#accidentally wrote this in all caps too lazy to fix

[rpsense]

literally witnessed cody bring in a cop version of ben winters into a rp at one point. there are no excuses

!!!! THE MULTIVERSE OF BEN WINTERS KEEPS EXPANDING INTO MORE PROBLEMATIC THEMES !!!!!! - o

#accidentally wrote this in all caps too lazy to fix #police tw #police mention tw #cop tw #cops tw

[bludino]

I have a disease called bitchites, I can't stop bitching so y'all get to hear if you want to or not.

I love Mao Mao, I've wrote fanfictions drawn fantastic made bs theories cooked up all kinds of head canons, but holy shit is this show mediocre. Most of the episodes are just eh, but I'm not here to bitch about the episodes, I'm here to bitch about the characters.

First on the chopping block; Mao Mao. We're just gonna get him over with right now. Mao Mao is probably the most developed character in the show, but he's still 2D. His character just feels like he's traumatized, has daddy issues and tries to be tough to mask his series of emotional issues. His character is mostly trauma mixed in with an ego as big as Texas. I just feel he's one note. It's disappointing, most of his personality comes from the fans putting some in. Ego is such a loose character trait it's easy for people to build it up.

I once saw a post saying Mao Mao stans have daddy issues, and that is 100% true. Daddy issue people relate to him and since he's portrayed as the main and important character with a loose personality, people project onto him and accidentally give him more personality.

Then there's Adorabat's personality; more the lack of one. What is her character? What makes Adorabat herself? It's nothing, she's just a yes man fangirl with violent tendencies. Honestly if you cut her out of the show you wouldn't miss much. Don't get me wrong; Adoradad was an amazing episode, but it wasn't about her. It was more about Eugene moving on from his dead wife or girlfriend and trusting his daughter, as well as showing how connected Adorabat and Mao Mao are as teacher and pupil.

There was that one episode where Adorabat got a laser Canon on her leg, but there was nothing learned or developed from that. I get it; she's a five year old toddler, kids aren't exactly rich in character at that point, but can't she get a little more like why she wants to be a hero? Does it have connections to her dead mother to show it had an impact on her? Literally anything? Hopefully we can get some more character development in season two, she's a blank sleight so she has a lot of possibility for character development.

Ding ding ding, lightning round!

Tanya is a peice of cardboard, we haven't seen her enough to get a good feel for her character. Shin Mao is a stereotype for an emotional distant and neglectful dad. The sweetiepies are just set peices. Rufus and Reggie also have no character, their just one note villian characters. Bao Bao is a good boy, reminds me of the dog I use to have and died last year. Eugene is also an ok character, he doesn't really have one but his character arch was pretty neat.

As you saw I didn't include King Snugglemane, and that's because holy fuck it ain't good. We've gotten two episodes that feature him promently (I'm not including best in show in this, we don't see enough of him there) one is in my opinion the weakest episode in the series where he's just a spoiled little brat who needs attention. In the other episode he's portrayed as insecure in his own image. He doesn't really have a set character, but I actually don't have that much of an issue with that, but it's how he's coded in the show.

King Snugglemane is very feminine and we see that he has a passion for fashion; a common stereotype for gay men. Weither on purpose or an accident, that how he comes off and it is not good. Granted no one on the Mao Mao staff had confirmed nor denied this, but either way it should be fixed to avoid confusion or to give the audience a better representation of a gay man. Again, not confirmed or denied, but this is how I'm interpreting it.

I saved the worst for last like a smart boi; Badgerclops. Holy shit Badgerclops. Badgerclops is such a fucking prick to Mao Mao. Case and point; the puppet episode and the season two sneak peak. Mao Mao is obviously terrified of puppets, Badgerclops recognizes this, but because Mao Mao refused to admit it the guy torments him with the wooden little fucker. And in the story board we see him use a present Mao Mao gave him to manipulate Mao to do what Badgerclops wants. In his defense Mao Mao and Adorabat were prices to him too, but they fixed it. At least in the puppet episode he doesn't even say sorry. What's fucking worse is that Simon said in a tweet that Badgerclops wasn't suppose to learn anything because it's kid morals and he knows it (I'm paraphrasing, y'all are gonna have to trust me on this because I can't find the screen cap on Instagram) which is ten times fucking worse. Either A, he actually isn't that smart and didn't know any better, or B, he knew it was wrong but did it anyways.

B is way fucking worse, but A doesn't completely clean him up either. He's a dick, straight up, and it's disappointing.

But what's worse is what I realized looking back on the show, is that he is just the comic relief with the least effort put into his character. He says some funny stuff sometimes, but you gotta admit the comedy can sometimes come from the show writers playing off the fact that he's over weight.

I can't be the only one who realizes that the only over weight character that is prominently shown displays stereotypical fat people traits.

I have at least two solid moments to show this. The first is in Sick Mao, where Mao Mao touches all of the king's food when he's sick and Badgerclops is clearly upset to destroy the food. The second is in that episode where Badgerclops refuses to shower, and in an attempt to bathe him they lure him in with beignets and it works. There are also smaller scenes where Badgerclops picks food out of Mao's teeth and ate it, When Badgerclops and Adorabat leave Mao Mao to fight the sky pirates alone in that one episode where Mao gets hella leg Badgerclops and Adorabat fight over who gets to eat Mao Mao's cheesy paws. There's also a more subtler scene in Sleeper sofa when the trio splits up Badgerclops chooses to stay in the kitchen. But that's not all of the stereotypes.

Episode 4 in season one, Badgerclops gets upset and walks home, mentioning how much he hates walking. There's also the episode where Badgerclops runs away to join the sky pirates, the whole reason he does that is because he doesn't want to do his chores. Two other stereotypes that fat people hate exercise and are just lazy. I may be reading into this too much, but holy shit from what I'm seeing it ain't good.

Despite me trashing these characters, I still fucking love this show. It's my hyper fixation, I'm very attached to these characters and love them with all of my beaty little heart and probably will for awhile. I hope everything gets better in the second season and the characters are fleshed out more.

Talk to me in the comments. I'd like to be corrected if I fucked up somewhere or have a civil discussion about these characters. Note civil, if you just call me a stupid dumbo I'm not responding and may delete the comment.

#mao mao heroes of pure heart #badgerclops #mao mao #adorabat #king snugglemagne #tanya keys #scrambled rambles

[ahmedmootaz]

For the writing, How about some fluff between Donald and the kids? :)))

Dear Anonymous,

Hello! I did it! Hah! Take that, laziness, I wrote the thing someone requested!...Yeah, sorry about that. The whole delay. Both to you and to everyone who kindly sent me requests. As said before, short things aren’t my style, so I hope you enjoy this!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26468854

Do share your thoughts with me, if you would so kindly do that. I like receiving feedback.

Oh and for those of you that don’t want to go to Archive Of Our Own, here’s the magical Read More button:

Ah, McDuck Manor. It was a wonderful place, really. Its rooms were almost endless, the hallways spanned on for miles, and the collection of mostly lethal items and antiques that got expanded every other day certainly made it unique in a sense. It was where Donald Duck had spent most of his childhood, and it was often a pretty, if empty place.

Perhaps this was how monarchs envisioned their castles. Spotless, massive, elegant. Or perhaps this was...this was...oh, forget it! He wasn't good at descriptions anyway. What mattered was that this manor was large, expansive, eye-pleasing, and basically was everything Donald never had for the last twelve or so years. Though it was rather lonely at times.

Not the current times, however, as now it was privy to the footsteps of little paddles running around in it all the time, and Donald couldn't be happier about it. After all, who wouldn't be happy seeing his favourite little nephews running around happily in their new home? He still used his house-boat, admittedly for no real reason other than how hard he worked to get it, but the children were more than happy to stay in their new home, a castle in comparison to where they lived before.

Of course, Donald didn't get to see the kids much these days, what with their mother returning and all. He still couldn't believe it. Twelve years. Twelve years stuck on the moon because of a giant termite just had to rattle a dust storm. He honestly had to admire his sister's ability to not murder the thing and whatever hellspawn it had the moment she could. He would've. Maybe. Probably. He was still prone to fits of rage, but he felt the rage would've been justified at that moment.

Disregarding that, it was truly miraculous how the triplets loved Della so much. Duh, she was their mother, but they never saw her for twelve years. Not one single time. To them, she was the ghost they never asked questions about or he'd just remain silent and give whoever asked a glare. He truly feared that they may never get used to her as family. Luckily, however, a few near-death experiences and some adventures later, they learned to love her as what she truly was: Their mother.

At first, it alleviated some stress off of him, but then he realized he still needed to remain as mentor, not to the children, but to Della. She was doing a fine job, learning when to discipline and when to let things pass, but he still had to intervene to stop her from convincing Huey that crossing a piranha-infested river wasn't all that dangerous.

Still, whatever critiques he gave Della, his beloved sister had grabbed the boys' attention for the time being. He couldn't blame them; both as someone new and the person they longed for their entire lives, she was certain to outshine Donald as the parental-figure for the moment, something that he absolutely had no issues with. No issues at all. Nuh-uh. What, was he fifteen? He could handle being outside the lime light for a few weeks. Months. Whatever it took.

-"Yep...no issues whatsoever...", he mumbled to himself, listening to his distorted voice as it plopped unceremoniously with no echo. He was sitting in his house-boat's living room, situated in Scrooge's pool. He had to swallow quite a bit of ego to bring the boat this far, not because it necessitated Scrooge's help, oh no, that was the easy bit. The difficult bit was seeing the fact that his uncle's swimming pool was bigger than the boat he struggled to purchase.

Well, whatever. He could handle that. He handled many other situations that jabbed at his ego and you didn't see him crying. Not on the outside, anyway. He tapped rhythmlessly on the couch he sat on, sighing as he did so. Today was a slow day. A very slow day. No adventures, nothing that needed fixing, and Della seemed like she wasn't intent on putting herself in a life or death scenario, oddly enough. He was supposed to be happy about that, but honestly, it just bored him to death.

It wasn't as if the kids somehow left him and only sent him greeting cards, either. They, alongside Webby, saw him everyday, talked with him, but somehow...he felt like a third wheel. He didn't want to force himself in, but even if he wanted to, what would he do? He never had to go to the kids, they always went to him. He was watching something on his T.V. and trying to focus on it. It wasn't Ottoman Empire, surprisingly enough, it was something about...Uh...The African Penguin's migration to the island of Mayotte to save the world from the evil Lepoard Seals...? He rechecked the program. Ah. It was a movie. And here he was thinking it was a documentary.

Donald was a fan of movies. He really was. But today, he wanted to move and do something. Anything He thought about that last sentence for a split-second before deciding he'd do anything that isn't life threatening. Last thing needed was for Scroo- sorry, Unca' Scrooge to somehow read his mind and send him down the Mariana Trench to search for some old treasure. He still needed to remember that he was living with his uncle again, and as such, politeness was due. Even in thought, because you never know when you'll think out-loud.

 Knock Knock KNOCK!

He suddenly jumped. Well, not quite, he still ended up on the couch again, but he turned off the television, wondering if Mrs.Beakly was going to tell him he accidentally put an omelette on the mansion's cooker and then headed for his house-boat. He really didn't need to spend the afternoon putting out a fire before it reaches some mysterious artefact that shouldn't be touched. Not again. But at least it'll be something to do. He took a few quick steps, turned his door knob and opened it as quick as he could.

-"What is it, Mrs.Beakl-", he started, having thoroughly convinced himself that this was the situation before noticing nobody was in front of him.

-"Down here, Unca' Donald!", huh. How odd. She lost height and lost her deeper tone. He moved his head down, suddenly realizing the past conclusion was probably made by some part of his brain that decided intelligence is for losers. The red hues immediately told him all he needed to know. It was Huey, accompanied by Webby, an overexcited smile on her face and her eyes practically glowing. She was cute, but also...unnerving?

-"Oh, Huey.", he brought a hand to his forehead, suddenly feeling very relieved he was not going to spend an afternoon putting out a fire. "What brings you here? Do you need more information on the Marines? The Navy?", he asked, bringing a smile to his beak.

Admittedly, his time in the Navy was cut short because his sister suddenly disappeared into space, swallowed by the unknown dark abyss, and so he never really got to experience most of the...fun action the Navy got itself into these days. Still, he had enough knowledge to satiate Huey's thirst for information, and Webby's too, if the way her pupils dilated was any proof. He felt smug; he still had it in him.

-"Well, not really, I needed some help inside the mansion. I need someone to hold me some test subjects so that I can confirm whether or not the temporal anomalies the building sustained throughout the time changed the surrounding gravity or not. It would certainly explain why I've been having difficulties with liquids far more often now.", the younger Duck started, losing himself in an explanation that Donald tried to simplify into simpler terms. Huey's intelligence was most certainly gained from his mother's side. It wasn't that Donald was dumb, per say, it's that Huey was smart. Too smart for any duck his age.

-"Okay then.", the older Duck replied, happy to be of help. He took a few steps forward, closing the door behind him. Expecting a nod of acknowledgement from Huey, it was Webby instead who started speaking.

-"Hello Mr.Duck Unca' Donald sir!", she jumped in front of him, somehow managing to stick the landing and continue on walking backwards. Donald loved Webby. He truly did, as any responsible adult would love a girl her age with such a bubbly personality, but he couldn't ever shake off the feeling that there was something a little...off in her. He always shrugged it off as her superior training, and so he did at this instant. He wasn't one to make the poor girl feel alien, she already had difficulty with everyone else. "While we're on our way to test the stability of the mansion, do you mind telling me what the world's greatest adventurer did in the Navy? How many bad guys did you beat up? Did you have to stop Glomgold or Magica in the Navy? Did you fire guns? Are dreadnoughts still in action?", she shot question after question at the overwhelmed sailor as they entered the massive house.

-"Well...uh...I mean, they still have battleships. We don't have dreadnoughts.", he began, following Huey to the triplets' room. "As for my work...I had training. Aim-improvement firing sessions. I think I had an encounter or two with those chumps in The Navy, but it didn't really change anything; they still lost, after all.", he boasted, taking in Webby's amazed glare as he entered Huey's room, having gone up the stairs that lead to it.

-"Alright Unca' Donald, hold this tube for me, alright? Tell me if anything happens to the water inside it.", the cap-wearing duckling handed the former-sailor a tube of water. He was expecting it to be a bit more...interesting, but as he stared at it, he found nothing. Just a tube of water. "Now this could take anywhere from an hour to two, so if you think you can't do it-"

-"What? Pffft, of course I can do it! I can do anything!"

-"That's mom's catchphrase.", a lazy voice announced from his bed. It would've made Donald jump had he not been used to it. It did, however, ruin his dramatic affirmation.

-"Well, yes, but since I'm her twin, I have the right to use half of the things she says, Louie.", his uncle answered, not without some dignity. The hoodie-wearing duckling slowly rose from his bed, laying his laptop beside him as he stared at the sight unfolding in front of him.

-"Do you have legal documents for that? Because I believe you may have just broken a copy-right agreement, which could allow one to sue for monetary compensation...", of course, con-man that he is and trying to be sharper than the sharpies ever since Unca' Scrooge told him he can be, would find a method to make money out of this. Well, he was certainly impressive, Donald gave him that. In fact, every one of his nephews was impressive in his own way. But Donald also had methods to impress people.

-"Your mother still doesn't know why the gas pipes exploded two weeks ago.", he bluntly stated, and yet his nephew kept a wide, if forced smile.

-"Yep, that'll be all the documents I need. By the way, do you really want to teach your cute little nephews how to blackmail?!", he obliged, feigning shock at the end of his sentence.

-"Louie, I have literally learnt how to blackmail from you. Also, isn't it blackmail if you threaten me with a lawsuit for a catchphrase? I don't really think that has much legal basis.", came the reply, shutting down the last argument the cunning duck could hold onto.

-"Yeah, okay, fair point.", and that was that. For the moment, anyways, Louie would always fund something to argue with, and Donald would just have to find a counter-argument. Somehow. It has gotten a bit difficult these days, but Donald loved a good challenge. Well, actually, he didn't, but he dealt with them all the same.

-"Any new results, Huey?", the perky, energetic voice of Webby asked as she ran around, fixing some tubes and...balls attached to ropes? It was only now that he realized how unconventional the contraptions Huey set up looked. It was basically gears, nails, and various building materials cobbled up together to make a sort of...measuring device? And that was the least worrying one; the entire room was filled with makeshift machines of all shapes and sizes.

-"Nothing yet...If you could steady your hands Unca' Donald, that'd be great.", he said absently, prompting Donald to turn the tube in his hand a few centimeters. Well, he went from doing nothing and watching T.V. to doing nothing while watching his nephews. That had to amount to something.

-"Wow, you're really just going to stand there for Huey so he can prove that it wasn't his super shaky hands that made him spill the milk this morning, aren't you?", the smugly lazy voice of Louie called out, now under Donald. He'd heard him going down from his bed.

-"My hands are *NOT* shaky, Louie!", the older triplet yelled, outraged by such preposterous claims.

-"Okay, Doctor Butterfingers.", his sibling teased, keeping a neutral face. Donald knew that was what got to Huey; the teasing, he could somewhat handle, but Louie's lack of expressions simply made his mockery get to Huey more easily. Luckily for the inhabitants of Duckburg, Duck War One-Thousand and Whatever could wait, as Donald was there to interfere. For now.

-"Actually, I will. It's a bit unwieldy, but I'll do it for the greater good!", there. A nice, dramatic statement, that should prevent the 'Do you really want to say that' ultimatum. Man, he really had to be a diplomat someday.

-"I don't think you'll call it the greater good when Huey realizes he just has butterfingers.", the little schemer whispered to his uncle, and suddenly, a very dark future flashed in front of his eyes. Well...all in time, he supposed. "Still, I guess you must really have one heckuva patience to just keep holding this tube.", he continued, this time a bit louder before adding under his breath 'uselessly'.

-"Well, yes, I am the most patient person in the world, no? I couldn't dream of starting fights with even the most annoying of people.", the older duck proudly claimed before making an expression that clearly told Louie to shut up about the four-digit number of times he lost his temper. It was better than being five-digits, at least.

-"Yeah, yeah, whatever.", the green-wearing duckling dismissed without second thought before picking up his sentence. "Still, I guess the mad scientist over there has reason to trust you; you are pretty reliable."

-"Aw, Louie-"

-"Extremely reliable in fact!", Huey intruded on their chat, lifting his head from the calculations he was calculating. "I mean, really. Unca' Donald was there for us the entire time; remember that one time in the house-boat when the plumbing stopped working all of sudden and you tried going to the-"

-"Please, for the love of all that is Holy, remember any other time I was useful. Just not....that!", the once-calm sailor begged, his voice filled with dread and his eyes going blank. Well, that's untrue; he still had pupils, but he just wasn't...there. Lost in his flashbacks. The Great Toiletening. The horror.

-"Oh, right...forgot that we don't talk about it...well, either way, all I'm saying is that we really do appreciate what you do! Even if we never really talk about it. Or thank you.", the smarter duckling reflected, bringing a hand to his beak.

-"Well, it's the thought that counts!", Webby chimed in, positive as always. She was right. To an extent. A lot. Okay, maybe she was right, but Donald didn't have to let her know. He wasn't a mind reader, and so he appreciated whenever people spoke their mind to him.

-"I mean, yeah, she's got a point, doesn't she, Unca' Donald?", ah, Louie. Every time Donald thinks he cannot get any more smug, he goes and proves him wrong. "But I guess I should say thanks for everything. Even though you didn't buy me that self-refiling can of Pep Gyro offered...Hey!", he objected as his uncle ruffled his head-feathers with his free hand, a smile on his beak.

-"It was going to go evil and try to strangle us in our sleep and you know that.", he bluntly stated, keeping his smile.

-"I still think it was worth a shot.", the con-man replied, moving towards the room's door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a new method of getting richer than Uncle Scrooge, and I'll be accomplishing it by six in the evening.", he declared, opening the door to a beaten Dewey. "Dewey.", he nodded, passing by him.

-"Louie.", his brother nodded in return, waiting for him to close the door behind him. He looked horrible; a few scratches scattered on his face, his feathers were pointing in all directions, and his left eye felt less...firm than the other. "How much to you guys want to bet we'll have to save Louie from a demon or something by six?", he asked, pointing with a thumb to the door behind him.

-"What on earth happened to you, Dewey?! It's not even three in the afternoon and you look like you crawled out of the grave!", Donald yelled, heading over to the energetic duckling, almost spilling the water in the tube. "Are you okay? Can you see with your left eye? Did you disinfect the wounds?", he shot question after another, trying to judge the severity of the injuries with his free hand.

-"Yeah! What happened to you, Dewey?! Don't you know that the demon-scheme was last week? This week it's the 'Try-to-trick-a-rich-man-scheme'! We'll probably have to discuss some silly law-whatchamacallit with a bunch of angry lawyers by five at most!", Webby happily corrected him, looking just a teeny bit oblivious to Donald's source of worry here.

-"I'm fine, Unca' Donald. It's nothing big, mom was just...y'know. Doing mom stuff. Teaching me how to fight with the wilderness of the forest. It's no biggie.", the daring duck tried to deflate his uncle's worries, waving his hand nonchalantly, as if this was some regular occurrence he had to deal with. He failed.

-"Your mother took you to fight the wilderness?!", he repeated, grabbing his nephew's shoulder with his spare hand and trying to keep the other tube balanced.

-"Oh, come on, Unca' Donald, it's just basic stuff to learn!", he argued back, trying to shrug his shoulder before he winced from the act with an 'Ow!'.

-"Wha- Is your shoulder hurt? Did you encounter bears? How did you fight them?", he kept asking, barely giving the self-proclaimed adventurer any time to breathe.

-"I-It's nothing, just a bad landing, that's all. I mean, we were fighting bears, wolves, and flying beavers with nothing but our wits and bravery, the Heros of the For-Hey!", he tried to finish his sentence, only to be dragged by the sailor to his bed and forced to sit on it.

-"Oh, what am I ever going to do with your mother!", he grumbled, taking the first-aid kit they kept under the bed for emergency situations and trying to manipulate it with his one hand. "She just...she just thinks it's some jolly old fun to bring you over like it's nothing! Like you'll just bounce back from a fifty-meter jump and be okay!", he kept ranting himself as he took out some bandages and started unpacking them before heading to Dewey and starting to cover his wounds.

-"Heeeey! I told you I was fine, Unca' Donald.", the duckling huffed, unable to resist his uncle's medical aid as he kept putting bandages wherever he could reach. "And...Mom's trying her best, you know. No reason to get all mad, y'know...", he added, looking both offended and embarrassed.

-"I know she is.", Donald softly mumbled, putting the last of the bandages. Dewey's face wasn't too far from a mummy at this point. "It's just...sometimes her best isn't the best for everyone, and it's not her fault but...I'd rather you don't get mauled by a bear, Dewey.", he explained, taking a step back and paying attention not to let the tube in his hand tilt. Last thing he needed was to stand there again holding a tube full of water because the first one got spilled.

-"Yeah...me too, I guess.", he conceded, rubbing his arm and trying to chuckle. Donald responded in kind, trying to make his nephew be more at ease. "But she's so cool whenever she does it. How she kicked that bear and then it just turned over and winced in pain.", he dreamily recounted, looking to the ceiling before coming back to reality.

-"She kicked a bear and it just turned over?", Donald repeated, baffled; he knew his sister was strong, but weren't bears made for fighting harsh fights? Layers of fat and all that?

-"Well, I didn't get to see the fight in all its glory, but all I saw was that she flipped over the bear, managed to go behind him, and then she...kicked...", the young adventurer clenched his fists, enthusiastically recalling what his mother did until the realization dawned on all of them. 'Oooooh', was all he and Donald could say for a minute.

-"I don't understand. What did she do?", Webby asked, tilting her head as she carried some machines around the room.

-"O-Oh, it's nothing, Webby. Nothing at all.", he was lying through his teeth. Donald knew she knew. But as long as he wasn't the one who needed to tell her, all was going to be fine. "Ahem...Regardless of her strategies, you're not going to be your mother in one day, Dewey. De-, uh, sorry, your mom is an extremely talented person, but she also...slips. She needed years of broken bones, internal injuries and other injuries to reach where she is now. All I'm saying is that you can learn it all from her the easy way without breaking your neck. I know, not very fun to you,", he paused to add under his breath 'somehow', getting a glare from Dewey, "But it's what I think is better. You don't have to prove anything to us, you know.", he finished both talking and applying some extra bandages, looking at his nephew.

-"I can't promise anything; I can and probably will dew anything.", the blue-shirted duck began, receiving a sigh, "But it makes enough sense. I guess I don't have to be the star of every adventure, but...eh. Maybe I can sit back sometimes. The world needs a break from my awesomeness from time to time.", he finished, flashing his titular proud smile and forcing Donald to hold a smile, making the former's smile drop a bit. Oh, the world needed a break from Dewey alright. Just not for those reasons.

-"Yeah, Unca' Donald has a point, mom means well, but a bear's teeth are stronger than good will.", Huey added, though almost absently as he kept tinkering with the various machines throughout the room and re-reading his notes, as proven by his late response. "This just...this just...It doesn't add up! NONE of these numbers add up! The conclusion...it's wrong! Incorrect! It...It...", he yelled, almost unable to form a coherent sentence at the end. Oh, no. He was going into another rush of his. "Show me the tube, Unca' Donald!", he ordered as he made his way over to his older relative, who tried to remain calm. He did not succeed too well.

-"Uh, Webby? Did...did Huey take some sugar? What's going on in here?", Dewey asked the enthusiastic young duckling, who followed Huey to the triplets' bed.

-"Oh, it's nothing. Huey's been researching the surrounding gravity of the mansion to make sure it didn't change gravity or anything after it nearly got destroyed a couple dozen of times with us inside it!", clenching her fists and raising them to the air, her enthusiasm would've been infectious if Huey didn't look on the brink of a meltdown.

-"Riiiiight...", the blue-shirted triplet processed as his brother practically ripped the tube from his uncle's hand. "And he's doing this becauuuuse...?"

-"Oh, well, he spilled his milk this morning.", she immediately answered, reflecting on her words. "Yeah, not the best incentive, but it's for the greater good!", she confidently boasted, turning to her research-partner. "Right, Huey?"

-"The...The water's okay? How is it okay?! WHY IS IT OKAY?! I NEED TO KNOW!", said research partner was currently yelling at a tube of perfectly okay water, as any great man in history did. His eyes bulged and he ground his beak, looking ever so close to that breaking point.

-"Uh...Listen, Huey, I wasn't there this morning...but is a spilled milk cup really worth all of...this? Your hand probably just slipped. I spilled my milk last week, too.", well, that wasn't exactly true, but Donald didn't have to let them know that he mixed up which hand was holding the cup and which one was holding the brush. In his defence, he'd just woken up and...yeah, that was the only thing he could say for himself.

-"No, you don't understand! I've been pouring myself a glass of milk every morning for three years! I mastered a technique of holding the bottle and the cup for three years! What if I needed this technique for a dangerous artefact...or...or...Or maybe so Scrooge's keys don't fall down a drain! What if I needed to fly a plane with this knowledge and it fails me like it did now?!", ah, how Donald loved Huey's rants. He was just so passionate about the things he did. If there wasn't a chance of him picking up a knife or some other dangerous object and going around on rampage with it, he'd have encouraged him to do it more. No pent up feelings and all that jazz. It was also threatening that his left hand had a screwdriver that looked just a bit too sharp to be waved around.

-"Well...when the time comes to that, you'll come up with a solution. I know you will.", he smiled encouragingly, making his ranting nephew look at him and eyeing the screwdriver in his hand. "But sometimes, a glass of milk is just that. A glass of milk. There's no bigger meaning behind it most of the time and you don't need to beat yourself over it.", he argued, slightly snapping Huey out of his momentary madness. "And that's uncle Scrooge to you, Huey."

Well, yes, there were times when knowing how to play the guitar saved him and his family, and screwing that up would've killed them all, but in the end, you need to prepare yourself mentally for when the time comes, and not by beating yourself for every small or big mistake. There are times for that, but this was certainly not one of them. Donald would know. He did it as an emo teenager. Man, he missed those days. Why did going emo fall out of fashion?! It's all about gothic movements these days, and he wasn't about those clothes.

-"I...Yeah, you're right.", the mad-scientist in Huey gave the wheel back to his rational self. Thank goodness. No new paint-coats for this screwdriver. "Sometimes a glass of milk is just that. Milk.", he repeated, taking the tube out of his uncle's hand and letting the water fall. "Thanks, unca' Donald. I needed that. Don't know what came over me there for a moment.", he too smiled, allowing the houseboat sailor to pat his shoulder.

-"Bah, don't sweat it, Huey! We all had this moment when we went on an insane scientific adventure to prove something that's probably unreal because we...uh...Yeah, I can't dig myself out of that one.", Webby admitted, slumping near the end of her sentence as she suddenly looked a bit tired. Helping Huey all day on his quest probably wasn't the easiest thing to do today. The quadro of ducks shared a laugh.

-"C'mere, Huey.", the older duck held his arms out, allowing his nephew to nestle in for a hug. He gestured to the two other ducklings.

-"GROUP-HUG!", taking advantage of the situation, Webby grabbed Dewey's arm and threw the both of them onto the sailor, who felt the air get knocked out of him for a moment as the two ducklings slammed into his stomach. Regaining his breath, he wrapped his hands around the three duckling around him.

-"Okay that's enough.", Dewey was the first to pull out, never one for too much emotional content when he didn't need it. The other two slowly pulled out, looking satisfied.

-"Welp. I guess it's time to clean this mess up.", the former mad-scientist in Huey was now firmly dead, it seemed. He let out a sigh, looking at the various contraptions he had set up in the room.

-"Don't worry about it, Huey, we can help you out. Not like I'll be doing much like this, anyways...",  his brother gave him a pat on his back, pointing with his other hand to the various bandages that covered his face.

-"And I can help you, too! I want to get back granny's knives and laser guns, you know.", the young Vanderquack chimed in, looking cheerful as always, but a bit more down-to-earth now that the experiment she was assisting in turned out to be a bust. She pointed at a strange device that was, surprise surprise, made with various knives and what looked to be laser guns tapped together. What was even the point of that thing? To look science-y?

-"Ah, goodie, I think I'll help, too.", Donald added, trying to encourage this little aide-circle. He didn't really want his nephews to live in what looked like a madman's dump, which...for a few hours, it was.

-"Actually...I think you'd better prepare to try and bail Louie out of a lawsuit.", Huey suggested, starting to pick up the papers and small machines that covered the floor.

-"Oh, come on, Huey, I'm certain Louie is smart enough to not get himself into much trouble!", even before the older Duck finished his answer, the room's occupants began laughing. Oh, what a scenario that would be. Louie, not getting himself into trouble while searching for fortune. What a joke. "Yeah, okay, you're probably right.", he finally concluded, heading to the room's door and opening it before turning his head back, "Now, if you kids need anything, you can tell me, alright?"

-"Yes, Unca' Donald.", the three ducklings replied in unison with their usual boredom to his patronising acts. Ah, how he loved that tone of theirs.

Closing the door behind him, Donald started going down the stairs, taking in a deep breath. Well. This wasn't really the way he thought he'd be spending his afternoon, but you know what? It wasn't like he was complaining. A small bonding session with the boys was as good as any, after all, and the little motivational speech at the end? Mhmmmm, peak uncle performance right there.

Good job, humble Donald, you did well. What, he was allowed some sort of internal pride, wasn't he? If Gladstone could do it externally because he's lucky, then he could feel some pride for being a good uncle. He hoped. Well, thinking about it now...a good uncle wouldn't have let Louie go get himself into trouble...Hmm...

Well, maybe he wasn't a perfect uncle, but with his uncle and sister promoting this adventurous life-style, there was only so much he could do. Besides, people learn when bad things happen to them. He just had to hope nothing too bad happens, which, luckily, it doesn't. Most times.

He shielded his eyes as he got out of the building and had his eyes blinded by the sun and thought back to the smiles Dewey, Huey, Louie and Webby gave him. What he would do to have them smile like this all the time. Take that, Della, today, Donald had won the...uh...race? The contest of who's a better parent-figure? Well...all of them were good parent-figures but...Oh, forget it! What mattered was that he felt he did something good today and that was it.

He basked in that feeling of pride for a moment, opening his houseboat's main door before noticing a small green figure running towards the mansion from an enraged older man. What worried Donald wasn't the situation; it was that whatever Louie did, it made this man, who couldn't have been any younger than eighty, manage to wake his dormant muscles.

Well, he thought, guess it's time for more uncle-business. Ooooh, that was good. Maybe he could make it a catchphrase and actually copy-right it.

Whenever he calmed this older gentleman, of course. He took a step forward, readied his mind, and mentally prepared to save Louie from a butt-kicking. Yep. Typical Tuesday, alright, and he couldn't be a happier uncle about it.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #donald duck #Huey Dewey and Louie #webby vanderquack #Milk murder attempts and bonding #we have it all

[grovestep]

Skate Into My  Heart [LucioxJR Ch.1]

Author’s Notes: I have recently discovered the amazing ship that is BoomBox, and I can't get enough. They definitely don't have enough fics around. So I decided to remedy that in my own way. I introduce to you: Skate Into My Heart Setting: A modern AU. In which Junkrat and Roadhog run an auto repair shop, and Lucio is still a renowned musician and DJ.  Chapter Summary: A dashing young man skates into Jamison Fawkes' life. Jamison, eccentric, messy, and manic is a stark juxtaposition to Lucio's calm, cool demeanor. Jamie doesn't know how to deal with it. Chapter warnings: Language, mentions/hints at sex 

Chapter 1: The Mechanic and the Frog

Jamison Fawkes stared at the underbelly of an over-stylized '59 Cadillac, mulling over the inner workings of the vehicle as he wiped his hands with a dingy cloth. Footsteps broke his train of thought as someone approached the front of the vehicle, dropping something heavy on the concrete floor of the shop. Jamison finished messing with the oil pan before sliding out from the underbelly on his mechanic's creeper. "What do ya want now, ya big bloke?" Jamison asked, expecting to be greeted by the giant stomach of his boss, Mako Rutledge. Instead, Jamison stared up at the toned calves and dark thighs of a man in shorts. A style that Mako failed to pull off. The man above him let out an awkward laugh, stepping back so Jamison wasn't staring directly up at his crotch. Jamie played it cool, sliding back under the car only to appear on the other side. He walked around the Cadillac back to his original position in front of the stranger.

"Sorry, mate, though ya were m'boss," he said, holding out one hand for a shake. He looked down at his palm, which was covered in grease despite his efforts with the cloth, and gave a lopsided grin. "Er, maybe hold off on the shake for now, yea?" he wiped his hand down his bare chest before shoving it in his pocket. The man's eyes creased at the sides as he smiled, something that Jamie found subtly charming. He wrinkled his nose at the intrusive thought. "What can I do ya for?" The man picked up a pair of roller skates off the floor, "Think you can repair my skates? I had a bad wipe-out earlier playing street hockey," he said. Jamison paused. He stared at the man through squinted eyes, sizing him up. The man didn't look daft. A little posh, maybe, but that didn't always mean missing a few marbles. "Mate...you know you're at a car repair shop, right?" he asked and pointed to the sign that read "Rutledge Repair and Body". Skate-Man let out a laugh. It was melodic, almost like music. It echoed through the repair shop's garage, carrying on even after he was done. "I know very well where I'm at. These aren't just any skates. They're more car than anything," he said with a wink. Jamison blinked, his brow creasing. "Wot?" "They're motorized and have a special function that helps you keep your balance. Something about centrifugal force..." Jamison tuned out of his explanation of the car-skates. His short attention span resented lengthy explanations of things he could figure out himself by taking something apart. He stared at the man, his eyes flicking across his features. Something was familiar about him. He reeked of posh life, even if he was covered in sweat and slumming it in a repair shop. Jamie clicked his tongue as he tried to place him. "AH-HAH!" he exclaimed, interrupting the man's tirade and making his eyes widen in surprise. "You're that Brazilian froggy bloke who does the music!" "Oh, uh. That," the man said. Jamie watched him withdraw, seeming to fold in on himself. He gave Jamie a shrug. This was the opposite of the pumped up DJ he sometimes saw on TV. "Lucio. Um, none of the 'froggy bloke' thing, please." Jamie straightened his back, regaining a professional composure. At least, as professional as he could manage. "Well, Lucio, I'm not so sure--" "Rat!" Jamie jumped, whipping around as the hulking shape of his boss appeared out of the back office. Mako's piercing blue eyes leveled Jamie with a hardened stare over the gas mask he wore for paint jobs. Jamie looked at his boss with saucer-wide eyes. Mako motioned to Lucio before disappearing back into his office to do god knows what. Jamison gulped. "Right-o. What I meant to say was, we'd be happy to take a look at your, uhm, more-car-than-skates." Lucio seemed to perk up at that, handing the skates over to Jamie. Their fingers met for a moment, sending a jolt all the way from Jamie's fingertips, through his spine, and to the tips of his toes. He managed a smile, exposing one of the gold caps on his canines. If Lucio felt the same surge of electricity, he didn't let on. Jamie shrugged it off as nerves from having an actual celebrity in his shop, wanting his assistance. "When can I expect them done?" Lucio asked, shoving his hands in his pockets before leaning against the wall with one shoulder, his legs crossed at the ankle. It was then Jamison realized he was barefoot. Each toenail was panted a different color of the rainbow and, somehow, Jamie wasn't surprised. Lucio cleared his throat, startling the mechanic out of his trance. "Oi, sorry, mate. Got a lot on me mind today. Big order, this," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand as he jerked his chin toward the '59 Caddy. "If you come by tomorrow, though, I should have them fixed right up. Do you have a number I, er, we can contact when these are done?" Jamie expected Lucio to pull out a business card, but instead he pulled out a small pen from one of his many pants pockets. It was lime green and topped with a frog. Jamie snorted. "Do ya have a piece of paper?" he asked, twirling and weaving the pen through his fingers with ease. "'Fraid we're all out," Jamie said, "And me brain ain't the best at keepin' things like that in the ol' memory." "That's fine, uh, do you mind then?" Lucio asked, motioning to Jamie's bare arm and mimicking the act of writing with the pen. Jamie shook his head, extending his arm for the DJ to scrawl his number. Lucio looped his fingers around Jamie's wrist, keeping his arm still as he wrote. The mechanic had to stifle raucous giggles as the pen pressed and tickled at the flesh of his arm. He practically vibrated with the effort. Lucio's tongue poked out from between his lips as he wrote, a quirk that Jamie's brain didn't fail to commit to memory. When he was done, Lucio ran a finger over the carefully inked number, making sure it didn't smear. He was oblivious to the mechanic's elevated heartbeat, which was inevitably noticeable through the coursing of his veins and pulse point on his wrist. Jamie looked at the number on his arm, which was in handwriting that just embodied the DJ. He bit back the urge to tell him he wrote like a sheila. At the end of the number looked like a signature, but stylized into the shape of...a frog? "I didn't give ya permission to go drawin' amphibians on me arm now," Jamie said. Lucio stammered, starting to apologize before noticing the manic grin on the mechanics face. Ah, a joke. He returned the grin with his own easy smile. "Well, thanks for helpin' me out, ah..." Lucio said, leaving his mouth agape and brow knit together in thought as he fished for the man's name. His cheeks darkened a bit as he didn't come up with one. "Don't worry, I didn't tell ya m'name. It's Jamison. Was never one for a posh name like that, so you can call me Jamie," he said, "I'll contact you tomorrow 'bout your skates. Fix 'em right up, good as when ya bought 'em at the mart." "Thanks again, then, Jamie," Lucio said, turning on his heel to leave the auto shop. He looked over his shoulder at the mechanic, giving him an open-palmed wave goodbye and a smile. Jamie stood in place for a moment, listening to the gentle pap-pap-pap of Lucio's bare feet against the sidewalk as he disappeared. He collapsed against a wall, dropping the skates and running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. "Fuck, what is wrong with me?" he muttered, scrubbing both hands over his face. Acting like a damn sheila over a barefooted, posh, froggy bloke. He stared at the skates with distaste. They were probably just regular old skates the bastard was too lazy to take to a skate shop. Jamie decided he'd deal with them immediately. Maybe he'd "accidentally" drop a glob of his lunch into the skates and conveniently forget about it. He picked them back up and trudged to his office, slamming the door behind him. --Much to Jamison's distaste, the skates were more car than anything else. Taking the damn things apart without ruining the whole pair was exhausting and tedious work. He used his long and deft fingers to poke and prod at the various mechanisms, trying to figure out what each of them did. As much as he hated to admit it, he was enjoying tinkering with the skates. They were unlike anything he'd ever seen before. He sat back in his chair and stared at them as he stretched his arms above his head. His shoulders creaked and cracked like gravel. Jamie stifled a yawn, looking at the digital clock on the wall. 1:30AM. Shit, he was not pulling an all-nighter for this bloke. He'd have to continue the work tomorrow at home if he wanted to get it done in time. He grabbed a duffel from the corner, scooping the skates and his tools into the bag. He hauled the bag over his shoulder, hurrying out of the shop and locking up before hoofing it down to the block to his flat. Once he was inside the messy apartment, he cast the duffel-bag aside, collapsing on his bed and falling into a deep sleep. He awoke a few hours later refreshed and ready to work. He dumped the contents of the bag out onto his kitchen table, taking a seat on his dilapidated chair. He worked well into the afternoon, damn near taking the skates entirely apart and putting them back together again. His eyes happened to glance down at his arm where Lucio's number was smudged from sweat. He panicked for a moment, realizing that the man might show up at the shop looking for his finished skates. If Jamison wasn't there, he might complain to Mako, and if he complained to Mako... Jamie gulped, not wanting to think about that. He dug in his pocket, pulling out his phone. He dialed the number, pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he continued to work on the skates. The phone rang once, twice... "Olá?" The man's melodic voice answered. Jamie paused for a moment. He had expected the number to route him to the celebrity's agent, butler, voicemail...anything but the man himself. "Uh, hello, mate, it's Jamie from the shop," he said, muttering a curse under his breath as he dropped his screwdriver. "Oh, yea! I've been waitin' for a call from you. How're my skates coming? They ready?" "Uh, not quite. They're givin' me a little trouble, nothin' too big. I wasn't 'suppose to work today, so when I didn't finish them yesterday I, uh, brought them home with me to finish the job. I hope ya don't mind," he said. There was a pause on the other end, and Jamie's heart raced. The bugger was probably racing over to tell his boss. "That's no problem! So long as they're getting fixed. Do you want me to pick them up at your place, then?" Lucio said, and Jamie's shoulders slouched in relief. Dodged a bullet there. And then he tensed again, his mind registering Lucio's question. "Oh, uh, I mean if you want to. I won't make you go outta yer way or anythin'. It's uh, not company policy," Jamie said as he prodded at what he assumed was the centrifugal whatsit Lucio was on about yesterday. "No, no, it's fine. I don't mind, really. You're fixin' up my babies, it's the least I can do in return besides, you know, pay you," Lucio said, and Jamie could hear the smile in his voice. The way he was about to laugh. He closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his palm against the space between his brows. Actin' like a bloody sheila, again. "Right-o, I'll try to have 'em done by the time ya get here. M'flat is just down the block from the shop. Shimada Apartments. Just tell the bloke at the front desk you wanna see Junkrat, he'll know what you mean," Jamie said. He heard the man on the other end say the nickname under his breath. "Oh-kay, I'll be there soon," Lucio said. Jamie could hear the questioning tone in his voice, but knew he was too polite to ask about it. Jamie decided he wouldn't supply answers to unspoken questions. He exchanged goodbyes with Lucio before hanging up the phone. He stood up from his chair, looking around his apartment. It was...a mess. The embodiment of his nickname. Old food boxes were strewn across the counters. His vintage Playboy mags were stacked in one corner, leaning precariously to one side. He knew he shouldn't care, but apart of him was embarrassed to no end thinking that the pretty froggy bloke would see what a mess he lived in. Of course, he could just stick his head out and hand over the skates. But what if they weren't done? He couldn't make the lad stay out in the hallway. He didn't live with the best of people, and Lucio reeked of social status and money. It would be like making him hold a sign that said, "Mug me!" So, Jamie set to work cleaning to the best of his ability. He swept the trash off the counter and into the bin. He shoved as much laundry as he could into the washing machine, and kicked the rest into the hamper. The dishes in the sink that were growing alien colonies he threw in the trash, too embarrassed and disgusted with himself to clean them. His eyes landed on the Playboy magazines, and he thrummed his fingers against his chin in thought. He grabbed one of the blankets covering the couch and threw it over the stack. He stood back and looked at his handiwork. Now it looked like a disorganized person lived there, and not a lazy hoarder. It wasn't long after he sat back down to finish the skates that a knock came on the door. Jamie was startled out of his work trance, his head swinging up to the door. "Just a secoooond!" he said as he tightened one of the screws on the skates. He hurried over to the door before any potential muggers descended upon his guest. He opened the door was was greeted with a sweat drenched Lucio, bare chested and his dreads pulled back off his face by a bandanna. Jamie felt his breath catch in his throat. "Hey there," Lucio said, and Jamie damned his ever-cool attitude. Of course, he wasn't staring directly at a glistening set of abs and biceps. In fact, he was staring at a sleep deprived slob of an Australian. Jamie shuffled to the side, opening the door wider so Lucio could come in. The shorter man slipped into the doorway, and to Jamie's relief, didn't seem to pay attention to the surroundings. The man's eyes were trained on the skates. "Just about got 'em finished. Ya weren't lying when ya said they were more car than skates. Took me 'alf the night and most of the day jus' to put 'em back together," Jamie said as he closed to door and came up behind Lucio. He dwarfed the man in size, but Jamie had a feeling the shorter man could still kick his arse if he felt like it. He skirted around Lucio to reclaim his seat. "Sorry about that, I know it's probably not something you're used to," Lucio said, rubbing the back of his neck and offering Jamie an apologetic smile. "No sweat off my back. I like takin' things apart, seein' what makes 'em tick," Jamie said, using that fact to distract himself from Lucio's abs. He resumed prodding at the skates, set on fixing the centrifugal doo-dad once and for all. "You seem to be that sort of guy," Lucio said as he watched Jamie, "You have a...calculating gaze." "That so?" Jamie asked, quirking a brow but not looking up from the skates. His cheeks flushed a light pink. He hoped the shitty lighting in his apartment would cover it up. "Yea, it's like..." Lucio took a seat across from him at the table, splaying his hands on the wood, "When I came into the shop, your stare felt like you were picking me apart from the inside. It was kinda unnerving," he said. "Oh, sorry 'bout that, uh, I..." Jamie floundered for an answer, feeling like he was caught in the act of stealing. He didn't look up from the skates to see Lucio's expression. He could see it in his head. Accusatory. Angry. "Then when you opened the door, that look was there again. Picking me apart..." Was that a hitch in his voice that Jamie heard? He dared a glance up from the skates. Lucio was watching him, his eyes half-lidded and that damned easy smile on his face. The flush on Jamie's cheeks strengthened, and he averted his eyes again. "It's almost like you can see right into my soul. You know, not many people look at me like that. They only see DJ Lucio, the celebrity. I was afraid it was like that when you figured out who I was," Lucio said, letting out a chuckle. There was a creak as he leaned back in the chair, "But the way you looked at me. I knew that wasn't so." Jamie worked faster, and, dammit, why were his hands shaking? He reached for his screwdriver, but his palms were too sweaty and hands too shaky to keep a grip on it. It fell from the table, spiraling to the floor. He startled from his seat to catch it, and before he knew it, Lucio was right there, leaning down to catch it, too. The DJ's reflexes were faster than his own, and he caught it in his palm. They were so close it was driving Jamie mad. He could smell Lucio's citrus cologne and the tangy scent of his sweat. He could feel Lucio's breath by his ear, the heat radiating off his body. He stifled a whine, biting his lip. Lucio pressed the screwdriver into his open palm, clasping his hand to stop Jamie's shaking. "Easy, easy, lindo," he said, and a shiver ran through Jamie's spine at how close those words were breathed right up against his ear, and his head was swimming with too many racing thoughts to ask what lindo meant. Probably idiot, stupid, or a million other insults, but Jamie didn't care. This man could call him the worst names in the book and it would still sound like music. "Th-th-thank you," Jamie stammered, and when he looked at Lucio the man had already withdrawn, leaning back in his chair with that easy grin on those plump kissable lips, and, fuck, what was he thinking? Lucio just gave him a wink, acting as though nothing happened. Had anything happened? Had he imagined it? A droplet of sweat ran down his forehead, and he wiped it off with the back of his arm, leaving a smear of ink from the number Lucio had written on it. "Hey, now, you might need that later," Lucio said, motioning to the number. Jamie boggled at him with wide eyes. "You know, in case I have another skate emergency," he explained as though it were obvious, but there was something in his voice that made Jamie's stomach heavy and his pants tighten. This man was toying with him. "Oh, right. Well, I have it in me phone already. I'll keep in there, then, if ya like," Jamie said, finishing up the skates and trying with all his might to keep the quiver out of his voice. "Mm, yea, keep it there. You never know when I'll go flying ass over elbows and break a skate," Lucio said as he took the finished skates as Jamie pushed them across the table. Or head over heels, Jamie thought, mentally berating himself for being such a fuckin' sheila as of late. Reading into this man's actions like he meant something to him. "Well, thank you again. I really appreciate it. I'll head down to the shop to make the payment. I wish there were more I could do to show my gratitude," Lucio said as he got up from his seat. I'll tell you what you can do, you sexy piece of--, "Uh-ha, it's no problem. Don't worry about it, mate," Jamie said, following Lucio to the door. The man was almost out into the hallway when he turned around again. "Oh, and Jamie?" "Whazzat, mate?" "You have something on your forehead." Jamie had only time to blink before Lucio brushed his bangs off his forehead, rubbing the heel of his palm across the ink mark from earlier. Jamie's amber eyes stared into Lucio's chocolate brown ones, their noses brushing tips. Jamie swore he could feel Lucio's lips against his own, feather light, chaste. But just like that, Lucio was gone, walking down the hallway, his melodic chuckle trailing behind him. Jamie stared after him, his fingers going to brush against his lips. What the fuck just happened?

#ooc #Overwatch #BoomBox #Boombox overwatch #lucio correia dos santos #lucio #junkrat #jamison fawkes #fanfiction #fanfic #modernau #overwatch shipping #lucio/junkrat #mako rutledge #OW #rareship #THIS GONNA BE A SLOW BURN YA'LL #reblog pls also send me headcanons to write on #prompts and all that #i will do them

[mushmeyers]

why do we do this to ourselves?

Spot/Jack - ao3 link - co authored by @spotsies

hi everyone, i'm back from not updating my multichap works to upload a oneshot. it's actually another RP, but a para one this time- so yeah, perspective p much switches every paragraph if you have a problem w that :P

anywayssss the lovely spot to my jack @spotsies wrote for spot and i wrote for jack! love u!

Jack couldn't help but feel incredibly tense as he walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, headed towards the docks. Tension, he'd found, was an emotion strongly associated with Spot Conlon. To the other guys, he made tension through his intimidation. The rumours that he'd beaten people up on a ride at Coney had flown around for years, and they were founded in Conlon's very real soaking ability. But as Jack reached the docks and spotted (hah) him, he knew it wasn't that tension that he got when he was with Spot, particularly not when they were alone. Oh, no. It was a very different kind, and one that Jack had been keeping to himself for years because of the risk associated with it. "Conlon," he called out with a wave and a grin as he walked towards him, spitting on his hand and holding it out.

Spot was sitting crosslegged on a crate, idly watching some of his boys attempting to fish the waters with a fishing line fashioned out of old bootlaces. What a waste. When he heard approaching boots on wood, he didn't bother turning to look until Jack was right near him. He knew his footsteps anywhere. Finally, he turned his head with a lazy smile to face his friend. Enemy. Ally. Whatever he was. "Kelly," he greeted cordially with a spit and shake of his own, firmly ignoring the fact that he'd almost felt a bolt of electricity go through him the moment they touched. That wasn't unusual with Jack. Not these days. "You're late, y'know. It's past noon."

Jack grinned, shrugging. He let himself regard Spot for a second longer than he'd let himself with anyone else- he knew that if Spot noticed (and there was no doubt he did), he never commented. "Had a fight to break up on my way over here. Only been a few minutes." Everything in him wanted to take a step closer to Conlon, to close the distance between them. That was the usual now, though, and something that couldn't be said out loud. He'd never gotten verbal confirmation that Spot was feeling this too (or that he was even like that )- but the tension between them all but confirmed it. Instead, he moved on to business. "So, Staten's been givin' you trouble?"

Spot all but rolled his eyes at Jack. "Not here." He pushed himself off the crate, glancing around before leading the way along the docks, dodging workers hauling cargo until they reached a more secluded section. It was all but hidden from the main docks by a few twists and turns and that was how he liked it. He didn't usually bother conducting business in private, but more recently he preferred to be alone with Jack. And it wasn't because he was uncomfortable with people seeing how they interacted now. And it wasn't because he liked having Jack to himself for a little while. He settled himself on the wooden planks, gesturing for Jack to join him. "He keeps sendin' his boys over."

Jack was used to the routine. They'd meet, and whoevers turf they were on (usually Spot's, since he insisted) would lead the other to a secluded place. And that's when Jack swore he could feel the distance between them, and the thickness in the air when they spoke, and every single pause or glance held a kind of strength he hadn't even known they could hold before. It was a feeling that he'd only been getting with Spot, and it'd been increasingly rapidly, much to Jack's stress. The leader of Brooklyn, he reminded himself. What a controversy that would be. Jack had long mastered not getting caught with guys, but that was besides the point. This put so much more risk on the table. He settled beside Spot, frowning. "Sendin' em over? What, to sell? The fuck's he thinkin'?"

Spot didn't need to glance between them to know exactly how many inches away Jack was sitting (three). He wanted to, though. He wanted to close the gap. He wasn't the type to seek any kind of affectionate contact with people. But when Jack was around, he felt magnetised. Forcing himself to relax, he reached up and dragged his hat off, pushing his hair back. "He's trying to start shit. He's been doin' it all week, and they keep comin' over, sellin' and then they start fights. And he claims he don't know shit about it." Spot scowled. "But he's sending his biggest guys."

Jack looked, watching Spot's hands running through his hair, the way it fell and the look on his face as he started to scowl. "He's tryina start shit with Brooklyn? What reasons he got?" Brooklyn and Manhattan had been easy allies for a while. 'Accidentally' crossing a bridge was hard to pass off- though apparently, that concept was foreign to Staten Island newsies. And plus, there was the unspoken fact between the two of them that Brooklyn and Manhattan being allies made it easier for the both of them to have their times like these. Because even though he couldn't actually do anything, the ridiculous amount of tension and feelings he got around Spot was dizzying enough to be completely worth it. "What's he tryina pull? He knows Manhattan n' Queens'll side with you, n' the Bronxs too far away to even matter. He just tryina get his kids soaked?"

Spot glanced over at Jack, his fierce expression softening a bit as he did. "I don't know. Maybe he's tryna piss me off bad enough I'll do somethin' that'll make the other boroughs feel sorry for 'em. Or hate us. Same difference." For a long moment he was silent, turning his cap over in his hands. The tweed was worn and grubby, but he didn't mind any. "I'm plenty tempted by it. The Bronx can't do shit and Queens don't care all much about Staten except when he's trying to piss them off." And you'll side with me whatever I do. He didn't bother adding that. Spot dropped his hands by his sides; just enough so one lightly brushed Jack's leg. That's all you'll ever get. It was infuriating to sit here side by side with the guy he'd loved so long and not be able to hold his hand proper or kiss him, and for a moment the unfairness of it all took his breath away so it was all he could do to glare miserably at the wooden planks.

Jack watched Spot's hands, turning the hat over and over in his hands. He frowned. "Don't take their bait. Like you said, that's just what he wants." Jack didn't mention the shudder that ran down his back when Spot's arm brushed his leg, and continued speaking. "I'd just finish the fights he starts, n' finish 'em real good. Put Red an' your muscle sellin near the bridge for a few days, show 'em what's what if they start the fights. He's a coward, the moment his boys start bein' properly beat he'll back off. But you can't be blamed for finishin' fights when he started em." Jack shifted, and their hands were only about an inch away now. Jack was itching to move it that final inch, to take Spot's hand, or to grab him and fiercely kiss him and show him how much he felt for him- but instead he just left his hand an inch away.

Spot swallowed hard. He was struggling to just focus on what Jack was saying. It was good advice, after all. But he kept getting distracted by the fact that there was only an inch between them now. Sometimes he really hated how hyperaware he always was of Jack in his space, especially the fact he didn't really want him to leave it. "Yeah," he mumbled eventually, fighting to drag his attention back to the actual conversation. Get a fucking hold of yourself. "He's such a shit leader. Imagine gettin your boys hurt just so you can have a bit of pity." He was tired by the politics, sometimes. And he had an awful suspicion he'd feel a lot better if he could rest his head on Jack's shoulder for a little while, sit quietly with him like that with their sides pressed close and their fingers laced. But that wasn't going to happen.

Jack nodded in agreement, rolling his eyes. "Never seen him make a smart move in his life." And it was true.  Staten was a fucking idiot. Jack sat quietly for a few seconds. The issue had been sorted fairly quickly- and no surprise. Jack knew Spot didn't need him to make a decision on an issue between Brooklyn and Staten Island. But that didn't mean that Jack wasn't thankful Spot'd called for a meeting, because now he was only an inch away and Jack could pretend that they coud be even closer. Or we could actually be closer. The coast was clear, they were alone, and the tension between them was almost unbearable. Jack turned to Spot. "Why do we do this to ourselves?" he asked, shaking his head with a small laugh. He wasn't sure what came over him- he knew why they did, it was illegal, they were leaders of boroughs, all of the shit that could go down if they were caught - but what could happen if they didn't was intoxicating, and Jack had been wondering about it for years .

Spot felt every muscle in his body go taut when Jack spoke, and he kept his eyes focused straight down. Don't move. Don't look at him. Don't give him any sign. It was as though the tension between them had both broken and amped up to the max. "Do what?" he replied in a clipped, strained voice. He could feel Jack's eyes on him. He wanted to meet his eyes, see the truth there and not be scared of it any more. But he didn't trust himself with it. So instead he sat perfectly still, barely daring to even breathe.

Jack looked at Spot, raising an eyebrow that he couldn't see anyways because Spot's eyes were fixed on the ground. The way he'd tensed up, looked away, the strain in his voice. He knew what Jack meant- there was no way he didn't, the tension had always been two sided. Jack took a deep breath, and he reached, taking Spot's hand in his own. "Not this," he said quietly as he interlaced their fingers, looking intensely at Spot and praying that this didn't go completely wrong.

Flinching involuntarily when Jack's hand took his, Spot had to physically force himself not to jerk away. Every part of him was screaming DANGER and he wasn't one to ignore his instincts. But at the same time- he felt like he was on fire. This was all he'd ever wanted. Slowly he looked up, gaze going from his feet to their hands to Jack's face. He had the most beautiful eyes. And Spot could see that same terror and longing and hope he felt reflected in them, and that was enough to make him gently lace their fingers together, taking in a shaky breath. "You know why," he muttered. His mouth was dry.

When Spot laced their fingers together, Jack felt like he could explode. Something as simple as this was what he'd stayed up many a late night wondering about, and he'd done it, he'd actually done it and it felt amazing. "I know why," he repeated, "but I hate it. It's the worst. I can't stop thinking about you ," he half whispered, giving Spot possibly the most intense look he'd ever given anyone.

Spot let out his breath between his teeth, relaxing for what felt like the first time in years. So it was all out on the table now. He wasn't being choked by this secret any more. He squeezed Jack's hand. "I can't... me either," he admitted eventually. "I can't fuckin' concentrate when you're around. And every time you go home it hurts." The last part was spoken quietly, since it was still embarrassing to say, but there was a vulnerable edge to Spot's tone and he didn't know if he resented it or not. He was inclined towards the or not .

Spot had said it back. Finally, the heavy feeling on his chest dissipated, leaving Jack feeling light. "I hate goin' home," he admitted back. "Well, not the home bit. I hate leavin' you." And it was the truth- he adored his boys and all of that, it wasn't where he was that was the problem (unless you were talking New York, but that was a whole different story.) It was the lack of Spot that was the problem. The vulnerability in Spot's voice made Jack edge closer to him, putting a hand on the side of his face. It felt right there. They were alone, and they were holding hands and talking and a rush of adrenaline ran through Jack, probably both from how wrong what they were doing was, but also how damn fucking right it was.

Spot closed his eyes for a brief moment, finding himself leaning into Jack's touch without even meaning to. It was like all the tension and stress had just drained away. Like there was nothing else. Then he looked up again, at the guy he trusted more than anyone, and tried a small smile. "I can never decide if you're brave or an idiot or both," he said quietly. "And I can't decide if I'm about to be stupid. But I don't really care." With that, he carefully curled his fingers around the back of Jack's neck, pulling him down gently into a kiss. It was stupid, maybe, but he could have sworn he felt a bolt of electricity run through him as their lips touched. And it felt perfect.

Jack laughed, grinning as if he was about to say something back- when Spot continued talking about being stupid, and then he was softly pulling Jack down and then their lips met, and holy shit, there were fireworks. Explosions and bolts of electricity and all of that. It felt perfect and right and like he was meantto kiss Spot. God, that was sappy and dumb, but so was Jack. Especially after so long wondering and imagining what it would be like to kiss Spot, to be able to actually show him that he loved him. And fuck, Spot might be right and this might be stupid- but that was put out of his mind right now in favour for pulling himself closer to Spot, his thumb running over his cheek as they kissed.

Spot leaned into it hard. He let the joy and relief and fear and shock wash over him, and when it faded he was still kissing Jack, his Jack. They belonged to their boroughs, but they'd always belonged a little bit to each other as well. The hand on his cheek, warm and reassuring and the brush of lashes against his cheek; it was intoxicating, and if he wasn't as disciplined as he was, he mightn't have drawn away when he did. But it was too dangerous. If they were caught kissing here, anywhere, not only would they both lose their leadership but they could go to jail if they weren't beaten to death first. So he leaned back reluctantly, dropping his hand to Jack's chest to stop him from following. He looked just as windblown as Spot felt. Fuck, he was beautiful, and there was nothing he wanted to do more than kiss those lips again. But at least the tension had broken, replaced by this understanding they shared.

Jack kept his eyes closed for just a few seconds, the feeling of Spot's hand on his chest still sending that same exciting current through him. He opened his eyes, looking at Spot and taking every detail of his expression that he could remember. He wanted to be kissing Spot again, but he knew exactly why Spot pulled away. He sighed quietly, taking his hand from Spot's cheek and letting it rest on Spot's knee, unable to let go of finally being able to touch him, even if just for now. It had been building for so long, and now Jack just looked at Spot, shaking his head with a small smile. "Bein' brave means you gotta be an idiot sometimes- but you're doin' it 'cause it's whats right." And sure, maybe this was idiotic, but it was right , and that's what mattered.

Spot snorted. "Look at you, givin' advice. Like you're so wise." His attempt at sounding gruff completely failed, the affection shining through in a way he'd never let it, and he couldn't even bring himself to care. Not when Jack was looking at him with that smile. God. It felt like they could just sit in this moment forever- he wished they could just sit in this moment forever. But they were always on borrowed time, him and Jack, and today was no different. This was big, and they had important things to sort out. "Hey," he said more quietly, trailing his hand down his arm to take his hand again. "You know we can't never be open 'bout this." He knew Jack knew. But when he said it out loud, it felt more like something they were facing together. "Whatever this is."

"Had a lotta time to think about this," he laughed, Spot's affectionate tone making his heart swell a bit. His teasing, the way he was looking at him, the feeling of Spot's lips still lingering on his, it was the small details that he hadn't expected that made everything feel like he was floating. Jack squeezed Spot's hand when their fingers were laced together again, nodding. "Yeah, I know. It's just between us" Whatever this is. What even was it? Was there even words for this? Jack shrugged, frowning. "It's whatever we want it to be. N' I want ya to know I'm sweet on you," he finally said the words out loud, after them being true for years. He was sweet on Spot Conlon, and if the world couldn't know then at least he could.

A slow smile spread across Spot's lips. "Sweet on me," he repeated, almost rolling his eyes. "Course you'd find the sappiest way to say it." Nobody in Brooklyn was sweet on anyone- they had girls, but you didn't go about telling people how you felt about them. He wondered if the Manhattan newsies did things differently. Clearly they did, if Jack was saying stuff like that. But hell, if it didn't make his heartbeat pick up. "I'm sweet on you too. And Christ, I wanna see you more than this. In places more private than this. I been holdin' out on you years, Kelly." He'd dreamed so long of being able to lie quietly for hours with Jack, tangled up in each other and talking quietly between kisses.

"You're sayin' that like you didn't grin the moment I said it," he teased, greatly enjoying Spot's smile and revelling in the fact that Spot said it back. And he'd been holding out on him for years, god, if that didn't make the years of wondering and what ifs so worth it. Jack nodded. "Me too," he agreed quietly, pulling Spot in a little closer. "Come have a meetin' with me at the theatre sometime. Medda's. She's right in the Bowery, she don't care 'bout this shit. We'll tell em all it's over somethin' serious," he half suggested and half asked. The amount he saw Spot now wasn't enough, it wasn't before and it wasn't going to be nearly close now.

Spot (after slugging him in the shoulder for the teasing) hesitated, weighing the options in his head. He didn't like spending time away from Brooklyn at the best of times. But Jack was offering proper privacy, somewhere safe. And there were so many things he wanted to learn about Jack- his favourite food, what he talked like when he was tired, the pitch of his moans- that he just couldn't here. "Okay," he agreed after another moment, and ran his thumb over Jack's knuckles with a little smile. And then, after glancing around and pausing for a moment to listen out for anyone nearby, he shifted closer and leaned his head on his shoulder. Like he wasn't going to take this excuse.

Jack smiled, clearly calmed by Spot saying okay and then resting his head on his shoulder. He leaned his head on Spot's, glad beyond words that they could finally sit like this, that he could finally hold Spot's hand and let Spot know how he feels. How he feels about Spot. Maybe it was a bit quick considering that everything had just properly happened, but he'd been feeling this for years, so if anything it felt like making up for lost time. "I love you," he said quietly, letting himself close his eyes and just be alone with Spot for a minute.

Spot was just about the happiest he'd ever been when he heard Jack's next words and promptly froze. I love you . That was what wives and husbands said to each other in private. It was what you said when you were writing a love letter or proposing. And never in a hundred years could he ever have imagined that anybody, let alone Jack Kelly, would say it to him. But when the shock melted away, he found it replaced by a glow of happiness that spread to the tip of his toes. And really, they'd been something for years now. Just something unspoken. And now he could change that, and he wanted to, so he murmured, "I love you too," and didn't care how foolish it made him sound. "I don't want you to go home."

Jack really didn't want to go home either. He wanted to stay like this with Spot forever- or he wanted to go somewhere private, and be alone with Spot. Being away  from him, however, was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Not only that, but he had to leave soon- he had a few more things to sort out in Manhattan today, and he was sure Spot had other things to do. But that didn't make it any easier. "I don't want to either," he sighed. "But you're gonna see me again soon, aight?" With that, he slowly sat up more. Speaking of him having to leave, the time was coming soon. "An' now we both have somethin' to look forward to."

"Wait," Spot said sharply, following Jack up. Instead of saying anything else, he took his face in both hands and pulled him in to kiss him again; he found himself trying to commit the feeling to memory. He didn't want to let go, not when he'd just gotten all he'd ever wanted. And Jack's lips were soft, and his face was warm, and kissing him brought everything into alignment in a hundred different ways and Spot had never felt safer with anyone. And for a fleeting moment, he wondered what it would be like to run away from their responsibilities,  just look out for each other. Sleep under real stars. Hold each other properly. But like I said, the moment was fleeting. So eventually he did pull away, stroking a thumb across Jack's cheek and looking at him steadily. "I love you."

Jack turned around, being pulled into another kiss. He hadn't realised he'd missed it already until he was doing it again. Kissing him felt natural. Meant to be. All that sappy shit. It was so, so difficult to not pull Spot onto his lap and kiss him over and over, cover him in kisses and quietly tell him about all the nights he'd spent dreaming of him. If Spot had spent even half of those thinking about Jack, he'd consider himself lucky. When Spot pulled away, Jack looked at Spot again, smiling at him soft and gentle. "I love you too," he said, promises of more and the future laced in the words. Seperating himself from Spot then was probably the hardest thing he'd done in months, and he already felt the urge to wrap his arms around Spot's waist and cling. "Tell me when you wanna meet next," he said, daring taking a step closer than a friend probably should be. "Make it soon, yeah?"

Spot nodded curtly, not shifting his gaze from Jack's face. He knew his stare put people off, and he usually liked it, but right now he just wanted to remember this moment without weirding him out. "Soon," he repeated, then sighed. "Yeah. Aight." He went to kiss him one last time and promptly became aware of just how tall Jack was. Fucker. He had to get up onto his toes to reach, and pull him down for a quick kiss. It hurt to let go. "This week, though."

Jack leaned down when Spot stood on his toes, giving him another sweet kiss. He couldn't help but press a kiss onto Spot's forehead with a smile. A week. He could do a week. "I'm gonna miss you," he admitted quietly. Now it felt like there was an entire flood of things he could finally tell Spot. He glanced back to where they'd come from earlier. "I gotta go now." Pause, and then quietly, "Love you, Spot." It was difficult actually getting up and heading in the direction when all he wanted to do was kiss Spot over and over again, but somehow Jack found the self control to.

"Love you too." Spot watched him go, heart twisting sharply. On one hand, he'd never missed Jack more. But this felt like hope, and he had a tangible promise that they'd see each other soon and that he felt the same. And he was light as air. Pulling his cap low over his eyes to hide the happiness he suspected was there, he waited until the other leader had disappeared before turning and slamming a fist hard into a wooden crate by him. God, he was excited for whatever was coming next.

#spot conlon #jack kelly #spj #newsies #spotsies #enjoyyyyy ;)))

[thaiceprince-blog]

STILL DYING OVER THAT REBLOG LIKE IT’S SO GORGEOUS AND HHHHH PHICHIT AS AN EXOTIC DANCER OR PALACE DANCER AU IT’D WORK SO WELL AND HE’D BE SO PURE AND CHARMING AND GORGEOUS HHHH

#ooc. #i accidentally wrote this in all caps and yknow what #whatever #i'm too lazy to fix it #but phichit looks too good in natural bight colors istg #i am dyinggggg