weight that used to be there.

Lloyd frowns, and he feels his eyebrows moving this time. He strains, trying to pull his right arm closer. He’s met with that off-balance feeling again, except this time there’s an odd kind of emptiness. His frown grows deeper, and he tries to move his fingers, to get his right hand to move-

“Hey, it’s okay, go back to sleep.” Nya’s voice is soft and familiar, comforting in a way only Nya is, and Lloyd feels her hand in his hair again. “I’ve got you, okay? Just go back to sleep.”

Lloyd wants to protest, but he lets it go, exhaustion pulling him back under. A nagging part of him fights it, wondering why there’s an undercurrent of heartbreak in Nya’s voice. Wonders why his mother was sobbing, why Ronin was so angry, why Pixal kept going on about a surger-

Lloyd’s eyes snap open. He stares blankly up at the ceiling of the warehouse, memory crashing back down on him with all the subtle force of a wrecking ball.

Oh yeah, he thinks dully, as he stops trying to move his right arm.

He doesn’t have one anymore.

*****

“You know, out of everyone, I think you’re the best with handling stitches.”

Nya doesn’t look up from his ar— from his…shoulder, but she gives a quiet hum of acknowledgement.

“Like, it’s not that hard a competition, ‘cause Kai always looks like he’s gonna puke instead, Cole an’ Zane seem like they’re gonna start crying, and Jay’s more likely to sew his sleeve to you instead, but still.”

Nya finally snorts at that, and Lloyd feels the darkened, crushing weight that’s made itself at home on his chest lift a little bit.

“Cole’s actually better at it,” she says quietly, carefully dragging the antiseptic-soaked cloth over the wound again. “I get pretty emotional sometimes too.”

“Well—” Lloyd trips over his own tongue as something in his shoulder sears hot, and he tries to hide the flinch (Nya’s looked sad enough recently). “I still think you’re the best. And that’s not a knock on you, uh, being a girl and stuff, since this is technically sewing, you know, and that’s usually-“

“Let it go while you’re ahead, green machine,” but Nya’s smiling for real this time. She gives him a look. “Besides, we all know you’re the best seamstress after Zane. I saw what you did with your uniform.”

“M’not a seamstress,” Lloyd argues. “I’m a…seamst-er? That sounds wrong…”

Nya shakes her head in amusement, and, to Lloyd’s eternal relief, finally begins to wrap the bandages around what’s left of his upper arm.

There’s not much. Lloyd swallows thickly, finally sparing it a glance now that the actual wound’s hidden from view. There’s his shoulder, there’s the end of it, there’s some bandages, and then—

Nothing. Just empty space.

The warm weight of Nya’s hand finds his own (his only), squeezing briefly. “It is hurting again?”

Lloyd shakes his head. “No,” he says. It’s not entirely a lie. The weight sitting on his chest hurts a lot more.

Nya hesitates, her breath hitching. “Are you hurting again?”

Lloyd pauses, looking down at where his legs hang over the edge of the table. He plays the look on her face that night over again in his head, the shaking of her hands. Lloyd shakes his head.

“No,” he says, pasting a smile across his lips. “I’m fine.”

Nya doesn’t look like she believes him, but that’s alright. Lloyd doesn’t really know if he does, himself.

******

The thing nobody seems to get is that he brought this entirely on himself. Like, yeah, it was terrible and painful and Lloyd’s got so much blood left on his uniform he may as well be Kai at this point, and he’s probably gonna have to make some drastic adjustments to his fighting style — definitely will, because his fighting style won’t even work anymore, the arm he’d hold his katana with is gone now, and FSM he’s gonna have to learn how to do everything again-

Inhale. Deep breath. Freaking out isn’t going to make it better.

Lloyd exhales shakily, and his heart rate returns to something a little more manageable.

So. Anyways. It’s Lloyd’s fault, and that means he doesn’t get to curl up in a corner so no one can see him trying not to cry over the fact that he can’t get his stupid armor strap to buckle with one hand.

Lloyd bites his lip furiously, fingers — he’s only got five of them now, looks like he’s finally gonna have to learn how to do math in his head — fumbling clumsily with the strap, leather slipping through his hold as the strap falls loose. He tightens his grip on it, bringing his knee up to — to try and pin it down, maybe he can — teeth, maybe? Whatever it takes to get this strap to stay still, because the hand he’d usually use to hold it is — is—

Lloyd sniffs miserably, then wipes furiously at his eyes. Don’t, he tells himself viciously. Don’t cry. He can’t cry, he doesn’t get to, not when he knows what the alternative is. Really, in contrast, losing his arm is — it’s—

Well, it’s not great. It’s definitely not something Lloyd’s ever had on his bucket list, that’s for sure, but it’s what he ended up with. It’s just like the Tomorrow’s Tea, like the responsibility of murdering his dad, like Uncle Wu suddenly dropping team leadership out of the sky and into his lap. Lloyd sure as heck didn’t want it, but it’s what he got, so he’s gotta deal with it. No use in overthinking the what-ifs or unfairs.

It would, of course, be a little easier to put up with if it’d stop hurting so much. Lloyd grits his teeth against the throbbing ache, too-sharp incisors digging into his lip. He forces his jaw to relax before he cuts his lip again, and gives a sharp exhale instead. It’s just in his head — the pain’s just in his head, he reminds himself. There’s no arm there to ache in the first place, even if he swears he can still feel the limb, still feel the ache in his elbow, his wrist, his fingers that aren’t freaking there anymore-

“Phantom limb,” Pixal tells him clinically, after having dragged him from his hidden corner of self-pity and general loathing of the universe on the whole. “It’s normal for amputees.”

“Oh.” Lloyd bites his lip again, staring at the empty space where his arm should be, trying to force back the blurring in his eyes. He appreciates that Pixal’s being straight up with him — that she’s not looking at him with that heartbroken sort of pity, trying to soften every word like she’s talking to a wild animal about to bolt, he really does. But it just-

Amputee. His arm’s really gone for good, huh. Weird seems like too underwhelming a word, but that’s all Lloyd’s brain is giving him right now. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, it’s more like a numb sort of blunt shock that keeps socking him in the head every time he thinks about it. But that’s alright, he tells himself. It’s just gonna take some adjustment. He’d known this. He’d known exactly what he was getting himself into he made his choice.

So he can get over it already. He’s fine. He doesn’t really have the time not to be, he thinks, as the crashing sounds of the Colossi echo from the TV set again.

He also really, really needs to get better at pasting that smile on his face. Because while Lloyd might be fine, the, uh….the accident hasn’t exactly been a great motivational point for their little resistance. Nya tries her very best not to cry but ends up sobbing into Lloyd’s empty sleeve anyways, because she tried to hold his hand when Pixal re-did the stitches and she realized it wasn’t there, then promptly broke into a steadily-devolving stream of “I should have protected you!” sort of shtick Lloyd is used to hearing from Kai.

His mom starts crying the minute she sees him and Lloyd’s pretty sure she hasn’t stopped since. Lloyd would try to comfort her more, but the last time he tried that, he panicked and resorted to making terrible puns about arms, which he’s pretty sure just made her start crying harder. Pixal swings back and forth between nagging at him to take better care of the wound and rattling off other accounts she’s read from people who’ve lost limbs with an almost desperate sort of intensity, stressing that the transition is going to be hard at first, but once they get the prosthetic made and he’s used it for a while, he’ll be able to do everything he could before, she promises-

The other elemental masters have been keeping a respectful distance, which Lloyd is really hoping is just because they want to give him space, and not because they think he’s completely lost his marbles.

Skylor and Ronin are the only two with reactions that don’t make Lloyd feel like a walking-worst-human-ever. Skylor’s got that tough sort of determinedness Lloyd recognizes a little too well, and she actually appreciates the arm puns — they’ve got a list they’re making to try out on Kai when he gets back, ‘cause FSM knows they’re gonna need some tension-breaking one-liners for that reunion. Ronin treats him about how he always has, which Lloyd appreciates more than words, but he also helps because he gets the visceral desperation that drives you to take insane lengths to come out on top sometimes.

None of that, of course, changes the fact that Lloyd now has to live with the reality that he effectively Luke Skywalker-ed himself, but he figures that was pretty much an inevitability with the way his life was going, anyways.

******

“Hey,” Nya speaks up, half-bent over the metal in her lap. “You, uh, you remember Star Wars?”

Lloyd gives her a blank look from where he sits cross-legged on the table. “Do I remember Star Wars,” he says, flatly. “No, I don’t remember Jay making Darth Vader noises at me for two months straight, or hearing ‘Lloyd I am your father’ eight thousand times a day-“

“Alright, geez, point taken,” Nya says. “When’d you become such a snarky little brat?”

“When my dad chucked me through a wall,” Lloyd mutters, darkly.

“Pretty sure you were one before that, but okay,” Nya says, breezing through Lloyd’s mood-killer statement like only Nya can. “Anyways, remember the end of Empire Strikes Back? Everything’s kinda terrible, because they lost Han and the Falcon keeps messing up, and Luke is-“

“Luke lost a hand,” Lloyd interrupts, narrowing his eyes at her. He’d figured out where she was going with this the minute she mentioned Star Wars, but still. “Do you see this?” He gestures at his right shoulder, which pretty much just ends in his right shoulder. “This is an entire arm. Luke had it way better, he got to keep like — he got to keep his elbow, and his, um, whatever you call the bones in your upper arm-“

“Are you trying to invalidate Luke Skywalker’s hand loss?” Nya says.

“No, I’m saying he at least had it a little better, because his dad neatly sliced his hand off, instead of releasing an ancient snake on him that eventually ended in Luke chopping the entirety of his own arm off like a crazy person.”

“You definitely had crazy in your eyes,” Nya mutters. She blows her breath out, then pins him with a look. “Look, I know we’ve — we’ve talked about this, but if you ever— if you ever try anything like that again-“

“Next time I’m planning on sending a katana through my arm, I’ll give you five minutes’ warning, promise.”

Nya whacks him solidly across the head. Lloyd yelps, throwing his arms up in defense —

Whoops, he thinks blankly, as he starts toppling off the table, any sense of balance lost completely. He doesn’t have an arm on that side, so if he moves like that, he’s gonna send himself-

Lloyd hits the floor with an oof, just barely bringing his good arm up in time to protect his face. His armless side, on the other hand, is not so lucky.

“Lloyd!” Nya’s yelp is punctuated by the sound of metal clattering to the ground, and she’s at his side before he can push himself back into a semi-dignified stance.

“M’okay,” he says, finally maneuvering himself into a sitting position, desperately trying not to jostle his right side more. “Just - ow - banged it up a little.”

He tries to stand up, only to lose his balance again, wavering briefly before he stumbles back to the floor. Lloyd hisses in frustrated pain, curling in on himself. Ow, ow, ow, why’d he have to land on that side-

“Here.” Nya’s hand is gentle on his back as she eases him up, the other kneading into the muscles of his shoulder just above what’s left of his mangled arm. Lloyd feels himself relax a bit, the pain ebbing slightly.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, arm still wrapped around himself.

Nya squeezes his shoulder, and Lloyd hears more than sees her take a seat next to him, her knee bumping his.

“It’s like Star Wars,” she repeats, sounding as lost as he feels, while trying to convince herself she’s not. “Everything’s terrible right now, but it’s — it’s gonna work out fine in the end.”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says, following her gaze where she stares up at the window high above them. “Just like Star Wars.”

…well, he hopes it’s not exactly like Star Wars. He really doesn’t wanna test out what’s left of his father’s moral integrity while getting electrocuted to death.

Garmadon would probably just let him die, anyways.

*******

It could be his father’s fault. He’s the one who brought the snake into it.

Lloyd doesn’t know where he got it — maybe Harumi decided to go the full nine yards and resurrect the Great Devourer while she was on a roll. It’d be a weird choice, because it kinda murdered her parents, but with what Lloyd’s seen of her, he wouldn’t put it past her ambition for destroying literally everything she can get her hands on.  

In all honesty, though, it’s probably not even the Great Devourer. His mom’s betting on a lost descendent or overlooked relative, and Ronin’s got money on Garmadon having cooked up some twisted version of it just to get the jump on them. Skylor seemed a little green at both ideas, and Nya had simply said it didn’t matter which it was, nothing was gonna stop her from mounting its head as a decorative wall display.

Pixal’s the only one Lloyd really listened to, though, because she was the one to confirm that his actions hadn’t been in vain. She was the to look him dead in the eye, vivid green meeting his dull red, and tell him that there wasn’t a trace of venom that had spread beyond his arm.

Lloyd hadn’t heard Mystake’s echoing confirmation, but that’s probably because he’d been crying, which seems to be an inconvenient habit he’s picked up since he hacked his own arm off.

The very idea of it is definitely Lloyd’s fault, probably for watching so many zombie movies with Kai at two in the morning. The dumb part is that he’d actually been winning, he’d been this close to getting some mediocre sort of revenge on Harumi, when he’d felt the sharp, twin stabs of pain on his hand mid-strike, looked down to see a horrifyingly familiar serpent with its fangs locked around his the pale skin of his hand, and frozen.

The next thirty seconds went a little something like this:

Lloyd tries not to scream. He knows what this means, because there’s a giant stupid chunk of his life that’s revolved around this kind of snake. There is no small amount of terror associated with this knowledge.

So his mind rationalizes — the snake bite is like a zombie bite. He’s been infected. When you get infected in a zombie movie, you cut the infected limb off, so you don’t become a dead-brained flesh-devouring monster.

There are five seconds for debate. Lloyd doesn’t want to cut a limb off, but he doesn’t want to become a dead-brained flesh-devouring monster either.

What follows is a bit of a panicked blur. Lloyd looks down at his hand and sees the dark purple venom spreading through the veins. Lloyd looks at the sword in his other hand. Lloyd has a brief, vivid image of himself with his father’s face, laughing cruelly as he tries to crush everyone he loves to tiny bits. The next thing he knows, his sword is a whole lot bloodier, his right side feels several pounds lighter, Harumi looks like she’s about to throw up, and Lloyd is suddenly in a rather intense amount of pain.

Nya tells him that it was one of the worst moments of her life, but she does admit that for a brief, half a second’s time, the look of absolute terror on Harumi’s face at seeing Lloyd hack his own arm off with all the casualness in the world was the best thing she’s seen this year.

Someone could’ve at least taken a picture, he thinks dully. What’s the point of severing your own limb in front of your enemy if you aren’t even gonna get the satisfaction of seeing them scream like a baby about it?

******

Nya decides to stay up all night making the final adjustments to the prosthetic, so Lloyd stays up with her. He’s more hindrance then help, flinging suggestions at her every few minutes. Nya rolls her eyes at him way more than he deserves, though — because alright, he gets that a side dispenser for making hot chocolate and extra jet engines so he can fly are kinda out of the practical realm, but there’s nothing wrong with a canon for an arm, or hand tasers, or cool laser-shooters like in Fritz Donnegan—

“Except that it’d add way too much weight, and your arm would start bleeding all over the place again.”

“That’s…no it wouldn’t,” Lloyd says, lamely.

“Oh, are you the medical expert now?” Nya raises an eyebrow at him.

“No, but it’s not like you are,” Lloyd raises both eyebrows back, then frowns, expression screwing up as he tries to raise only the one like Nya.

Nya gives a snorting giggle. “Stop trying,” she says, shaking her head even as she smiles. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“How do you even do that, anyways,” Lloyd mutters, abandoning his attempts.

“It’s a genetic and unattainable gift,” Nya says, and Lloyd snorts this time.

“Sure. Is being totally lame genetic too?”

“Apparently being a persistent brat is for you,” Nya sets the wrench down emphatically. “I’m trying to make you something functional, not a full-blown weapon.”

“But I’m a full-blown weapon,” Lloyd argues. Nya doesn’t reply, and Lloyd is suddenly aware of how heavy his words echo in the room, the subtext that kind of sentence has.

Oops. He can’t make one joke without it going sour lately, can he.

“You’re a lot more than that,” Nya says quietly, a slightly-heartbroken look written across her expression. Lloyd bites his lip. Great, now he’s made her sad again.

He looks down, eyes catching on the empty sleeve of the sweatshirt he’s wearing. Lloyd glances surreptitiously up at Nya, then twists his body slightly, tilting it forward. The empty sleeve smacks Nya on the arm once, twice, before she turns a disbelieving look on him.

“Really?”

Lloyd gives her an unapologetic grin. “I need a super cool laser arm in there, Nya.”

She gives a long-suffering sigh, but Lloyd is pleased to spot the amusement on her face, the way her forehead eases out of its furrowed tension. “You’re getting a nice, sturdy, functional arm. That’s all.”

“Oh, come on,” Lloyd pleads. “What if I run into Harumi again? Wouldn’t it be great if like, she tried to grab me, and I zapped her with my high-power arm taser?”

There’s a beat of silence as Nya considers this excellent point. “Arguments…can be made for a taser,” she admits.

Lloyd gives a quiet whoop of victory. He then turns an extra-bright, fully sincere, wide-eyed smile on her. Nya steadily refuses to look at him, but her fingers slow a bit on the wires, and she gives another, weary sigh.

“….I’ll consider the laser hand.”

********

The arm is functional, sleek and shiny and sturdy metal made for battle. Nya, dark circles beneath her eyes as Lloyd tries to shoo her off to bed, hazily promises that she’s gonna make him one that’s more comfortable too, one that’s not for fighting, maybe they can paint a bunch of cool green designs on it, and stuff—

Ronin gets ahold of her by that point, and Pixal takes over the final adjustments while he tosses her on a couch next to Skylor, telling her to make sure she stays. All that’s left after that is for Pixal to attach it, which, for all that Lloyd had been preparing himself for a prosthetic, is something he hadn’t actually thought through.

“In order for it to function, we’ll need to attach it to the nerve endings left in your arm,” Pixal explains, and there’s an apologetic look in her eyes Lloyd really doesn’t like. “I’ll be as gentle as possible, but it will…hurt quite a bit, I’m afraid.”

Understatement of the year. Lloyd makes it through the surgery without passing out, but it’s a close thing.

Once it’s attached, though, he’s pleased to find that it moves how he wants it, the sight of his right fist curling, even if metal, somewhat bizarre. He’s got two arms again. He’s not completely useless anymore, he can fight, he can—

Hurt, apparently. Lloyd can hurt, every movement and every hour, building up into a savage sort of agony where the arm meets the scarred flesh of his shoulder. It’s to be expected, Pixal explains, since everything’s still fresh and tender in there, but Lloyd is sick and tired of being in pain, sick and tired of sleepless nights trying not to scream into his pillow, and no amount of reassurances that it’ll get better soon help with that.

Because the ache doesn’t lessen. With every minute the prosthetic’s on it just gets worse, fiery bolts of pain flaring at the ends of the nerves. It hurts, and Lloyd knew it would, but FSM this is — it’s —

He swallows, flexing the fingers of his good hand — his only real hand — and watches the smooth, unhindered way they move. He looks at the cold metal of the prosthetic, biting back a hiss of pain as he forces the metal fingers to move clumsily. He can barely make the stupid elbow bend without wanting to tear the entire arm off.

…this is a lot harder than he thought it’d be.

Lloyd shifts in his perch high up in the warehouse rafters, listening to the others talking below. He should join them, really, he’s supposed to be the leader here, but…he needs a minute. A minute to adjust, that’s all.

Lloyd leans his head back against the wall, exhaling heavily. He misses when the worst he’d have to worry about was the ache in his ankle when it rained.

And it’s stupid, but Lloyd also finds himself missing like — he misses his fingernails, misses the little tapping sound they’d make, he misses that patch of freckles he had on his forearm and the one weird scar he’d picked up on his index finger, he misses the warmth when he knits his hands together, he misses being able to feel warmth beneath his fingers, and he misses—

Lloyd stares at the metal hand, and feels the icy grip of fear enclosing around his heart again. He hasn’t tried to use his powers yet. Hasn’t even mustered up a spark, not that he could. He doesn’t even have any powers to use, and he might not get them back, so it’s useless to speculate right now.

But what if — if he does, then…can the arm channel it? Will it be able to handle the green power, or will it blow straight up where its attached to him? How’s this gonna affect that?

Lloyd swallows, lowering the clenched metal fist into his lap. Whatever, he thinks dully. It’s not like his power is something he’s gonna need to worry about anytime soon.

********

“Is he dead?”

“Ronin, please-“

“I think he’s dead.”

“Left side, Lloyd,” Nya sighs, hovering over him. “You gotta lead with your left now. Remember?”

Lloyd groans in reply, throwing an arm over his face where he’s sprawled across the training mat. “Ngh.”

Nya hesitates, shifting from her right to left foot. “I didn’t hit you that hard, did I?”

“No, I’m just a dumbas-“

“Lloyd.”

“Dumb, dumb, I’m super dumb, that’s what I was saying.”

“No, you’re not,” Nya says, grabbing his arm — the good one — and hauling him to his feet. “You just keep forgetting to lead with your left side.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Lloyd mutters, rubbing his side. He rolls his shoulder, wincing at the aching pain in the prosthetic that he’s slowly becoming familiar with. The ache’s finally lessened, though — it isn’t in constant agony as often, and he’s starting to sleep more than two hours at a time.

“Then do it.”

Lloyd gives her a plaintively pouting look, and Nya rolls her eyes. “Puppy eyes aren’t gonna cut in in battle.”

Lloyd huffs. “I’ve led with my right side my whole life,” he defends. “Besides, isn’t the point of this—“ he waves the metal arm aloft, trying not to wince at the unfamiliar added weight. “—so that I can hit with my right side?”

“Yes, eventually,” Nya says, eyeing Lloyd’s movements, and he shifts the arm self-consciously. “But you’re barely able to move it above your shoulders now, much less throw a hit with it.”

Lloyd scowls. “I can throw a hit with it.”

Nya raises an eyebrow, and ooh, Lloyd knows that look. “Then prove it,” she says.

“Uh oh,” Skylor mutters beneath her breath. Pixal looks between the two of them in alarm. Ronin makes an odd noise that sounds a bit like a laugh.

Lloyd meets Nya’s gaze head-on with his own stubborn glare. “I will.”

“Uh oh,” Skylor repeats. Pixal steps between them, looking even more concerned. “I don’t believe this is a good idea, Lloyd’s arm is still-“

“Alright then,” Nya says, ignoring the others. She steps past the training mat, walking over to the punching bag they’ve strung up. She taps the solid fabric, her nails making an muffled clacking noise. “Show me you can hit someone with it. Show me you can hit them hard.”

Lloyd squares his jaw, stepping over to her. “Fine-“

“And,” Nya continues, louder. “Show me you can hit them without immediately doubling over in pain.”

Lloyd’s breath rushes out in a quiet exhale, and he avoids her eyes. Right, okay. He hasn’t been hiding it as good as he’d thought. Great.

“Fine,” he repeats, more muted this time. He rolls his shoulders, glaring at the bag. He can’t back down now. This isn’t just about him using his right side, this is about Nya ever letting him outside again, about her ever letting him within fifty feet of a battle again. If Lloyd can’t prove that he’s not a walking liability, then Nya’s probably gonna bench him forever. Or at least until the guys are back.

And the thing is, Lloyd would get it. She has reason.

So he’s gotta prove to her, right here, right now, that he can fight. Lloyd’s not worried about possible damage — Nya built the arm, and he already trusts her with his life and more. He is…slightly concerned that he’s about to put himself in a lot of unnecessary pain, but he’ll just have to suck it up. He can cry into his pillow later.

Nya gives a barely audible, weary sigh. “You don’t have to,” she says, quietly.

Lloyd doesn’t reply, squaring back and setting up instead. His jaw clenches as he pulls his arm back, metal fingers curling into a tight fist. Show me you can hit someone, right? Lloyd’s gonna show her he can wreck someone. He doesn’t care about the recoil, he’s gonna give this all he’s got. He’s gonna pour every ounce of frustration and anger and fear into this punch, every last hour spent in pain and every sleepless night because of that pain, every single time he’s felt so stupidly useless because his arm is gone—

Lloyd’s fist slams against the bag, the force rippling back through his arm as he yells, already half-bracing for the rest of the recoil.

It doesn’t come. The weight of the bag gives under Lloyd’s hit with a loud metallic snapping sound, and before he can even finish following through with the strike there’s an thundering crunch of wood, and—

“Holy shit.”

The fact that nobody calls Ronin out on his language is probably a bad sign, Lloyd thinks. He looks up, shaking the mild pain in his shoulder out as he does, and follows everyone else’s gazes. His mouth falls open.

“It wasn’t supposed to do that!” he yelps, staring in horror at where there’s a hole in the wall. He blinks rapidly, realizing that the punching bag’s gone — did he hit it hard enough to do that? Lloyd suddenly wants to curse a lot worse than Ronin. He doesn’t have his powers right now, and even then, he’s not Cole, how in the world did he hit it that hard?

“I believe you made the arm strong enough,” Pixal finally says.

“No duh,” Skylor says, gaping at the shattered chain the bag hung from.

“You sent it through the wall,” Nya says faintly, staring at the hole. “That was one punch. And I was gonna have you start throwing hits at me.”

“Why did you make it this strong?!” Lloyd clutches his metal arm, staring at it in slight terror. “I could kill somebody with this!”

“Yes,” Nya nods. Lloyd gapes at her. Why does she sound satisfied with that? Nya looks at the splintered wall, then back to Lloyd, he eyes raking over his arm.

“Okay,” she says, shaking her head and grinning. “You win. Lead with your right side this time.”

Lloyd glances at the metal arm, then back up at Nya, wide-eyed. “I’ll, uh, I’ll save that for Harumi, I think,” he says, weakly. “Let’s go left side.”

Nya snorts, but her expression is lighter than it’s been in days. “Alright then, green machine,” she says, bringing her arms up in a fighting stance. “Show me what you got.”

Lloyd brings his own arms up, and feels a thrill of excitement as he doesn’t immediately stumble off-balance from the weight difference. “Oh I’ll show you,” he grins. “I’ll take you down.”

Lloyd is, in fact, the one that gets taken down, but for the twenty full minutes he’s able to hold his own against Nya, the added strength of the arm giving him an advantage that almost outweighs the disadvantage the pain adds, Lloyd feels like he might just have a chance.

********

“Hey, hey Nya.”

A sigh. “Yes, Lloyd?”

“I’m going on live TV for this speech thing.”

“I’m aware.”

“Everyone’s going to see me with it.”

“…yeah. You okay with that?”

“Oh, yeah. I was just gonna say that it’s extremely important to me.”

“What is?”

“That I show up on the TV with a totally kick-ass dragon arm.”

Another, longer sigh.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

*********

Lloyd is starting to suspect that he may be repressing things. Maybe, just a bit.

Not that he hasn’t repressed stuff before — he’s currently repressing the ten tons worth of high-pitched screaming into the void that came along with Harumi bringing his dad back as a hollow shell, and he’s been doing fine with that one. Lloyd’s a pro at repressing stuff. If he wasn’t the Green Ninja, he’d have been like, the elemental master of repressing your emotions until you don’t even know why you’re crying in the shower this time.

But the fact that he’s lost an entire arm and has yet to fully experience any kind of overwhelming reaction about it is…probably concerning. Like yeah, he’s been frustrated, he’s been scared, he’s been in pain more often than he’s not and that sucks, but he doesn’t seem to have really had the appropriate reaction to fully losing a limb and all that it entails yet. Or at least that’s what he thinks Nya is trying to tell him.

(And yeah, he gets that she’s concerned, everyone’s concerned about him, when is anybody not concerned about Lloyd and his idiotic life decisions, but—)

Naturally, it’s going to be during this conversation that he hits his breaking point.

“Look, I know it’s second nature and that zero of the guys have been any kind of good example, but you’ve got to drop the blame-yourself, brood-in-silent-guilt thing.”

Lloyd hand tightens where he’s gripping the edge of the table, and he feels a sudden urge to yank his arm from Nya’s hold and run.

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” he tries.

She cuts him a look. “Really? You’re gonna lie to me too?”

Lloyd whips his head away, staring resolutely at the wall furthest from him. “It was my fault,” he finally says, his voice thin in the quiet of the little room they’re hiding out in. “So that’s that."

Nya exhales tiredly, the sound of someone who’s heard something one too many times. Lloyd feels a kind of hot frustration spark in his gut at the sound.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was,” Lloyd grinds out, angrier than he means to be. “It’s my fault — I’m the one who cut it off, Nya—”

“You didn’t have a choice,” she snaps back. There’s an angry sort of sheen building in her eyes, and Lloyd hates himself. “It was that or the venom, he didn’t leave you any other opti-“

Something snaps in Lloyd’s chest, and he feels control slip through his hands like a fine stream of water.

“It’s my. Fault!” he bursts out at her, and Nya looks taken aback. Lloyd can’t stop himself — he doesn’t know why he’s so upset about this, he doesn’t know why this is so important, but there’s something wild clawing at his chest screaming that it has to be his fault, it has to be—

“It was my choice!” he continues shrilly, breathing harder than he does in training. “I was the one who decided to cut it off, I was the one who chose not to be like him, it was my choice, not Garmadon’s, mine, stop trying to take that away from me—!”

Lloyd’s rant cuts off in a sob, and he stumbles from the table, yanking the arm to him and trying to force back the raging emotion that’s broken loose. Nya stares at him with wide eyes, frozen in shock. Realization breaks across her face like a tidal wave, and her eyes soften, her expression shifting into something that makes Lloyd want to cry harder. He quickly turns away, frantically scrubbing at his eyes as he tries to get himself under control. This is terrible, this is humiliating, Lloyd is a disgrace to the Green Ninja and everything that everyone’s done to make sure he’s gotten this far, but—

Lloyd chokes on another sob. It’s just like the tea, it’s just like the stupid tea. Everyone tried to tell him that he didn’t have a choice then too, insisting that potential death doesn’t really give you much of a choice, and Lloyd couldn’t get them to see — he couldn’t get them to see that it was his choice. Just like Lloyd made the choice to cut his arm off instead of falling to the same cursed blood his father did. Those were his choices, those were Lloyd’s decisions, he made them himself, and that’s important because - because -

Because if Lloyd didn’t have the choice to grow older, if he didn’t have the choice to become the Green Ninja, if he really hasn’t had a choice in anything like that — then what kind of life does that leave him with?

“Okay.”

Lloyd’s head snaps up, and he looks at Nya through watery eyes.

“Okay,” she repeats, gently. “It was your choice. I agree.”

Something a little too dizzying to be relief swoops through him, and Lloyd slumps back against the table, his side hitting it a bit too hard as he breathes out shakily, wiping at his eyes.

“Okay,” he echoes, his voice thick.

“But—“ Nya takes a step closer to him, but she doesn’t touch him. She looks hesitant, but her jaw is set in that stubborn sort of determination Nya always has. “That doesn’t mean it’s all your fault. You…you have your choice. Let Garmadon own up to his, too.”

Lloyd can’t meet her eyes for that one, but he doubts it’d make a difference anyways, because they keep blurring over so much. Which is ridiculous, because how does Lloyd even have enough hydration left to keep crying all over the place like this—

Nya blows her breath out, and leans up against the table next to him, her shoulder just brushing his left one. Lloyd shifts his hold on the metal arm, and lets the tension in his shoulders ease, leaning into her.

“And for what it’s worth?”

Lloyd looks at Nya, and she gives him a crooked smile.

“I don’t love it, obviously, and if you ever try that again, I’ll — well, you know, but…I think you might’ve made the right choice.”

Lloyd’s humiliated himself enough today, but he can’t stop his eyes from flooding over again.

“Thank you,” he croaks, and Nya grabs his shoulder, pulling him to her so their heads bump briefly together.

“You’re Lloyd,” she tells him. “Not Garmadon. You’re my brother, and you’re good.”

She shakes her head, giving a wet laugh.

“You’re too stubborn to be anything other than that, clearly.”

[a-marlene-s]

Giveaway Prize: 1st Place the 2000-word one-shot!

Winner: @ladylucina28

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: Family day...

Au: Everybody lives!!!!

Couple: Fred Weasley x Hermione Granger

Word Count: 2030

-.-

Fred…

Fred…

Fred.

FRED!!!

Fred Weasley woke up with a start, he flung himself upwards clutching his nightshirt right above his heart. He reached over in hopes of looking for his partner but he came up empty. Fear overwhelmed at how cold the other side of the bed felt. Flinging the bed sheets off himself, Fred did not bother with his slippers before leaving the room with wand in hand that he got from the night table.

Walking through the home, Fred took note of all the curtains were pulled back to let in natural sunlight. This did put some ease for him, but not enough to put away his wand. He continued his way through his home, checking his children’s rooms to see they were nowhere in sight. Panic over took him and Fred quickly ran through his home as he wanted to find his family.

As Fred paced down the stairs, he heard giggles that was followed by familiar laughter that brought back his sense of peace. He hid his wand into his pants pocket and proceeded down steps and as he did, the sound of laughter only grew. On the final step, he took pause as the it got quiet and Fred had to strain his ears to hear whatever was being said. Then a burst of laughter filled the home and he couldn’t help but laugh along to it.

Continuing on, Fred made it to the kitchen to see his family enjoying breakfast. Hermione is helping their youngest, Clover with cutting up what appears to be pancakes for her. While the twins, Millie and Tillie are fighting over which persevere is better. This… this is something he always looked forward to seeing every morning and would not trade it for anything in the world.

“Morning, did we wake you?” Hermione spoke up, breaking Fred out of his thoughts.

Fred couldn’t help but grin. “Here I thought you’d be doing Minister-y work, Minister.”

Hermione could not but smile. She looked over and could tell something was off with her husband, his smile did not quite reach his eyes. He had another nightmare… maintaining her smile to not alarm the children, she pulled out a table and pilled it up with pancakes. “I decided to take the day off. I flued Shacklebolt to take care of things for today. I have the entire day planned out.”

“Oh?” Fred could not believe what he is hearing. The fact that his dear wife, who just also happens to not only be the Minister of Magic, but also the Hermione Granger-Weasley, decided to take a day off… that is huge. Of course, he supports her in all of her endeavors just as much as she supports his, it has been increasingly difficult to have time for themselves and as a family. “What’s the occasion?”

Fred did a quick search of a kitchen, expecting something or another. He paid extra focus on the calendar that placed on the top cabinet to see if anything was happening that day. Nothing. Now this did strike fear within him. Did he forget something?

“Nothing is scheduled for today. I simply wanted time with my family is all.”

“Momma, are we going to Diagon Alley today?” Millie asked excitedly at the aspect of visiting her favorite place in the entire world. “Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!”

“Long as they don’t let out any of those Fanged Frisbees out.” Hermione gave her husband a pointed stare, who in turn, simply looked away and let out an innocent tune. “Fred.”

“Who? Me?” Fred blinked innocently at his wife. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“No Fanged Frisbees or anything else that could harm the children.” Hermione raised an eyebrow to emphasize her point.

Fred raised his hands in a mock surrender. “I promise to make sure we put away all of those things away. No more surprise haircuts.”

“Good. Now get ready.”

-.-

Never in a million years did Fred ever believe he would have the life he has right now. No, it’s not the fact he is happily married, three loving kids, and running a business with his brother. It is the fact he is living in a muggle neighborhood, right next to his in-laws. He suspects Hermione wanted to live here after everything she had put her parents through during the way. But, he is not one to complain about it.

With Hermione becoming Minister and them taking part of the war, security measures have been placed making the area secured enough they do not need to worry. Still… the fact everytime Fred steps out his front door he could feel Grandmum Granger opening one of her curtains to see what they are doing before closing them shut once more. Yeah, that happens quite often.

“Papa! To the park!” Tillie called out, running out with her sister right at her heels.

“No, to Diagon Alley!” Millie cried out, running after his sister.

“Park!”

“Diagon Alley!”

Fred could not help but smile at the sight of his daughter bickering over what they wanted to do for the day. It reminded so much of his own siblings.

“Girls, we are going to both places, just wait.” Hermione said walking out the door with Clover in her arms. Fred hurried over to take Clover into his arms to carry her and the diaper bag from Hermione while she locked up.

“Mommy, are we going to the park?” Tillie asked her mother, tugging on the diaper bag she is carrying.

“I want to go to Diagon Alley.” Millie pouted, tugging on her mother’s long sweater.

“Girls, girls! Let’s to go the car and we’ll figure out where we are going first!” Fred started to lead the girls to the car giving Hermione enough time to properly lock things up. “Into the muggle car! Muggle car~”

“Fred, don’t call it that. The neighbors.” Hermione shot her husband a look that caused him to give her a sheepish smile. At the smile, she could not help with a smile of her own. “Into the muggle car.”

“Muggle car~”

-.-

“Do you remember when you asked me to the Yule Ball?” Hermione asked out of the blue as she drove her family to muggle London, catching Fred off-guard.

“I remember asking you. I remember not believing the fact you accepted. I remember Harry and Ron ganging up on me. I remember them threatening me over it. Ron looking disappointed and Harry didn’t know what to think or say… besides that, I don’t remember much else.” Fred said, thinking over when he had asked Hermione to the Yule Ball as his date. Not as a friend asking a friend. It was him asking her on a date, a massive on at that.

Hermione accepted and the two have been steady ever since. Sure, they had times when they butted heads. When he and George had dropped out of school after humiliating Umbridge to give an example of a reason they had fought. Luckily for everyone, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes took off for the Weasley Twins and Fred was no longer stuck in the dog house. Or had howlers being sent to him daily.

One of their biggest obstacles the couple had faced by far, were the reputations of the Battle of Hogwarts. Neither one was the same after that, Hermione being in the forefront of it all and Fred doing his best to help any underage witches/wizards out of the castle, both doing their best to save as many as they could. Everything looked to be going their way… until Fred saw a flashing green light.

“You had that nightmare again… didn’t you?” Hermione asked, just low enough for the girls not to hear. Fred’s silence spoke volumes for Hermione. “Have you thought about talking to a professional?”

“And miss the chance to talk to you?” Fred attempted to joke but his voice sounded grimace, even to himself. He took in a deep breath when Hermione gave him a look. “I tried to make an appointment to that one placed you told me about, but I didn’t understand what they were asking of me and that they didn’t have room for me there.”

“Oh! I will talk to my father; I am sure he will talk to Dr. McCoy to schedule you in his office.”

“Isn’t that the guy that gave your mother prune juice under the guise of grape juice?”

“Yes…”

“Heh, I remember him. I like him. Funny fellow.”  

-.-

Hermione and Fred knew they were being watched by Aurors as they eat ice-cream with their children. One of the many perks of being Minister and the constant need to be vigilant. They actually found it rather hilarious for the fact that the two that are supposed to be watching of them are none other than Harry and Ron.

When the two Aurors were not looking, Fred used magic to put Puking Pastilles into their respective ice-creams. “Now… we don’t have to worry about them.”

“What happened to-”

“Uncle Ron-”

“Uncle Harry?”

The twins asked, looking over to see their uncles running out of the shop while looking rather green and holding their mouths.

“They were being noisy.” Fred replied, ignoring the looks Hermione gave him.

“You didn’t have to do that. They’ll probably send someone else to watch over.” Hermione pointed at Fred with a spoonful of ice-cream. Fred stared at the ice-cream before reaching over and gobbled up the ice-cream. “Fred, that was too much! You’ll get brain freeze.”

Fred only gave her a grin before he felt familiar pain began to overwhelm him. “Too much!”

Hermione could only let out a tired sigh before taking a large scoop of ice-cream for her to eat. She ignored Fred’s pout at seeing her able to eat ice-cream without the fear of getting a brain freeze. It also did not help how the twins could also do the same, mocking their father everytime he got a brain freeze everytime he ate too much of his ice-cream.

“Oh, Clover… It looks like it’s just you and I…” Fred sniffled while cooing over his youngest, who is sitting on a baby high chair. However, to his dismay, she had managed to take some of her own ice and pushed it into his nose. “Now I have a nose freeze.”

-.-

“I think… that’s the end of it.” Ron wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He should have seen that coming. Every Auror that has ever been tasked with watching over Minister Granger, they knew there is a massive chance Fred Weasley will use every trick he has under his sleeve to get rid of them. Of course, it is under the pretense if that they are unable to get away from his pranks, then how are they able to protect the Minister? His wife? Yeah… no one ever leaves unscathed. “How did he do that?”

“I don’t know…” Harry heaved out the remainder of his breakfast. “I think he did that to get us out of there. Otherwise he would have used the Fanged Frisbees against us back in the shop.”

“No, he would have used a screaming yo-yo when he caught us sneaking into ‘Wheezes.” Ron reminded him. He reached into his back pocket to take out a mint and offered one to Harry. “Do you think we should have somebody else watch over them?”

“And deal with the paperwork that comes along with it… no thanks.” Harry said, taking a mint and popping it into his mouth. From their spot, they could see the Granger-Weasley family enjoying some ice-cream after a long eventful day of being a family. He could not help but smile at the sight before them. Even from this distance, Harry could see how Fred adores Hermione, Clover, Millie and Tillie.

“I still can’t believe they ended up together…”

“Don’t tell me you are still stewing over it? After all this time?”

“No, I’m not. I just… never thought Fred had feelings for Hermione is all.”

“Hermione loves him because he makes her laugh… and something about his devious side.”

“Ugh… let’s just go already before Fred makes us eat another prank candy.”

[radioactiveshitstorm]

“I am, unfortunately, all panic and no disco.”

New OC time! Tikhomir Lyudmilovich Shvets, a 27 year-old Russian bloke having a prolonged crisis. Lives with his sister and her wife & son, eats so much fuckin’ meringue it’s unreal, wears a heavy coat all year round, and is basically made of anxiety.

Someone sat next to him on a bus once, and he panicked and got off at the next stop. 3 miles away from home.

His hair's only that nice bc his sister's a hairdresser & one of the few people who can touch him for a length of time without him panic-fainting

One time he bought a sausage roll from a little shop and when the person at the counter said "enjoy your food", he replied "thanks you too" and had to duck into an alley to throw up out of embarrassment.

He lost his last mobile phone bc it started ringing while he was holding it, and he just... kinda yeeted it into the river.

Very rarely speaks in public, and lives in a constant state of “don’t look at me, i will die!!”

Doesn't help that he's 100% unmedicated and doesn't go to therapy, bc that is Far Too Terrifying, and last time he tried to go to the doctor he just kinda fear-puked in a potted plant by the front door and legged it

But by god he goes outside and tries to do things at least a couple of times a week! 

And he’s a very good uncle to his sister’s kid! A quiet and kind uncle who makes up the best bedtime stories!

[splendidlyimperfect]

Sting’s life has been a mess ever since he was eleven years old and Rogue told when he’d promised to keep a secret. Now Sting is an adult, and the only way he knows how to cope is by getting drunk and forgetting the world. When drinking nearly kills him, he gets a chance to turn his life around, and maybe fix his past mistakes.

Chapter Summary:  Natsu helps Sting through withdrawal, and Sting thinks about Rogue.

Chapters (2/?) : 1 | 2 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Sting Eucliffe & Natsu Dragneel, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia Characters: Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Rogue Cheney, Gray Fullbuster, Weisslogia Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Trans Character, Trans Sting, Friendship, Childhood Friends, Sting-focused story, Sting is a disaster, Natsu’s a great friend, Rogue tries to do what’s right, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 2 of i’m still standing

**TW for brief mention of self-harm & suicide attempt

-----

de·tox·i·fy | \ (ˌ)dē-ˈtäk-sə-ˌfī verb : to free (someone, such as a drug user or an alcoholic) from an intoxicating or an addictive substance in the body or from dependence on or addiction to such a substance

.

xii

.

“Were you trying to kill yourself?”

The question comes the day after they get home from the hospital. Sting’s curled up on the couch, shivering and trying to ignore his aching stomach. He looks up at Natsu, who’s crouched in front of him with a glass of water.

“What?”

“Were you trying to kill yourself?” Natsu repeats, looking Sting in the eye. His expression is hard to figure out, but Sting’s pretty sure he’s not angry. Sting knows what angry looks like.

He takes the water from Natsu and drains the whole glass, then gives it back with trembling hands. Natsu stands up and grabs another blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over Sting’s shoulders as he shivers. He’s so fucking cold.

“I dunno,” Sting admits eventually. “Maybe?”

“Why?”

Sting can’t answer the question right away because his stomach cramps up and he groans, curling into a tighter ball and wrapping his arms around himself. He’s already thrown up more times than he can count, so he knows there’s nothing left in his stomach, but it’s roiling anyway – rebelling against him, asking for the one thing he can’t have.

Natsu’s hand brushes against Sting’s forehead and Sting flinches.

“Maybe coming home from the hospital wasn’t the best idea,” Natsu murmurs, nudging Sting over so he can sit next to him on the couch. “You’re burning up again.” He sets one of the couch cushions in his lap and nudges Sting until he’s lying on it, face almost pressed into Natsu’s stomach.

“I’m s-sorry,” Sting manages, squeezing his eyes shut. Natsu reaches back and flicks off the lamp so that the only light in the room is the soft glow of the moon spilling through the window.

Continue reading on AO3

Another spasm wracks Sting’s body, and his jaw seizes up from the tension. The only sound he can make is a low, groaning noise. Natsu’s hand touches his forehead again, and then gentle fingers start to comb through his hair, shifting the sweaty strands that are plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck.

“You’re gonna make it through this,” Natsu says, one hand rubbing Sting’s arm while the other keeps brushing through his hair. “Has it been this bad before?”

Sting manages to shake his head. The last time he was sober for more than a week, he’d been seventeen, and Uncle Wes had been the one helping him through it. He’s tried to quit before, but he’s pretty sure he’s never made it longer than six days, and it’s never been like this.

Sting drifts in and out of sleep for a while, and eventually Natsu turns on the TV to some cooking show that Sting vaguely recognizes. Uncle Wes used to watch it. The background noise is calming, somehow. Natsu keeps combing his hair, and every time a spasm pulls at Sting, Natsu rubs his back and tells him quietly that he’s going to be okay.

-----

When Sting wakes up the next day, the first thing he wants is a drink.

He opens his eyes slowly, squinting against the sunlight that’s filling the room. It takes a second to figure out where he is – he’s expecting the couch at Ryan’s, or the back alley near the bar, or maybe a bed at the shelter if he’s lucky. Instead, he realizes that he’s in Natsu’s apartment with his head in Natsu’s lap. Natsu is fast asleep with his head tipped back and one hand still resting on Sting’s shoulder.

As soon as Sting tries to sit up, Natsu’s awake, rubbing his eyes and yawning. The first words out of his mouth are, “how are you feeling?”

Sting can’t answer because the truth will just be disappointing.

“Fine,” he says, but when he tries to sit up, he nearly passes out.

“Nice try,” Natsu grumbles, flicking Sting’s forehead. Sting winces, trying to bat Natsu’s hand away, but his whole body feels weak and heavy. “You think you can eat something?”

The mention of food makes Sting’s stomach cramp again, and he tries to roll away from Natsu to vomit. He tumbles awkwardly off the couch, banging his arm on the coffee table and ending up on his hands and knees. Heat flushes through Sting’s body as his stomach contracts, but nothing comes up, so he just heaves a few times and then collapses face-first onto the carpet.

“I’m gonna take that as a no,” Natsu says dryly, tossing the blanket off and kneeling next to Sting. “C’mon, let’s get you in the bath.”

Sting tries to protest, but his movements are feeble and Natsu shakes his head.

“You smell like vomit and tequila,” he says, wrinkling his nose as he hauls Sting to his feet. “You’re gonna have a bath, take the meds from the hospital, and go back to sleep until you can do something other than puke.”

They’re in the bathroom and Sting’s sitting on the toilet as Natsu runs the bath when Sting suddenly realizes that he’s going to have to undress.

“W-wait,” he mumbles, grabbing at the hem of his shirt as Natsu turns to him. He shakes his head and the whole room spins.

“I lived in a dorm with communal showers for a year,” Natsu says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve seen naked dudes before. C’mon, let me help you.”

“’s not the… the same,” Sting insists, crossing his arms over his chest and blinking hard to try to get the room back into focus. Natsu doesn’t know, and Sting’s not sure he’ll understand. “Don’t wanna.”

Natsu sighs, rubbing his face and leaning back against the wall. “I’m worried you’re gonna drown if I’m not helping you,” he says gently. “If you’d rather take a shower you can keep the curtain closed and I’ll stand out here?”

Sting slides down from the toilet onto the floor and pulls his knees up to his chest, wishing everything would stop spinning. Natsu’s right. He can’t even stand up on his own, never mind take a shower.

He wants to cry.

“Can’t,” he says eventually, peeking up at Natsu. “Myself, I mean.”

Natsu reaches over and turns off the water, then sits back on his heels and studies Sting carefully. “What’s going on?” he asks. His expression is gentle and open, and Sting finds himself falling into it.

“’m different…” Sting says, tipping his head back against the cabinet. “Jus’… stuff.” He waves a hand vaguely at himself – he hasn’t had to talk about this since he came out to Ryan three years ago. Sting knows that he’s making next to zero sense but Natsu’s face suddenly shifts to an expression of realization.

“Gotcha,” he says, nodding. “Okay, if you’re—if you’d rather do it yourself, we can wait until tomorrow, see if you feel better? But I don’t mind helping you if you want me to.”

“You… don’t care?” Sting asks, frowning.

Natsu shakes his head. “My ex was, too,” he says.

“Oh.”

It hangs between them for a moment, and eventually Sting nods. “Okay,” he says quietly, unwrapping his arms from around his knees and reaching out slowly to Natsu. Natsu takes Sting’s hand and squeezes it before standing and pulling Sting up to his feet.

“C’mon,” Natsu says, helping Sting tug his shirt off. It’s not as awkward as Sting expects it to be – probably because he’s too dizzy to focus on what Natsu can and can’t see of his body. Before he knows it, he’s settled in the bathtub, warm water soothing his aching muscles.

Natsu’s hands are gentle as he helps Sting wash his hair with shampoo that smells like vanilla and coconut. Sting hasn’t had a bath like this in ages, and he’s so comfortable that he nearly falls asleep.

Eventually he ends up curled up on Natsu’s bed, wearing too-big sweatpants and a hoodie that says Danston University across the chest.

“Go back to sleep,” Natsu says gently, tugging the duvet up over Sting. He still can’t stop shivering. “I’ll come back in a bit to see how you’re doing, okay?”

Panic suddenly races through Sting’s body and the urge to cry hits him like a blow to the chest. “D-don’t…”

“You want me to stay?” Natsu asks, and Sting nods, relieved that he doesn’t have to ask. Natsu nudges Sting over – the bed’s only a double, so there’s barely enough room for both of them – and grabs a book from the nightstand, then leans back against the headboard.

“Sleep,” he says, and Sting’s hit by a wave of exhaustion that makes him sink into the mattress. The last thing he remembers is the shuffle of the pages of the book, and Natsu saying, “I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

-----

Sting spends the next few days alternating between throwing up everything he eats and trying to sleep between horrifying nightmares. None of them make any sense, but he always wakes up with the unsettled feeling that something’s chasing him, or he’s going to die.  

Eventually, Sting starts to feel human again. He’s stopped shivering and sweating, and he’s finally able to keep down a handful of crackers and some plain pasta. Natsu hasn’t left the apartment except to run to the drugstore for medication.

“I wasn’t trying to die.”

Sting finally answers Natsu’s question a week after they come home from the hospital. They’re both sitting on the couch – Sting has his head in Natsu’s lap again, and Natsu’s flipping through his phone with one hand and combing Sting’s hair with the other. The sensation is comforting, and it keeps Sting’s mind off wanting to drink.  

“You asked if I was trying to kill myself,” Sting clarifies as Natsu puts his phone away and looks down at Sting. “I wasn’t.” Natsu doesn’t say anything, still running his fingers through Sting’s hair. “I tried once,” Sting continues, voice soft. “A little while before we started working together.”

He can feel Natsu’s gaze move to his forearms and the multitude of white scars across his freckled skin.

“Why?” Natsu asks again, and his voice holds no accusation, only gentle curiosity.

Sting sighs, rubbing his face. “Lots of reasons,” he says after a minute. “I’d fucked things up again, and I had… nothing. Nobody.”

“You don’t have family?” Natsu asks.

Sting shakes his head, trying not to think about his dad. An image of Uncle Wes flashes through Sting’s mind, but he shakes it away regretfully. There’s no way he’d want to see Sting again – not after the last time.

“My mom died and my dad’s an asshole,” Sting says eventually.

“Friends?”

Sting shrugs. “Everyone I know here is… into bad shit,” he says.

Then he thinks of Rogue. Sting hasn’t seen Rogue since they were eleven and Sting used to be Abbey. Sting knows Rogue’s an adult now, like him, but the last image Sting has of him is a scared, confused kid who had taken care of him when nobody else would.

“I used to have a best friend,” Sting says softly. He looks down at his hand. There’s a scar on his ring finger from when they’d built the tree fort in Rogue’s back yard and Sting had nearly nailed his hand to one of the planks of wood. The memory is bittersweet – that fort had been their hideaway, as well as Sting’s only safe place as a little kid.

“What happened?” Natsu asks.

“He was just trying to help,” Sting says sadly. “And I was stupid. I hated him for it for a long time. I thought he’d ruined my life.”

Natsu doesn’t say anything, just sits quietly with Sting and his guilt. Eventually Sting sighs and looks up at Natsu.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Sting says. “The only person who ruined my life was me.”

[peanutbutterjelly-pie]

Gubble-Hubble

content: Dean and Castiel have to face a hard challenge.

word count: 917

“Cas ...”

“I know, Dean.”

“Do you really think we should do this?”

“Do we have a choice?”

“There's always another way, Cas.”

“Not this time, I'm afraid.”

“But … I'm really not sure I'm gonna survive this …”

“We survived more than one apocalypse. You will be fine, Dean.”

“I hate to break it to you, babe, but we did die several times during those apocalypses –  uh, apocalypsi, whatever. This is seriously not your best argument here.”

“Just shut up, Dean, and stop being so overdramatic.”

“Jeez, Cas, why did I even marry your rude ass?”

Castiel chuckles before waggling his eyebrows in a way that is probably meant to be suggestive, but looks kinda dorky and weird instead, and Dean would've kissed him senseless here and now because he just can't resist his husband ever, even while having stupid fights, it's just his ultimate weakness – but then he's jerked back into reality when a plate is placed right in front of him.

A plate filled with food.

Food beyond recognition.

It sure looks like something a werewolf puked into a back alley.

Under normal circumstances Dean would've grimaced hard and offered a lot of profanities faced with such an abomination, but a pair of big green eyes staring right at him keeps him silent. Damn, he even manages a smile. It's forced and absolutely unconvincing, but their little daughter beams at the sight of it.

“You need to eat, Daddy,” Grace urges gleefully before sliding another plate toward Castiel who seemed to have surrendered to his fate as he grabs a fork and begins to poke the unrecognizable mass of … well, something.

Dean has no clue why their little girl suddenly insisted on cooking her fathers a meal. Maybe she saw it on TV, maybe her favorite Uncle Sammy, that bastard, suggested it to her, finally getting payback for all the pranks he had to endure in their childhood …

Yeah, Dean doesn't know what came over Grace, but she looks so proud of herself and Dean seriously doesn't want to steal her thunder.

“This looks very tasty, love,” Castiel says and somehow he accomplishes to sound sincere. “What is it?”

“It's gubble-hubble,” she announces, giggling.

It actually looks more like she threw everything they had in their fridge together into one big thing and sprinkled some Fruit Loops and wieners on top for good measure.

“We are honestly blessed with such a skilled and creative daughter,” Castiel says softly, smiling at Grace like she's the best damned thing that ever happened to him (and well, she totally is). “She's already creating her own dishes.”

Dean can't really argue with him on that one. Sure, her gubble-hubble or whatever seems absolutely inedible, but considering what kind of unusual and strange meals he made back in the days as a child in order to feed Sam he doesn't have a right to complain. Hell, it even looks slightly more not-awful than some of the stuff he created.

“Eat, eat, eat,” she pushes them, obviously excited about their judgment. And Dean has never been able to deny her anything.

As expected the food is terrible. It's spicy and sweet and salty and gravy and dry – and a million other things that makes it into the Top Ten of the most horrible things he ever had the honor to try. But nonetheless Dean chews and chews and swallows while simultaneously smiling at Grace though he feels more like crying.

He notices that Castiel next to him is doing the same. His disgust is very subtle (Dean's actually quite sure that he's the only person on the planet able to recognize it) as he rolls the food around in his mouth like he's savoring the taste.

“This is quite delicious,” Castiel eventually says after he achieved to swallow while some tears prickled in his eyes. “You are very talented, honey.”

“It would've been great for torturing demons,” Dean mumbles underneath his breath and promptly gets kicked in the shin by a scowling Castiel.

“So you like it?” Grace asks.

“Well, it's way better than anything I made at your age,” Dean offers, having not the heart to outright lie to her, but not wanting to tell her to cold, hard truth either.

“So I can cook now all the time?” she wonders, hope swinging in her voice.

Dean fights back the urge to pull a face. “You're more than welcome to help in the kitchen if you want. Dad and I can teach you some cool stuff.”

“Even making some pie?” she asks with big eyes. “All the pies for Daddy?”

Dean feels his heart swell at least three sizes as she lists all the different kinds of pie she wants to bake for him.

“We're gonna make some pie together tomorrow, how about that?” Castiel suggests. “Just for your father. He will like that.”

His gaze becomes so gentle when he turns toward his husband that Dean can't help but surge forward and capture those lips in a searing kiss. And though Castiel tastes like gubble-hubble and they're both smiling way too hard to turn this into a proper kiss, it's still probably the best one they ever had.

Right here in their kitchen, with the most disgusting pile of food poisoning their air and their little girl grinning at them.

[zebraslovescupcakestoo]

Gambling bet

It's a booming night for gambling and auctioning. The people and whole place was in a masquerade like themed like the ones in a 19th century lectures I've once read...

But I was not expecting to be in one as a gambling 'prize'. I was in a cage, tied up from the back with a collar chained at my neck like an animal. My mouth was gagged to prevent me from saying or even screaming... even if I could, I doubt that will help me...

How did I ended up like this? Bendy DeMon. But his real last name is Drew... I was so close to nab him in that alley way until I got knocked out from the back... I was a fool for not realizing he had Boris Wolfenstein as his second hand man of the Alfonso mafia and now I've really gotten in a huge mess this time.

If I remembered correctly, this must be one of those black auctions slash gambling events only the social elites and exceptional takes place... Some of the items are from Europe and foreign regions that must have at least a thousand dollar value each! But there are some 'items' that are illegal like myself and I believed some dangerous weaponry or exotic animals...

“Our turn is up. You better not screw up more than you are now, ace defective.” I quickly looked at my right to see that demon smirking as I was transported to the stage as a center of attention. He was wearing his best black stripped gangster suit, complete with a black fedora and a demon mask. I gritted the cloth that was tied at my mouth as I glared. This is bad... I have to escape, but what can I do? This place is filled with influential and rich people who are no different than the crooks I've dealt with. If I do something reckless, they have the 'authorities' in their pockets to destroy me and anyone close to me... What would my father do in this situation?

“Our next item featured in tonight's event is a prize by the gentlemen  Mr. Dancing Demon. This one is one of the top member of the CPD and a detective. He's in no one's favor, but if you win the game against Mr. Dancing Demon, he will be 'yours.' You can use him as your personal pet, or use him to avoid minor incidences to stay on top of the 'law.' But if you found him too 'good,' you can always use his organs as a quick, pocket money or if you had 'desires,' he does have a nice body...” The announcer was treating me as I was a commercial item and I felt a lot of eyes gazing at me... I'm getting a whole mess of feelings of what they were thinking... But I can tell that I was an interesting 'prize' to win. I will admit... I'm terrified... If one of them 'wins' me, my life will be more like h3ll and then God knows what will happened to my nephews... My best bet in worst case scenario was to give them again to my uncle in Australia, but then again my cousin will trick them again...

I then noticed that there was a black table set up and there sat Mr. 'Dancing Demon' A.K.A. Bendy along his sidekick, Boris. His partner was wearing black suit and pants, but he had a large, grey fur over coat that made him look like a million bucks. He was also wearing a mask that looked like a wolf. “Mr. Demon, how would you like to do it? Auctioning or Gambling?” The announcer asked about my fate. I looked at him again and he thought about it for a minute... he then gave his answer. “I will gamble. I do admit I really do love the money, but this one... hehehe... oh, this one...” He was teasing me and then grabbed the chain. “I have sooooo much thoughts about this one... he wasn't easy to catch, but if any of you have anything that could give an 'equal' amount, I could just part with it... for now.” He then yanked me at him as I almost hit the bar. I grunted. Now I feel like his pet. “Now who's first?”

----Several card games later------

I can't believed that demon is 'winning' all of their money and some priceless items to boot!

There was a fairly amount of people who grabbed their 'pocket changes' and their values on this bet for me! Any card games like poker or black jacks, he wins it all. There's gotta be almost fifty thousand dollars in cash and value in total... There's a trick I 'detected' while I simply watched. If I can detect the 'trick' to anyone, I can use that as an advantage to unmask his cheat and then while they're 'distracted,' I can escape!

But what can I do? If I don't do it soon... Huh?

I then noticed the last odd person wearing a red mouse mask... that I think I've seen it before... He was also wearing a black and red detailed Chinese soiree suit. His hair was black with two curly buns I think I've seen them before. He was smiling underneath that mask and it made Bendy angry. I can tell judging from how he was gritting his teeth and trembling his hands. I then saw another figure who was a few inches taller than the other one. He was wearing another familiar rabbit mask. He was wearing a white with blue detailed Chinese soiree suit. His hair was also black but with twin pony tails... I think he's looking intensively at me behind that concealed mask... which sends a shiver down my spine. “Guess I can't see one without the other, huh?” Bendy said in a deep tone. “I can say the same thing for you and Mr. Wolf too. At least we can do fine on our own if we get separated.” The guy in a mouse mask said. “I should have known from your nicknames it was going to be you two. I'm done for tonight.” He was about to get up until the rabbit guy spoke. “We still have the right to challenge for the 'prize' as stated tonight's rules. We waited for our turn cause you have something 'rare' and doesn't belong here.” He then puts a suit case on the table. “What's that you got in there? Candy?” Bendy mocked the guy in the mouse mask. “Very humorous, Mr. Double D. But don't you think you're being unfair, again? My friend is ri-” *TACK! * Then there was a switch blade stab on the table that stun the crowd. “When I said I'm done, I mean I'm DONE! Just looking at those mask makes me wanna puke! We're leaving, Mr. Wolf.”

“What's the matter, Demon? You think you can't beat him in another card game? Or maybe you've ran out of luck because of the black cat's karma have kicked in? They don't like to be played 'rough' like you do.” The one with a rabbit mask smirked at him and it sets him off even more. “If we weren't in a social gathering, I would have 'loved' to have a couple of stuffed animal heads for my coats.” In a quick reaction, he tried to slash their masques but the rabbit grabbed his wrist just in time. The rabbit guy was then holding his grip really good to prevent Bendy of getting the upper hand. He must be a REALLY GOOD Chinese boxing expert cause I know Bendy is a knife handling expert next to his speed demon skills. “Still a karate freak, humping rabbit?” Bendy spatted. “I wouldn't even think of f#king with you with a stolen d!k, ya back stabbing demon.” The rabbit replied and I think he was glaring through his mask. I feel his murderous tension when he said that and I feel like I shouldn't try to make him angry if they win.

Or IF they try to bet on me.

“Guys! The host is coming! Knock it off!” The mouse whispered harshly and pointed an individual in white coming our way. They immediately break up before it escalates to a fighting scene. Under normal circumstances, Bendy would have done it, but I guess he's just 'behaving' at the moment cause I knew that he isn't the one who throw these kinds of auctions... And that there's other syndicates that benefits these events for 'rares' and other important 'essentials' for anything.

“Is there a problem?” The white man asked. Can't his clothing be any whiter than his mask?

“Not really, just personal issues. We both just wanted to take a chance of getting his 'prize' he presented. He can keep the rest he gained from others for all we care.” The mouse explained.

Just me?! Who are you both working for why would I be any use of you two IF you win? I better need to think of an escape, FAST!

“Mr. Demon. I'm sure that the evening isn't over yet and I wish to see at least one more card game of yours. Maybe that new card game you've made recently that became quite popular recently that's very challenging and tested your luck pretty harshly. Was it Double Memory?” He calmly questioned at Bendy after pleading for another game of cards. That made the demon perked his ears and I can tell from his mouth expression that interested him. “Oh? THAT game?” He then smiled wider and he made a nod to Boris as to hive him some sort of communication. The wolf reached in his pocket to take out two, unopened, cartoon Bendy themed playing cards. You've already have one deck opened already... Why two new ones and what is that 'Double Memory' card game? I did heard it once before in a rumor and nothing else... Keep listening.

“If I remembered correctly, that 'Double Memory' card game is  the same thing like the 'Memory' game with two exceptions. One is that it uses two decks instead of one. Two is that not only you need to match the numbers, but it has to be in the same suit. Like you need two exact identical cards to make a match.” The mouse explained.

“Correct, rodent. Now since I was the one who created that new game, I will choose the decks.” He then held the unopened packs together and held it close to his face. “Let's make this quick, shall we? I want to 'play' another but a different 'game' with this cat.” He then looked at me as if he had some sort of cruel ideas of what my fate will be. “First one who gets the most pairs wins.”

“Those cards... are they the newest toys you've recently released? They looked very high design.” The mouse innocently said. That makes the demon's grind wider. “Ah! So you finally noticed some better taste. My products needed MY personal touches on the marketing side and I wanted to be done professionally.” He then opens the deck and the cards were fairly scattered.“Compared to your father's puny ideas, mine were all beautifully well selected by yours truly. The design of the deck is far more elegant than the ones that was made originally.” The deck back design was mostly black with a golden like floral themed that resembles to a throne roses. I do admit it's very uniquely beautiful despite it was made by him. The mouse looked like he was in awe like a curious child who is choosing which ice cream flavor he wanted to pick. “I admit, Mr. Demon. You really did a fantastic job of making these wonderfully deck designs.” The mouse complimented. “I thank you for that, cheese brain. Now pick your first move.” Bendy impatiently replied.

The mouse took a few seconds to scan all of the cards on the table while playing with his index finger as if he was deciding which ones he'll pick first. “I shall start with five hundred.” I was nervous once he turned the first one with a four of diamonds. If he turns a wrong one, Bendy will have a turn... and he never loss a game yet tonight. He then reaches for another one across the table and... another four of diamonds! “Lucky rat... Just watch! I'll have my turn as soon as you fail.” Bendy rarely 'complimented.' Then the mouse took another card, a ten of hearts, then asked. “Say Old friend... I need to say this before I forget.” He then continues his turn as he reaches for another one. “I do admire anyone who's been having a hard time growing up as a child and made a name for themselves. I like it when someone who have a dream and they pursued it whether they made it or not. As long as they take responsibilities...” He flipped another exact match! Bendy then sneered his eyes at him. “The f#k you mean by that, mousey?”

But the mouse still has his eyes on the cards. “I'm sorry. Have I offended you when I said that? Don't get me wrong. I just sometimes have that envy of independence like yourself in your 'front' public image. I am barely in a position to make choices like you. The cards you made personally by yourself is one good example... I can't barely even ask for that... not just for marketing smarts... right?” He lifted his head a bit as if he's on to something. “Hm?” Bendy kept his cool and I think he was still sneering until... he surprisingly gasped as if he gets what he's saying. The mouse keeps getting the right cards as if he KNEW exactly where they are! Boris then whispered something like 'he's bluffing!' and it was impossible...

It then strike me what he means: Bendy have made these deck of cards specifically for cheating by making the deck designs HIMSELF!!! He noticed it like I did?!

I then saw the rabbit's grin grew wider and said. “You know, Bèndàn. Let me give you one piece of advice. If you're planning to use your 'front' business image with these tactics, make sure you're duly prepared.” Isn't that Chinese word means... ?!?! YOU ARE SO LUCKY THAT MY NEPHEWS DON'T SPEAK THAT KIND AND TYPE OF LANGUAGE!!! If I wasn't tied up and gagged, I would have a WHOLE hour of lecturing you and ask who raised you!

I glanced back at the mouse as he was pairing the exact cards... No way! How did he figured out his trick like I did? Then there was a final flip... fifty two cards were all flipped. The white guy was impressed and gave a small applause. “Bravo, Mr. Souris. You have won a well deserved prize from Mr. Demon. I do admit, it's a very rare find, even in the Chicago's crime syndicates. I hope you'll be treating him well.” I then heard the cage's door opened by one of the staff members and I was handed to the two mystery guys who won me.

“Hey!” Bendy took out another deck with a different design, but it was just a regular one. “Just give me ONE more round! I will bet ALL of the money and the priceless items for him! Come on! He's not even worth THAT much compared in gold values!” He seems like he was determined to keep me for his 'interests' or something like that.

“Nah, that crap you've collected doesn't interest us. The cat is all we needed.” The rabbit replied as he held me close. I feel something in my chest. What is this feeling? Relief or was it...? No, never mind that. It must be stress over tonight's 'activity' and I'm not thinking straight right now.

Bendy was not done talking. “I'm not letting him go THAT easy! There's a rule about-”

“A penalty fine if we declined and leave the auction before the announcement is over, correct?” The mouse interrupted him. “Yes. It's a one thousand dollar fine to the organizer of tonight's event.” Boris cleared that specific rule.

“Okay! There!” The mouse then tossed another five hundred on the table, both Bendy and Boris choked. They weren't the only ones that were surprised. Who are they behind those masks and how rich they are? Not even Bendy would have bluffed or put that much amount for anyone but Boris.

“Oh! And before we forget...” The mouse said something but before I get to hear it, there was a bag that covered my head and the rest of that memory was blurred....

-------

It was all just twists and turns with the walks, cars and doors. I feel like it's one of those movies where they catch a 'suspicious' character and they brought them at their secret hiding spot, and I was the 'star.' How Ironic.

But what's really going on in my mind is who are they, what would they want with me now that I'm in their 'possessions' and how do I get out of this?

Paying all back wasn't exactly an option... I don't want to become their puppet like Bendy does with the other police men and women either...

I was then tossed on my back and was hand cuffed over my head. Judging from what I felt and positioned, I'm guessing it was a bed. I then heard somethings and they talked in a foreign language. I believed it sounded Chinese, based on my previous investigations with those people...

I then felt the bag removed from my head and it took me a minute to adjust the dimness of the room. It was dim, with only low lights to see that it's a luxurious private bedroom you might see in social elite movies.

I saw only the guy in red, but instead of wearing the same getup from that black auction, he wore some sort of a red and white track jacket, along with a black vest, red tie, black pants and he wore a beast themed facial mask. His eyes were black despite the dimness of the room.

He then removed the gag from my jaws and I took a breath of relief. “Thanks...” I told him. I'm still a bit cautious, but so far they seemed to act nice so I play along for now. He seemed cheerful and replied. “You're welcome! It's been quite an evening. Especially for that dancing demon himself. That card trick was very strategically challenging.” He then took out a card from the night table's drawer next to me that Bendy have made himself and showed the deck's design. He placed a finger on one of the tiny floral. “If I'm not mistaken, there's a rumour from the 'underworlds' about a certain pair of eyes that can detect more than just hidden secrets.” He then lifted his finger to reveal the 'glow mark' of another hidden floral.

It was so tiny yet so convenient for Bendy cause he can easily tell which card is which by temperature. After a few minutes, they slowly faded away so it would avoid of him getting caught. Sure, it would take a lot of work to memorized ALL of it and mastered the games, but the effort will be paid off fully in spades and tonight's winning rounds was the proof of it.

“I know for a fact that he hid most of the packs inside of Mr. Wolf's overcoat for heat and two more in his own pockets for the Double Memory game he played with you. What makes you think my 'unusual' eyes had anything to do with that rumor without any solid evidence?” Is he trying to bluff me into confessing about my 'sight' abilities? I may used them to detect lies but... I do not wish to use them 'willingly' if you know what I mean.

“I'm not forcing you to tell us, but based on our own 'investigations,' we can suspect that you don't always used them as a lie detector.” He winked at that statement and I was shocked. How much did... no, it's too convenient. He's just trying to make me spill the beans! So I decided to ask the most important question I had in mind, but then the other guy with a twin ponytail, who had a similar outfit he changed like him, but in whit and blue, said something in Chinese and then he went to another room. The other guy then came over to me with some threatening yet calming aura. Like one of those cool guys... I sensed something intense from him, not just from his glaring. “Who are you people and how did you know who I was?”

He answered this. “We're just somebodies who doesn't like certain somebodies like that Bendy Drew you've keep an eye on. You're may be equals apart that you don't play dirty like he still does, but you might be prove useful to us.” He then stomped his right foot on the side of the mattress next to me, indicating that he's not the 'joking' type and that he's probably much tougher than he looks... “So you're saying that you're not gonna reveal your names yet I'm somewhat 'valuable' to your needs... Look, I know that I might not have known much, but I did guessed that you and your partner had a history with Bendy. I'm surprised that you even know his real family name.” The only people who knew his real family name were very few aside myself. The rest were in coffins.

“Let's just say... We 'we're' allies a few years ago before he became the new leader of Alfonso Mafia. Call it a mistake for trusting someone who was similar to us, but we're currently keeping tabs on him just so that he's not gonna 'surprise' us again.” He explained their relations. “You guys were allies? For how long exactly? And how much did you know-MGR!” He then grabbed my jaw and made me look straight in his glaring eyes. He had that deep blue eyes that are very beautiful... and very terrifying at the moment. I feel like a scaredy cat being in a stare down against a, intimidating blue eyes, white dragon.

“I just said that we 'used' to be friends, it doesn't mean we're still in touch with each other.” He 'clarified' it. “Ny-ok! You guyz are in neutrwal in 'public' evwent aftwer whatwever happened.” I struggled to say it and then he lets go of my jaw. I took a breath of relief before I continue. “So... why did you guys rescued me, despite you'll probably ain't gonna have all the money right away? I've-”

“Got two nephews that are currently in your care after an incident with your late father and sister. Despite that you had relatives that can raise them, you yourself wanted to care them instead. After graduated from high school, you went straight into the police academy and was an exceptional student. Despite your height, you had that speed, quick thinking and also that 'unusual' detection that got you on top. Of course, you also had a few friends like Sheba and Kitiana to help out, but after the incident with your own, you wanted to do your cases alone after you got more independent from the top brass. Guess what happens when you get too overly confident?” He took a part of my biography and explain it to me like he new me 'very' well.

I was stupefied... and I didn't need my 'sight' techniques to tell that he was smirking at me like he was taunting me to crack under his 'joker' persona. “How much did you knew about me before you 'rescued' me?” My curiosity tingled. “Just enough to understand your background before we... 'co-operate' with one another. You may be a sticker to the rules, but I can see you're not a slouch nor a corrupted copper.”

He wants to what? Co-operate? With people that I didn't know well aside they knew Bendy behind his public image? This is too suspicious. I then noticed that the guy in red came back. “I'm back! Did you guys behaved well?” He said in a cheering tone. “We did, just talking.” The guy in blue said plainly. I wanted to give my opinion, but judging from his actions and my position, it's best that I stay on his good side. The red one then asked the next important question. “Did you wanted to negotiate of that one thousand dollar debt? It wasn't exactly easy for us to get it... without being detected in public image.” So these guys have a public image? I mean, that explains the money but I don't recall anyone in the social elites in Chicago with those particular hair styles nor features... Not even the underground rumors here had people like them.

But for now I'll focus on that 'negotiation.' “What exactly do you meant on 'co-operating?' I don't work with shady people. Don't get me wrong, I really do appreciate for rescuing me from Bendy or in worst case scenario, sold to a crooked rich criminal, but I'm not gonna start playing 'dirty' for whatever you guys want do to get even with that crooked demon. I still have my standards!” I don't want to soil my father's honor in the name of justice by being crooked to a pair of vigilantes who hated the same guy as I did. The guy in red then broke it down to me. “Oh! I'm sorry. Guessed we had a misunderstanding here. See, we're not asking to 'cover' for us whenever we slip up, it's more like... keeping an eye out on Bendy until he's permanently behind bars. Easy, right?”

...what?

“Let me translate for you.” The guy in blue then said as if I didn't understand a single thing. “We needed someone from the law side that keeps us informed in this city. As much as we have numerous ears and eyes on these streets, we needed at least one person in the police department to keep us informed on what and where is this demon and wolf is doing.”

I wasn't that confused, but I had to ask. “Just that? You expect me to keep an eye out for him and Boris? Then what about that stuff about my personal life? I'm sure that-OW!” The blue guy then grabbed my collar tight, lifted me close to his face and glare me down again. “You are not in that position to decide on your own accord, remember? We can easily kill you, let you live or give you a more living h3ll.” His eyes were sending shivers down my spine. “You are 'ours.' However, that black cat's luck have shine upon you since we do show mercy. All we asked is that you keep doing your 'detective' job as usual and if we asked for an update, you'll provide your information from the law side of things. But don't say 'just look at the morning papers' crap, we know that you and your group of three don't always give the whole crucial evidences to the department.”

He then lets go of my collar and my head fell back on the pillow. I tsked. “So what you're saying is that I have to share classified information to a pair of vigilantes who used to be my enemy's friends so you may have a chance to get revenge like I would? And how can I trust you two if you're not gonna use me as an escape goat if things get out of hand?”

They both looked at each other for a few seconds until the guy in blue nodded. The guy in red then whispered a 'Thank you' as if he was happy to have that permission. Even with that mask, I can tell he was smiling. They then turned to me and the red one said. “If we unhand cuffed you now, reveal our identities and tell you our stories of how us and Bendy came to be, will you be our ally?”

I was surprised. “Seriously? Even tough we just met aside your partner had made a background check on my personal life?” Are they really going to risk their identities to someone like me? “Did I also mentioned that you've helped some people out of morale, despite that it goes against the law itself?” The blue one pulled that fact. “Like how you manage to catch a minor fruit vendor thief, only to found out that he only stole it to help his struggling working mother from hunger. So you helped them out a bit until they were fine and never reported it.” I was even more surprised. He... even found out about that? It wasn't to benefit my image just... I tried to he humble and compassionate like my father would have done it.

If... if they believed to risk their identities exposure to me then... “I guess as long as it doesn't involves the innocents or criminal activities, I'll trust you two... and I'll co-operate for now.”

The blue one then uncuffed my restrains and I rubbed my sore wrists due to extensive time bounded. I looked up to them and asked one more time before they do anything else. “Are you still sure that you both are willingly to risk your identities to a cop like me?”

“If it's going to convince you of how serious we are to get that double-crossing demon and his doormat dog behind bars permanently, we'll take it.” The blue one said as they reached out for their facial masks.

Once they removed it, I was not prepared for this. Even if I was just an underdog detective, no amount of police training was prepared for this unbelievable moment that only happens in books or movies twists.

Upon their reveals, I recognized those two faces from anywhere. “Mickey and Oswald Disney... Holey tuna fish! I... How... why...” I struggled for words. I mean, sure it explains the money but that still leaves on their vigilantes life style and other things that relates to Bendy and the Alfonso mafia.

And if this made public, it's gonna be a huge talk of the decade! I felt like this is going to be a long night.

Mickey then started to speak. “Well, now that we didn't need to introduced ourselves, how about we start our story? Say, how we met Bendy before he became who he is?”

----- Author’s notes ------

AHHHH!!! It feels so LONG to write a fanfic, even for a one-shot. It’s been busy and frustrating these past few months with the holidays, work, and my motivations that drains me. I hope you’ve enjoyed a little BBTIM AU fan story here.

So on a side notes, I did got this inspiration from an anime scene from the Lupin the 3rd series, ‘the woman called Fujiko Mine' back in 2012 and also the card game of ‘Double Memory’ was also from that gambling anime called ‘Kakegurui’ in episode 2. So I hope I’ve explained it well cause like I’m trying to be more honest, my story explanation sucked so I hope you might get that idea here and there.

Anyways, hope you like an alternate story line of how Felix met Mickey and Oswald in the BBTIM universe.

BBTIM humanized characters belong to Marini4.

[iyoonssaem-blog]

✜ (rolls this in ur direction)

[✜ ] my muse collapses in front of yours, all bloodied and bruised.

Seungyoon never thoughtthat working at the grilled meat restaurant could be this exhausting.He got a phone call from his mother earlier this week to help out hisuncle who ran a family restaurant. He was short on employees, and inneed of helpers as soon as possible. Helping a family never madeSeungyoon think twice before, but he somehow regretted it on thefirst two hours on the job. Seungyoon’s mother used to run arestaurant too, but it was too small to ask for extra helps duringthe weekend. She also never asked Seungyoon to do some chores, so hewasn’t sure how his presence would benefit his uncle’s restaurantin such busy weekend hour. He calculated it wrong. It was a hard andtiring labor work. He reeked of smokes too, and fats and alcohol (andalso the bad puke at the front of the store he had to clean up, wherethe slimy pieces of meat were still distinguishable). Somebodyneeds to chew their food properly, Seungyoon told himself as hescrubbed the sidewalk.

He had never seen thatmany people came at once in one place, that he had to move the tablefrom corner to another since the customers were coming in a largegroup of people. From his experience, there had never been a groupdinner after work once  Seungyoon started working at the kindergartenfor two weeks now, because the teachers were also mothers of theirown family, that Seungyoon mostly embraced his weekend in loneliness.He asked god to kill time, but he never expected to get suchemergency call, wiping off a drunken man’s puke on the sidewalk. Itwas Friday night, and Seungyoon promised to god he would never asksuch request again.

The way back to hisapartment was never smooth in addition, ever since Seungyoon paid forthe rooftop place at the top of the hill. The place was cheap, hadenough room for himself, a great view, an average working heater onthe cold days. The alley road was finely asphalted, but the slope wasanother challenge. It was a nice combo after a tiring day of work,with painful joints and stiff neck as the extra weights. There was nosign of his grunt  stopping when Seungyoon walked along, almostreached the top (but there’s also a spiral staircase; so he whinedagain). He wanted to take a long shower and a nice comfort food, andfalling asleep until Monday. He saw the stair and thought how thelong night finally ended in peace.

As if.

On the first step, heeyed a figure sitting down. Seungyoon was not sure who it was, andassumed probably just another drunken old man falling asleep beforehe headed home. He was about to ignore the stranger until the imageof them became clearer. It was a familiar lean figure he knew. Longhair dangling on their shoulders, being blown by the breeze at times.Her face was red and random bruises on her arms and legs. The clenchin his stomach told Seungyoon to speed up, because they were alarmingbad signals inside of him. He kneeled in front of her, calling out aname that usually gave him warmth, but that night it sent him aslight terror. “Haneul-ah?” he said, in a trembled voice. He heldup her head which was lolling over, and Seungyoon caught apparentblood on her features. “What happened—hey, hey!” Before hecould catch any consciousness from her, she was already falling intohis arms.

He cursed, reaching forhis phone to call the ambulance.

[enkelimagnus]

Dressed to Kill - Doterina

Femslash February: Prompt 2 - Dressed to Kill

Catarina Loss loved Magnus a lot. She really did. He was a brother, and a friend. But right now, she could have used him as a babysitter. She could have used him replying to her texts. It wasn’t the time for him to be elusive, and she prayed he was actually busy, and not ignoring his phone, like he tended to do sometimes.

It was really not the best of days. It had all started with a missed morning alarm, and a rush through her apartment, magic working in sync, to get Madzie ready for school, and herself ready for work. And she had burned breakfast, having to summon a bowl of cereals from somewhere.

Madzie portalled into the tutor’s house, she had rushed to the hospital, portalling instead of using the subway. Catarina lived a very mundane life. It was easier for her to blend into the human population of the hospitals she worked at if she commuted like them.

Even after this… particular turn of her morning, she’d been in a good mood. She had a date. And not just any date. A date she’d been postponing for a good 400 years. A date with Dorothea Rollins, the one and only Salem witch that Catarina had known for all this time.

It was time to jump in those waters, they’d both decided. Well, Catarina had decided to ask her out, when Dorothea was still bedridden. Almost losing her at the hands of Jonathan Morgenstern, had been like a slap in the face.

It didn’t matter if Catarina was anxious about this, or if she was afraid of ruining their relationship. She just couldn’t live without knowing what it felt like to kiss Dot. They’d only kissed once before, and they were both drunk and high of their asses. Warlock parties were always wild, especially when you threw in Magnus Bane. Ragnor had always been less… touchy.

Now, they wanted to kiss sober. Or at least tipsy, because Catarina knew neither of them could go to a nice restaurant and come out of there completely sober. “Messy piles of alcoholics we are”, as Magnus always said.

So, even with the messy morning call, Catarina was still smiling. She was glowing, her colleagues said. The nurses always were surprised at how little exhaustion transpired on Cat’s face. She worked as hard as them, and yet never seemed to need quantities of caffeine to stay awake. Oh, the perks of magic.

It all went great. Until a patient puked on her. But that was usual, and she had magic to clean the mess off her scrubs. So technically, everything was okay, even if she needed a shower, until her babysitter texted, two hours before Catarina was supposed to drop Madzie at her place for the night.

That woman was nice, but today Catarina was swearing loudly when she thought about her. She obviously had no idea how hard it was for someone to find a babysitter. The list of criteria went on and on. Trustworthy, knowledgeable about warlocks and the Shadow World, someone who could manage a five-year-old warlock with a relatively good control over her magic (relatively being the important word).

Shadowhunters were absolutely out of the question.

Warlocks were old and very very busy. Incredibly busy.

Vampires were fine but cooking for a child wasn’t their forte. They were not necessarily bad cooks, but children were children, and Madzie’s palate was difficult.

Seelies weren’t trustworthy at all. Catarina would never even think about leaving Madzie with them. Alone. Besides, she didn’t know any Seelie enough for this.

The only option was hoping that Magnus would be available. Madzie adored both him and Alexander, his boyfriend, and the two men were always happy to keep her so Catarina could have some me-time. Or could go chasing skirts around the city night.

It took Magnus an hour to reply. An hour during which Catarina was pacing around, taking care of patients and checking her phone every ten seconds. She would have murdered him.

“Of course, dearest, drop her off whenever you want, we’re home. MB”

Oh. They were home. Catarina almost understood why it’d taken so much time to reply. She rolled her eyes and texted back to thank him, and went back to her last patient of the day.

She decided to portal back home, just in time for Madzie’s own portal, and informed the girl of the change of plans. If the wide grin was any indication, there wasn’t much annoyance from Madzie.

Catarina was very very glad about that. She disappeared into her bedroom after taking care of Madzie, quickly showering. Now was the hard part. The outfit. She had clothes from hundreds of years laid out on her bed. And though they’d met in the 17th century and Dot had appreciated her style then… She didn’t know if the dresses and crinolines would be appropriate for a 21st century bistro.

She decided on a black pant suit, flowy enough but tight enough to show her shape, and a pair of high heels that she grabbed out of the pile on the floor of her closet.  She slipped the ensemble on over matching underwear. She was going in for the kill, of course. And she knew a bit of what Dot liked in women.

The cleavage was low, but still classy, and she wore her hair in the braids they’d been in for the entire day. It kept her hair out of the way, and that was always her go-to. Slicked back hair or easy braids.

She reached for a purse and a jacket and walked out. Madzie was ready, her stuffed dolphin in her overnight bag. Catarina checked for tooth brush and pjs, and everything was there.

“You love going to Uncle Magnus and Alec’s house, don’t you?” She chuckled at the girl’s shrug. God, she was relieved that she could go to her date, and not worry. Madzie would have fun, and everything would be perfect.

She checked for her credit card and her red lipstick, and opened the portal. She would be right on time.

Magnus was waiting on the other side of the portal with a big smile and arms ready to lift up his niece and twirl her around. He did just that, before she ran to say hi to Alec and the cat, who didn’t have time to escape before her little hands attacked his fur.

The warlock looked at his friend with a knowing smile. “So, Dot and you are finally going out?” He asked teasingly, a glint in his eyes that she knew all too well.

“I guess we are. Thank you for the last minute babysitting.”

He shrugged. “Anything for you.I wouldn’t want to come in the way of a night ou and Dot definitely deserve after everything you’ve been through. And I’m sure Ragnor would agree with me.” His voice softened when he mentioned their late friend. It was strange without him.

“He would, would he?” She chuckled and waved at Alec, who was now carrying Madzie to the kitchen. The Shadowhunter greeted her back with a wide smile. Catarina had learned to trust him over the last few months. He was a good man, and he made Magnus happy.

“In any case, you’re dressed to kill, tonight, darling. Be careful not to give our dear Dorothea a heart attack.”

They both laughed and Catarina nodded. “Good thing I’m a nurse, then.”

Magnus stepped closer and hugged his friend tightly. “I’m happy for you two. I really am. And you’re going to have an amazing night.” He said softly as he pulled back. “Now go get your girlfriend. And if you need us to keep Madzie for the weekend… we can.” He winked.

Catarina rolled her eyes at him, and opened the portal. She knew what the younger warlock meant. Well, she’d see.

She appeared in an alley not far from the restaurant they’d chosen, and walked there, checking her lipstick in the camera of her phone. She looked good. She always did, and she knew that, but tonight was important. She pulled on the door, and walked into the dimly lit restaurant.

It had a vintage feel that both warlocks enjoyed, and served great quality classic food.

And here she was. Sitting at a table, toying with her glass of wine. Dorothea Rollins. She was wearing thigh-high grey suede boots and a rather short flowery dressed, that looked like Catarina could take it off simply by pulling on the belt. God she was beautiful. Cat walked closer and Dot stood up as she noticed her.

“Hey.” She grinned, stepping towards her and hugging her. Both women were now grinning from ear to ear, and blushing a little too. Catarina was going to pull back to sit down and get her hands on some - well-needed after this eventful day - alcohol, but Dot reached for her face and cupped her cheek, and the woman melted.

“May I?”

Catarina nodded in answer and Dot leaned closer. She kissed her softly but firmly, and the world and the restaurant disappeared entirely. There was just… her lips, and they were the only thing that mattered right now.

Dot pulled back. “I know it’s not customary for a first date but… I just couldn't wait.” Catarina didn’t reply, just pulled her closer and kissed her again.

It was over way too soon after, and both ended up sitting down, holding hands, and talking. It was natural, and they slid into this soft intimacy without even thinking about it. Dressed to kill… more like dressed to kiss.