#The List: unrolls until it hits the ground

[justatalkingface]

Hey! I've been reblogging some of your stuff and throwing my two cents in what I think. So I come here with a simple question...

What're your thoughts on Shota Aizawa?

Because for me, he's no different than the teachers in Aldera when it comes to handling Izuku. He's also a flatout hypocrite by getting onto All Might for favoring Izuku when he does the same with Hitoshi.

And I'm not even mentioning how he uses his trauma to justify his bs teaching ways

...Hahahahaha! So, you have no way of knowing this, but I've basically been preparing for this moment, to make this rant, for the longest time. More than probably any other character in this series, I've thought about Aizawa, tried to put into words what bugged me about him, scoured the internet for opinions to broaden my understanding, to find the right words. Quite a few posts have been yours, actually.

The short answer is that, simply, I hate him. Once I got past his Kakashi Aura from my first impression, I didn't like him, but fandom hype for Dadzawa, as well as the fact that usually comes with horrifying levels of bashing for people like All Might (ironically, perhaps the most unsung hero in the setting, seeing how few people seem to like his character) curdled it deep into loathing. Still, I'm going to be try to be objective as I talk.

The long answer is more complicated, and very, very long, but still overwhelmingly negative. For me, part of it is that Aizawa is easily the winner of the title of being The Favored Mouthpiece. This is a mixed blessing for him, to say the least; on the positive side, this fact has done a lot for his positive reception and total screen time, the the narrative bends over backwards to agree with what he says, time and time again. On the negative... for all that I'm aware that he's just lines on paper, on deeply visceral level I have sympathetic disgust for all the times he's been used like a puppet to parrot one agenda or another, and it muddles the water on who his character actually is. Honestly, it's been going on for so long, and it's still going on, I wonder if I should just... accept these random outbursts as part of his actual characterization.

At a fundamental level, I've had this question burning inside of me for a long time now: does this man even want to be a teacher? No, this is a serious question: he is effectively working two jobs, and managing it terribly (unlike every other UA teacher, who are all heroes for no apparent reason, and especially Present Mic who somehow has three jobs and still is full of energy. Does that man ever sleep?). He seems to hate the daylight. He seems to hate being clean. He seems to hate children. He hates, if not teaching, then teaching people that don't vibe on his level. He hates being on a schedule. He hates following authority. Really the only part of being teacher he does probably like is the actual paycheck.

So, again, why is he a teacher? I know he likes taking someone under his wing, but that use of a singular pronoun was very specific: he wants one person, one that fills whatever bizarre and unknown criteria, to teach (I'm still not sure what made him look at about five minutes of Shinso and say, 'This, this is the child I shall give all my skills, all my knowledge, and even my physics defying combat weapon.' Like, do they have to be his mini-me? Bear the soul of Grumpy Cat? I really don't know), an apprentice, not students plural. From what I gleaned from the Vigilante manga (which I should probably reread at some point), it's that desire, but misunderstood, combined with nostalgia, loneliness (his friends were already at UA) and peer pressure, that motivated him to start teaching at UA.

I don't really need to say it, but those are terrible reasons to become a teacher, and probably help explain why he's so bad at it.

Before I get into that, I want to address one thing: I've seen, online, that Aizawa's role as homeroom teacher is something completely different in Japan than it is for anywhere English speaking. So these various comments and what not say is, in Japan, these home room teachers aren't actually supposed to teach. They're supposed to be... something like councilors, I believe: they stay with the children and help guide them, and so on, and that's why he's a better teacher than we think he is. I've never actually seen anyone counter that argument, just agree, and I've had this response waiting for a long time now: when do you see Aizawa do that?

I know the Final Exam arc is supposed to show us that, yes, Aizawa is perceptive and does notice things about his students, and does care, but that's shit. His inner monologue tells us about Momo and her lack of self confidence. The implication of that, that he's only dealing with this now, means he's been sitting on this for... how long? However long he noticed that, I guess? So, from a time period ranging between the first day of class, and just before they prepared for the test, Aizawa noticed Momo had confidence issues and apparently did nothing until that test, probably because he wanted to be 'efficient' and deal with two things at once. Why do extra work and deal with a student's issues, when you can do it while they struggle to pass their final exams? Wow. A+ job there, teach.

On Shoto... just... just no. Come back to me, someone, anyone, when Aizawa even acknowledges that that mess is made out of red flags: the fact he doesn't use half of his goddamn Quirk until Izuku beats some self reflection into him. The fact he unsubtly hates his father. The fact he doesn't seem to know how to be a normal person. The burn scar on his face when he's heat resistant. Anything. Anything. I don't expect him to look at the kid and magically realized he's abused, but there's enough there that if he's a good teacher, or councilor, or whatever, he should probably be low key probing for information on his situation, see if there's something wrong in the most general of senses, because there's clearly something wrong there.

Literally anything about Izuku or Bakugou, though I'm putting a pin on discussing that mess until later.

See, the problem with saying that Aizawa is supposed to be the class's... councilor or something, instead of a teacher, brings up the fact that he's a shit councilor. Even if it's true (I'm not Japanese, I have no idea), this doesn't make his character better, this just brings up different problems instead.

Alright, so now that that's out of the way... now I need to point out that Aizawa is a Kakashi clone, and that's a good deal of the reason he's so popular; he rode off Naruto nostalgia. Let's list off how many traits he blatantly got from him. It's more than you think!

Aizawa is like Kakashi in that: he's a teacher that doesn't want to teach, his students include the Great Hope of the setting and his 'rival', he's traumatized from a friend dying when he was young, he deals with his heavy PTSD with unhealthy coping mechanisms, he has an eye based power that turns his eyes red, he loses an eye, he takes on an apprentice that reminds him of himself and gives him his signature technique/equipment, his dead best friend is alive, his dead best friend is the enemy, his dead best friend has been heavily experimented on, his dead best friend has warping powers, his friend group consists of people more cheerful than him who respect his skills, his best friend is overwhelmingly cheery in a way that balances with his low key behavior.

...When you list it out like this, it starts to get a little nuts, doesn't it? I wonder, sometimes, how much actual thought went into the character Eraserhead, and how much was Hori just... copying the copy ninja.

Here's the problem with that though, beyond the laziness of it all: Kakashi is a ninja. He is a mercenary, a child soldier, has killed more people than we have names for in all of MHA. He lives in a military village, under a military dictatorship, and is expected to kill. The teaching system he's part of is largely involuntary, though he avoids in in part because he's so good that everyone looks the other way when he ducks out of it. These students are also ten. There is just... just so much there, so much that is utterly alien to how MHA works, that putting a copy in is... flawed, to say the least.

That's why the Bell Test Quirk Apprehension Test is so bad: Hori put that in, as a blatant echo of Kakashi testing Team Seven, without thinking once of the differences in the setting.

He's in a school, and his job is being a teacher. His literal, actual ass job is to teach students (or 'help guide them', either way). This is something he chose to do, of his own volition. Kakashi trying to ditch his potential students is him trying to avoid an unwanted burden and him avoiding poking at this massive issues with teammates and responsible and everyone he knows and loves dying around him. And when he's forced to take some on? He tries his best to teach them, and he does: think about the first Battle of the End. The way Naruto and Sasuke fought each other. Think about how Naruto used to fight. Where did he learn to throw a punch like that? Kakashi. He may show up late, but the man did his work off screen.

Aizawa trying not to teach his students is literally a man too fucking lazy to do his own job. We all know Hori retconned it with 'he just wanted them to get a taste of death' via expulsion (which, apparently in Japanese culture is something that would set them back in their prospects for life) but it's so nonsensical that it's hard to take it seriously that he just... does this. Was planning to do this the first day, because they were excited about being heros, like that deserved a taste of death (They aren't in the military, you ass, they're in high school). Is allowed to do this. That he did this to an entire class for some reason but not Bakugou, when Bakugou exists.

Which means it's time to wade into the mess that is Aizawa and Izuku and Bakugou. Let's start with Bakugou, first, since I already started.

Blatantly, obviously, Bakugou has plot armor in how people react to him, or don't, as the case may be, and one of the worst victims of it is Eraserhead. The fact that Mr. 'Taste of death' and 'Expels entire classes' doesn't at least punt Bakugou into detention, or more likely a 'taste of death' to threaten the other students (because that's how you teach your class of high schoolers! By fear!), after he actively attacks Izuku, is just... mind boggling. The way he constantly refuses to acknowledge which of them is the aggressor, which of them is the first to throw a punch, which one is constantly threatening the other....

The obvious conclusion here is that Aizawa likes Bakugou, for whatever reason, but... I don't think it's true. The thing is if he liked Bakugou, you'd think he'd... spend time with him. Try and train him. Something. But no, by and by large he acts like Bakugou doesn't exist, right until Hori needs someone to compliment him for the readers, or someone to defend him after he does something bad, yet again, and then all of a sudden he's singing his praises. This is where the downsides of being The Favored Mouthpiece comes in: every time he's complimented Bakugou, every time he's said that this mess of a child is going to be a great hero, every time he cries desperately that he, 'Still needs to be Number One!' or whatever the hell that bullshit was? That was Hori. That was always Hori. Aizawa basically isn't allowed to exist near Bakugou without Hori running interference for him.

Izuku, on the other hand, is half the opposite, half Aizawa's own biases coming in. Part of it is Hori needs Izuku to feel stressed to pump up the tension, make cliffhangers, and get Jump selling; Izuku can't have a normal school life, he needs a heart pounding one. In most shonen school settings, this is easy to accomplish because they're generally hell holes that put their students in life and death situations on the regular, and live in hierarchies based off power levels. UA, though? It's a normal, or at least "normal" school, if exceptional, in the "real" world, plus some super powers. There are standards, is the thing; they can't and won't send their students off to maybe die because of they're a secret society or whatever. They have accountability (to some extent) to the general public, in other words.

So where does Izuku's cliffhanger filled school life come from? Well, Tomura and the Tomura-ettes, for one, but for all the other times... Hori turned to his teacher.

Let me say this again, because I want to emphasis this: part of the reason Aizawa exists as he does, is so that Izuku can feel threatened at school by his teacher. Why? Because Izuku's suffering sells.

Meanwhile, though Izuku does get pulled into Bakugou's plot armor sometimes, and suffers for it (more), but as a person and a character, I think Aizawa unironically disliked Izuku from the start. He grows out of it, to some extent, but....

Let's backtrack a second, back to the Quirk Test. Izuku, at this point, is ripped. Even without his Quirk, he was throwing around fridges and working all day and night to prep for UA. He was at the peak of realistic human fitness, instead of whatever increasing soft cap we have for heroes is.

Toru is invisible. Sure, she's in shape, since she passed the exam, but Izuku clearly focused on his body in a way most of the other students aren't, and she has no Quirk that'd help her pass the test (a test that, as many have pointed out, Aizawa would have failed). She's a nice girl, sure, but there's no way she could have out performed Izuku in raw physical ability, even before the ball throw which was one of the best of that category, and far beyond whatever she could have done.

Yet Izuku was the one at the bottom, not Toru. Why? Well, you could blame Hori, and that's technically true, but the thing is, unlike Bakugou, Aizawa acts like he doesn't like Izuku. He blames him for everything, he refuses to do anything as he breaks his bones constantly, he calls him Problem Child, and anyone who thinks that's affectionate, and that Izuku should as such, and that it's a cute little nickname needs to consider that through the lenses of Izuku's low self esteem, much less from a teacher who constantly threatens his students.

Aizawa sabotaged Izuku's scores. He did it because, you're right: he's just like the teachers at Aldera, if more restrained, and for different reasons. Not because Izuku is Quirkless (though he would if Izuku was, because the man honestly is Quirkist), but because he has the wrong Quirk. Because Izuku had the audacity to come to a school to learn about how to use his Quirk, instead of practicing it illegally, or inside his own house where, at that power level, one wrong move could accidently his house. Because he apparently didn't read the files that said Izuku got it a month ago, or didn't care. Or maybe it's just he looked at Izuku, and realized that having him learn to control that was just... too much work?

At the end of the day, which reason he did it doesn't even matter. What matters is he did. The same way he plays constant mind games with his students for shits and giggles, in ways that should undermine their faith in him, the same way he paired a bully with his victim so they could 'work it out', the same way he puts minimal effort into so much of the work he does, and it's why I loathe him as a teacher.

Aizawa is a good hero, but the moment Nezu let him into a school was a mistake.

#ask #mha critical #bnha critical #aizawa critical #Someone: asks my opinion on Aizawa #Me: pulls out The List #The List: unrolls until it hits the ground #Me in my best Sabaton voice: MY TIME IS NOW!!! #sometimes the language for what I want to say doesn't exist #so I make it myself #The Kakashi Aura #The Dubious Honor of being The Favored Mouthpiece #Why is this man even a teacher? #Shoto is made out of red flags #I'm sorry to inform you that your Dadzawa fics lied to you #Aizawa is a Kakashi Clone #The moral and practical logic of a world of ninjas should not be applied to a world of heroes #Bakugou critical #Bakugou's long standing issues with basic impulse control #Izuku deserves better

[killerlookz]

*sigh* i’ll indulge you.

funny, #5

omg soph ??? indulging in my eddie munson obsession... what a sight! also i meant to write this last night but totally blanked out whoopsies!

PROMPT LIST: Funny #5, "Are you stupid or stupid?"

Wish I Knew You Wanted Me | Eddie Munson x Gn! Reader

warnings: mentions of weed (takes place during a drug deal) but no one actually partakes in anything!! | word count: 1635

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Eddie asks, a faint smile ghosting on his lips as his eyes flicker to yours.

"Like what?" You drop your eyebrows, a mark of inquiry taking over your face. Eddie shakes his head, his long locks bouncing against his shoulders with the movement of his head,

"All intense like," He chuckles, "I feel like your eyes are burning into me."

"I'm just trying to give you my attention, jeez Eds!" You throw your hands up, feigning offense that you didn't really take.

"Attention to me... rolling a joint?" He asks, chuckling as he looks down at the light-brown paper in his hands.

"Hey, baby, I'm just trying to learn from the best!" You raise your shoulders in an overexaggerated shrug. Eddie's eyes flick back down to the rolling tray below him, the metal scattered with little specks of green and small discarded papers. He tilts his head to the side, quickly turning the corners of his mouth downwards in acceptance.

"I am pretty good, huh?" He smirks, holding up the open, unrolled joint paper.

"Oh! Just the best," You grin, "What's the point of smoking a joint if it's not rolled by Eddie Munson?"

"Is that why you're always over here?" Eddie raises his eyebrows, his eyes looking deep into yours, this time he's the one looking at you "all intense like". You falter, giving Eddie a shaky smile, feeling the skin of your cheeks get hot under his concentrated gaze.

"Something like that." You sigh, looking down at the carpet you sat on, rolling the aglet of your shoelaces between your thumb and pointer finger.

"If you want me to teach you how to roll, you could just ask," Eddie smiles, "Here, c'mere," He puts the opened paper back on the tray and waves you over. You sit up on your knees and scoot yourself over to Eddie's bed, placing yourself in front of the foot of his bed, resting on your shins. A strong whiff of the weed hits your nose, making you inhale deeply at the pungent scent, Eddie always had the good stuff.

"It's not really hard," He says, "First, you're going to want to grind up your weed so it actually fits into the paper..." Eddie begins to explain, but you can't seem to concentrate on whatever it is he's saying. Instead, your line of sight is dead focused on Eddie's hands as he goes through the motions of rolling up a joint. You watch as his nimble ringed fingers work with the paper, how were even his hands pretty?

Your eyes flick upwards as he moves the now partially rolled paper to his lips. Leaning forward, you watch carefully as Eddie's tongue moves between his lips, jutting out just partially as he swipes it along the unrolled edge of the paper. You feel your jaw clench, an action that seemed entirely involuntarily and instead, a product of your growing fluster at the simple action. Eddie swipes his tongue back across the paper, and your skin goes hot once more watching his tongue work against the thin material.

"It's kind of like an envelope," Eddie chuckles, pulling his face away from the joint, "You've got to lick it to make sure it sticks closed."

"Mhm," You hum, still not entirely paying attention to Eddie's instructions, instead, you feel more like you're trying not to lose consciousness while your brain tries to decided whether to focus on Eddie's hands or his face.

Eddie twists the paper around a little more until it's formed a long tube around the weed he'd ground up and put inside. He then quickly scoops up the lighter that sat on the rolling tray, pressing a calloused thumb against the rusted metal of the flint, and letting a small flame erupt from the lighter. He holds the hot orange flame over one edge of the joint for no longer than a split moment, careful not to let the edge actually light up. He quickly removes the flame, and presses his thumb and pointer fingers against the warmed up paper, pinching it closed- before repeating the action on the other end.

"Make sure you close up the ends of your joint- don't want to waste all that hard-earned money you spent on your weed," Eddie smirks as he inspects the joint. He cocks his head to the side, looking impressed with himself before holding his hand out to give the joint to you, "All for you!" He smiles.

"For me?" You ask, trying to come back to reality while also somewhat forgetting why you were even in the Munson's trailer in the first place.

"Yeah," Eddie chuckles, "You paid for it right?"

"Hm- oh, yeah," You not fervently, "Thanks." You purse your lips together, before giving Eddie a somewhat awkward tight-lipped smile as you take the joint from his hand, inspecting it.

"Now you don't have'ta spend so much time at your loser drug dealer's dirty trailer." Eddie half-laughs at his self deprecation.

You lift your head from the rolled up paper,

"Loser?" You ask, your voice shifting pitches a little higher, "No- I don't think you're a loser," You furrow your eyebrows, stuttering slightly as you try to return your voice back to it's normal octave.

"Don't think I'm mean and scary?" He jokes,

"No- not at all, you're..." Perfect, beautiful, sweet, endearing, charming, handsome, "...I think you're nice." You affirm with a small smile.

"Yeah?" Eddie raises an eyebrow, "Well, still can't imagine you wanting to spend any more time here than you have to."

"That's not true- why else would I be here if I didn't like it?- You're like, totally cool to spend time with."

Eddie huffs, "I enjoy the flattery," Eddie lets a tiny smirk tug at the corner of his lips, "But it's not necessary- really, don't worry I'd still sell you the same weed even if you were a complete ass to me." Eddie shrugs.

You furrowed your eyebrows, wondering how Eddie could have possibly not noticed your affections for him- how, even now, after months of your weekly, sometimes more than weekly trips to his trailer "just to buy weed" he hadn't picked up on your raging crush on him. You mean- at this point you'd had to have spent more money on weed than most people spent on their rent just to see Eddie. Your entire paychecks went to weed, you'd had so much unsmoked weed that at this point you thought you'd face federal charges if your house had ever been raided.

"Pardon my abruptness but- are you stupid, or are you stupid?" You deadpan at Eddie.

"Jeez!" Eddie chuckles, throwing his hand over his heart, "That was- ouch- you know when I said I'd still sell to you even if you were a complete ass, I didn't mean start acting like a complete ass."

"I'm sorry," You huff, placing the joint back onto the rolling tray before folding your arms over your chest, you hold your abdomen for a moment, trying to comfort yourself as you rationalize what you were doing, "It's just- how do you not know?"

"Know what?" He asks, a dumbfounded expression grazing his pretty face.

"Never mind," You sigh, picking the joint back up, "Thanks for the weed." You're about to pick yourself up off the ground when Eddie stops you

"No," He says abruptly, "What don't I know?"

"Don't make me say it," You grumble, placing your palm on Eddie's mattress to lift yourself up. But Eddie grabs your arm, signaling you to stop trying to leave.

"No, you brought it up! What don't I know?"

You turn a careful gaze towards Eddie,

"C'mon," You sigh, "You have to know."

Eddie throws his arms up in a look of utter confusion,

"I don't," He chuckles, "I'm really at a loss."

You wiggle your arm free from Eddie's grip, and huff, defeated he's not going to let this go.

"That I like- like you," You mumble.

"What was that?" Eddie asks, a small smile peaking at his lips.

"Don't make me repeat myself"

"No, really, I didn't hear you!" Eddie lifts his palms towards you, trying to affirm his innocence.

"That I like you." You repeat, stronger this time.

"Like- as a friend?"

"Jesus H. Christ," You pinch the bridge of your nose before flinging your head up, "No like- more than that,"

"Really?" Eddie smiles, his eyes blowing wide.

"Yes." You answer plainly, trying to hide the fact you felt like you were falling apart inside.

"But you're like, you." He answers, bewildered.

"And?" You squint.

"You're like, cool- or whatever- out of my league." He shakes his head, trying to rationalize his astonishment.

A smile falls at your lips at the compliment,

"You think I'm cool?" You ask, just in as much shock as he was.

"Totally- you're fucking rad." He nods. "And a real fucking babe- I just thought I was your freaky drug dealer."

"No," You grin, your voice light, "No- I-I've never really thought you were a freak, n-not even when the people at school spread all those rumors and shit about you being a demon worshipper-"

"Do people actually believe that shit?" Eddie chuckles, "Like, really- whatever- not the topic at hand- you like me?" Eddie asks again, still looking as confused as he did when you first confirmed it.

"Like, majorly," You simper, not sure how much more obvious you can be.

"Like, go on a date like me?"

"Yes- god, Eddie! How many more ways can I say it?" You throw your head back in sarcastic frustration.

"Would you like to go on a date, then?" He asks, his face turning a light pink as he asks the question, his eyes avoiding yours.

"I would love to."

#eddie munson #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #stranger things

[robthegoodfellow]

Because this chapter is kicking my ass but I’m finally making progress—have a snippet. More Billy bonding with Patrick McKinney. Context: Ah... well. Carver & co. tagged the Hargrove house, called Billy a slur. And then Neil was Neil. And then there was a bit of a kerfuffle at school.

TW: reference to abuse and PTSD

Pat had called him up at Harrington’s the night before—the grounding had lasted only so long as his uncle was away, on account of his mother’s decision to keep certain parties in the dark regarding certain recent events. Sorry, man, Billy had mumbled, but Pat blew air into the receiver. Yeah, whatever—you wanna hoop after school tomorrow? And when Billy had pointed out he was kinda laid up at the moment, Pat was likewise dismissive: So you can warm the bench. Admire my moves.

The team had just been knocked out of the tournament—total bloodbath—but Pat was zen about it. We’ll get ‘em next year.

At lunch, Pat had taken one look at him and let out an arcing whistle. Even fading to yellows and greens, Billy’s face still eloquently spoke of blunt force not long past, but Pat restrained himself—didn’t ask about it until they were walking to the courts after last bell.

Billy gave him the Reader’s Digest version, capped it off with, “So. Guess you can say I told you so.”

Pat hummed, critical. “Don’t think I can, though. Didn’t expect him to, like—outsource it entirely.” He squinted. “Who knows what really went down?”

“The painting crew,” Billy began, and as the list went on, the scroll unrolling to drag on the ground, a knot clenched tighter in his gut. “The dweebs. Couple of their parents. Harrington, my sister. Then Eddie, Robin. You.” With a wince: “Chrissy Cunningham.”

“That one’s a surprise.” Pat dribbled the ball, biting his lips. “And—you’re good?”

With all of them knowing? About your dad?

“Eh.” He tried to smile. Couldn’t quite manage it.

“Yeah.” He glanced at Billy with an understanding quirk to his mouth, then took off, bounding for the basket for an easy layup.

“Oh, what moves,” Billy hollered, and sat himself on the bench.

It was cold but sunny, so he buried his dry hands in his jacket pockets, hunkered down in one of the scarves he’d snagged from Harrington’s coat closet—thick and forest green—and tried to savor the rays hitting his cheeks. Now and then, he shouted challenges: Jump from the three! Reverse layup! Alleyoop! At that one, Pat glared, panting, and joined him on the bench.

“Maybe if I grow another foot or so.” He knocked his shoulder into Billy’s. “And if you’re there to pass it.”

“Yeah.” Billy inhaled deep to check and yep—bright bursts across the sides of his chest. “Once the ribs aren’t screaming.”

“Fucking ribs.” Pat tsked like he’d had it up to here with them. “Those are the worst—‘cause like, only thing for it is to wait. And what’re you ‘sposed to do in the meantime? Not breathe?”  

“Just take the pain, bitch.”

Pat laughed, and Billy had been wanting to ask—but they’d only ever hinted at this shit, never really talked about it. Not directly.

Billy watched Pat spin the ball between his hands a moment. Several moments. Then: “Is it—random, what he does? Like the timing?”

The basketball stopped spinning. “Whatcha mean?”

It wasn’t defensive—not a you better not mean what I think you mean. Just neutral. So Billy let it come pouring out.

“Like… I used to think he—couldn’t help it, I guess?” He scrunched his nose. “Or not really that but… like he was Jekyll and Hyde, and when Hyde was out, he wasn’t in control. So for a while I tried not to trigger Hyde or whatever. But then…” Huffed a chuckle, a bleak sound. “After the divorce, I noticed that—that he only ever really lay into me—like, left marks—when there was time enough for them to heal up? Before Ma would see me next? Which meant… it wasn’t random. He was always in control. So…”

He shrugged, and Pat exhaled long, nudged his arm against Billy’s, but instead of retreating, straightening, he stayed. Kept leaning there.

Billy swallowed. Leaned back in return.

“I think it is kinda random, with him,” Pat said, finally. “Because to hear Mom tell it, he wasn’t this way before ‘Nam. Like he is more of a Jekyll and Hyde. Something happens and he just pops off, you know? Like that night after the party, the quarry, when I came in, I—” He snorted. “I stepped on an empty and it made this cracking sound and he—rocketed off the couch like he was electrocuted. And then he just—lost it. Always the same shit, shouting ‘bout I’m an embarrassment to this family.”

“Yeah.” Billy nodded, commiserating. “I hear that a lot.”

Pat grunted, swung his head around so he was eying him sideways. “Yeah, but you half believe it.”

“And you don’t?”

“Nah.” He cast his gaze off somewhere distant, then let out a huff, soft. “When he says that, he’s talking to himself.”

Billy couldn’t say anything a moment, overcome with this aimless, nameless thing—like grief, but not. Rage, but not. “Still not right,” he said.

Pat pursed his lips, the picture of equanimity. “I know,” he said. “I mean, not like I want him near me, no matter why he does it. But…” He tipped his chin back and forth. “Sometimes wish I could’ve met him—the old him. Ma says he was a lot like me.”

And then Billy imagined Pat—bashful, impish, shrewd Pat—plucked from his life and fed through the butchery, sent home a shell, his mind rigged with mines.

Thought of his own uncle, and how maybe it wasn’t a matter of who came home in a box or not—you were dead the minute your number was called.

He blinked the heat from his eyes, cleared his throat.

“Glad we were born when we were.”

“Yeah,” Pat agreed.

They were quiet a while, until Pat asked, with the air of someone gently closing the skeleton closet: “Think Lover Boy could drive me home?”

“Yeah,” Billy replied, rolling his eyes. “He’ll be here soon.”

Edited to add: chapter is up!

#in which billy and pat compare experiences #living with an abusive bastard #and find they are not quite the same #patrick mckinney #billy hargrove #harringrove #but VERY background in this bit #barely mentioned #spin me right round #snippet

[myemergence]

take me back to the start

Title: take me back to the start Author: @myemergence Rating: E (for one smut scene, later in the fic) Artist: @benjaminrussell Artwork: MAGAZINE COVER and MUSIC VIDEO Warnings/Triggers: mentions of alcoholism, mentions of OC character death, car accident Notes: Thanks to @marcia-elena for the beta on this. I so appreciate all the work you put in! Written for @buddiebigbang. And the artwork is amazing! I love them so much, Holly! Summary: Country music star, Eddie Diaz, is on a break before his US tour when he gets unexpected news: he has a son. He needs to come home to his hometown in West River, TX right away. He hasn’t set foot there since he left for Nashville nine years ago, leaving his old life behind. West River is the last place that Eddie wants to be—he needs to focus on his career, and his tour—not looking after a kid that he doesn’t even know yet.

Crossing paths with his high school sweetheart, Evan Buckley, who’s now a Deputy with the sheriff’s office just might change all of that, reminding Eddie of the person that he used to be… and the kind of person that he wants to be.

Read the whole thing here: AO3 LINK

*

The thing about being a musician and wrapping up a big tour is that it makes the time afterward to unwind and let loose even more rewarding. Taking the time to ground himself before hitting the road again has become essential for Eddie, an integral part of his process. 

This time, there’s no unwinding. As soon as the last concert in the tour ended, he boarded a red-eye flight from Los Angeles into Houston. And he’s tired, a feeling that’s not exactly foreign to him, but he feels weary down to his bones. He’s headed back to West River, Texas, about fifteen minutes outside of Austin, where he was born and raised.

A place he hasn’t as much as set foot in for nine years.

Eddie blinks blearily as he pulls his rental car up to the drive-through at Dunkin for a much needed coffee. He’s within an hour of West River, but he’s going to need something to power through the last hour of his drive as the sun is beginning to rise over the expanse of otherwise deserted small-town Texas that surrounds him.

It’s so quiet out here that it’s almost unnerving.

“Good morning, sir. That’ll be $3.27.” The dark-haired girl at the drive-through window can’t be more than eighteen. 

“Morning.” He holds out his phone so that she can scan his payment.

“Aren’t you…” She trails off slowly, eyeing him suspiciously. 

Eddie adjusts the trucker hat that he’s wearing, despite the fact that the sun hasn’t become a hindrance yet. He’d put the hat on before he pulled up to the drive-through only a couple of minutes ago. He knows that he’d be nowhere without the support of his fans, but he’s exhausted. He just wants to get to his abuela’s so that he can fall into bed. He’s tempted to drag a hand over his face and beg for his coffee.

“Eddie Diaz.” He introduces himself with a winning smile. He’ll try to find time to rest later. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Rosie. I-I can’t believe I’m preparing Eddie Diaz’s coffee. Nobody is going to believe me,” Rosie practically squeals, her face flushed as she fumbles with scanning his phone. “Here, um,” she steps away from the drive-through window momentarily and comes back with a pastry bag along with his coffee. Simple like always: black, with 2 sugars. “For the road. Gone Now really helped me through a hard time, when I lost my grandpa—and you wrote it about yours.”

Eddie’s smile becomes more genuine as he takes the coffee and muffin from the girl. He’s sure he looks like a mess, with blood-shot eyes and bags under his eyes. “I think most people have forgotten about that song. That was on my debut album.” He’d written that song what feels like a lifetime ago.

Like he was a different person back then than he is now. He supposes that in some ways, he was.

“I was only thirteen when it came out,” Rosie says. “I hope you make more songs like that. Your new stuff is great, but… that’s definitely my favorite. Anyhow, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“I do,” Eddie confirms, reaching over into the top of his duffel bag that’s resting on the passenger seat. “It was really nice to meet you, Rosie.” He hands her one of the signed albums that he carries with him, a simple thank you that he likes to have for those truly special fans. “It’s not my debut album, but I do hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Eddie offers her a parting wave as he pulls away, and tosses the hat that was his poor attempt at disguise onto the passenger seat. He takes several sips from the steaming coffee, then sets it in the cupholder, wincing as the heat nips at his tongue, hoping that the caffeine will help keep him alert for the rest of the drive home.

Before he pulls onto the road, he scrolls through his phone, pulling up his debut album on Spotify and pressing play, a wistful smile crossing his face. He’s trying to put a little space between him and the reason that he’s coming home to West River; Rosie’s words remind him, at least for a moment, why he started making music in the first place. He hears the familiar opening chords and pulls out onto the quiet road.

There was a time when not a single day

Went by without us talking

And now I can barely remember your face

We’d spend hours weaving words

And guitar notes together

Just you and me in the music’s embrace

But you’re gone now, you’re gone

All those moments lie six-feet deep in the ground

You’re gone now, you’re gone

I keep missing you ‘cause you’re not around

He knows he can’t live in this world of make-believe for long. He can’t pretend that what matters is his connection to the music anymore—he stopped writing his own music long ago. But it’s nice to remember, even if those moments are fleeting.

*

Eddie pulls into the same gravel driveway that he used to skid his bike tires on as a kid. His abuela still lives in the same house she did back then, only a few doors down from his childhood home. His parents moved an hour north about five years ago. Eddie’s stomach flops a bit, and he tries not to dwell on how little he talks to them these days, or their lack of support over the years.

 He drags himself out of the rental car and grabs his bag out of the passenger side, leaving the rest of his luggage in the trunk. Before he can even make his way up the short drive, his abuela steps out onto the porch.

Eddie yawns into the crook of his elbow, then makes his way up to her. “Hey, Abuela,” he murmurs, pecking her on the cheek.

“Eddie,” Abuela says. She welcomes him with a crushing embrace, and he smiles as he hugs her back. She pulls back just enough that he can see a fire in her eyes; he already knows what that means, so he remains silent until she spits it out. “You were supposed to call me back so I knew you were doing alright.”

“I told you I have you listed as my emergency contact. If anything happens to me you’ll be the first one they call,” Eddie teases with a laugh.

“Edmundo,” she scolds, swatting his arm, and he watches as her jaw tenses under his name.

“Okay,” Eddie acquiesces. “I’m sorry, alright? I’ll be more cautious next time and call you. But Houston to West River isn’t a long drive.”

“Shannon—”

“Can we talk about this later?” Eddie asks. “I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I just need a couple of hours and then I promise we’ll talk, okay?”

“But, Eddie—” Despite the fact that he’ll probably be reamed for not turning his full attention to her, Eddie pushes the door open and steps inside. He stops in his tracks as his eyes catch sight of the figure who’s settled at the table, and his duffel bag drops to the floor. He feels abuela’s hand on his shoulder. “This is—”

The pretending is over.

“This is Christopher, your son.”

*

Eddie knew coming back home to West River wasn’t going to be a vacation in any sense of the word. He knew what would be waiting for him; baggage so heavy that it had the ability to destroy his entire career. The dream that he’d risked everything for, that he’d given up everything for.

This is Christopher, your son.

Abuela’s words echo in his ears.

Sure, there had been a few phone calls beforehand, warning Eddie of the kid’s existence after Shannon had shown up at Abuela’s with the boy. That hadn’t prepared him for this moment at all.

What the fuck is he going to do?

The temptation to drop by the hole-in-the-wall bar downtown to take the edge off is there. Instead, he tells Abuela he has to take care of some things and he disappears. He just needs to drive around for a little bit to clear his head. He needs to figure out what he’s going to do.

A kid will ruin everything.

How could Shannon keep this kid to herself for years, not mention a word of his existence, and then just drop him off and leave like he’s somehow now Eddie’s responsibility?

Eddie unrolls the window, letting the evening air hit his face as his foot presses down more firmly on the gas pedal.

Take care of it. You only have a few months until the tour.

Fuck all of this.

These backroads are so familiar, and there’s something comforting in driving down them late at night, when the rest of the town is quiet. It reminds him of those late nights when he and Buck would—

Eddie stops his thoughts short, the ache in his chest just as familiar as these roads. Buck.

What are the chances that in a town of a few thousand people he won’t run into Evan Buckley? That’s even if he still lives here. Eddie shakes the notion from his head, refusing to allow himself to get nostalgic about the past. A past that revolved around Buck.

Right now, he needs to focus on how he’s going to fix his life—before it becomes a public relations disaster.

Pressing down on the gas harder, Eddie gets lost in the feeling of the cool night air hitting his face, saving him from his downward spiral and memories of Buck.

Unfortunately, the moment is short lived. Red and blue lights flash in his rearview mirror amidst the otherwise stark darkness of the night. With a sigh, he pulls over to the shoulder of the road.

*

Buck climbs out of the cruiser and closes the door, walking up to the driver’s side of the out-of-state car. “Do you know why I stopped you tonight?” He quickly scans the inside of the vehicle, assessing if there are any passengers that he needs to be aware of before settling his sight on the driver.

Of all the people he could’ve had the unfortunate task of pulling over tonight, somehow it’s Eddie Diaz. He studies Eddie’s face, tipping his head to the side as his identity registers with Eddie. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Buck.”

It’s like he took the words right out of Buck’s mouth, because really, what are the fucking chances? After nine years Eddie somehow still has the ability to make Buck’s heart thunder in his chest merely by saying his name. His jaw tightens as he looks at the country music star in front of him.

“It’s Deputy Buckley,” Buck tells Eddie, his voice tight. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“This has to be an actual nightmare,” Eddie mutters, though Buck’s sure at this point that he’s talking to himself.

“License and registration.”

“Evan—”

“I said, license and registration. Don’t make me ask again. I’m going to suggest that you actually listen this time if you don’t want to end up in jail for the night.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut at Buck’s words. “I’m gonna grab the registration from the glove compartment.” He opens the glove box and hands over the paperwork, along with his license.

“Yeah, didn’t think you’d want that news story,” Buck mutters as he takes the documents and inspects them. He obviously knows that it’s Eddie, and he already ran the plates and knows that it belongs to a rental in Houston. He hands the paperwork back to Eddie. “Watch your speed, because next time I’m not going to be this nice,” Buck warns.

“This is nice?” Eddie actually has the audacity to laugh at him. “Seems more like you’re Deputy Dick to me.”

Buck’s lips press together into a tight line. He’s used to not being well liked while on the job—but it feels harsher coming from Eddie. “You know, I could still take you in tonight, if that’s what you want.”

Eddie shrinks under the words, and what he says next sounds sincere. “You know that’s not what I want.”

The same words that Eddie had said to him all those years ago, at the end. Buck feels his chest fracture down the middle, a reprise of the heartbreak that Eddie left in his wake.

He forces himself to school his expression despite the way he’s feeling. “Have a good night, Eddie.”

He doesn’t wait for Eddie to respond, turning sharply on his heels and walking away from the man that’s had his heart all along.

*

“You know, I don’t really think that this qualifies as guys’ night,” Buck says as he looks across the card table at Chimney, taking a sip of the lemonade in front of him. 

 Chim raises his brow a little, glancing in the direction of the living room. “You’re my brother-in-law,” Chim says, “and I’m not sure how to say this delicately, so I’m just gonna say it. If there’s one Buckley I’m trying to make happy right now, it’s not you, Buck. I’m trying to get in her good graces after the bottle rocket incident.”

Josh snorts from where he’s sitting, bringing the beer up to his lips.

“I’m not going to be the one to tell my wife that she needs to leave so we can have a proper guys’ night,” Chim adds.

“You would never say something to Maddie, and not just about guys’ night,” Josh challenges, his brows shooting up.

“I’m sorry, was that a complaint I just heard? Because I’m pretty sure that the last time you hosted a card night your mom showed up,” Chim points out.

“And Buck’s place—”

“Has constant interruption. I know, I know.” Buck rolls his eyes dramatically. “Are you gonna deal us in, or what?”

“Mads, were you gonna join us?” Chim calls helpfully into the other room, and Buck glares at him.

Maddie lifts herself off of the couch and walks out to the dining room table where they’re all situated, grabbing the bowl of chips from the counter and pulling up an empty seat. “I don’t want to play, but I’d love to talk to you guys.”

They really need to start finding different circles of friends, at least for nights like tonight. It’s not as if Buck’s going to tell his pregnant sister to go away, so instead he smiles. “We’d love it if you talked to us, Mads.”

“Really?” She grins, and Chim looks at Buck gratefully. “So, I heard a rumor that Eddie’s back in town.”

“Pick a different subject.”

“He’s back in town and got pulled over by West River’s youngest and brightest the other night,” Chim says.

Just the mention of Eddie’s name is an unwanted reminder that he’s back in town, at least temporarily. The fact that this wasn’t a figment of Buck’s imagination sends his brain into overdrive. There’s been some speculation over the reason for his return, and Buck has done everything in his power to stay squarely on the outside of those conversations.

He’s made it clear to his family and friends since Eddie left town that there is one topic that he refuses to discuss: Eddie Diaz. A lot of the locals were around Eddie growing up, and having someone that’s famous from their small hometown is something to talk about—especially when there’s a new tour that’s announced, or when Eddie is working on a new album.

But his friends? They know that it’s a hard and fast rule, and bringing it up on guys’ night is a definite foul. 

“Guys,” Buck manages as evenly as he can muster. “Talk about something else.”

A tense silence falls over the room, and for a minute Buck refuses to look up, knowing the pity that crosses their faces any time that someone brings up Eddie. He’s tried to hide his heartbreak behind indifference, but he’s not naive enough to believe that any of them buy it. Most of them had front-row seats as they watched Buck’s hopes and dreams shatter to the ground around him, leaving a hollow shell behind.

Finally he looks up.

“Can we make an exception this one time, Ev?”

“Maddie. I don’t talk about— about this, and you know that.”

Maddie’s hand covers his, her touch light, her tone equally calm and even. “You know, this has a name.”

“Why are you bringing him up now? You know I moved on from him a long time ago.”

It’s as if Chim and Josh aren’t sitting awkwardly at the table, trying to avoid the line of fire. Even if Maddie is officially a Han now, nobody wants to get obliterated during a battle of the wills between the siblings.

“This is guys’ night,” Buck reminds her. “The one night of the week that I can unwind and relax. Instead you’re here and dredging up a past that died years ago.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I was a kid. Just a stupid kid. There’s nothing else to say. We were together and then we weren’t. He has his life now, and I have mine.”

“Maybe that’s true, but you never did move on, not really. He’s in town for who knows how long, so maybe it’d be a good chance for the two of you to talk?”

“No, it wouldn’t. And, uh, thanks for ruining tonight,” Buck mutters as he stands up from the table. This is the kind of interference he’d expect from their out-of-town parents, always assuming they know what’s best, but not from Maddie.

“Buck,” Chim warns, and Buck sighs again, shaking his head in frustration. Chim’s always been protective of Maddie, something that Buck’s always appreciated, especially after all that she endured with Doug, but tonight feels like the exception.

“I’m gonna head home.”

“Buck, you really don’t have to go,” Josh says helplessly.

He attempts a smile for what Josh is trying to do—slapping a bandage on the evening, trying to piece everything back together. Buck shakes his head. “I think it’s for the best if I go.”

Buck says his goodbyes and hops into his Jeep, driving home. He knows that Maddie has the best of intentions, and that she cares about him with her whole heart, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

When he arrives home he notices there are only a few lights left on in the house, and that the porch light is on for him. 

“You’re home awful early,” Carla says as soon as he makes his way inside, barely looking up from the little girl that’s propped against her side.

He shrugs a little, not wanting to get into all of the details of how the night quickly spiraled out of control in a way that was just too much for him to handle. “I couldn’t stand the time away from her.”

“Mhm,” Carla says in her knowing way, and Buck’s thankful that she doesn’t say more than that. She knows enough about his past with Eddie, but she’s always stayed out of that part of his life.

Buck toes off his shoes, crossing the room then and scooping Lucy up in his arms. “Hey baby,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on the crown of her head.

“She insisted I read her three stories out here and not in her bed because she was ‘not tired yet, Carla’.”

Buck chuckles at her words, feeling Lucy squirm in his arms before she settles again. She rests her head against his shoulder and he hoists her up higher so that she can curl into him. In a world where everything else is imperfect he’s able to come home and hold a little piece of perfection in his arms. Their lives have been far from easy, and there isn’t a day that Buck doesn’t wish he could be more for her.

He’s doing his best to make up for the huge piece missing from her life—the absence of her mother. Every day she helps him remember that there is more than heartbreak and loss, that sometimes there’s hope, too. He has to hold on to that.

“I’m gonna head out,” Carla says, kissing the back of Lucy’s head and giving Buck a sideways hug before leaving.

Buck walks down the hallway, glancing at Lucy’s bedroom door and then pivoting, walking across the hall to his own room and laying the sleeping girl down on the pillows, covering her with the sheet and comforter. He gets ready for bed and lies on top of the covers beside her. He knows he shouldn’t make a habit out of this and he won’t, but tonight he needs the physical proof.

He hasn’t lost everything, because he still has Lucy.

#buddiebigbang2021 #buddie #911 fanfic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #mywriting

[kashi-prompts]

Flowers For A Shinobi

Chapter 9: Lotus Art: Iyasu Healing Flower

Word Count: 2,381

Pairing: Kakashi x OFC

Previous Chapter ❀  Archive of Our Own Link  ❀  Wattpad Link

A/N: Thank you to those who have been reading. I hope you are enjoying it! Constructive criticism or feedback is always appreciated!

My birthday was Sunday so leave me some likes if you liked it lol

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Caw, caw!

The incessant squawking of the crows overhead reverberated annoyingly in Ayame's eardrums. Her mind felt hazy, comparable to a radio that couldn't quite grasp hold of a broadcasting station. Her consciousness came and went, her mind ebbing and flowing as her body lay still against the soiled marble floor.

Above her, another crow walked closer to the opening in the ground. Its skeletal feet tapping a pebble curiously until it fell into the hole, plummeting through the air and bouncing off the split ground, inches from Ayame's face. She stirred, a groan escaping her chapped lips. She licked them, opening a sage-colored eye lazily.

Carefully, she peeled her cheek from the stone and sat up, feeling disoriented. Her body felt heavy. Her eyes settled on the remains of a man a few feet from her; his figure wrapped tightly in her lush vines, his skin gray. She felt nausea stir within her stomach, burning the back of her throat with acid. Quickly, she swallowed, taking a deep breath at the overwhelming reality around her.

Suddenly, the pieces of her memory came together like two magnets, her neck quickly snapping over to a mass of gray hair at the recollection of Kakashi. Ayame quickly scrambled over to him, gravel digging into her knees as she crawled across the floor.

"Kakashi," she breathed, looking down at his motionless body. She wasn't sure how long she had been out, maybe a few minutes, or maybe longer. She didn't want to think about it.

"Kakashi," she called his name again, patting his face gently. Deep lines had formed under his eyes, a hue of purple dusting his cheekbone. She carefully placed two fingers under his neck, feeling for his pulse. It was faint. His hair was matted to his forehead with sweat and blood.

"Kakashi," escaped her lips, feeling panic building. She forced it away, composing herself as she unzipped his jonin jacket and put her head to his chest. His body was warm against her ear. His heart was still beating. The thought of losing this man she had just met overwhelmed her. She thought of how the village would react to his death, knowing she had been the one to lead them out here.

Thump, thump.

Amatoxins, you know.

Thump, thump.

Ayame's eyes opened instantly as she recalled Daichi's words. She sat up, reaching for her backpack and pulling it over her shoulders. Her mind sorted through the laundry list of herbal medications in her bag, dumping its contents on the ground for the second time that day.

Amatoxins from mushrooms, amatoxins, she thought, picking up each vial and processing its remedies in her mind. She picked up the vial of silibinin, milk thistle extract grounded into powder and mixed into water, and a lightbulb went off in her brain. She turned back to him, her chest tightening uncomfortably at the shape he was in. She cursed herself for being unconscious when he needed her. But if she hadn't been so triggered by Daichi's words, would she have still pushed herself to create those vines?

Ayame uncorked the vial and looked down at the silver-haired Jonin. She felt a tightness in her chest as she assessed him. She would have to take his mask off, she realized. She didn't have time to think about it. The more she sat and considered it, the more time ticked away. She was sure he didn't have much time left before the toxins damaged his liver permanently - if it hadn't already.

It felt so personal, like something he would choose to show her after building a bond of trust. But she had no choice. Carefully, she pulled back the fabric of his mask, over the tip of his slender nose and beyond his lips. The realization that she was seeing his face behind his mask produced a blush to creep over her cheeks. Her ears felt hot. She let the material rest over his chin where a little black mole sat. A nagging sense that she was violating his privacy tugged at her. It was either this or nothing, she reasoned.

Reaching down, she tapped at the side of his chin to open and dumped the vial contents into his mouth. She waited a moment, pushing on his throat to ensure he swallowed it despite his unconsciousness. A drip of the antidote trickled from the corner of his mouth, trickling down to his chin. Gingerly, she reached and caught it with a hooked finger, feeling the light stubble at the edge of his chin. She drew away quickly, her skin hot.

Another pebble skidded across the floor from above. Ayame pulled Kakashi's mask up and turned away, feeling another peculiar sense of guilt mixed with a new, unfamiliar yearning to gaze at him all day. She lifted her hand and touched her braid, fiddling with the strands. Pursing her lips, she glimpsed over at the dead shinobi a few feet away again. Vines wrapped tightly around his neck and body; his skin tinted grotesquely. His lifeless, eerie eyes were staring back at her, causing her stomach to roll.

Suddenly, Ayame jumped up to her feet. She ran over to Daichi's body, tripping over the sensation of how heavy her legs felt. She realized everything required to make the flower the Konoha shinobi needed was right there in front of her. Reaching down, she snatched the scroll out from Daichi's thick fingers, adrenalin flooding through her as she quickly sprinted towards the exit where they had come from. She felt a ping of guilt leaving Kakashi and looked back at him. He would be alright, she reasoned. She just needed to give the antidote time to work. He would want her to do this first rather than save him anyway.

The stale air of her old village greeted her nose again in full force as she reached the top of the ladder. Looking around, she noticed his ninja hounds in the distance, far away from the site of the wreckage. He hadn't dismissed them, she realized. She wondered if they had seen or heard any of the commotion from earlier.

"Pakkun," she called out, waving the canine over. The little pug lifted his head from the ground, his pushed-in nose sniffing the air. The other dogs lifted their heads as well, looking over at her. Their diverse shaped faces shifting into various levels of confusion at the sight of Ayame voice calling them and not their master.

"Everything okay?" Pakkun asked, his little bowlegged arms trotting towards her.

"I need someone to keep an eye on Kakashi," she explained breathlessly. She looked around for an empty field. "But I also need someone to deliver this scroll and some flowers to Lady Hokage as soon as possible."

Ayame showed Pakkun the scroll and then pointed to a small field beyond her old home's wreckage.

"I'll take care of it," Pakkun assured her as the other dogs hurried up beside him. Without any direct orders, two of the canine sprinted off in the direction Ayame had come from, their noses following the scent of their master. Ayame watched them for a moment, amazed by their ability to trace his scent.

"What do you need?" Pakkun asked, watching Ayame turn her head back to him. He looked up at her, his tiny beady eyes staring up at her skeptically.

"This way," she said, guiding him over to the field. Kneeling on the wearied grass, she looked down at the scroll in her hand hesitantly. She thought of the small amount of chakra she had manifested through the previous day's exertion and meditation session that morning. She was sure she had already used most of it - killing - that man. She swallowed hard.

There was no turning back now. Kakashi wouldn't be awake for hours, and she certainly couldn't leave him behind or haul his body back to the village before dusk. She chewed at her bottom lip. It was now or never.

"Pakkun," she looked over at him, his little body sitting behind her on the grass. "I'm going to use this scroll to produce these flowers. I need you to pick as many as you can and take them back to Lady Hokage before dusk. She'll need this scroll too. It has directions on it."

"Got it," the small canine nodded, "don't worry."

"And Pakkun," she spoke quietly, looking down at the scroll as she sat on her heels. Worry permeated her bones, sending a chill up her spine that had little to do with the nip of cold air. She wondered if her body would be capable of handling this job after already exerting herself.

"Make sure Kakashi is okay, please," Ayame requested, unrolling the scroll on the ground. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the scroll.

Stay focused, she remembered. Closing her eyes, her hands molded themselves into the appropriate signs through muscle memory before slamming it to the ground in the center of the scroll.

"Lotus Art: Iyasu Healing Flower!"

A rolling field of purple buds erupted from the dead weeds, the tips of their stems immediately blooming as the crisp breeze swayed them. Dozens of lavender-colored blossoms filled Ayame's blurred vision. Her eyesight tunneled, darkness breathing in and out in unison with her expanding chest. Her body weakened immediately. Her ears buzzed continuously.

Her body fell sideways, the grass rough against the skin of her cheek. As she lifted her eyes before her vision went dark, she watched the brown pug begin to pick the flowers from the ground one by one with his mouth before heading for the horizon with the scroll in his mouth.

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A raindrop landed on Kakashi's forehead, hitting his skin and dripping into his hairline. Then another, and another. Slowly, his hooded eyelid fluttered open lazily, his vision clouded. He swallowed, his throat feeling thick and scratchy. His arms and legs felt heavy, like weighted bags attached to his body. He moved his head, his neck aching.

Slowly, he sat up, raking his hand through his silver hair as more raindrops began to fall from the opening above. Kakashi looked up, his memory slowly coming back to him. He felt similar to when he depleted all his chakra, his body feeling weak. Groaning, he took in his surroundings and pulled down his headband.

More rain began to fall. Slowly standing to his feet, Kakashi noticed a lump of plants a few feet away and began making his way towards it. When he reached it, he stood over them, his eyebrows narrowing as he realized what it was: an asphyxiated man tied up tightly with dense green vines. His chest clenched uneasily, remembering the only person who was with him.

"Ayame?" he called out, turning around. His eyes traveled over the broken marble floor; its fractured and split slabs creating a challenging route to travel when your body was as weak as his. He called her name again, walking back through the hallway and into the original room they had entered the cache. His body protested at every step as he climbed the ladder.

His hair matted to his face as he reached the surface, rain pouring down from the milky gray sky. Looking around, Kakashi noticed his ninkin in the distance, nestled in the corner of the remains of a dilapidated building. He lifted himself from the opened hatch, his knees bending in an abnormally painful manner as he moved closer to them.

Bull lifted his head, his large round face wet with rain, as he watched Kakashi hobble over to them.

"What happened?" Kakashi asked, reaching the seven canines. "Why are you all still he-?"

Kakashi's eyes landed on Ayame's back, the collar of her shirt ruffled from the obvious signs of being pulled to a sheltered location. Uhei's long nose protectively laid across her hip, keeping her warm.

Kakashi knelt, his hand hovering over her head as he processed everything. Finally, he placed it on her head, her auburn hair soft under his fingertips. What happened? Why was she up here? Why was she passed out? Had she killed Daichi herself? Kakashi looked to his ninkin; his eye's inviting them to explain.

"Is she okay?" he asked, his voice sounding rough and scratchy. He reflected for a moment on how tight his chest was. Of course, he was concerned for her well-being, but seeing her unconscious disturbed him in an unfamiliar way.

Uhei lifted his head from her hip, pointing his long nose to the field nearby. Kakashi looked over, noticing a few lavender-colored flowers that remained in a field nearby. Those had not been there before, he deduced. His eyes progressed down the path where his ninken had hauled her body to shelter as the rain started to come down harder.

It all clicked in his mind instantly. She had stopped Daichi, recovered the scroll, and produced the flowers herself. He looked down at her, his eyes wide in astonishment. She should be out of chakra by now. His cold hand moved to under her neck, feeling for a pulse in the crease of her warm skin.

Thump, thump, thump. He exhaled, relieved.

"Pakkun?" Kakashi asked his ninken, feeling disoriented from the overload of information he had missed.

The smallest dog, Biscuit, lifted his head to point his snout towards the direction of the village's entrance gate, indicating Pakkun's travel back to the village on their behalf. Kakashi sighed, sitting his bottom on the hard, wet ground.

"I have to get her back to Konoha," he told the dogs.

He felt culpable for leaving her to defend herself in a battle. Despite her coming out on top, things could have ended much differently. He frowned behind his mask. Looking down at her, she looked as though she was sleeping peacefully. Dirt and sweat coated her face and body. The overwhelming desire to keep her safe washed over him as he looked down at her.

Her shoulder rose and fell with each breath she took. Long deep inhales followed by shallow exhales. He reached up, itching his chin through his mask. It felt like there was something sticky on his skin. He pulled his mask down and felt a line of sticky residue from the corner of his mouth to his chin. He wondered what it was.

A warm head laid itself on his leg, nudging his hand with a nose. Kakashi looked down at Biscuit's blond fur resting on his thigh comfortably.

He looked back up at the diverse features of his dog's faces, each set of their round eyes staring at him curiously. Fatigue washed over his body as he leaned against the wall. In the distance, thunder rumbled across the sky. Perhaps they would stay here for the night, he decided sluggishly as his eyes started to close.

He would make sure nothing happened to her tonight.

#Kakashi #Kakashi Hatake #Kakashi x ofc #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #Kakashi hatake imagines #kakashi imagines #Kakashi fanfictions #Naruto fanfic #Naruto fanfictions #anime fanfictions #anime #naruto rp #Hatake Kakashi #naruto imagines #Kakashi scenario #Naruto headcanon #original charters #eventual romance #eventual fluff #anime fandom #naruto original character #original character #feedback is welcome #please love me lol #life is hard rn

[love-and-anarchy-au]

Love & Anarchy: Chapter 26

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I CANT BELIEVE ITS ALREADY 2021 AND THAT WE’RE ARE IN THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE SECOND PART OF L&A :’) ace, this is a chapter i was EAGER to post, as you’ve been asking for it since chapter one; here you got it xd  i loved writing this chapter SO MUCH, as i hate this character as much as you do xd anyways, i must stop talking and you may start reading this chapter. hope you had a nice beginning of the year! <3

REMEMBER THIS AU HAPPENS IN THE SAME UNIVERSE THAT THIS ONE

Find out what this AU is about here

Masterlist

WARNING: this chapter includes murder, violence and blood.

Tag list: @healing-winston-pratt @honey-hippie-harper @obsidianfr3sk @nodrianbcyes @everyone-has-a-nightmare @magykaldealings @redassassin @cerenoya @cassin-the-assasin @cindersnightmare

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Words

8,226

Part 2: A teen named Ace Artino

17 years old Alec

    Alec had something to do.

    Actually, he had many things to do, but above all of them, one.

    Gatlon City was a great disaster, the most beautiful and chaotic orchestra Alec had ever experienced. The message had worked like a nuclear-social bomb. The streets looked like Troy, drenched in blood and horror and violence and art made of these blood. The riots spread like a virus; one day, the suburbs were ‘peaceful’ and the next one, there were corpses in the front yards of the houses. The news channels had stopped broadcasting the news about the Anarchists and their cause, not to spread it, although it was already too late.

    The damage was being done.

    Alec was walking down the street, with his helmet not in his head, but kept in a backpack that Leroy had lent him instead. He could not wear the helmet on the streets if he intended not to catch people’s attention or draw violence to himself, so he kept it  safe against his chest, like a second heart.

    What would he be without that helmet?

    Nothing.

    At all.

    He inhaled and quickened his pace. Around him, everything was distant screams, joint silences, assaults, uncontrolled policemen, free prodigies and dead prodigies. The cars passed at full speed, desperate to escape from that crazy circus, but two blocks were enough until they crashed with another car whose owners were as desperate to run away as they were. People were beginning to accumulate fear, while every day more and more prodigies were seen using their powers as the free beings they were. Alec's chest always swelled with pride at the sight of eight-eyed humans returning boulders, wind elementals generating whirlwinds, and even his Anarchists, spreading chaos and inspiring more prodigies to join his fight.

    Alec had never felt so much hope in his life; it was as if each one of the chains that bounded him were breaking suddenly, letting him levitate a little more. His school closing its doors due to an internal riot, crack, a few inches above the ground. Gatlon’s park populated by vengeful prodigies, crack, a little higher. His Anarchists fighting the police and the military, beating them, crack, he was about to touch the sky with his fingertips.

    But a chain was still there.

    And he was going to get rid of it.

    He finally reached the apartment at Drain Way and Southwest 435, hid over the entrance, and forced the glass door open with his invisible hands. He would destroy it, when he left that sty, to never come back.

    He walked down the hall, each step rumbling in his chest, until he reached the elevator. Summoning it with his mind, he slammed it down, opened the metal doors, and  got in it. Like someone throwing a ball into the sky, Alec took the elevator up in a second.

    Until he reached the apartment where his father and brother lived.

    And where, until a few weeks ago, he did too.

    He got out of the elevator, went to the door of his old apartment, and before entering, he put on his helmet. He gradually felt how everything around him existed and how he could manipulate it as he pleased. He straightened his back, took a breath and a decision, and kicked the door open with an invisible but equally violent kick.

    He minimally entered the apartment, and slammed the door with his invisible hands, locking it. The general view of the apartment was just as deplorable as the last time Alec had been there. The armchair full of stains from different origins, the individual plastic table, the kitchen with a mini freezer and a microwave, the hallway that led to the bathroom and the bedrooms. Alec hated every inch of that hell.

    He inhaled and looked ahead.

    Dante Artino was sitting in one of the only two chairs in the apartment. His image was as intimidating as ever: the spread legs, the hunched back, the empty beer bottle in one hand and the lit cigarette in the other, the rough and unshaven beard from who knew when, the red eyes, the mouth forming a contemptuous grin, the growls in his throat.

    All his life Alec had flinched at that image and waited for the first blow.

    But not this time.

    He straightened his back even further and, with his mind, he pulled five leather belts from his backpack. He unscrewed them in one stroke and threw them at Dante like snaking whips; they wrapped around his legs and arms, exerted pressure, and brought him to his knees to the ground. A belt pulling each leg, each arm, and of his neck, keeping him still.

    Alec untied his father's belt with his mind, and drew it to his hand like a magnet.

    He unrolled it.

    He looked into his father's eyes.

    He tensed his jaw.

    And he struck the first blow.

    One by one, he took revenge for each bruise, each tear, each plea, each trauma that this man had generated on him. A whip on the cheek, another on the temple, one on the arms. The other belts tugged and tugged on Dante Artino, making sure he didn't move an inch. The man gasped and spat blood but said nothing at all.

    That frustrated Alec.

    So he insisted.

    He raised his right arm even higher and dropped it with a brutal lash over Dante's left eye.

    Blow for blow.

    “Bastard,” Alec growled and whipped him once more.

    Insult for insult.

    “Useless rat.”

    He pressed harder on Dante's neck.

    “Asshole.”

    He pulled on his arms until they were dislocated.

     “Parasite.”

    He broke his legs.

     “Villain.”

    He gave ten alternating lashes on each cheek.

    Hit for hit, insult for insult.

    He stopped for air.

    He didn't gasp, he didn't hunch over.

    With his invisible hands, he drew the belts towards him, causing Dante to hang in the air, like he did when he was a child, in the same position.

    Alec spat at him.

    “You ruined my life,” Alec muttered, looking at the person who called himself his father in the eyes.

    Dante laughed cheekily.

    “You ruined your life, useless rat,” he replied, and Alec's anger was heightened by his bewilderment.

    He twisted the leather belt, tightening it around Dante's neck further.

    “I’m. Not. An. Useless. Rat,” Alec emphasized, with every tug and pressure exerted on Dante's body.

    “Yes. You. Are,” Dante replied, in the same way. He was hanging and he still found the strength to harass his son.

    Alec roared angrily, outraged.

    “NO, I’M NOT! I’M A GOD; I’M THE VOICE OF THIS AGE!”

    Dante frowned and gathered all his strength to return his son's spit, only his was  impregnated  with blood and alcohol.

    “You are just an useless bastard that evolved into a mad villain with aspirations of an impossible greatness.”

    Alec squealed, enraged.

    “I’M NOT MAD! I’M NOT A VILLAIN! I NEVER WAS, I AM NOT, AND I’LL NEVER BE, THOUGH YOU CALLED ME THAT ALL MY LIFE, YOU BASTARD, YOU ASSHOLE, YOU...!”

    Dante didn't lose his cool calm when Alec ran out of insults obscene enough to describe him appropriately, and he replied, with a superior smile.

    “Yes, you are. And I’ll always despise you because of that.”

    ‘Enough’, said Alec's trigger.

    He was not mad.

    He was not a villain.

    He was a god.

    And gods gave their verdict.

    He did the same.

    He let his mental hands lose control as he directed all his fury to them and they pulled so hard on the belts that Dante's head was separated from his body in the blink of an eye.

    The head rolled on the ground, leaving a trail of blood, as satisfying as it was macabre.

    Dante Artino was dead.

    And his own son had murdered him.

    Just like he deserved it.

    Alec did not feel an inch of guilt; he just felt thirsty. He wanted more, more blood with which to satisfy his appetite for revenge after having lost so much to that man and many more. He needed to see suffering in those who had made him suffer, agony in those who had ruined him. That act of justice had not satiated him, no matter how much he had prolonged and squeezed it to get the most out of it.

    He still needed other people's pain to avenge his.

    Alec smiled, kicked Dante's head like someone would kick a ball to make a score, and left the apartment.

    He would find it in the streets.

#love & anarchy #love & anarchy au #ace anarchy's backstory #ace anarchy #a teen named ace artino #ace artino #alec artino #alec james artino #dante artino #marissa meyer #my au #au #renegades au #renegades #before renegades #my fic #fic #tw: blood #tw: murder #tw: violence #renegades fandom

[sylvanfreckles]

Day Nine: Midwinter

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (Over the Mountain and Through the Wood)

Summary: Aragorn arrives at Thranduil's palace to celebrate the mindwinter feast with Legolas.

(Note: I have an upcoming series called "Over the Mountain and Through the Wood" that's basically a fantasy adventure series of Legolas and Aragorn's adventures in Middle-Earth. It's less angsty than the Mellon Chronicles, and has a lot of headcanon I've developed. I'll list the ones from this story at the end.)

* * *

“Aragorn! You made it!” Legolas held his arms out in a welcoming gesture as he swept into the room. “Old Bellyacher thought for sure the storm would keep you away. You earned me a new belt, my friend.”

The ranger let out a snort of laughter at his friend's antics. “Your brother was betting against me?” The thought of Belegdur, Legolas's stern older brother, doing something as trivial as betting whether a guest would arrive before a winter storm seemed uncharacteristic.

“Well, he doesn't know about your winter horse,” Legolas explained. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, watching the attendant take Aragorn's wet and muddy boots and cloak away to be cleaned and dried. The ranger was now wearing a pair of stiff, soft-soled leather shoes like most of the inhabitants of Thranduil's keep. Not that boot were forbidden, but tramping around an underground fortress in wet footwear was distinctly uncomfortable.

“And you didn't tell him about Song,” Aragorn guessed. For most of the year he rode a bay gelding that had been a gift from his foster father, Eldrond of Rivendell. But in the winter, when the snows of the north washed up in drifts as high as a man's head, most of the rangers turned to the sturdy, powerful animals favored by the local farmers. Song of Thunder was a tall, broad-shouldered mare with the strong build of her sires, a thick mane and tail, and long forelocks that nearly brushed the ground. The war horses of the north were not as fast as the steeds of Rohan, but they were strong and dependable and much more suited for the perilous winter weather.

“Why would I give away my advantage?” his friend asked, pulling Aragorn into an embrace. “Besides, he hated that belt and I needed a gift for Bard next time I go to Dale. Now everyone's happy.”

Aragorn shook his head and looped his pack over one shoulder. “Even Belegdur.”

“He's happy in his way,” Legolas replied airily, leading the way through the halls to the chambers that were reserved for Aragorn's visits. The ranger looked around happily, admiring the palace of the Elvenking in winter. Bright-colored tapestries were hung on the walls to block the chill in the stone and fires were lit in every hearth. The wood-elves moved into the palace for the long, bitter winter, and thus the halls were filled with merry voices and laughter.

“I had hot water sent up,” the elf added as they reached Aragorn's room. “You can wash and change before we join my father and the others.”

“Thank you,” Aragorn's shoulders relaxed in relief when he entered the room. The fire was burning to warm the chamber, and the walls were blanketed in swirling designs of blue and silver, as a nod to the household of Elrond. “That one's new,” he remarked, nodding at one of the tapestries. It was of a silvery tree, with stars peering out through the gaps between its branches.

“Ah, yes. Tathariel's betrothed made that,” Legolas called, as Aragorn slipped behind the room's dressing screen. There was a basin of steaming water next to a small table, where towels and a shaving razor had been laid out.

“Tathariel?” Aragorn frowned to himself. He remembered the name, but not the elf in question.

“She works the northern watch patrol. I think you've met her.”

Aragorn nodded silently. He wiped off the dust and sweat of travel—the palace had indoor baths, but they were not in use at this time of day, so this would have to be enough—and quickly scraped away the stubble on his chin and cheeks. He would have to hope the clothes in his pack weren't too wrinkled...though he doubted there was anything to match the finery of court. Legolas had assured him that the midwinter celebrations were not a formal event, and he wanted to trust his friend...but an elf's definition of “not formal” might not be in line with that of a ranger's.

He stepped back around the screen, wiping the last of the water off his face. Legolas had been busy laying clothes out on the bed—trousers, shirt, and tunic. Not anything Aragorn had packed for the journey, and he approached the bed to stare down at the clothes worriedly.

There was no getting around it. He and Legolas just weren't the same size. While Aragorn was trim and fit for a human, he still had the broad-shouldered build of a man of Numenor, and Legolas had the willowy grace of an elf of Mirkwood.

“Don't look like that,” Legolas teased, flicking him on the arm with the backs of his fingers. “Father had these made for you, to keep in the palace here. He didn't want you to worry about something as trivial as clothes when you visit us.”

Aragorn sucked in a breath, glancing over at his friend. Legolas smiled fondly at him and nodded at the clothes before turning to Aragorn's pack to unload it. “Wear them well, Ranger. We do not dress all of our visitors so grandly.”

The clothes were made in the fashion of the men of Dale. A hip-length wool tunic over a loose linen shirt, both dyed in deep blue and gray. The breeches were black, and they were wool as well, which always felt a little...fragile...to Aragorn after the leathers he wore for the rangers.

“What's this?” Legolas's puzzled voice pulled Aragorn out of his thoughts. He turned around in time to see the elf pull a fabric-wrapped bundle out of the pack and lunged for it with a yelp.

“That's nothing!” Aragorn protested. Legolas held the bundle away, mischief lighting in his blue eyes.

“Nothing? It doesn't look liked nothing.”

“Give it back!”

“Doesn't feel like nothing,” Legolas hefted it in his hand a few times, easily dancing out of Aragorn's reach, then lifted it to his face for an exaggerated sniff. “Smells like leather, not nothing. I think you're lying, Ranger.”

“Legolas!” Aragorn lunged, managing to get one arm around the elf's waist. Legolas gave a shout and tossed the bundle to one side, and Aragorn managed to push the elf over before diving to catch the bundle up and hide it behind his back.

“Come now, Aragorn,” Legolas protested with a laugh. “Why so secretive?”

The heat was rising in Aragorn's cheeks and he looked down, refusing to meet his friend's merry eyes. “It's just nothing.”

“If it's nothing than you can let me see it, hmm?”

Aragorn backed away until his legs hit the bed. He was conscious of his half-dressed state—he hadn't quite managed to pull the linen shirt over his head before Legolas had found the bundle. He wouldn't be able to make a run out of the palace like this, shirtless and clad only in wool breeches and a pair of soft-soled elven shoes.

“All right,” Legolas raised his hands, laughing. “If it's so important to you, Aragorn.”

It was important. It was also embarrassing and so, so stupid. Why had he done it? It wasn't like gift-giving was a particular tradition among the elves...not for midwinter, anyway. That was a human thing, and as close as he and Legolas were the elf was still an elf.

“It's a gift,” he finally admitted, holding the bundle of fabric out. “The rangers have a tradition of exchanging gifts for midwinter. I brought...this is for you.”

Legolas's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but to Aragorn's relief he took the bundle without another word. Quietly, almost solemnly, the elf unrolled the plain fabric to reveal a pair of leather bracers. “These are for me?”

“I had them made. They're...” Aragorn's voice trailed off. He felt small, and ignorant, and far too young. Who was he to think an elf would appreciate a gift from a mortal?

But Legolas was studying the bracer's closely, holding them up so that the firelight caught the grooves of the tooled leather. “This is when we first met!” he exclaimed, a pleased smile lighting up his face.

Aragorn relaxed a little, half-sitting on the bed. The design had taken some time, many long nights spent with the rangers' armorer working out the pattern to apply to the bracers. At the cuff against the wrist were two figures, one with a sword and one with a bow, while at the elbow's end an avalanche tumbled down the side of a snow-covered mountain. Midway down the mountain the rolling snow became the heads of snarling wolves, all intent on charging the two figures at the far end of the bracer.

“Aragorn, these are wonderful!” Legolas exclaimed. “The craftsmanship is excellent—why were you so shy about this, my friend?”

He studied the floor for a moment. “It seemed...it's a ranger tradition, Legolas. I wasn't sure if it was appropriate.”

Legolas threw his head back with a laugh. He dug a hand into the pocket of his tunic and pulled something out, flipping it toward Aragorn. “I was planning on pinning this to your cloak before it was returned to you, then marveling over it the next time you put your cloak on.”

Aragorn caught the small, silvery object and cradled it in the palm of his hand. It was a cloak pin, in dark silver. It was shaped like a leaf, but the intricate design was of a sprawling tree with bare branches reaching toward the sky. Just at the top, an eagle was flying over the tree with a star clasped in its talons.

It wasn't the tree, but it was close enough for those who knew. Aragorn felt himself swallowing back a tear, and looked up at his friend in gratitude.

“Did you think rangers were the only ones who gave gifts at midwinter?” Legolas teased. “Now, come. Dress yourself, Aragorn. Tonight we feast and sing and laugh at bleak midwinter!”

* * *

So. Wanna hear all about how Legolas and Aragorn fought an avalanche full of angry wolves?

Headcanon: 1) Legolas has an older brother named Belegdur. He's a throwback to when I was first writing LOTR fanfic. The two brothers look a lot like their father, except Belegdur has green eyes like Thranduil and Legolas has blue eyes like their mother 2) Aragorn and the other rangers ride draft horses in the winter. Think of the horses in Skyrim. Song of Thunder's name is based on the naming conventions my ex used to talk about for thoroughbreds, where part of one of the parents' names is including in the offspring's names 3) the tapestries on the walls is based off my first apartment, where I couldn't afford to keep the heat up very high. I figured out that hanging blankets on the walls blocked a lot of the chill and kept things warmer. 4) The Mirkwood elves have houses outside the palace, but in winter they all move into the palace to stay warm and share provisions. It's been a while since I read The Hobbit but I know the palace was described as the fortress of Thranduil's people 5) Legolas's mother is not dead, she sailed into the west with Celebrian because they were friends, and she chose to offer her companionship until their husbands could join them again. Thranduil accepted this at first, but his anger built until he shut Mirkwood off from the rest of Middle-Earth. So the fact that he had some clothes made for Aragorn shows that he's trying to move forward.

Please leave a like or a comment! I had a shit day at work or I wouldn’t ask, haha.

* * *

Next time: Sweater - "You traitor!"

* * *

Day Eight - Master List - Day Ten

#Lord of the rings #fanfic #over the mountain and through the wood #Aragorn #Legolas #Aragon and Legolas friendship #found family #no slash #lotr headcanon #midwinter #twelve days of fictmas 2020

[swellwriting]

death and other drugs - part one

The Destiny of James Potter

A/N: Okay so a long time ago I saw a post about a grim reaper au for 5sos, back in those fandom days and I have never been able to get it out of my head so I’m finally writing a fic that is heavily inspired by my memory of that post, though I can not find it, just know some other human has inspired me to write this, somewhere out there…also Harry doesn't exist cuz idk what I’d do with him in this story. This is modernized sort of, and it deters from canon obviously, I make my own rules for the afterlife. Reader will be in the next part!

The Marauders x Reader / Grim Reaper Au.  Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: violence, death, drugs, mature themes. Mentions of drug use but I am Canadian so weed is super legal here fyi.

Destiny is a funny thing, some people believe in it, some don’t. If you asked James Potter a few days ago what his destiny was he would probably tell you something super mushy about Lily like his destiny was to find her and marry her and build a family with her, but things change and no one controls their own destiny.

The door to their small home in Godric’s Hollow is broken down with a silent bang that shakes the floor under his feet, Lily rushes upstairs to hide and James is determined to keep his wife safe. A green flash of light fills the small home and James Potter’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he hits the ground and everything goes black. He didn’t even stand a chance.

His head becomes an empty void of nothingness for what seems like forever and simultaneously no time at all.

Until he feels his soul leave his body, he feels light, he opens his eyes and he feels hollow and barely there, his feet planted on the ground but he feels as if he could fall through the ground. He holds up a hand and looks at his palm, his skin looks faded and he can see through his skin.

“James Potter, your destiny has arrived.”

“Destiny... what? Where am I? Wheres Lily?” The questions fall out of his mouth in a mess of words and worry.

“None of that matters, it’s time to face your destiny.”

A cloaked figure appears before him in the never-ending white room he appears to be in. It’s faceless and holds a scythe, almost the same appearance as the dementors from Azkaban. But he didn’t commit a crime?

“The title is being passed, it is going to you, it is your destiny to guide the dead to the afterlife.”

“Woah wait, I don't accept, I don't want that job,” he stutters in disbelief before deferring to humour not knowing how to handle this information, “that sounds like a shit gig mate, no offence. I never sold my soul or anything why me?”

“A greater force has decided.”

“A greater force? No way, this is all some stupid dream, I’m gonna wake up and Lily is gonna be okay and she will be beside me in bed and everything will be fine.” James takes a deep breath as he closes his eyes.

“It is not an option and even if it was you can never go back to that life, you are dead. Your wife is dead.”

“What?” James’ heart drops, it was inevitable that Voldemort would kill her after him, she wouldn't be able to stop Voldemort, “where is she?” James turns and looks behind him as tears fill his eyes, panic fils his voice and his heart feels like a million pounds in his chest.

“She’s already gone,” The figure, this personification of death pulls out what looks like an enchanted short scroll. “Lily Potter, witch, angel, was taken to heaven by angels two minutes ago-”

James gulps, at least she was going to heaven, at least she wasn’t in a situation like this.

“I thought it was your job to bring people to the afterlife.”

“Not my job, it’s your job now. And only some people, it’s a shared job. Angels handle heaven and demons handle hell, I do both, or you do now.” 

“Great!” James yells sarcastically, he can’t even properly mourn his wife because he’s found himself in such a weird fucked up situation he doesn't even know how to react to any of it.

The figure hands James a key and he reluctantly takes it, the figure fades away and suddenly James finds himself alone in a dark room. It’s large, there are windows but no light comes in through them, it’s very empty with basic furniture and a letter and an old-looking suitcase on the bed.

He slowly turns and looks around before grabbing the letter which reads.

~

Congratulations you are the new “Grim Reaper”!

Your position will last until a new replacement is chosen, anywhere from 100 to 100,000 years is the usual duration. 

You are currently standing in your new home/ office/ living space. Though you are not really living, you are the personification of death and this place is called the in-between. You can travel to the living world, heaven (only the gates) or to hell using the scythe placed under the bed.

The scroll inside the suitcase will tell you when your next job is, who they are, where to bring them. You won’t receive a new job until one is completed. You can also use it to see lists of the recently deceased, all older inquires can be handled at the main office.

You will also find your uniform inside the case, it is a requirement to be worn when guiding the dead. The scythe can be used as a weapon to defend yourself from the living, the dead and the various things you may encounter in between.

In this current state, you still have your magic abilities you had during life and can use them however you see fit.

For any questions or inquiries please call our main office at 1-800-666-DEAD, or email me [email protected] , ask for Lana!

Sincerely, Afterlife HeadQuarters,

- Lana Lynch, secretary.

~

“This is fucked,” James says aloud to himself, he took out the black cloak and holds it out. He lets the material fall to the floor before pushing the case and letter onto the floor and off the bed, lying down and bringing his knees to his chest, hiding his face in his palms and crying himself to sleep.

Not only had he been murdered by an evil dark wizard, but he was now given the task of being the Grim fucking Reaper, not to mention his wife was also killed and he didn’t know if he could ever see her again.

He wondered if he would have been sent to heaven or hell if this problem hadn’t gotten in the way. If he’d be an angel with Lily if they could have spent eternity together. Was Heaven nice? Was Lily happy and at peace or was she frantically looking for James just to find out he’s not even there? And he won’t be coming any time soon.

-

The apartment in the in-between had grey painted walls, it was the size of a large apartment, it had a small kitchen with smooth tiles, a bathroom and a living area with a large grey bed with black pillows. The decor really was ridiculous, was the grim reaper allowed to have things with colour?

James wakes up and takes a few minutes to open his eyes not wanting to accept reality when he opens them he sees the awful gloomy place, the empty side of the bed and lack of warmth beside him, none of Lily’s wild red hair tickling his face as he pulls her close.

He takes a deep breath and gets himself out of bed, he pushes his messy curls out of his face and cleans his glasses with his sweater. Figures even as the grim reaper he needs these damn things. He grabs the scroll and prepares himself to read the first name, might as well get started, there wasn’t anything else in this apartment to distract him. The scroll was a brown faded short piece of paper rolled into a silver metal tube, he popped off the lid and unrolled the paper.

= Sirius Black, Wizard, destination undetermined, to be decided upon soul retrieval. =

As if things couldn’t get any worse, James’ best friend, Sirius Black was dead. Great. James’ first job as the fucking Grim Reaper was to bring his best friend to the afterlife, even better he got to choose his friend’s fate. He didn’t know that could be part of the job, deciding whether someone got to go to heaven, this sucks.

The tears fell quickly, James was just so tired, he just wanted this nightmare to be over. He was so emotionally drained yet his body still found a way to produce new tears as he fell to his knees and screamed into a pillow.

He doesn't want to put that stupid cloak on, he doesn't want to do this but a thought crosses his mind. Sirius is already dead, from whichever means killed him, probably Voldemort, and he was just in this state of nothingness just stuck waiting for James. With that thought he quickly throws the cloak over his jumper and jeans and old scuffed up converse, he pulls the long hood over his curls and the shadow of the hood hides his face perfectly making him appear like more of an evil shadow than a person.

He leans down and pulls the scythe from under the bed gripping it tightly in his hand. He figures it works somewhat like a wand, with nonverbal magic. He holds it close and wills himself to be transported to wherever Sirius is.

There’s a quick flash of darkness before James finds himself hitting the ground outside a building, his knees ache as he hits the ground and struggles to stand up and fix his cloak.

Sirius’ body is on the ground, he was killed by the killing curse, James can just tell. He must have been doing an order mission. None of his other friends appear to be nearby which makes James feel a tiny bit better.

Sirius isn’t moving so James pokes his foot with the scythe which makes Sirius’ soul leave his body and form his ghost form, hovering over the dead body.

Sirius opens his eyes and looks around, shock evident on his face, trying to accept the fact that he just died.

“Bloody hell,” is all he mumbles.

“Are those your last words?” James asks as he pulls his hood down awkwardly.

“James...mate! What the fuck is going on.”

“You died,” James says awkwardly pointing to Sirius’ dead body

“Yeah, and you and Lily died yesterday, what is going on…”

“I'm the new grim reaper,” James states as calmly as he can and Sirius can’t help but burst into laughter, he doubles over as tears stream out of the corners of his eyes.

“The Grim Reaper!” another burst of laughter.

“Sirius this is ...serious! You died and now I have to bring you to one of the afterlife’s, you’re dead, Lily is dead and she’s an angel and I don't get to be an angel or demon or whatever this is a serious problem Sirus I’m so screwed.”

“Wait do I get to go to heaven?”

“It said undecided, it’s up to me.”

“Well then just don’t kill me mate! Easy.”

“I didn’t kill you!” James yells defensively, “but I can’t just not bring you somewhere, where will you go if I don't? I can’t bring you back to life.”

“I’ll just hang out with you, we can be inseparable just like in real life,” Sirius states so calmly, so certain that this is what he wants for eternity. The words make James break, the tears fall easily as he grabs Sirius in a tight hug and is surprised to actually be able to hold his friend and not have his arms go right through him.

Sirius isn’t as emotional, but he hugs James back and smiles to himself knowing he would follow James anywhere, even in death.

“There’s no afterlife without my best mate!”

James takes a moment to calm himself down as he works things out in his head.

“Okay I’ll just never complete this job and they won’t be able to give me a new one!” James says as he calms his breathing and rolls the scroll up sending it back to his apartment.

“So who will bring all the dead people to the afterlife then?” Sirius asks.

“I don't know I guess the angels and the demons will handle it.” James shrugs not caring about his lack of responsibility.

“They are gonna have their hands full with voldy going around, he’s killed three of us in less than two days already-”

With that realization, both young men look at each other in shock and speak in unison.

“Remus!”

James grabs Sirius’ hand and then holds the scythe, hoping it will bring them to Remus but it doesn’t budge.

“Wait, hold on to this,” James mumbles as he passes Sirius the scythe. James lifts up his cloak and Sirius bursts into laughter yet again.

‘You’re wearing normal clothes under that!”

“Well did you expect me to be naked?” James defends his wardrobe.

“No, I just thought the big bad death guy’s uniform would be more than a black bed sheet with a hood.”

“Shut up,” James mutters as he grabs his wand from his back pocket, he grabs Sirius’ hand and apparates them both to Remus’ small apartment.

-

Apparently it had been a few hours since Sirius had died, Remus had already heard the news that his other friend had died, he broke two plates in his kitchen, failed to be able to eat any food, made a mess of his apartment and hid himself in his bedroom to wallow in sadness and mourn his dead friends. Oh and to get high enough that everything feels numb and nothing feels real so he can pretend his friends aren't dead and he isn’t actually all alone!

His bedroom door is closed, the coloured light from his lava lamp and led lights reflect on the walls and a mix of smoke and incense fill the air making his room one big faded rainbow cloud. 

Remus is sat on his bed hunched over with tears dried to his reddened cheeks, his hair is a mess. He was going to put on a record an hour ago but the one he grabbed he realized had belonged to Sirius and he forgot to give it back so he’s been sat for an hour just starring at it completely zoned out.

“Hey, that’s my fucking record!” Sirius says before even thinking of a proper thing to say to their very much alive friend.

Remus screams at the top of his lungs and throws the record into the air, Sirius catches it.

Remus realizes his dead friend is stood in front of him, holding the object he just had in his hands, his other best friend who was also dead as of yesterday is there in a weird black cloak and holding a giant scythe.

“Fuck this,” Remus mumbles and then lies down in his bead and turns to face the wall, pulling his blanket over his head wanting to just sleep off this bad high.

“Could he see us?” Sirius asks James.

“He’s not supposed to be able to, how strong is that shit he’s smoking?” James says in disbelief.

“Remus!” Sirius yells and watches as Remus brings his palms flat against his ears trying not to hear what he thinks is just a figment of his imagination.

“It’s not real, your friends are dead, it’s not real it’s not real it’s just a bad high a bad high,” he mumbles, a few tears trickle down his face as his hands start to shake.

Sirius and James sit on the bed and gently shake him pulling him to face them again. Remus’ eyes are wide and he looks horrified.

“This isn’t real you are both dead!” Remus is crying as he yells at the figures in front of him.

“This is real and yes, we are both dead...sort of”

“No, if you’re dead you wouldn't be here this isn’t real, I smoked some bad shit, it was laced, must have been I got it from Peter, never take weed from Peter!” Remus shakes his head and hides behind his hands, wiping his scared tears away with the long sleeves of his jumper.

“Remus I’m dead why didn’t you just go take my weed, it’s not like I need it,” Sirius states so matter of factly as if that’s something a normal person would do.

“Are you asking me why I didn’t steal a dead man’s drugs? Oh, I don't know I was a little busy crying over your death to think about stealing your things!” Remus yells, offended and feeling a bit crazy.

“I'm TALKING TO MYSELF!” He yells and then gets up abruptly, pushing the blankets off and going to stand up before being stopped by the presence of his two friends, knocking himself over.

He reaches out a hand and places it flat on James’ face, smudging fingerprint on his glasses. And then gasping as he pulls his hand away.

“We’re real Moony, I promise,” James confirms.

“Okay, you better tell me what the fuck is going on and make it make sense quick or I might bash my head in what the flower pot.”

“Do it!” Sirius yells.

“No merlin, no don't kill yourself for fuck’s sake, Sirius.” James rushes to correct his dumb friend.

“Then he could be one of us?” Sirius asks confused.

“No, then either an angel or a demon would appear to take his soul and he’d be gone.”

“I said make it make sense!” Remus complains, and Sirus and James proceed to sit him down and explain everything they know to him.

-

The trio made their way to the living room, sitting on the chairs and couch in Remus’ apartment.

“So James is the new Grim Reaper, and Sirius got killed and you are just avoiding taking him to the afterlife for as long as you can.”

“For forever!” Sirius clarifies.

“Okay, so what happens when these, angels and demons notice you aren't doing your job at all?”

“They won’t? And if they do I'm the Grim fucking Reaper, I’m their boss!”

“Are you sure about any of this?” Remus asks and both Sirius and James speak in unison.

“We aren't sure about anything!”

Remus rolls his eyes and plants his face in his palms.

“Remus don't worry about it too much, you are still alive and you just get to hang out with us all the time!” Siriustries to make this sound normal.

“I'm too high to deal with any of this right now, wait why can I see you if you are both dead?”

“We have no idea!” Sirius says with a big dumb smile.

“Great, a lot of information you guys have here.”

“All the information you need is the phone number for the pizza place across the street,” Sirius says as he relaxes back into his seat.

“You’re dead do you really need pizza?”

“I'm like half-dead Moony, please be more sensitive to my condition.”

“Fine, I’ll go get pizza, put the Jurassic park DVD on and roll these.” Remus orders as he tosses Sirius the DVD boxset and hands James his grinder and a pack of papers. 

Not much had changed for the boys now that two of them were dead, the way they spent their night wasn’t any different from any of their previous hangouts, and that was the beauty of it, enjoying the little things, like pepperoni pizza and classic dinosaur movies. Maybe this would work.

#the marauders #the marauders x reader #Marauders #James Potter #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #peter pettigrew #marauders era #marauder #maraduers #the marauders era #the marauders fan fiction #death and other drugs #daod #fan fiction #fanfiction #My writing #grim reaper au

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

“Where Loyalty Lies Arthur Morgan x Reader”

A request from @shewalksinanotherworld! 

Arthur has been your best friend since you were young, when Colm kidnaps him, you’ll do whatever it takes to get him back.

A shiver ran down your spine as you felt a small flake a snow hit your skin. The alley was dark and cramped, but it did protect you from the cold winter winds somewhat, but it would do nothing about the oncoming snow. Tears ran down your cheeks, your whole body was trembling from the cold you knew you would die quickly if you didn’t find shelter. But you had no where to go. You had no home, no family, no food, and now no shelter.

You heard footsteps and drew your legs up to your chest and buried your face down, trying to look as small as possible. They stopped in front of you, “what’re you doin’ out here kid? Get home to your parents.”

You looked up and saw a slim man with salt and pepper hair. “Ain’t got none. They died a while back, real sick.”

The man sighed and pinched his nose, “don’t you have any other family round here?”

You shook your head slowly. “It was just ma and pa. Now it’s just me”

“Well then,” the man extended a hand down to you. “I guess first things first we gotta get you somethin’ to eat. We should also get you a jacket, you won’t last the winter without it.”

You stared at the man’s hand. “I have no money.” You said flatly.

“Don’t need it, just come on before the snow really starts comin’ down.” He gave you a soft smile. You looked at the sky and took his hand. Your body was weak, but the man helped you to your feet and led you to the saloon. As soon as you walked through the doors warmth hit your skin and you realized you might be lucky enough to live another day. He led you to a table, “wait here, I’ll grab us some food.”

You nodded and watched as the man walked to the bar. Your eyes remained locked on him the whole time, afraid that if you’ll blink you’ll wake up back in the alley as if you were in a dream. After a few minutes, he walks back to you with two bowls in hand. He sat yours in front of you first, and before his could even hit the table you were already inhaling yours; it was the first hot meal you had had in months. When you got close to the bottom of the bowl, you lifted it to your mouth and chugged the rest. “Thank you.” You said quietly.

The man nodded as he ate slowly. “What’s yer name kid?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N, that’s a nice name.” He smiled and extended his hand across the table. “Nice to meet you, my name is Hosea.” You took it and shook it. “How old are you Y/N?”

“Ten.”

He wiped his mouth and stood. “That’s awful young to be living on the streets. Is that where you want to stay?”

You shook your head slowly.

“Well then, how about coming with me? We’ve got a big family not far from here. Even got a couple kids around your age. How would you like that?”

You were quiet, all you had known was this small town but you weren’t going to make it on your own much longer. You looked up at Hosea and nodded.

“Good good. Before we go, let’s get you some better clothes. Come along, girl.” He turned and started towards the door. You stood quickly and ran to clutch his side. He looked down at you and smiled. The clothing store was just two shops down. Hosea helped you pick out a thick coat and a good pair of boots. He let you pick out your own regular clothes. Your mother had always made your clothes, you had never even been in a clothing shop much less allowed to pick out your own things. As you took your findings to the cash register, you saw a hat rack and looked at Hosea for approval. He smiled and nodded approvingly. At the very top of the hat rack was a hat exactly like Hosea’s. You grabbed it and ran to him and handed it to him. He laughed, “I think I’ve seen this before.”

You allowed yourself to smile and laugh with him. After ringing out, Hosea asks the shop keep, “can the little lady use the dressing room to put on her new purchases?”

“Of course! It’s just to over there.” He pointed to a small door in the corner.

Hosea handed you your things, “make sure you put on something warm, it’s quite a ride home.”

You nodded and ran to the dressing room. You put on your favorite pants and shirt, your winter coat, some wool socks, and your boots. You smiled as you put on your hat and looked in the mirror. Your clothing usually consisted of tattered thin skirts and loose fitting shirts, nothing stylish but now look at you! A brand new girl on your way to a brand new life.

“Well, Id say the hat brings the whole thing together!” Hosea laughs as you come out of the dressing room. You beam, “thank you Mr. Hosea!”

He patted you on the back as you walked out of the shop, “no problem, kid. Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

“No sir.”

Hosea whistled and his horse came from around the corner. It was big and strong and you were a bit intimidated by it. Hosea mounted the horse easily and held a hand down to you. “Well you’re gonna have to learn.”

He helped you as you pulled yourself up awkwardly. “Make sure and hold on tight.” He said. “Yah!” He jerked the reigns and the horse took off. You felt your body jerk with the horse and cling to Hosea tightly. Hosea talked most of the ride, mostly about the people you were about to meet at camp. You were nervous, the more names he listed off the more your stomach twisted in knots. You had barely been around more than ten people at a time, much less complete strangers. The wind was cold against your face and the light snow fall turned to white streaks passing you. Your thick coat was keeping you warm and dry and you were thankful. You could swallow your fear of others in return for Hosea’s generosity. The snowfall thickened, and soon it became hard to see just a few feet in front of you. “Woah girl,” Hosea said gently to the horse and she slowed to a stop. You looked around confused, there were no people around. “We’ll have to camp here for the night, or at least until this snow lets up.” He dismounted the horse and helped you down. “You ever set up a tent?” He asked as his began unloading his horse.

“No sir.”

“Good, there’s no better teacher than experience.”

With Hosea’s patient instructions, you had the tent up in no time and helped him start the fire. He put his hands out in front of the fire. “You’re a real natural at this, Y/N. I think you’ll get along just fine.”

Hosea walked to his horse. “Ya know, something told me to grab an extra bed roll when I left this morning.” He unrolled them in the tent and went back to the fire.

You yawned and felt your eyes become heavy. “Go on and get some rest” Hosea said. “You’re gonna need it.”

You nodded sleepily and crawled into your bed roll. You passed out almost immediately, it had been so long since you even had a pillow and blanket.

When you awoke the next morning, Hosea’s bedroll was already up and most of the camp was already packed away. “Good morning!” He called as you poked your head out of the tent. “Get your bedroll on the horse and then you can help me with this tent. Hurry it up now, time’s a wastin’!”

Hosea slowed his process and explained everything he did as he did it and you took his knowledge in like a sponge. It didn’t take long for the two of you to dismantle your makeshift camp. “Next time we’re in town, I’ll take you to the stables and let you pick out a horse for yourself. Before we do that, you need to learn how to properly mount.” He mounted and I mounted his horse, one step at a time and explained every step as he went. “Now you try.”

It took you a few tries before you were awkwardly able to pull yourself up on the horse. “Good job! Build a little muscle and get some meat on your bones and you’ll be doin’ it just just fine.” Hosea mounted the horse behind you and with a flick of the reigns the horse took off.

The snowfall stopped sometime in the night and left a heavy blanket of snow. The trees were heavy and their limbs pointed to the ground. The morning sky was gray, rays of sun only making small breaks through the clouds.

“We’re about there” Hosea said as the horse began to slow. You looked around confused. The weren’t any homes or buildings, and you certainly didn’t see any people. The horse turned off the trail and into a thicket just off the path. The woods were thick even with the snow weighing them down the trees and foliage was still so dense it was hard to see much around.

“Who’s there?” A man called.

“It’s me!” Hosea called back. A man appeared from behind a tree and you could feel him staring as you passed. The thicket opened to reveal a small camp in a small meadow completely surrounded by treees. By the time Hosea helped you get unmounted, a small group had already began closing in.

“Whatcha got there, Hosea?” A woman asked.

“This here is Y/N, found her half frozen in an alley while I was on a supply run. Both her parents died of illness.”

The crowd was growing and getting closer by the minute. You backed into Hosea and gripped his jacket tightly. “Okay folks, give the kid some space. She’ll stay with Bessie and I for the time being. Everyone do your best to help her feel welcome here.”

Hosea took your hand and led you to a large tent and a woman turned to welcome you. She wrapped her arms around Hosea and kissed his cheek. “Welcome back, Hosea.” She smiled at you, “and who is this?”

“Go on,” Hosea said

You cleared your throat, “my name is Y/N.”

She extended her hand down to you, “well Y/N, I’m Bessie it’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to meet the other kids?”

You nodded shyly and followed her. She took your hand in yours and you followed behind her. She led you to two boys, one a little older than you and another around your age. “Davey, Arthur, this is Y/N. She’ll be staying with us now. You boys better play nice with her, she’s one of us now.”

“Yes ma’am.” They said in unison. And that’s where your story began.

Over the years, your group of people grew, and you fit right in with your new family. When you got older, you got your own tent and collected your own things through time. Through your teenage years, you and Arthur bonded through scams and small robberies. By your twenties, you were inseparable. You did most jobs together, went drinking together, and picked on your new little brother John relentlessly. Even though Hosea was the one who taught you how to shoot, Arthur was really the one you could thank for your skill. The two of you went shooting together frequently and he taught you his tips and tricks and you were almost as quick of a draw as he was. You were each other’s support through thick and thin. You stitched eachother’s sounds and provided emotional support when needed. You were there for him when Mary shot down his marriage proposal, and he was there for you after Jenny died in Blackwater. Even your daily chores were usually done together, your lives heavily entwined.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Arthur asked has he walked you to your horse. You mounted and Arthur handed you your bow.

“I’m good. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Plus I’ve got Charles riding with me for company. I’ll be back soon.” You turned to Charles, “you ready?”

He nodded, “yeah, let’s go.”

You tipped your hat to Arthur and tore down the trail behind Charles, fading into the dust. Arthur sighed and turned to return to camp. He sat at the fire with Javier, Uncle, and John.

“Where’d she go?” Javier asked.

“Her and Charles headed out for a hunting trip.”

“And she didn’t take you with her? Are y’all havin’ a lover’s spat?” John asked sarcastically.

“Shut the hell up.” Arthur responded, “Those two are better with a bow than any of us.”

“Try not to get too lonely without her,” Uncle joked.

Arthur stood, “Oh, I won’t.” He walked back to his tent and sat on his cot. I can’t say I’m not as bored as hell when she’s gone though. Arthur thought. He laid down and pulled out his journal and a pencil. He looked around camp for inspiration and saw your hat on your cot. Guess she left her hat. He rolled his eyes. That girl would lose her head if it wasn’t attached. He found himself drawing you again. As he imagined you crouched low to the ground, bow at the ready it slowly came to life in his journal. As he was finishing up the details of your hair, he heard someone clear their throat from behind him. He quickly sat up and slammed the journal shut and looked up to see Hosea. He raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Whatcha drawin’ there son?”

“Nothin’!” Arthur replies quickly. He shook his head, “Whataya want old man?”

“I was going to see if you wanted to join me and John on a little fishing trip.” Hosea said. “Figured it would help you get your mind off-“

Arthur cut him off defensively, “off what?”

Hosea held back a laugh, “nothin’. You comin’ or not?”

“Yeah, just let me grab my pole and I’ll be ready.”

Hosea turned and headed to his horse. Arthur tucked away his journal in his satchel.

You and Charles had just gotten camp set up for the night and you were cooking some canned beans and rabbit over the fire for dinner. “So, what’s the plan tomorrow?” You ask Charles as you rotate the skewered rabbit over the fire.

“I was thinking we could go after a herd of white tails I spotted a few days ago. We can track them together then split off to pin them in.”

You nodded. “Sounds good to me. The ground here is pretty moist from all the rain so we should be able to follow their tracks pretty easily.” Your rabbit was cooked to perfection, you split your meal with Charles. You are in silence, you enjoyed how easy Charles was to be around. You didn’t feel awkward when there was no conversation and he never tried to fill the silences with insincere small talk.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Charles asked.

“Sure.”

“How long have you been riding with Dutch?”

“Since I was a kid, really. I don’t have many memories of being without them honestly. My folks got sick and died when I was young. To be honest, I really can’t even remember what they look like. When I think of parents, Hosea usually comes to mind. He’s been there for me since day one. Him and Arthur, of course.”

Charles nodded, “have you and Arthur always been so close? I was honestly surprised he didn’t join us today. It’s rare to see you two apart.”

You rubbed your neck nervously, “yeah, we just have really come to rely on each other. But ya know, Arthur really didn’t talk to me much until we ran our first scam together. He was 18 and I was 16, it’s been so long since I couldn’t tell you what exactly we did to this poor feller, but we scared him so badly he pissed himself. It kinda became an inside joke, then after a couple more jobs together we found we worked better together and we’ve been working together ever since.” You looked at the ground. “Alotta the girls back at camp don’t seem to understand, they seem to think we’re some secret couple or something.” You rolled your eyes. “Him and Hosea, they’re the closest thing to family I got.”

Charles nodded. “That’s nice. I never had someone stay in my life that long, that sort of consistency would be nice.”

You smiled, “well, you’re a whole lot better than most of the people in our rag tag group so I’d understand if you decided to move on, but just know, as long as you ride with us, you’ve got a family in us. I hold a lot of respect for you, and I would gladly ride with you anytime Charles.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Y/N. Your reassurance is appreciated. We should be going to bed soon, we need to be up before the sun if we’re going to find the herd.”

You nodded, and with that you went to your respective bedrolls. “Good night, Charles.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

Arthur pulled himself out of bed and stretched. He stood as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and made his way to the coffee kettle. Sadie, Tilly, and Abigail were there chatting over coffee.

“Hello ladies,” Arthur said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Good morning Arthur!” Tilly responded.

“How was your fishin’ trip yesterday?” Abigail asked.

“It was fine, me and John didn’t catch shit but Hosea seemed to pull in quite a haul. I guess we just ain’t too good fishermen.”

Sadie laughed, “better keep to gun slingin’ Arthur, don’t sound like yer good at much else.”

“Ha ha, very funny Sadie. I’m good at plenty of things, you just don’t know it.”

“Yeah, I heard from Y/N that Arthur here is quite the artist.” Tilly said in a pointed tone.

Arthur’s cheeks turned pink and the girls didn’t miss it. “So Arthur, when is she comin’ back? I know you’re probably starting to miss her.” Abigail asked teasingly.

“I don’t know when she’s comin’ back and I’m just fine without her thank you!” Arthur shot back rather defensively.

Tilly raises an eyebrow. “Don’t lie to me Arthur, if she told anyone when she’s coming back it’s you.”

Arthur crosses his arms stubbornly and looked at the ground. “She’ll be back at noon.” He said gruffly.

The girls giggled and with that Arthur walked away, his face now bright red. He heard Abigail call after her, “awww come on Arthur, don’t get so embarrassed!”

He rolled his eyes. What was wrong with these people? Didn’t they know friendship when they saw it? That’s all it was was just a close friendship. Nothing romantic of out of the ordinary. “Hey cowpoke,” Micah said as Arthur walked by him. He rolled his eyes. “What do you want Micah?”

“Ol’ Pearson has some information, we need to talk to Dutch.”

Arthur wasn’t in the mood to hear Micah’s crazy ramblings, but unfortunately Dutch was nore than willing to lend an ear. Pearson told Dutch how he ran into some O’Driscolls and how they wanted a parley.

“Sounds like a trap.” Arthur said.

“It’s definitely a trap.” Hosea called from his seat a few feet away.

“That’s why we bring you,” Micah says pointedly to Arthur. “That way if it is a trap, you can take care of ‘em, if not then there’s one less thing to worry about.”

It took some convincing, but Dutch agreed. “Arthur, you and Micah grab your horses. We’re going now.”

“What about Y/N?” Arthur asked.

“What about her?” Micah asked mockingly.

“She isn’t back yet and we don’t have time to wait.” Dutch said plainly. Arthur looked back at your hat and with an annoyed sigh, he pulled his reigns and rode beside Dutch.

You and Charles arrived at camp in the late afternoon, horses loaded down with the product of your successful hunt. After hauling the deer to Pearson, you wiped your brow and headed straight to your tent. With a yawn, you threw yourself down onto your cot. Your lower back was sore and being up before dawn didn’t give you much sleep the night before. The air was warm and sleep came easily.

“...isn’t worth blowing the plan right now, Dutch. Morgan isn’t our top priority right now.” Your eyes opened and then sun was setting. Micah and Dutch were walking back into camp. Your eyes searched for Arthur, you didn’t even notice he wasn’t around when you got back into camp. “We’re going back for Arthur,” Dutch said. “We just gotta make some plans first.”

You shot up and half ran to Dutch. “Where’s Arthur?”

“He-“

Micah cut him off. “Calm yourself little lady.”

You didn’t look at him, your eyes were locked with Dutch’s. “Where. Is. He.” You repeated.

Dutch sighed. “Colm said he wanted to meet for a parley but it was a trap.They took Arthur.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course it was a trap!” You whistled for your horse. “We gotta go get him.”

Dutch took a step forward. “No. I’ve got a plan, we just need to wait.”

You turned towards him, furious. “Wait? Are you serious? Colm will kill him. We need to get him!”

You turned to your horse and Dutch grabbed your shoulder hard. “Y/N, now is not the time to be irrashional.”

“All due respect Dutch, but I agree. Now is not the time to be irrashional. The longer we wait the more they hurt him. You of all people know Colm isn’t nice to his enemies.” You brushed his hand off your shoulder and mount your horse. “Know this, you may be our valiant leader, but my loyalty lies with Hosea, not you. Don’t think you own me. Yah!” Your horse took off. You heard the sound of hooves behind you and rolled your eyes. You turned around and jumped off your horse. Micah sped up to you and unmounted. He opened his mouth to speak but you drew your pistol quickly and aimed it at him. “I don’t have time for your conniving bullshit, Micah.” You moved your pistol down, aiming directly at your feet. “Say another goddamn word, and I’ll put a bullet right through your foot. Now turn around, and head back to camp, cowpolk.”

He sneered, “you wou-“ Pow!

Micah howled in pain. “Goddamn you, woman!”

You mounted your horse and tipped your hat in his direction before taking off. Usually you would be feeling pretty smug right about now, but your mind was reeling. Why didn’t you wait for me? You thought.

Your heart was pounding, you didn’t even know where you were going but you knew you had to keep moving. Panic started forming when you came to a cross road.you had no clue which was to go. You looked around youbas you racked your brain for something, anything to help you find your way back to him. Your horse grunted under you, and you realized you never saw Arthur’s horse when Dutch and Micah returned. You rolled your eyes, how could Arthur trust Dutch so much? Hosea would’ve never let this happen. You think as you take a deep inhale and let out a long piercing whistle. It was a big gamble on a small chance, but you had to try something. Another long whistle. Does Dutch seriously not consider Arthur a priority? How long would he have waited if I didn’t leave then? You looked around anxiously, still no horse. One more whistle. Your stomach was turning in knots. God please let him be okay. Before you could stop it, your brain imagined the worst of the scenario. You had seen the bruised and broken bodies the O’Driscoll’s left behind in their wake and they didn’t even know those men. They knew Arthur alright, and that was what scared you. They definitely wouldn’t give him a quick death, which you tried to think was a good thing but you knew a quick death was better for him than whatever they planned on doing to him. A deep rage bubbled from inside. Colm, I swear to god if you hurt one hair on his head-

Hope came over the horizon in the form of a beautiful white horse “yah!” You cried as you dug your spurs into your horse. You practically dived off your horse when you caught up to his white steed, its eyes were farting around in a panic. “Shhhhh, it’s okay girl, you know me.” You said softly. You slowly put your hand on her neck and gave her a couple of soft pats. She seemed to calm under your touch, and you pulled an apple to your bag. “That’s a good girl.” You cooed as she took the apple from your hand. You mounted your horse and gave Arthur’s horse a swift slap on the butt, “go on, git! You know where home is!” The horse bolted and you watched as she made her way in the right direction, headed straight for Clemen’s Point. You looked down at the ground and allowed yourself a small smile. The tracks would lead you to where they met Colm, and from there you would be able to track their horses to wherever they took him. The ground was drier here, but the hoof prints were still distinguishable enough to follow. Your mind settled, focused and cold. I’m coming Arthur, don’t you worry. And I’ll make them pay for every mark they’ve left on your skin.

Arthur went in and out of consciousness. He was hung by his heels from the ceiling. His head was pounding from the blood rush and the bullet wound in his shoulder was throbbing. His whole body was aching with pain. They had beat him bloody from the time they caught him up until now. Even while he was unconscious they kicked him and hit him unrelentlessly. As he came back to consciousness, his throat was dry. When he coughed his whole body ached, he could feel the blood spilling from his mouth. His mouth was full of grit from where one of his teeth shattered. When he tried to spit it out all that came was blood and spit. He couldn’t open his eyes much as they were swollen almost completely shut. He tried to use his voice. “Dutch” He croaked. It hurt to speak. “Y/N.”

His words barely came out, no more than a whisper. “Somebody...Please.”

“Ain’t no body comin’ for you boy.” Arthur looked in the direction the voice came from and a big man with a round belly stepped out of the darkness. “And if they do, you’ll be long dead by then. We’ll make sure you’re here for ‘em to find though.” The man grabbed a hand full of Arthur’s hair and jerked his head up. “They’ll find ya alright, guts on the floor with the animals finishin’ ya off. We’ll be long gone before they can even find us.”

Arthur felt anger rise above his pain. “Damn you.”

The man dropped Arthur’s head and the momentum caused him to swing back and forth. His ankles lurched against the chains and he was taken by his pain. He felt himself fall into blackness once more.

It didn’t take you long to find the open field where they took him. You followed his tracks up the cliff and crouched low to the ground to read what happened there. Arthur’s rifle was left on the ground and you could see small spots of blood that trailed off with two sets of foot prints. You were filled with a cold rage, calm but ready to strike. They had already made him bleed which was unforgivable in your book. You stood with the rifle in hand. I hope you had your fun Colm, you think as you mount your horse. Because soon I’ll be sure you lose every ounce of blood Arthur has, and that’s a promise. You took off into the night, determination and fear and loathing blazing your path.

Arthur gasped as he was drenched with freezing water, instantly waking him. Colm stood in front of him and laughed. “Good morning, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur stared up at him, eyes full of hate. Colm took a long drag off his cigar, then blew it straight into Arthur’s face. He coughed and his broken ribs stabbed into him painfully. “I ought to kill you right here, boy. You’ve killed a lot of my men.” He paces in front of Arthur. “But, you’re gonna do your job first. You’re gonna lure Dutch and all your little gang down here. You’ll be dead by then of course. And all the law will be here a waitin’ for ‘em.”

“I was just bait?” Arthur said, his voice raspy.

Colm laughed. “Oh yes. I’ll still around long enough to make sure Dutch gets what he deserves.” He stopped in front of Arthur and knelt down to look him dead in the eye. “I also want Hosea’s girl. She’s also killed a lot of my men, but she’s much prettier than you. I’ll have to give her the good ol O’Driscoll treatment. Maybe I’ll keep her as my own personal pet.”

Arthur lurched forward in outrage, his eyes burning with hatred. “If you lay a finger on her-“ Arthur’s voice was raspy and raw. Colm gave him a swift kick to the stomach and Arthur cried out in pain.

“Looks like I struck a nerve!” Colm said mockingly. He grabbed Arthur’s face hard, forcing him to look him in the eye. “In that case, I’ll keep you alive. Just long enough for you to watch as I take her. I wonder,” he said with a devise smile. “If I’ll be the first touch from a man she’ll know.” Colm three Arthur’s face back and laughed as he turned towards the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur writhed in a blind fury. The thought of Colm touching you while you were tied down and gagged made him feel sick. He had to escape, he couldn’t let Colm rip his family apart, and most importantly, he couldn’t let Colm have you. He saw the key to his shackles on the wooden table beside him. He began slowly swinging his body, trying to get enough momentum to reach the key. Almost, one more good swing and I’ve got it, he thought to himself. The door swung open. The fat man laughed. “Looks like someone is trying to make a break for it.” He locked eyes with Arthur has he walked to the table, put the key in his pocket, then delivered a swift punch to his temple. He was out instantly.

You stood on the cliff overlooking Colm’s hideout. You crouched in the grass and loaded your bow silently. Six guards, all facing separate directions. Slipping in undetected would’ve been impossible, but if you were careful, you could take them out stealthily and sneak in. Your precision was deadly. It didn’t take much effort to take down the guards swiftly. You walked back to your horse and replaced your bow with your repeater, put your pump action shotgun on your back, and your pistols in your holsters. You put a hand on your horse, “wait here, Lady. I’ll be back soon.”

You turned and headed down the hill. Your cold quiet rage was turning to a buzz in your head. Like locusts in the summer the buzzing got louder and louder until that was all you could hear. As entered the camp, a man holding a gun turned the corner. Before he could say a word, your throwing knife made contact with his forehead and he slumped over. You retrieved your knife and slowly retrieved your arrows from the corpses strewn around camp. As you pulled the arrow from your last victim, you heard footsteps behind you. “Hey w-“

Your knife wasn’t quick enough to stop the words from his mouth, and you could hear others coming. “Shit.” You said under your breath, and hid behind a barrel. Two men came to investigate the body.

“Someone’s in.” Said the first man. He turned to the man to his right, “go tell Colm, I think it’s one of the Van Der Linde’s.”

The second man turned, and this was your chance. You quietly moved from the shadows and shoved a knife through the first man’s heart. As he fell, you threw another knife at the second man, landing right in the neck. You nodded to yourself as his body slumped to the ground. You quietly searched the camp until you came across an old cellar. There was a dim light coming through the boards covering the entrance. As you put your hand on the cellar door, you heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs of the cellar. You quickly tucked yourself into the corner, hiding in the shadows. A huge man emerged, his fists covered in blood. Your eyes narrowed and you let out a small whistle. The man turned in confusion and as he did, you stood quickly and ran an arrow straight through his eye. He gurgled as his heavy body fell and you slid down into the cellar and closed the doors behind you. There in the middle of the room was Arthur, and your heart dropped when you saw him. He was hanging by his ankles and he was in worse condition that you thought. You dropped to your knees in front of him and put this face in your hands. “Arthur? Arthur come on can you hear me?”

You shook him, his body like a ragdoll. “Sorry hun,” you whisper as you pull your hand back and deliver a clean smack to his face. You had to choke back a sob of happiness when his eyes flew open. “Hey there big fella, what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into now?”

Arthur was brought back to reality by a swift smack on his face, when he opened his eyes, there you were, hands craddling his face. You looked like you were about to cry, but you were smiling down at him. He let out a sigh of relief but Colm’s words rang in his ears. “Trap.” He rasped. “Colm wants Dutch. He wants you.” It was so painful to speak, but he had to tell you.

You filmed with the lock at his feet, “well that’s too damn bad. Where’s the key Arthur?”

He coughed. “Fat guy.”

You huffed in annoyance. “Fuck, okay I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, of course you still have time for jokes. He watched as you slipped out of the cellar with fear. He was still having a hard time believing you were able to get to him.

You patted down the corpse feverishly and relief washed over you as you felt the key in his pocket and pulled it out. You swung the cellar door back open and ran to Arthur. Your hands were shaky getting the key in the hole, but Arthur’s body dropped with a thunk when the key clicked. He groaned and you had to cover your laugh, “Sorry sorry. Let’s get you outta here.”

You helped him to his feet, he was so weak you had to support him. “Wait,” he planted his feet before you could make it to the stairs and painted to a chair in the corner. “Stuff.”

You nodded, sat him slowly at the stairs, and grabbed his clothes and his guns. You had to help him dress, his body weak and bruised and bloodied. You helped him adjust his gun belt as he put his hat on his head. You looked your arm back around him and pulled him up the stairs.

The ground was littered with bodies. Arthur looked at you as you whistled for your horse. “Did you do all this by yourself?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “you surprised?”

A small laugh escaped him, causing an immediate wince. “Guess not. Colm wouldn’t happen to be one of those bodies would be?”

You remained focused and kept your eyes on the horizon for your horse. “I’m not quite sure. I honestly didn’t pay attention.”

Everything was too quiet, you remained alert as you helped Arthur into your horse. The click of a pistol,and you turned, pulling your shotgun off your back. Two triggers pull at the same time, but you’re faster than him. Your bullet connects with his knee, while his grazed your shoulder.

He fell to the ground, screaming in agonizing pain. His screams covered your cry of pain, you you alone remained standing. You gripped your shoulder tightly as you turned back to your horse. Arthur was barely conscious, supported by your horse’s neck. You gritted your teeth and winced in pain as you brought yourself up on the horse. “Just hang in there, I’ll get you home.” You whispered. That was the last thing Arthur heard before blacking out again.

You rode your horse hard. You could feel the wetness of your blood seeping through your clothes and your head floating. Just keep pushing. You told yourself. Just a little farther now. You made it all this way you can’t give up on him now. Keep pushing.

You looked down at Arthur’s unconscious body and steeled your focus. You couldn’t lose him, or even bear the thought of it. His breathing was getting slower and slower, and your head was feeling light. You had to pull through this for him. You decided if one of you died today, let it be you. The thought of losing him shook you to the core. I can’t lose you. I can’t go on without you.

You found yourself haunted by that thought, what would you do without Arthur? You blinked back your tears. No. You told yourself. I won’t let that happen. You steadied your breathing and gave a quick flick to your reigns, “faster Lady, come on!”

You you turned up the hill and saw the familiar woods on the horizon. You let out a shaky breath. “Thank God. Hang in there Arthur, we’re almost home.”

You kicked your spurs in “let’s go!” With a grunt your horse burst into a dash.

“Who’s there?” Called Bill.

“It’s me!” You called. “Give me a hand!”

“Shit!” Bill said as he jogged towards you. “Is that Morgan you got there?”

Your head was spinning and you were seeing double. “Get him down. I need...I need to get down.”

You slumped off your horse and your knees buckled under you. You leaned against a tree for support. Bill turned to you with Arthur pulled over his shoulder. “Shit, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Yeah,” you said shakily. “Get him taken care of first. I can stitch myself up.”

Bill nodded and took off with Arthur.

You closed your eyes as your body slumped down the tree. The sticky feeling of wet material made you open your eyes. You looked down at your shoulder and your entire sleeve was red with blood, it was worse than you thought. Your vision started to blur. “Y/N? We need- shit!”

You look up, “Dutch?”

You can see his mouth moving but you can’t hear the words, his face blurred and everything went black.

When you woke, the sky was bright orange, sun setting over the trees. You began to sit up, but the sharp pain in your shoulder pushed you back down onto your cot.

“Careful, let me help.” Your eyes darted to the chair in the corner. Dutch was sitting there with his arms crossed. He stood and put one hand under your back and took your hand with the other. With his support, you slowly pulled yourself up. “Thanks, Dutch.”

He returned to his seat. “No problem.”

“Where’s Arthur?” You ask.

“He’s resting, he’s gonna be fine.” He cleared his throat. “I had a plan ya know.” His voice changed, he had a threatening tone under that polite voice. “You took off without my permission. What if-“

“What if we waited and Arthur was dead?” You cut him off. “What if I didn’t go right then, and we wait until sun rise. Did you see his body? How badly they beat him?” You looked him in the eyes. “He would be Dead right now if we waited for your “plan.” Don’t think I didn’t hear Micah trying to convince you not to go back for him. I’d like to think you’d shut him down but you stayed quiet. Why was that?”

“Micah,” He said quickly, eager to change the subject. “Is also recovering in his tent, Since you’re so eager to know.”

You rolled your eyes. “Damn, if only he woulda bled out then and there.”

Dutch sighed. “You know the rules Y/N, you can’t just go around shootin’ people you don’t like.”

“You’re right, we also don’t leave our family behind. How about we let Micah’s little accident go, and I won’t tell Arthur about you sending Micah after me to try and prevent me from coming after him, hmm?”

Dutch said nothing as he turned and left your tent. You sighed, your big mouth really got you into it this time. You stood slowly and pulled on your boots. You could see Arthur lying in his cot and Hosea was sitting beside him. You crossed the camp quickly.

“Ahh, you’re awake.” Hosea said as he stood.

“How is he?” Your eyes studied him. His chest was rising and falling softly, the dried blood had been washed off and his wounds were healing, but he was still in rough shape.

“He’ll make it. He just needs to rest for a few days and he’ll be just fine.” Hosea put his hand on your shoulder. “Take a seat. I was just leaving.” You nodded and sat in the chair beside Arthur’s bed. You waved as Hosea walked away. As your eyes studied his face, you felt all the emotions crash upon you like a tidal wave. Big tears welled up in your eyes as soft sobs rose from your chest, you pulled his hand into yours.

Arthur felt the warmth enveloping his hand, and as he slowly rise into consciousness he could hear the sound of crying. His eyes opened slowly and saw you. His hand was clasped tightly between yours and your eyes were closed, tears falling through your eyelashes. “I hope you aren’t cryin’ over me.” He said in a low voice.

You jumped at the sound of his voice and dropped his hand to wipe your cheeks quickly. “Sorry, I just, I’m glad you’re okay.” You gave him a small smile.

“And what about you?” Arthur pulled himself up slowly. “When I first came to Dutch told me you took a bullet to the shoulder, almost bled out on us.” He looked away and his voice grew soft. “I had no idea. I felt like the most useless man in the world. They wouldn’t even let me get up to go see you, after everything you did for me.”

You smiled, “Good, you needed to rest.”

He looked down at your hand and took it softly. “I needed to see you though, I hated lyin’ here while I knew you were hurt. Got hurt all because of me.”

You put your hand on his cheek and brought his gaze to you. “Don’t be ridiculous, it was nothing compared to what you went through! I had to save you, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You felt your cheeks turn pink, you wanted to turn away, your Arthur’s eyes held you. He put his hand over yours to keep it on his face. “I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispered. “When Colm had me locked up, I thought I would never get to see you again.” His eyes shifted to the floor. “All I could think was how badly I wanted to see your face one more time. Just so I could...I just wanted to...” he trailed off.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Arthur, I-“

His lips cut you off, they were soft against yours and as quickly as they came, they left. “I just wanted to tell you how I feel, so I wouldn’t die regretting never knowing how you’d feel.” He spoke barely louder than a whisper and his breathing was shaky.

You felt happy tears well up as you brought his face back and kissed him deeply. His arms wrapped around you gently.

“Get a room, kids!” You both jumped at the sound of John’s voice as he passed. You couldn’t help but notice how red Arthur’s face was. “This is my room, jackass!” He called back. He looked back at you and laughed nervously. He took your hand and smiled, “I think I’m gonna need a more private living arrangement.”

You blushed and kissed his cheek. “You’ll just have to come back to my tent, at least I’ve got closable flaps.”

He rolled his eyes, “but it’s close to Micah’s tent.”

You giggled, “I don’t think he’ll be giving us much trouble.”

Arthur looked at you confused. “I may or may not have shot him in the foot before coming after you.”

Arthur burst into laughter and grabbed at his sides. “You are the best goddamn thing to ever happen to me.”

You smiled smugly, “I know.”

Arthur laid back down on the cot and opened his arms toward you. The cot was small, but he held you tight. As you closed your eyes, he kissed your cheek softly. His beard tickled your neck and his breathing was soft. Without even realizing it, he had given you everything you had ever wanted.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur x reader #request #fan fic #red dead redemption 2 spoilers #rdr2 spoilers #reader insert #john marston #Dutch Van Der Linde #hosea matthews #van der linde gang

[bat-losers-inc]

Too Close for Comfort (Pt: 1)

Summary: Black Mask makes a house call to Jason and Tim’s apartment after Jason’s newest stunt against the False Facers. Jason realizes his actions now have greater consequences than before. A what-if fic set after Black Mask learns Jason's real identity during Red Hood and the Outlaws Rebirth.

Pairings: Jason Todd / Tim Drake, Jason Todd / Roman Sionis (one-side), Jason Todd & Dick Grayson

Warnings: violence, power dynamics, sadism

Tim awoke to the sensation of fingers running through his hair. He shifted in his sprawled position on the couch, feeling the heat of another body at his hip.

He tossed his head against the small upholstered couch pillow, hoping Jason would get the hint and let him drop back to sleep.

Yet Jason either didn’t hear him or didn’t seem to care, for his fingers continued their exploratory journey from his hair to the smooth expanse of skin that ran down and along his jaw. It had to be late into the night if Jason was just getting off of his patrol. Tim could never understand how Jason didn’t seemed to share Tim’s desire to jump into the shower and then his softest set of boxers and a tee the moment his patrol ended. Despite patrolling for hours around the alleyways and rooftops of Gotham, Jason always returned home looking like he still had energy to burn.

Tim groaned deeply into the pillow. “Fuck off, Jay.”

Whatever he was going to follow that with died on his lips as his eyes fluttered open, intent on finding a spot of Jason’s body that he could swing a fist at and discovering an entirely different person there, altogether.

Before Tim could so much as shift up onto his elbows, Black Mask had seized him by the chin in an iron grip. The edge of a pocket knife flashed at the edge of Tim’s eyeline, brushing up against the hard line of his cheekbone a moment later like the mob boss wanted to give him a close shave.

“Ah, you must be Tim,” Roman’s teeth shown pearly against the black contours of his skeletal face. “Or should I call you Red Robin?”

Tim blew out a harsh breath against the fingers digging into his jawbone in an attempt to discharge the sudden spike of fear that coursed through his veins. As quickly as Roman’s powerful grip had seized onto him, it made equally quick work of releasing him, though the blade of Roman’s pocket knife still loomed dangerously close to Tim’s face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure. How about we get to know each other a little better while we wait for our boy to come home?”

Tim hit the floor, falling painfully on his elbows from a backhanded blow that snapped his head to the side and threw his feet out from under him. He coughed and flicked his tongue up to inspect the cut on the inside of his cheek, already leaking salty copper between his teeth.

He spat a mouthful of blood onto the kitchen tiles as he shifted up onto his knees. Before he could make it any further on his own, one of Black Mask’s goons was there to assist him with his fingers twisted painfully in Tim’s hair.

Tim stumbled up into the hold, his head yanked back at a severe angle, the pain in his scalp sharp and unrelenting.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” Black Mask sighed from his perched position on the arm of the couch. Tim could barely make him out over the horizon of his own battered cheekbones. “Tell me a little more about our boy. What’s Jason like without the guns and the leather?”

Tim leveled his gaze at him. Ten minutes alone with the man for the first time in his life and Roman’s speech patterns were already getting on his nerves. He circled round the topic of Jason, poking and prodding until he veered off when something Tim did or didn’t do piqued his interest, only to eventually wander back to Jason. Our boy he called him like this was a ménage à trois and Jason was someone they shared equally. Tim was starting to understand why half of Jason’s encounters with Roman Sionis ended with Jason beating the shit out of him.

“Why? You want to date him? Want me to read you his fucking tinder profile or something?”

He grimaced and clutched the goon’s hand as he tugged tighter on the locks of hair held in his grip.

Roman chuckled behind his mask and strolled into the kitchen to get a closer look at him. “Oh, I can see why Jason likes you. Cheeky lil’ fucker, aren’t you? And you sure know how to take a beating.”

His disfigured face loomed in front of Tim’s eyes again. “But didn’t Jason warn you not to provoke me? It only gets me excited.”

Tim tried to put as much hatred as he could into his stare. There was a biting retort on the tip of his tongue, but Tim thought better of it.

He pressed his lips into a firm line and said nothing.

There was a nauseating feeling coiling in Tim’s gut, however, that told him Black Mask wasn’t going to let him off without an example of just how skilled he was in his sadistic little hobby.

As Roman unrolled his collection of knives onto the kitchen counter, Tim could only squeeze his eyes shut and think, Where the fuck are you, Jason?

Jason was still inspecting his hasty patch-up job as he walked through the door of his apartment. The medical tape was already peeling off of the skin around his ribs under the soggy weight of his blood-soaked bandages. He wasn’t overly concerned, as the bandage was only meant to hold long enough for him to get back to his apartment and let Tim stitch him up with his suture kit.

He’d definitely seen more alarming sights at the end of a patrol and right at that moment all of those instances got knocked down a peg on his list because Black Mask was lounging on Jason’s couch like he paid the fucking rent.

And that…

Fuck.

That was not supposed to happen.

Jason’s brain split in three different directions at once, his hand already fastened around his gun, halfway free from his side holster. His thoughts jumping right alongside his eyes wondering where Tim was and if Black Mask had any of his men waiting in the shadows to ambush him.

Not likely, though Jason, since as of an hour ago, a good number of them are currently making new friends in GCPD lockup.

Black Mask smiled, “Well, if it isn’t my favorite little jackass.”

Jason took two long steps forward and and pressed the muzzle of his gun against Roman’s temple. He took a breath and thought about how Roman was probably getting a sadistic little kick out of this arrangement and put more of his weight behind it, until Roman’s smile twitched into a grimace.  

“Give me a reason for why I shouldn’t blow your head off right here, right now.”

“Well for starters, I don’t think Tim would like that outcome. I told my man here to snap his pretty little neck if you moved against me.”

That was when Jason became aware of the sounds of a struggle, previously dimmed out as the blood rushed to Jason’s head.

Jason turned with his gun raised and nearly fired off a shot on instinct at the scene that greeted him.

One of Black Mask’s goons had Tim up against a wall already splattered with blood that Jason knows has to be Tim’s. Tim’s feet were off the ground, kicking futility at the man’s torso as his neck was pinned in one of the goon’s meaty fists.

“Honestly, Jason, you should really teach Timmy here how to loosen up a little, you know, engage in some friendly small talk. Not to sound judgemental or anything but your boyfriend’s a bit of a prude.”

Jason tuned him out.

There’s more blood on Tim’s shirt than there’s a right to be without a broken nose evident. The seepage patterns in the fabric tell Jason all he needs to know about what Roman was doing to amuse himself while he waited. Jason just hopes that one or the both of them don’t bleed out before they get out of this mess of a situation.

“Put him down. Right now.” Jason growled.

“Drop the gun, little man, and let’s talk like adults for a minute, yeah?”

Jason kept his gun pointed in the direction of the henchman. “Now.”

Roman ducked under Jason’s extended arm and straightened up so he’s face to face with Jason. His hand closed around Jason’s own where it clutches his gun. “I’d say you have about thirty seconds before he passes out from asphyxiation. So you can either disassemble this gun and sit your ass on that couch or we can stand here pretending you still have some power in this situation and watch your boyfriend bite it. Your choice.”

Jason’s gaze flicked past Roman’s head to Tim, whose face was rapidly draining of color. Jason worked quick and methodically, breaking down the gun to all of its individual parts and setting each in a line across the surface of their coffee table before dropping down onto the couch cushions.

Roman smiled as he looked from the disassembled gun to Jason’s seated position. “Good boy.”

Jason’s eyes took note of Tim’s slowing struggles and almost longed for the wheezing sound he was making a moment ago to return. At least that was a sign he was still breathing. “Roman.”

Black Mask adjusted his cufflinks and sat down next to Jason, crossing one leg over the other in a leisurely fashion. Jason couldn’t hide his growing panic at this point.

“Goddamnit, Roman. Please!”

Jason was already halfway up from the couch again, ready to vault over the table if he had to, before Roman caught his elbow and yanked him back down into the couch cushions.

“Tony.”

Tony’s thick-fingered fist unclenched it’s vice and Tim dropped like a ton of bricks to the floor, his legs not coming up fast enough to catch him. There was one horribly minute where Tim just curled inwards and the apartment filled with the sounds of his rasping breaths and wet coughs as he dry heaved.

Jason was bent forward, hands gripping tight to his knees when the noises petered out. “Tim, say something.”

Tim rolled slowly onto his back with a groan and pressed one hand to his bleeding torso. The other came up to rest protectively over his bruised throat. “Fuck you.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Roman stretched an arm across the back of the couch.”but I think you’re going to need to clarify that. Now, for the record was that a ‘fuck you’ to me or a ‘fuck you’ to loverboy over here?”

Tim turned his head until his temple was pressed against the wood floor and fixed them with a heated red-eyed stare and rasped,“Right now? Fuck you both.”

Roman barked a laugh and seized Jason by the shoulders, yanking Jason’s tense frame close until he could speak right in his ear even as Jason hissed and jerked his head away. “Oh, I like him! What a devious little shit you are for keeping him all to yourself for so long. Now I think I might just have to go out of my way to find him on his next patrol.”

Jason had him by his shirtfront in an instant. “You lay another motherfucking hand on him and I’ll make you wish—”

“Or maybe I’ll make another house call. Or stop by GCU after his classes. What are you gonna do, Jason? You gonna follow him everywhere he goes?”

Jason could only sit there, breathing harshly as any remaining threats stuck fast in his throat.

Roman smiled. “Ah, that’s what I thought.”

He slapped Jason not so lightly on the face.

“How about this, Jason. I’ll leave you with a little food for thought. The next time my men are down by the docks receiving my next shipment, I want you to think long and hard about our little get-together tonight. And then based on whatever decision you make— locking up my men…. letting them go about their business… it’s up to you, really— then I’ll decide if I need to stop by again.”

Roman stood up and made his way to the door where Tony was waiting. He stepped casually over Tim, who glared at his smirking expression but, like Jason, said nothing.

The door was open halfway. Roman glanced back with a pearly smile. “Just remember, Jason. It’s no trouble at all to come round. I do so enjoy our little get-togethers.”

“I don’t care what Batman’s rules are. You touch him again and I’ll kill you.”

Roman chuckled. “Oh, not if I get you first.”  

The apartment door closed behind him and Jason shuddered as all of the tension left his body at once. He rushed to Tim’s side and knelt over him, hands pressing firmly down on Tim’s where it rested on his torso to slow the bleeding.

Tim closed his eyes and made a noise like Jason had suckerpunched him. With his face pinched in pain Tim gritted out through clenched teeth, “So you didn’t think it was worth mentioning that Roman Sionis knows your real name?”

“I didn’t think it would make much of a difference. I mean, Ra’s al Ghul knows the names of almost all of us—”

“Yeah,” Tim coughed and it was full of pain and fake joviality. “and I’m only missing a spleen and being stalked by his creepy, personal-boundary infringing ninjas. I see your point, Jason. Great decision.”

 Jason ignored his snarky comments in favor of tending to his wounds. “Shit, this isn’t going to be a simple patch up job. I’m calling Dick.”

“I think that’s the only smart thing you’ve said all night.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll apologize one hundred-fold once I’m sure you aren’t going to die on me.”

Jason put the call on speaker phone and listened to it ring.  

#jay/tim #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #roman sionis #batman #batman comics #red hood #Red Robin #black mask #dick grayson #nightwing #power dynamics #cw violence #cw sadism #red hood and the outlaws rebirth #bat-losers-inc #LittleDarlingXOX

[butwhyduh]

Let's Run Away

Tom Holland x Reader mob!au pt4

Warning: smut, guns, alcohol, gambling, boxing

Word count: 1670

Summary: In the 1920s, during the height of prohibition, in New York City, Tom holland, an unknown from London, tries to make his way around the New York crime world with his lover Y/n. When he owes an influential crime family money he'll do anything to pay them back. Is it too much?

Author note: Robbie- Sebastian Stan, Vinnie- Ian Somerhalder. Not representative of their real personalities.

Glad rags are going out dresses.

The Eager Beaver was a small potatoes joint. A lot of workers and lower ranking members of the mobs visited it. They paid both the Moretti and O'Neal's to keep it a neutral ground. The head bosses never visited the joint.

Across town was the Bee's Knees which couldn't be more different. It was a O'Neal joint. The mob bosses could often be seen working there. It was safer from the police because the mob paid well and New York City police knew they didn't have the power to take them down. They had nice tables and chairs. The dance floor shone high gloss. Unlike the Eager Beaver, that often had a mixture of all people wearing everything from suits to construction gear, the Bee's Knees had a code. If you came here, you came in your best.

Every Tuesday and Thursday they had a big fight. A boxing ring was placed on the dance floor and the stage was covered in tables to place bets. They often had 3 separate fights starting smallest to largest. Large quantities of money was exchanged at these events.

Johnny was going to raid the place. He had roped in Tom, Haz, Ollie, and Trev, plus 2 of his own guys. Robbie and Vinnie sat at a card table in the back of Johnny 's warehouse. The building was quiet at this early hour. Johnny came strolling in with a tray containing coffee mugs and a pot.

"Cuppa coffee, anyone?" He offered. Haz and Robbie both took a cup. "I have the plans here," Johnny said unrolling a set of blue prints. It was the Bee's Knees in detail.

"Alright, so we know that every Friday and Tuesday they have fights and a lot of money comes in. They don't pay until Saturday morning. We are going to take them for everything they've got. It'll be thousands of dollars in one safe. There are 3 locks and 2 guards to get through. We just need to get the keys during the fight and then come back later. We have about 8 to 10 minute to get in and out. I think we can do it in 5. No one will know who did it. I'll claim you helped me with a shipment to explain the money."

"Tom you need to be look out. Bring your girl to the fight and show her a good time. You will distract security if needed. Your girl could fake fainting if needed," Johnny said. Tom tensed at the idea of involving Y/n.

"Haz, bring someone too. You'll be doing the same. Tom will sit here," Johnny pointed to a seat near the office. "And Haz, here," he pointed to a seat near the back exit.

"Vinnie and Ollie will sit near the main doors. And Trev will distract the bartender for Robbie to get the keys. If all goes well then we just enjoy the fights before leaving. We'll come back around 2 to get the stuff. I'll explain that after we get the keys. Does everyone understand?" Johnny said looking at the group.

"I don't like involving Y/n," Tom said. Johnny nodded.

"You could leave her home alone for the Moretti to talk to her again," Johnny countered. "Or you two could buy your girls some dresses to show them a good time," he said handing both Haz and Tom some money.

Tom stiffly nodded. He hated this idea but what choice did he have? Haz smiled uncomfortably. He was going to have to ask Dot. And she couldn't know what he was even doing.

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

Tom had stopped at a shop on the way home and bought a dress for that night. He knew what they expected there and Y/n had never been. He hoped that you wouldn't be mad at him when he got home. He cautiously walked in the tiny apartment. You stood at the sink washing dishes. You appeared normal except for the knife held in the band of your apron.

"Hey pretty girl," Tom decided to say. The last thing He wanted was to scare you and get stabbed. You turned around quicker than usual with your hand going to the hilt of the knife. "It's just me, love. I got you some glad rags," he sad offering the bag.

You took the bag and sat at the small rickety table. You pulled out a dress that was the most expensive and beautiful thing you had ever owned. "How did you get this?"

"I need your help tonight," Tom said before explaining the plan. You looked at him cautiously. Your hand ran on the fabric of the dress. It was softer than anything. He did say all you would be doing is watching a boxing match. You touched the spot on your cheek softly.

"Okay. We'll do it."

You stood in front of your mirror wearing the dress. It was butter yellow, knee length, hung loose from the hips down. The back was open to the small of your back. You ran a hand on the beading along the neckline. It was beautiful.

"Holy hell. I'm not sure if I can let you leave," Tom said grabbing your hips from behind. "You are gorgeous, love," he said as a hand ran up to cup your breast. The thin material provided little barrier.

"We have to get ready," you reminded him as he placed soft kisses on your neck.

"We have time," He said huskily pulling at the ribbon in the back. He unbuttoned it and the dress slipped to the floor. Tom ran his hands along your body as you watched in the mirror.

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

This was your first time at the Bee's Knees. It was owned by the Moretti and very expensive. Of course, Johnny had paid the group's way. He stood proud of himself wearing a navy suit with a blue undershirt and striped tie. Tom had put on a classier and older black suit with white shirt and tie.

Tom had a hand firmly on your bare back to keep you close. He hated involving you. You smiled politely at all around. After shaking a few hands He guided you to 2 chairs near the office. You looked at the ring in the middle of the room. Men walked to the tables on the stage to make bets and back to their seats.

Men of wealth from all over the city filled the room and many had beautiful women on their arms. You felt poor but also excited. You didn't know if you would ever see this life again. Johnny sat down in a seat near the ring, turned in his seat, and winked at you both. Tom grabbed you both a glass of champagne, real champagne, from a waitress walking by. How they had gotten it from France with the laws against alcohol in New York was a mystery to you.

"Excuse me, sir?" Said a nervous man in a waiter outfit. Tom looked at him. "This seat is reserved. If you could move here," he motioned to 3 rows closer to the ring. Tom nodded and stood. You followed to your new seats. He felt nervous at the thought of being farther from the office. This wasn't part of the plan.

Soon the seats began filling up around you. Haz sat across the room with Dot who was gorgeous in a blue dress. Her red hair looked even more beautiful. Right before the fight was to began a group of people split the crowd and sat in the seats you had been in. It was clearly the Moretti family. The elderly man of the group was the leader and everyone deferred to him. You felt Tom tense next to you.

"You have that gun, right love?" He asked leaning into your ear. Your blood chilled at the thought of needing it but you nodded. You could feel the cold metal strapped to your thigh. "If anything happens get low and run."

The crowd cheered loudly. It was an odd sight to see people in fancy clothing cheering loudly. Two men walked into the ring. They were thin but very fit. This was the lightweight fight. You had never seen a boxing match in person. Generally the spots Tom watched the weren't the best places for women.

A man acting as referee stepped in the ring. The two men squared up and bumped hands. A bell rang and the ref backed up. The two boxers began dancing and throwing their gloved hands at each other. The crowd cheered as they connected. You gasped as one particular hit rocked the fighter. He spit blood on the mat. Tom grasped your hand lightly.

Soon the bell rang again and the pair stepped back to their corners where they were given water and rags to wipe the blood. Waiters fluttered through the crowd bringing drinks and cigarettes to spectators. Soon the pair squared up again and the bell rang.

The hometown favorite swung hard to hit the jaw of the taller man. He rocked back slightly and got a jab to the ribs as punishment. He managed to dance away from the next hit. He threw a hook to the favorite's ribs. He exposed his face and got a hard jab to the nose. He bled freely on the mat. He swung wildly and the favorite jabbed him quickly in the jaw and the man went to the mat.

A gun shot sounded in the room and you froze. You felt your blood thicken in horror. Tom pushed you from your chair to the ground and wrapped his arms around you.

"We have to get out of here, pretty girl. Stay with me," Tom said pulling a gun from his waistband. You remembered the revolver on your hip and reached for it. "Safer if you didn't, love. Not enough space."

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#tom holland #harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #haz #tom holland smut #harrison osterfield x reader #tom holland x reader #mob!haz #mob!au #mob!harrison #mob!tom #lets run away t.h. #taron egerton #bill skarsgard #robbie amell #sebastian stan #ian somerhalder #katherine mcnamara

[thebrotherscupheadandmugman]

Santa Cup, That’s Me!

Happy Holidays! This wasn’t supposed to be half as long as it turned out to be, and I got the idea literally Christmas Eve and have been working on it since. Sorry it’s late, but way better late than never!!

When I originally started writing this, it was going to take place in the current year this blog is in, 1935, but since it’s so long and elaborate, we’ll consider this the Christmas special of my rewriting, placing it in 1934. 

I also hid a few Easter Eggs here and there. See how many you can find! On that note, always keep in mind that none of the characters (except for Sue, Logan, and Tick and Tock,) belong to me, and that Reblogs > Likes! 

Cuphead and Mugman were nestled quietly in their beds, eagerly awaiting the dawn of Christmas Morning. Cuphead always had trouble sleeping Christmas Eve, and this time was no different. He’d begged both Mugman and Santa for an electric train set, and he was almost certain he was getting one!! The boy tossed and turned in his bed, trying to sleep,but not being able to. 

Suddenly, Cuphead heard something clop clop clopping on the roof. The child shot straight up out of his head as he listened closely to the sounds. Clop clop clop. Jingle jingle jingle. There was only one way these sounds could be coming from the roof above his head. Santa.  “Mugs!!” Cuphead whispered, jumping out of bed and over to shake his brother awake. “Mugs, Mugs, wake up! Santa’s here! Wake up wake up!” “Cuphead?” Mugman mumbled with a sleepy sort of snort.  “Mugman wake up, wake up!! Santa’s here! Santa’s here!! We should catch him and say thanks!!” 

Cuphead dragged his brother out of bed, and pulled him downstairs and down to the Christmas Tree, hoping to catch Santa before he climbed back up the Chimney.

But alas, it seemed the brothers just barely missed him. Cuphead couldn’t help but peak under the Christmas tree and...no train. Talk about disappointing, but Cuphead was still going to thank Santa if he could! “Maybe we can catch him outside!”

The brothers rushed outside, just to see--

There he was. Santa Claus. In the flesh and fur coat. Cuphead never thought he’d see the real Santa! Usually it was just Brineybeard or some other old geezer posing as Santa. The boys could hardly contain themselves.  “SANTA!!” Cuphead shouted. “Ho ho?!” As Santa turned around, his foot slipped on the snowy roof, and he quickly fell off and onto the ground with a loud thud before Cuphead could say ‘thank you!’ The brothers gasped, terribly frightened at what had just happened. “SANTA!!” They both cried, rushing over to his body. “Cuphead, he’s not moving!!”  “Golly, Mugs!! What are we gonna do?!” “We just killed Santa!! No, worse!! We just ruined Christmas for every other kid!!” Cuphead was on the verge tears.”

Cuphead grabbed his brother’s cheeks and looked him right in the eyes.  “There’s only one thing we can do. Hide the body and take his place.” “I-- Cuphead we can’t just--” “Do ya really wanna go ta prison fer th’rest of yer life because we literally killed the Santa Claus?” “No, not really...” Mugman mumbled as he began to consider it. He didn’t particularly want to think about how to hide the body of St. Nick, but what choice did he have?

Mugman eventually sighed. “Fine! But we need to deliver these presents first!!” “Gimme a boost, let’s get up to the sleigh and we’ll look at the list!” “Right!” Mugman nodded, lifting his little brother onto his shoulders, so that the younger could reach the roof with his hand and climb up. “Cup, help me up!” Without another word, Cuphead planted his straw in the snow, to have something to keep him from slipping himself, and grabbed his brother’s hand and pulled him up.  “Let’s get to th’sleigh!” The brothers quickly and carefully crawled up the snowy roof and climbed into Santa’s red sleigh. “How does this work?” Asked Cuphead. Mugman looked around in the sleigh and unrolled a long list of names and addresses of citizens on Inkwell.  “It looks like this is his nice list.” Cuphead opened up the large red sack of gifts behind the seat, only to reveal more sacks of gifts, each in a different colored bag.  “All these bags are different!” “Looks like it’s color coated. How did he do that?” Mugman pondered quietly.

“Alright, here’s the plan! If we split up and cover more ground, we can get all of Isle One done in no time!” Mugman decided.  “How?! We can’t carry all these to the houses outside of the village on foot! They’re too far away!” “I didn’t say we’d be walking.” “Mug! Are you nuts?! We don’t know how to drive this thing!!” “I mean we’ll use our Aeroplanes!” Mugman reasoned. “You start off at the main village and get the residents in town, Like Clara Candlewick and Billy Baker! I’ll take care of the spread-out houses, like Mac and Honey Crisp, and Carrie Blossom!” “Gotchya! I’ll take the big sack in my plane! You just take what you need inta yours!” “Perfect! Let’s save Christmas for Inkwell!”

So the brothers made quick work and took over for St. Nick. Clad in their scarves, earmuffs, and goggles, they flew around above Isle one, landing on the rooftops of each house, and delivering the presents to the folks inside as quietly as they could. Cuphead would often find a bunch of houses close together, and jumped from rooftop to rooftop to deliver each set of gifts. Meanwhile Mugman would have to be careful and quick, since each house was so isolated from the next, if they even had a house at all. He was rather surprised Cagney celebrated Christmas, much less wrote a letter to Santa at all.

“Isle Two next?” Cuphead asked. “Yeah. Thankfully very few people actually live there outside of who we already know, so this should be quick and easy.” Mugman informed, reading over the list as he sat in his grounded plane. “Heck, Wally and Djimmi’s names are under the same address for some reason, so that’s one less stop than we’d already have to make!” “Swell! We should do Wally’s house last, our planes would prolly wake him up.” “Good thinking, Cup! Let’s make tracks!” With that, the ceramic duo were off again, quietly creeping about the isle and delivering all the gifts to good girls and boys within the closed carnival.

That was until the boys hit a roadblock at the Warbles’ house. As the two somehow managed to sneak past a sleeping Wally and climb down the chimney, the brothers fell right into a net, and tumbled out with a loud clink and a poof of soot and ash. “Cuphead, what did you do?!” Mugman coughed, trying to maintain a whisper. “I didn’ do nothin’!” Cuphead hacked. “Somethin’ grabbed me!” The two struggled to break free of the fishnet they were entangled in, pushing and kicking against the ropes in attempts to break free. Mugman hadn’t thought to grab his Charge Shot, so he couldn’t use that to break the ropes, all he had was the Peashooter, which were too small to rely on now. “Cups, did you bring the Lobbers?” “I-I think I left it in my bag at home! But I have the Roundabouts!” “You’ll hit me with that before you break the nets!” 

With all the ruckus and coughing from nearby, a little chick began to stir and open his eyes. Santa came. And he fell right into his trap.  “Puphead! Wake up!” The chick whispered, shaking the wooden boy next to him awake. Puphead slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a sleepy yawn. 

As the smoke cleared, and the porcelain brothers were revealed to be the ones caught in Junior’s trap, Puphead and Junior were shocked to see that it hadn’t been Santa after all, yet they did have a blue-green bag of gifts with them. “What’re you two twit’s doin’ here?! You tryin’ ta steal our Christmas presents?! Is dat it?!” Junior accused, marching over to the brothers. “Wuh-oh.” “Busted!” Mugman turned his head to look at Junior. “N-no! You’ve got it all wrong, we--” “Ooh, my dad was right about yous two!! Just wait until I tell him! Then you’ll really be sorry!!” The chick took a deep breath as Puphead covered his ears, knowing that he would scream for Wally. “No, no, Junior wait!!” “Junior! Stop! We’re tryin’ ta help Santa!!” Junior paused at that. “Wuffor?” He toyed. “He, erm, hurt himself! He twisted his ankle on a piece of firewood sticking out by our chimney, and he can’t climb down chimneys no more! So we’re helping him in our Aeroplanes until he can climb again!” Cuphead lied. “Just let us out, we still got Isle Three ta do!!” “Uh huh...And why should I believe you?” Puphead tugged on Junior’s arm at his suspicion, fully believing the story. “What is it? You believe dis crap?” Puphead nodded, and pointed to the sack in the net that the brothers had. “What the toys dey stole?!” Puphead shook his head and pointed to the fireplace. Junior’s eyes widened. “I...Gosh Puphead, yer right! Dere’s no way they could have taken the gifts before setting off the trap!”  “Junior, untie us, please! We need to hurry up and get started on Isle Three before morning comes!!” Mugman pleaded, looking at his watch. “It’s already almost 11:30! We only have 30 minutes to get the whole entire city!!”  “What?” Junior questioned, already starting to open the net. “Ya think dat da whole city’s gonna just get up at midnight ta open presents?” “No...” Mugman answered, “but someone might!” "Man, you two really are dumb! Ain’ no one gonna get up at midnight ta open gifts, most people’ll be asleep still! I’d say dat the earliest kids are gon’ wake up is at least tree AM. Ya twits still gots time!” “Yeah, but not much! Do ya even know how many people live in th’big city?!” Cuphead pointed out.

Puphead grabbed both of Junior’s shoulders as the brothers were released, and looked at his friend with pleading eyes. Junior turned his head at the touch, and looked the puppet in the eyes for a few moments before he sighed. “Yer right. Tree ‘n a half hours ain’t enough time fer just th’ two ah yas ta cover the entire city.” Junior placed his hands on his hips and puffed up his chest. “But maybe da four of us can make it!” He proclaimed valiantly. “Hot dawg, you’ll really help, Junior?!” Mugman cried. “On one condition! Ya leave dat sack ‘ere fer me ta examine!” “Deal!” The brothers said. “I’ll get my nest! Puphead, yer with me!” Puphead jumped up and down excitedly. 

With the presents unbagged and two new recruits by their side, the four Christmas heroes quickly flew into the city and began their work once again. Apartments, homes, and more, the children were quick to break in and leave their gifts and fill their stockings. Forkington Silverson, Tick and Tock Clocke, Sue Zanshwane, Toby J. Sodor, no house was missed, and no child was forgotten. Every name on the list was crossed out with each house, one by one, and little by little, each house was visited and gifted. 

After what felt like hours of work, the four went back to the carnival and landed. “Junior, you guys got Nancy Nightingale?” “Yup!” “Cup, you went through every apartment in Sally Stageplay’s apartment complex!” “It wasn’t as complicated as the name made it sound!” Mugman snorted at that. “Anybody happen to get Logan Rhythm or Debbie Doll?” “I got Logan!” Cuphead exclaimed, raising his hand, “Puphead n’ I got Debbie!” Mugman crossed off two more names. “Guys! We did it! That’s everyone on Inkwell before two AM!”  “Yahoo!!” Cuphead cheered as Puphead jumped in excitement. “Great. Merry Christmas.” Junior grumbled, trying not to appear as happy as he was feeling. “Puphead, ‘m tired, let’s go home!” Puphead nodded, and walked walked back to Wally’s house with Junior as he waved the brothers good night. “Merry Christmas Junior!” Mugman called. “Merry Christmas Puphead!” 

Cuphead sighed, with a visible breath and turned to his brother.  “Mugsy, ‘m tired too. We should go home and sleep before we wake Elder Kettle.” Mugman was surprised that his little brother was choosing to go to sleep over opening presents on Christmas Morning. Cuphead had to have been really tired to make a decision like that!  “Yeah, we will. I’m freezing anyway. I feel like there’s frozen milk in my straw at this point. Just let me double check to make sure we didn’t miss anyone. “What? Why?” Cuphead asked, already crawling back into his Aeroplane. “You just said we got everyone!” “Santa always checks his list twice! The song Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town says so!” “Wasn’t that written last year?” Cuphead grumbled, before something in Mugman’s plane caught his attention. The giant red sack of toys didn’t look so empty...

As if on cue, Mugman’s straw popped out of his head to form a shivering exclamation point. “Cuphead, we missed someone! A little girl named Evelyn Etting in the village!” “There’s another bag in there! It’s gotta be fer her family!” “Let’s shake a leg!” The brothers cried, hopping into their Aeroplanes and flying as close to the village as possible. 

Unfortunately for them, it began to snow, so they’d have to go into the town and get on the roof by foot due to dangerous weather conditions. The brothers ran as they rushed to her house, Mugman worried about not being able to find a way up to the roof or inside the house. “Look Mug! A ladder!” Cuphead motioned with his whole hand. “It leads up to th’roof!” “That’s swell!” The brothers quickly climbed the ladder of the green house, carefully crossed the roof, and dropped down the chimney with the purple bag of gifts. There was quite a lot to unload, but one the ceramic duo was finished, they each had one cookie and a shared glass of milk, then crawled back out the red bricked chimney.

“Oh Golly! That was a lot.” Cuphead sighed, stretching his back as he stood on the chimney.  “Cuphead, get off the chimney before you fall and shatter yourself.” Mugman scolded. “Golly Mugs! Look at the town from up here! The snow makes it look so nifty!” “Cup. We need to get home before Elder Kettle realizes we’re gone.” “Wait a minute, Mug! We took Santa’s place, right? There’s somethin’ we still gotta say before we go home!” “What? ‘Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night?’ Cuphead, there’s at least five Jewish kids in our school that don’t celebrate Christmas, you’ll just be annoying them if you wake them up for that.” “Maybe, but we can say somethin’ else so that the Jewish don’ feel left out!” “Cuphead, let’s just get off the--” Mugman’s left foot suddenly sank into the snow, causing him to wobble and lift his right foot in the air as he lost his balance. Cuphead, however, didn’t notice, but instead put his left hand up to his mouth as he took a deep breath and cried,

The clock tower chimed with two loud BONGs, and the screen soon faded to the Kettle’s front lawn.

Aeroplanes abandoned for the time being, the two brothers returned home, having forgotten what started this mess in the first place, until Cuphead suddenly remembered. “Mugs! Santa!! Whadda we do about him?!” “Oh no, you’re right!” The brothers began sprinting to where the body once was, but instead of Santa’s motionless carcass, they only found an imprint in the snow of what once was there. “What the-- where’d he go?!” “Cuphead, look!” Mugman jabbed his little brother with his elbow and pointed to the roof with two fingers.

Just as Cuphead looked up, Santa was there, alive and well as if nothing ever happened. He flicked the reigns, and his reindeer galloped off and away, flying overhead as he left Inkwell Isle.

“On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer, and Vixen! On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen!”  “Woah!” The brothers both gasped. “Oh ho ho ho! Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good night!”

The brothers stood for a moment, before Cuphead suddenly sneezed, not a single drop of milk leaving his head, despite the sudden motion. “Bless you.” “Mugs, did we just get used by Santa?” “I don’t think so. I think he was just knocked out and we took it upon ourselves to help.” “Hitchiew!”  “Bless you. We’d better get inside before we catch a cold.” “Fine.” Cuphead sniffled.

The brothers stepped inside, and were welcomed with a completely different scene than what they had left with. There had been twice as many gifts than before, and their Christmas tree was bigger, brighter, and prettier than ever.  “Wowza...” The brothers both gasped.  “Mugman, look!” Cuphead motioned to a letter in the middle of the tree. Mugman grabbed it and opened it, holding it low enough for Cuphead to read as well. “What’s it say?!”

“Dear Cuphead and Mugman,

You two gave me quite the scare when you suddenly showed up outside. I certainly didn’t expect you to leave the house when you saw the presents.” As Mugman read the note, the voice of Santa himself could be heard, as if he was speaking directly to the brothers.

“I thoroughly appreciate you wanting to thank me for what I do every year, Cuphead, but as always, your actions do not match well with your good intentions. Oh, but don’t worry. It’ll take a little more than just a silly old fall to make jolly old Saint Nick take the big sleep. Thank you so much for putting the rest of Inkwell’s needs before trying to get yourselves out of trouble, boys. Santa’s little helpers not only put Junior Warbles higher up on the nice list, but also made him begin to understand the true meaning of Christmas. 

As thanks, I left you boys extra gifts this year, some perhaps against your grandfather’s wishes. Cuphead, the large red box under this note is for you. After tonight, you’ve certainly been a good enough boy to have earned this: be careful not to spill! Mugman, the round one in blue is yours. I hope you think back to this night whenever you listen to it. 

Never stop striving to do the right thing, regardless of what you fear. Always remember to learn from your mistakes, and do what you believe in. 

Merry Christmas to you both.

Signed,” “Mr. C.”

The brothers looked at each other for a few moments as the heard the floorboards above them creak. Somehow, they must have woken Elder Kettle up. Panicked, the brothers scrambled to kick the snow off their boots, and hide their scarves and earmuffs under the couches. Just as they could hear the stairs creak with their grandfather’s presence, the boys looked at each other and flipped the other’s straw upside down to hide the frozen milk on the other end.  “Boys?” “Elder Kettle, Santa came!” “Have you any idea what the time is?!” “We’re sorry, Elder Kettle, we didn’t wanna wake you.” “Yeah! Mug an’ I were just curious ta see if he came! We were gonna letchya sleep in a little longer!” Cuphead added before he paused, and grabbed his left wrist. “...But since yer up, can we open presents now?!”  “Good gosh, Cuphead.” Mugman sighed, putting a hand on his face. 

Elder Kettle sighed. “I suppose. Since we’re all already up!” He smiled as he continued climbing down the stairs. “Yaay!!” The brothers immediately grabbed the gifts that Santa mentioned in his note, and quickly tore off the paper. Since Mugman’s was so much smaller, it hadn’t taken him long at all to open the record. “What’d ya get, Mugsy?!” Mugman turned the vinyl over in his hand, and read the title out loud. “Santa Claus, That’s Me!...” “Well then, shall we listen to it?” Elder Kettle offered, holding his hand out for the record. Mugman gave his grandpa a smile and nodded as he handed the song to him. Elder Kettle quickly shuffled over to the record player, and put on the song. 

A string followed by jingling bells filled the room, accompanied by Cuphead tearing open the large gift. “Way up above me is The ice and snow where the eyes of no one may see With my dear little men And my wonderful shop Little ole Santa Claus, that’s me!

I’m building my toys For girls and boys A labor of love is mine.  And I’m more than repaid For visits I’ve made When children’s eyes dance and shine!  As time rolls along  With a very old song At work I am always found. For I’m busy each day But in a wonderful way But when Christmas time comes round, 

Then away I go Over the ice and snow To finish my trip before the day is dawning. I’ll carry my pretty toys For all the girls and boys To make them gay and happy Christmas morning!”

Mugman smiled at the song, just as Cuphead had finally unwrapped his present. “An electric train set!!” Cuphead squealed with joy. The child was so thrilled that he hugged the package with small milky tears in his eyes. He’s wanted one of these for years, but Elder Kettle always thought they were dangerous. Elder Kettle was about to scold the boy, and tell him that they’ll have to return it, but seeing his grandson with tears of joy made him choose otherwise. He didn’t have the heart to tell Cuphead he couldn’t have something that made him so happy on Christmas. “I’d better not find that thing left on, young man!”  “Yes! Of course, Elder Kettle!!” Cuphead beamed as he giggled with pure joy. 

The brothers continued opening their gifts, as the snow jingled as it fell down outside. As the picture was zooming away from the Kettle’s house, it soon circled to black, as the cursive words ‘Happy Holidays’ wrote themselves in gold on the screen, before finally fading to black.

#Santa Cup That's Me! #Word on the Wind! {Rebloggable Content} #Cuphead #Mugman #Puphead #Wally Warbles Junior #Santa Claus #Elder Kettle #Cuphead and Mugman: Don't Deal with the Devil #Christmas Special #Merry Christmas!

[m-oana-archive]

Heartsease: a Wolfstar fanfiction

Part Three: “Goodnight, Stars” 

read part one   two 

POV: Remus | Words: 5017 | beta: @inflictionofopinions <3 | read on AO3

There were few places in Hogwarts—or the world, really—that Remus loved more than the library in the morning, with its warm glow and peaceful white noise of scratching quills, stacking books, and distant muttering.  There was a new addition to the regular list of sounds as Remus sat down, unable to restrict the tapping of his foot against the table or his fingers against the textbook cover.  He wanted it to be the fact Lily was late, again, but knew it was something else, as the rapping intensified every time he remembered Ollie and Sirius talking the night before, the flash of Sirius’ face close to his, the combination of them creating a mixture of jealousy and useless hope that manifested into Remus’ restlessness.

Lily was just as edgy as she flew into the room, red hair whirling behind her and books nearly slipping from underneath her arms.  She spilled her belongings atop the table across from where Remus sat, looking at her with passive aggressive indifference, before breathlessly apologizing for her late arrival.  

“I think James… I think he’s caught on to the fact we have study dates every Wednesday, because he was down in the common room before I was and wouldn’t let me leave.  He had the front of his body plastered against the door, and he was looking back at me and saying stuff like, ‘come hang out with meeeee you’re always with Remus studying’.  So I had to hex him to get out.”

It was obvious to Remus that Lily was proud of herself, the way she enunciated more clearly than usual and had a wide grin on her face, and Remus wished he could laugh, but all he could muster was a small nod while still focusing on his open textbook.  He could sense Lily almost asking what was wrong, but she never did.  The next noises made was the organizing of her belongings, the opening of her textbook, and the unrolling of her parchment as she began writing the same essay Remus was working on.  Huffing out a breath, Remus refocused, hoping Lily’s calming presence would eventually decrease the shaking of his foot underneath the table.

“Do you feel that?” Lily asked when Remus was in the middle of a sentence.  He looked up, finding Lily’s eyes searching around and under the table, before quickly returning his gaze to his essay.

His foot shook, hitting the table again, but this time was the first he actually felt it bang against the table.  “It’s my foot,” he noted, unapologetically, adjusting his position as little as possible to allow his foot to still quake without it affecting Lily’s studying.  She thanked him for the small gesture, to which Remus gave yet another lazy, careless nod.  He wished for a silence, some lack of communication between himself and Lily, in order to finish the essay for Binns so he could go back to wailing about the fact Sirius was going out with someone who was not only not Remus, but was more muscular and more charming and more handsome than Remus ever could be.

But, Lily, of course, wanted every detail in her essay to be absolutely perfect—she still believed Binns actually read the essays he was handed in—so asked Remus, too politely considering their years of friendship, “Where are the dates on the formation of the Ministry?”

“Top left of the page you’re on,” he replied shortly.

“And the dates on Hector Fawley’s rule?”

Remus dropped his quill on its side, bringing his hands to the sides of his head to pull at his hair in frustration.  “God, Lily.  It’s right there on the next page!  Do you need a new set of eyes, or something?”

Instead of retracting due to his anger, Lily carefully placed her quill into her inkwell and crossed her arms in front of her chest.  “What’s going on, Remus?” she asked with more assertion than curiosity and a voice so calm it made Remus stop in his tracks.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied.  But, the way his eyes shifted between anything near them that was not Lily made it clear he was lying, as did his twiddling thumbs and stuttering voice.

She grabbed Remus’ arm, forcing him to look her way, before continuing.  “Something is clearly bothering you.  You have been passive aggressive and rude since last night.”  Then, after making eye contact with Remus, Lily’s features softened, and with delicacy, she asked, “What’s wrong?”  

Remus realized, right then and there, in one of his favorite places in the world he could do it, he could finally let someone else in and tell Lily about how he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Sirius since he came back to Hogwarts in fifth year, after having filled out and grown just slightly taller and gained muscle and gotten a few extra piercings and Remus almost fell over in the middle of King’s Cross Station after seeing him.  Remus swore to himself it was just that Sirius had grown up so much in a few months that took his breath away completely.  But it never went away, this inability to stand or think properly after looking at, talking to, being near Sirius.  He begged himself to grow out of it, to make this just some confused phase of his life because everyone has moments where they think they’re in love with their best friend because they’re just so close already and it would just be so easy to lean in and kiss them and turn it into a relationship, right?  Right?  But nothing happened, no fire lit in Remus’ stomach when he would stare at James.  No matter what Remus tried, it was obvious and undeniable: he was absolutely smitten.  And he could tell Lily about it, now, right now, because who cares about comparing the effects of different Ministers throughout time if you’ve been in love with your best friend for more than a year and haven’t told anyone?  

Remus cleared his throat.  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said so weakly, it was an obvious lie.

“But it’s destroying you, and I can’t handle seeing you like this.”  Remus looked up from the essay he hadn’t realized he had been staring at, up at Lily’s eyes, filled with a warmth and worry that made him almost cry instantly.  He felt the words arriving at the bottom of his throat, truths with a life of their own, and he wanted to tell her, he really wanted to, but…

“I can’t,” Remus whispered, his gaze falling down to the table once more.  “At least, not here.”

So Lily got up, got up with such placidity Remus probably would not have realized if it wasn’t for her hand leaving his forearm in the process of moving.  He did not move as Lily packed up her things, his words revolving around his mind ceaselessly, wondering what he just got himself into.  ‘Not here.’  ‘Not here.’  Please. As if there’s somewhere that can make the horribleness of this situation go away.

A hand was outstretched to him atop the still-open textbook.  He looked to the side, and Lily stood there, wearing the kind of smile people give to those obviously brokenhearted.  “Come on,” she said.  He grabbed her hand, regretting it instantly due to knowing what it meant, but still grabbed it, as if his body needed someone else to latch onto, someone to steady him as he got out of the chair.  Without asking, Lily organized Remus’ belongings into his bag, putting everything in its correct place, and slung it over her shoulder.

Remus’ free arm reached out for it.  “You don’t have to–”

“It’s fine,” Lily insisted.  “Come on, now.  I want to show you something.”

And the silence that he craved mere minutes earlier was finally given to him, and he wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for Lily’s lack of questions or terrified by her lack of clarification of where they were headed.  It couldn’t have been a horrible place, as Lily bounced down the staircases she led them down as if she was not carrying two bags of books and dragging a reluctant seventeen-year-old boy behind her.  The speed at which they descended made all of the chatter and laughter of fellow students around them, all the familiar colors of robes and portraits he knew by memory, fade into a blur.  

It was just stairs and stairs and stairs and the distancing of sounds until it wasn’t.  Before he realized, Remus was a floor below the ground floor of Hogwarts, Lily’s hand still around his wrist, and the chatter of conversation had returned slightly.  Lily dragged him towards those sounds, into a long corridor of pale white walls decorated with framed paintings of food.  The torches that were lit beneath the arched walkway allowed for a warm light to radiate throughout the corridor, and, despite the lack of windows, this seemed like one of the brightest places in Hogwarts.  But Remus was too out of breath to ask when they finally stopped, hitting the back wall of the corridor, face to face with a canvas displaying a large silver bowl of fruit.  

“Watch this,” Lily whispered before extending out her hand to scratch her finger against the sole pear featured in the painting.  Remus thought he was hallucinating as he watched the pear giggle, then turn into a door handle, as if being a laughing pear painting wasn’t enough of a shock.  

What it opened to made Remus’ open-mouth remain in its position.  A humongous, high-ceilinged room was exposed, walls cluttered with pots and pans of various sizes that Remus knew must be used for cooking inside the massive brick fireplace that faced Remus and Lily from the other side of the room.  Remus knew this was the kitchen, the initial smell of shepherd’s pie and roasted chicken making it obvious, but still lacked explanation of how or why from Lily, who had a wide smile on her face.

“Isn’t it brilliant?” she asked, without looking at Remus for a response.

“Yeah,” Remus said, unsure in delivery but certain in opinion.  “How did you figure out how to get in?”

Lily began walking as she responded, and Remus followed, entranced.  “Alice took me here before the Hufflepuff party.  She wanted me to meet some of the elves, learn some recipes.”  She walked as enthusiastically as she spoke.  “I’ve always been fascinated by cooking, you see, but I’m rubbish at the Muggle way, since I’m always here.  So she asked me what I wanted to learn how to make, and you know what I said?”

“What?”

Lily turned towards Remus, a grin plastered on her lips.  “Hot chocolate.”

Cooly, she continued walking forwards, seeming entirely unphased by Remus’ clutching of her hands and his constant “thank yous” and “I love yous,” except for a small smile that never faltered.  They made their way to the brick fireplace, where a particularly wide-eared house-elf was stirring a pot with a wooden spoon almost as large as her body.

“Excuse me, Betty,” Lily began as the house-elf turned around slowly.  “I’m Lily, Alice’s friend who you taught how to make hot chocolate.  I was hoping you’d let me try again so I could cheer up my friend here.  He’s having a hard day and hot chocolate is his favorite drink.”

Remus was unsure of what to expect in response, but he certainly did not anticipate the long laugh Betty gave at Lily’s pleading face, or the deep voice Betty responded in, that had the warmth and authority of a grandmother.  “Sweetheart,” she said between beats of laughter, “if you try and make it, he’s never gonna get any.  I’ll make some now.  You two just sit down.”

While Betty summoned a fresh pot and spoon and mugs and the ingredients, Lily and Remus found two lopsided stools to sit on.  Remus watched how Betty cooked not by guidelines but by memory, stirring occasionally but not too much, adding the chocolate in at just the right time, knowing how much to put in and folding it into the thick milk with care and ease.  She summoned two white mugs, while asking Remus his name, his house, and how he knew Lily.  He laughed along with the conversation her questions provoked, thankful for Lily’s sweet comments and Betty’s sassy remarks, but still, the back of his mind kept flashing images of Sirius and Ollie into his vision, making it fuzzy and his heart feel weak.  Remus barely remembered anything that was said before he received a massive mug of hot chocolate, but was snapped out of his thoughts by the drink touching his lips, almost making him groan it was so delicious.

“It’s the best, isn’t it?” Lily asked, her nose scrunched up from the strength of her smile.  Remus’ voice was shaky as he agreed, offering Betty a thousand different compliments which she blew off humbly.  

“You better be on your way now,” Betty said.  She had returned to mixing the pot she was stirring before Lily and Remus interrupted her, alongside various other saucepans that were so similar in color and shape Remus was amazed at how Betty knew exactly what every pot was cooking.  “Lunch is coming by and it gets crazy in here.  But take the cocoa.  It’s my treat.”

With similar heartiness as her greeting, Lily told Betty goodbye, and Remus tried to match it, but it came out lukewarm, as he was so caught up in thinking about how brightly Sirius seemed to smile at Ollie.  But before Remus could make up some absurd lie about why he seemed so indifferent, Lily was slipping the strap of his shoulder bag over his head, almost spilling his hot chocolate.  

“Take this and let’s go,” she said, grabbing his wrist once more, heading out of the kitchen with the same vigor she approached it with, like some explorer in an uncharted rainforest.  The determination was not only at making sure hundreds of house-elves did not knock into them with hot plates of food, no, Remus could see in her face that Lily had not forgotten why Remus needed the hot chocolate in the first place, that she would not let Remus go until she had helped him as best as possible.

After carefully maneuvering through the dangerous combination of crowds of children and steep staircases with their hot chocolates, Lily sat them down in the middle courtyard, remnants of morning dew still present on the grass.  They leaned against the base of the stone arches which bordered the courtyard and Remus took a deep breath as he heard the dwindling down of voices as second period began, the chirping of nearby birds and pounding of his heart becoming louder in the silence.

Lily did not look at him as she asked, “So, are you going to finally tell me what is wrong?  Or you just going to wait until you internally combust?”

“Is the second really an option?” Remus inquired, not holding back the hope in his voice.  In response, Lily smacked him on the arm lightly, and both laughed despite the visible tension present in Remus’ body.  As if remembering that tension existed, after the laughter ended, Lily’s hand returned to the same spot on Remus’ arm, but to rub it tenderly.  The shift in interaction, the rediscovered softness it contained, almost made Remus drop his mug.  

Lily apologized, but Remus was quick to deny her any fault.  “I guess I didn’t realize how much I needed a hug, or any kind of physical reassurance,” Remus admitted, almost crumbling under his own honesty while feeling Lily do the same.  His heart on the cusp of burning, body almost caving into himself but not quite, something in the back of Remus’ mind told him to just continue, let his secret become their secret, rip the bandaid off because his shaking hands and vibrating feet had already given away too much, anyways.  Might as well continue.

So, following yet another deep breath, Remus said alongside his exhale, “I think I’m in love with Sirius.”  

In the silence that followed, the silence that both slowed his heart rate and made it accelerate, Remus gulped down the remaining hot chocolate in his mug to ease the dryness in his throat.  Lily’s not judging you.  She’s not.  She’s not!  Remus knew before she placed her head on his shoulder that Lily was more worried about the state of Remus’ heart, the brokenness of it, instead of who it was broken over and what that meant.  But his fingers still drummed rapidly against his empty mug, his head was spinning, breath seeming harder to find than usual but still being there, somewhere, because he had just exposed two truths he had kept deeply lodged away since fifth year, and Lily still wasn’t speaking.  She still wasn’t speaking, and Remus felt like exploding, almost asked outright to just say anything, please, but she beat him to it.

“And that is an issue because… ”

Remus rolled his eyes at Lily, but continued staring straight ahead at the shut doors of empty classrooms across the courtyard.  “Because he’s my best friend, Lily.  And there’s no way he likes me back.  So, I can’t do anything about this, since there’s no way I’m going to lose him over some stupid crush.”

The sarcasm in Lily’s voice turned soft at the admission.  “You know he loves you, too, Remus.  He looks at you the same way you look at him.”  Remus look downed at the grass, shaking his head in disbelief, hating how easily the thought made his knees weaken.  “I’ve seen it!  I swear to you.  Last night in the common room while you were sleeping, you should have seen him.  I- I can’t even describe it.  But I swear, it’s there.  He might be your best friend, but he wants more than that.  Just like you do.”

“Then why the fuck is he going on a date with Ollie?”  It came out more aggressively than intended, a scream rather than a question, and Remus looked up Lily’s face, somehow unphased and still optimistic.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s fine, Rem,” she smiled.  “I don’t know why.  Maybe he’s trying to get over you in the same way you were reluctant to come out in order to keep your feelings for him at bay.”  

Remus was taken aback by how simply Lily stated something he thought was so complex, how it took her no time at all to uncover the strategy for survival he had been using since fifth year.  But he wasn’t shocked enough to question about how Lily knew so quickly, rather asking, “But why would he need to do that?  To get over me?  He’s Sirius Black!  He could melt people just by looking at them the right way.  He doesn’t need me to affirm he is amazing.  Me, on the other hand…”

“Remus,” Lily begged, knowing where Remus was headed before he began the journey.

“It’s true, Lily.  He actually makes me feel good about myself in ways I never knew possible.  He’s always saying stuff like, ‘nice work, Moony,’ or ‘you’re bloody brilliant,’ and sometimes he’ll compliment how I look and,”–Remus had to take a breath at the thought before continuing– “I just need that, Lily.  I can’t ruin it.  He’s my best friend and I at least need that.”

Lily grabbed Remus’ right shoulder with her hand, almost shaking it but not quite, leaning her face into his.  “What makes it so hard to believe that he might love you?”

Remus felt like cracking up, felt like becoming a ball of malicious ball of roaring laughter, but lacked the energy to do so, leaving the feeling of incredulity hot in his chest.  “He doesn’t know I’m gay, first off.  Who the hell is stupid enough to fall in love with someone who isn’t even attracted to their gender?”

“Then do it, Remus.  Come out to him and see what happens.”

The seriousness in Lily’s tone didn’t mix well with the anxiety that flooded in Remus’ heart.  “And say what?  That I knew it because I fell in love with him?  Let something that should be freeing and wonderful turn into a sob-fest when he doesn’t reciprocate?”

Lily retracted her hand.  “Then don’t tell him the whole story.  Or don’t tell him anything, if you don’t want to.  I’m just saying, if you think he doesn’t love you because he doesn’t know you’re gay, wouldn’t it be nice to give him that piece of information if it could, in fact, change something for the better?”

“What would change?  Lily, can’t you just wrap your head around the fact that Sirius looks at me that way because we’re so close?  We’ve known each other for six years.  James has kissed me on the face multiple times when drunk, and he cuddles with Sirius all the time, and it’s just how we operate.  I can’t lose him because you don’t understand the way we work.”

“I’m not forcing you to take my advice,” Lily said.  “I’m just telling you what I’ve noticed and trying to help you decide what to do from there.  I love you, Remus.  So much.  I think it would be good for you to come out to him, but coming out is your thing, and you should have the control over where, when, and whom you come out to.  I just think it would help.  And even if he’s not in love with you, and I don’t understand the way you three operate, at least you can get over him.”  Remus went to turn his head, but Lily grasped his chin with her fingers before he could, forcing him to continue looking at her.  “And if he is, in fact, your best friend, he’ll love you even if he figures out you want more than that.  It might be awkward at first, in fact, it will probably be awkward.  But he cares too much about you to let anything stop your friendship, just like you wanted to stay closeted in order to preserve it.  Okay?”

Stuck at the mercy of Lily’s fingertips, Remus couldn’t pull away to hide the tears welling in his eyes.  But it was Lily, Lily who was always there for him, Lily who learned how to make his favorite drink before her favorite meal, Lily who was the first person Remus had come out to and did not treat him any differently for it, so Remus let the tears fall and hit her knuckles, before they left his chin to wipe the wetness off of his cheeks.  He tumbled into her chest, robes absorbing the tears.

“Everything is going to be okay, Remus,” Lily whispered.  “I promise.  You’ll make it through this.  You can make it through anything.”

What Remus did, ever so gruelingly, make it through was an entire four periods of classes, lunch, and dinner far too close to Sirius, trying to act as if he wasn’t standing atop a high-wire, one step away from falling over at all times.  How could he, when he knew Lily was right, that he had to say something to Sirius.  And suddenly, instead of holding everything in, he was having quite the opposite issue, a river trying to rage but being held back by floodgates.  The words Lily had spoken, unbeknownst to her, had moulded into pictures in his mind: Sirius kissing Remus after admitting to his feelings, their fingers twirling around one another’s while walking to Hogsmeade, Remus waking up with Sirius sprawled atop him, wearing Remus’ jumper.  It was all too much and Remus found himself rushing out from dinner early, making some obviously untrue excuse, heading to the bathrooms in order to pour water on his flushed cheeks.  Remus owed it to himself to be honest, even if he was leaving the largest part of the secret to himself, as if loving Sirius was some treasure instead of some burden.  He looked at himself in the mirror.  “You’re doing this, Remus.  You’re doing this.”

He ran up to the dormitories, feet never beating the pace of his heart, but trying to.  He rushed even though he was expecting some long, dramatic wait time, some cinematic crescendo where he’d be pacing around their room for hours, waiting for Sirius to arrive.  So, when he opened the door to find Sirius lounging atop his unmade bed, drawing shapes into the air with his wand, the first emotion that poured over Remus was shock, followed by an all-consuming terror.  Remus could not get his hand to stop shaking as he grasped the doorknob and closed the door, making the simple action take too long, require too much work.  Remus knew he was radiating uncertainty.

But Sirius’ greeting was as casual as ever, a simple, “Hey, Moony,” that Remus wished could calm him down like Sirius’ presence always did, but only intensified the acceleration of his pounding heart.  Remus nodded at the hello, afraid to see if he could speak without the words breaking apart into jumbles and stutters, thus making his way to his bed silently.  It was like he was trying to be invisible, even though Remus knew Sirius had already seen him.

Remus sat on the side of his bed while taking off his shoes carefully, indulging himself in the task in order to lengthen the distance between now and when he needed to begin the conversation.  He set his shoes down, not bothering to tuck them in their proper position and stared at the wall, counting the dents in the wooden paneling, wishing they would make him feel more like a human and less like an explosive ready to combust.

“You alright, Moons?”  Sirius asked, pulling Remus’ eyes away from the wall and to Sirius, whose chin was tucked into his chest in order to look at Remus while lying down.  It was then, as his eyes glazed over to Sirius, Remus looked down at his hands in passing and realized they were shaking wildly.  Why do I have to be so easy to read?

Sirius was expressionless, waiting to paint his features with whatever reaction necessary while waiting for Remus to respond.  The second after Remus said, “Actually, I need to talk to you about something,” concern took over his face, softening Sirius’ eyes and pouting his lips.  Remus sat, waiting, with his still-quivering hands in his lap as Sirius wordlessly approached his bed and sat next to him.  Overwhelmed by the proximity, Remus almost scooted away.

“What was it that gave me away?  Was it my hands?”  Remus laughed a bit while asking the question.  He could feel Sirius’ eyes on his fingers and suddenly, the laughter was muffled by Remus wondering if Sirius considered Remus’ hands as intensely as Remus considered Sirius’, memorizing their shape.  As if his body needed another reason to shiver.

Sirius’ smile was so warm Remus could feel it on his face.  Or maybe the heat was a blush that Remus was too tired to hold back.  “No, no.  It was your shoes, actually.  You didn’t put them away.”  If it wasn’t the blush that made his cheeks feel warm before, then it definitely was now, after Remus realized that Sirius paid attention to things like that.  The smile forming on Remus’ face died before it was born, however, at the simple fact that Remus knew James’ every habit and wasn’t in love with him at all.  Unfortunate.

Remus exhaled deeply.  He could run away in his thoughts before, definitely, and he had every time he imagined himself in this position: next to Sirius, ready to tell his best friend that he was gay.  He had thought about it so many times, before falling asleep, when bored in class, after Sirius laughed in the kind of way that shook his entire body and Remus felt like he just couldn’t hold in his feelings anymore.  But those conversations he could run from.  He couldn’t walk away now.  And, even though he wanted to, a larger part of him kept saying, “Stay, Remus.  Stay.”

So he did.  But the words, there were just three of them, kept getting stuck, no matter what stroke of bravery rode through Remus, making him sure that this was the second he would say it, if he could just open his mouth.  This kept happening, over and over, and Remus could feel his hands still unsteady, so unsteady, fingers brushing across his jeans every now and again.  Should he be standing?  Should he have waited?  Should he have not?  Will Sirius put the pieces together, somehow, look back and see that Remus hadn’t initiated a single hug between them since fourth year, or that Remus spends way too long admiring Sirius’ elegant fingers and realize Sirius was both the hearth that warmed Remus’ heart and the wildfire that blazed through his veins?

Sirius’ voice interrupted the doubts.  “You can tell me anything, Remus,” he assured.  “But, you also don’t have to tell me anything.”

The sound that responded was not from Remus’ throat, rather, it was a memory of Lily inside of his mind.  Lily promising, promising with so much weight it could have drowned Remus, “And if he is, in fact, your best friend, he’ll love you even if he figures out you want more than that.”

So he stayed.  Not only because he could hear Lily so clearly, so clearly it was as if she was in the room and whispering in Remus’ ear, but being stuck in this position, unwilling to run but unable to speak, allowed him a quiet moment to realize how his body felt.  He felt like he hadn’t breathed for years, full of old air and gasping for new, aching, ready, desperate for inhalation.  

And Remus got it, every inch of his body flooding with fresh oxygen that felt like reincarnation, after he said, so clearly it stung, “Sirius, I’m gay.”

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KEEP READING: Part Four: “So Help Me God” 

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#wolfstar #wolfstar fan fiction #remus lupin x sirius black #hp fan fiction #harry potter fan fiction #carlysfamily #moonlit members #my writing #heartsease

[catachan-jungle-fighter]

John

John knew he was suppressing memories, a whole chunk of time missing from his memories, but he didn't feel like looking into it until his Clan Mother told him the necklace he wore was a unique thing to the Swamp Rats, a clan he had very little encounters with. As he spent a week in the camp, his Clan Mother and several others from the elders had come to speak to him and help him uncover the memories he suppressed, but when they succeeded he collapsed.

' "John! Come on John! It's up here the lake is up here!" John smiles happily as he climbs up the makeshift rope ladder, the weight of his first knife slightly throwing off his balance but as he finishes his climb he sees Evra standing there, her long black hair tied up and looking at him with a gentle smirk that made John feel happy. He walks over to her, and catches a ball of cloth as she throws it at him, he unrolls the ball and sees they are some sort of thick mesh pants, she says with a joking tone "Swamp Rat underclothes, we need something breathable in the Swamps but also thick enough to stop a snake bite, we have better ones to wear to the Clans meeting..." she loses the smirk she wore as she started thinking "John, do you think if you earn your 2nd and 3rd knife before the clan meeting that they'll let you join the group going out with me? Then we can be..." she blushes before saying "a lot closer then we usually are..." John just looked confused at her...

John wipes the sweat out of his eyes and looks at Evra, her face soaked in sweat as well. They both hop up and start running in different directions as they hear some hunters nearby, the only sign they were there being a simple woman's tank top...

John smiles at Evra, only for one of his new squad mates, One-Eye a old hunter from a clan further north then the geists went, to say "Lad, why don't you go over there? You both seem sweet on each other and I know you teens can be pretty rowdy when you want to have some private time... we all were that age lad!" He starts laughing loudly before he gets hit upside the head by one of the other's, a extremely old Jungle Fighter named Silence that had refused the life extending treatments repeatedly because he wanted to be on the same level as his men and he still outclassed them thanks to experience, Silence then says without breaking his serious face "shut up One-Eye, can't you see the Lad's eyes? He's smitten with her, probably wants to get her a fine wedding knife or a ring like some of the Lad's wear from other regiments"...

John howls in rage as he beats the Eldar Bloody, his beloved's body still cooling where the Eldar dropped it after he put a Las-Bolt through her skull, he keeps on hitting him even as the other stabs something into his back. He grabs the Eldar he had on the ground and snaps it's neck before turning to the other, ripping the blade it had stabbed him with from his side he let's out a few tears as he sees it's his blade he forged as a promise to her that'd he marry her, he then glares at the other Eldar and he let's himself loose...

"John Geist was it? We have need of someone of your skills, an experimental unit is being constructed under the designation of the Mad Wolves, a demolitions officer of your skills would fit right in..." the man quiets down as he sees the single blood shot eye glare at him from the counter of the bar, the man's head in his arms, and the man hears a quiet "aye... because all my brothers are dead... only twenty of us are left... you fold all of us into the unit and you have a deal..." the man nods and holds out a hand, John's hand making his look tiny...

John looks at the casualty list, seeing fifteen name he knew since he came off of Catachan, who survived Sargas with him, only to die on a planet in the ass end of the galaxy far away from their home world and not even being given the option of a burial as they had been killed by a group of heretic's which means they were to be burned to ensure their souls reached the emperor, he just wipes away his tears as he takes sips from the strong alcohol he had been given a few bottles of when he joined the unit...

John glared at one of his men as they look happy at the fact they managed to steal a shipment of supplies meant for another unit, he snarls at him "take it to the right place you Frakking idiot! We aren't thieves!"...'

And more memories then he cared for came back to him, slowly pressing the man he was and the man he became into something else...

[theonion]

Intelligence Briefing Interrupted By Sofa-Cushion-Wearing Trump Boys Volunteering To Fight In North Korea

WASHINGTON—With sofa cushions duct-taped to their chests as they marched into the meeting, Eric Trump and Donald Trump Jr. reportedly interrupted a military intelligence briefing Friday, shouting “ten-hut!” in unison and then volunteering to fight in North Korea. According to sources, Defense Secretary James Mattis and the Joint Chiefs of Staff were reviewing a presentation on troop mobility in Afghanistan when the Trump boys, who wore rain boots and had secured throw pillows to their legs and arms with belts, burst into the White House Situation Room to announce they had trained for an entire day and were ready to deploy to North Korea to “kill King Jong-un.” “We did all the basic training and now we can do combat stuff!” said Donald Jr., who dropped to the ground to do a commando roll underneath the conference room table before hopping to his feet, readjusting the metal colander on his head, and turning to salute the chief of naval operations. “I’ve mastered 10 kinds of kicks, including some ninja ones.”

“We’re gonna stomp their nukes,” Eric Trump added as he lifted his foot and attempted to crush an empty soda can, which soon became stuck to his heel. White House staff confirmed that earlier in the day, the Trump boys had been observed in the Treaty Room setting up a homemade obstacle course, which included two rows of wastebaskets intended for tire drills and a series of couches that one had to leap across without touching the floor. The final leg of the course was said to have started in the State Dining Room, where the boys crawled on their stomachs through a tunnel of chair legs before shooting a rubber band at an 1804 oil painting of Dolley Madison and sprinting down the hallway to touch the mantel in the East Room. The Trump boys reportedly showed off their skills to the silent military leaders, with Eric performing nine sit-ups in a row while Donald Jr. landed several blows on an empty office chair using a potato masher as a sword. Sources said the brothers then began to demonstrate their hand-to-hand combat techniques and grappled with each other until Eric tripped over four-star general and Marine Corps commandant Robert Neller’s chair, hitting the floor and getting the wind knocked out of him. “We’re gonna parachute into the jungle and then sneak into Pong-gong [sic],” said Eric Trump, removing the catcher’s mask he had been wearing to reveal camouflage face paint made from the blue-shimmer and coral colors he found in first lady Melania Trump’s eye shadow palettes. “We’re really good at hiding. And we invented a secret code—if one of us is in trouble, we make a bird call, and the bad guys can’t tell it’s us.” “Ca-caw!” he added. Unrolling a piece of construction paper on the table, the Trump boys revealed a hand-drawn map of North Korea, which they had reportedly depicted as a green square completely surrounded by blue water and fiery explosions. The page also included what appeared to be the boys’ battle plan, a series of bullet-points reading, “Spy. Get the plans. Escape in helicopter.” Several sources indicated that the Trump boys then handed Mattis a list of supplies they would need shipped to North Korea for their mission, including two M1 Abrams battle tanks, their very own dog tags, red headbands, a crate of assault rifles, boxes of Little Debbie snack cakes, a carton of pizza-flavored Goldfish crackers, juice boxes, and something they referred to as a “laser stealth boat.” “We practiced guns really hard, and now we’re awesome at shooting,” said Eric Trump, pulling up a video on his phone of the brothers making machine gun noises as they stood on the North Lawn driveway and used a garden hose nozzle to spray at a chalk drawing of angry-looking faces labeled “Bad Guys.” “Our aim is super good.” “We can do arrows, too,” added Donald Jr., pulling a carbon-fiber arrow from a quiver on his back and loading the compound bow he had recently received as a birthday gift from his father. At press time, White House staff reported a screaming Eric Trump was seen running through the West Wing with an arrow lodged in the couch cushion strapped to his chest.

#The Onion

[n3rdlif343va]

Domestic Victuuri Week: Day 1

My day 1 prompt response for @domesticvictuuriweek :) If you want to join me in flooding Tumblr with Domestic Victuuri goodness, you can find the prompt list here 

I combined Makkachin/Dog Dads and Shenanigans ;) 

Title: Doggo Family

Rating: General Audiences

Summary: Phichit sends surprise mail. Everybody wins :)

The day had been long and, even by Russia’s standards, it had been incredibly cold. Shivering from his ears to his toes, Yuuri jogged the last few steps toward his apartment, happy to find the door unlocked as he twisted the knob. 

Victor’s singing hit him first, making him grin at the lyrics Victor was getting wrong. It was an adorable habit that Victor had, missing English words in lyrics and replacing them with what he deemed to be the best substitutes, and Yuuri could already feel his mood lifting from his dance practice with Lilia. 

The smell of sauteed beef and veggies hit him next at the same time as an excited set of brown paws landed against his waist. Chuckling, Yuuri carefully balanced as he toed off his shoes and sank to the ground to hug Makkachin hello. 

“My love!” Victor sang from his place by the stove, waving his wooden spoon in the air with a smile that always made Yuuri’s heart swoon. “A box came from you,” nodding toward a large cardboard rectangle on the table, Victor looked back to raise an eyebrow, “it’s from Phichit.” There was always a mix of amusement and worry when mail from Phichit arrived and Victor’s questioning look conveyed that familiar sentiment. 

Curious, Yuuri wandered across the room, sliding the box from the table and pausing to let Makkachin sniff it. Shrugging back in Victor’s direction, Yuuri carried the box into their room, prepared to shower and then discover what crazy Phichit had bestowed on him this time. Dropping the package on the bed, Yuuri pulled his phone from his pocket shooting a quick text to his best friend before plugging it into the charger. Quickly he stripped from his clothes, whirling on his heel at the sound of his text notification. Hesitantly, he unlocked the phone. 

You said it was freezing there, this should help. Victor is going to DIE. 

Responding only with a side eye emoji, Yuuri returned his wary gaze to the box. Whatever was inside could definitely wait until he was showered. Poking the side of the box with his finger, Yuuri abandoned it on the bed in favor of a skin-melting-hot shower. 

Except he couldn’t enjoy even a second of the shower with Phichit’s words looming in his mind. Scrubbing faster than normal, Yuuri slammed the water off, snatching a towel from the warmer and making haste to dry his body. 

The towel hung loose over his hips as he plodded back to the ominous box. Locating the end of one long piece of tape, he began to peel it back, breath becoming ragged as the fear crawled under his skin. Phichit’s definition of killing Victor had never been innocent, and Yuuri had no idea what he was about to encounter. 

As the tape peeled back the top of the box burst open, pushed by what appeared to be forcibly compressed fluffy brown cotton. Confusion replacing apprehension, Yuuri pulled the flaps apart, reaching both hands in to seize the escaping fabric. Arms and legs unrolled to reveal the softest, plushiest onesie Yuuri had ever seen. It was also an almost exact replica of Makkachin, with a small face and floppy ears adorning the hood. 

Smiling at his best friend’s ridiculousness, Yuuri pulled the onesie over himself, turning to toss his towel into the hamper. He ignored the need for underwear, letting the soft fabric graze against his bare skin. His feet were covered in mock paws with grippers on the soles and the hands had gloves with openings at the wrists. Zipping himself into the ridiculous pajamas, Yuuri pulled the hood over his head and turned to examine his reflection. 

Phichit was right, Victor was going to die. 

Fixing himself with a casual look, Yuuri pushed his glasses back on his face, snagging the box with one gloved hand and opening the bedroom with the other. He stepped from the bedroom as if he was clad in his normal sweats and sweatshirt, ducking his head to hide his blushing grin as Victor let out an excited squeal from the kitchen. 

Thirty minutes, an ungodly amount of photographs, and all the kisses Yuuri could handle later, they were finally sitting down to dinner. As Yuuri took his first bite, he watched Victor plug in his credit card information for the site where Phichit had gotten the onesie. In three to five business days, they would be a matching family of doggo’s and Yuuri couldn’t wait to cuddle up with his family, and potentially break the internet with all their cuteness. 

#domestic victuuri week #domestic victuuri #victuuriwriters #victuuri #yoi #yuuri katsuki #victor nikiforov #makkachin