#How to Draw a Plane for Kids Easy Step by Step

[tobesolnelyx]

I was thinking about a oneshot for Natalie x reader in the wilderness. Like maybe they were both friends because they were both outcasts and Natalie always defended reader from anyone who tried to be mean. When the plane crashed, their dynamic didn't really change : they were still sticking together, looking for one another. At first, it was quiet, almost peaceful, despite the dread of the wilderness. But then winter came. Jackie died. Maybe reader refusing to eat her ?(because that was their team captain, how could she ever eat her ? Treat her body like it was only meat?). And she started to be quieter, refusing food portions, not doing anything except the chores. She even started to drift away from Natalie, which worried the girl. And Natalie tries her best to keep reader alive, because that's all that matters to her, but it's so hard especially when reader doesn't look at her anymore. And Natalie sees reader starting to fade away and it's driving her crazy because she doesn't know what to do and she is afraid that reader isn't going to survive, or worse, letting herself die. And everyone on the team is worried, everyone noticed but nobody knows what to do either. And if it's too uncomfortable for you, maybe reader (actively or passively, the choice remains yours) trying to kill herself. Then someone on the team finds her on the brink of death and calls everyone and Natalie is the first one to rush by your side. And when reader finally wakes up, Natalie is still by her side, she never left, watching every breath, even if subtle. And maybe Natalie refuses to ever leave reader's side again, except this time reader actually accepts the help and she gets better (as good as you can be in the wilderness)

So maybe fluff at the beginning/end, hurt/comfort and angst ? Thx anyway <3

— how much tragedy? || natalie scatorccio x reader 🎞️ (pre-crash/wilderness)

a/n: thanks for req! honestly big fan of the idea — always a sucker for hurt/comfort! hope you like it <3

summary: natalie will do anything to protect you. no matter what it takes. even if it means broken knuckles and shattered lies. || angst. hurt/comfort. fluff

warnings: standard yellowjackets warnings (cannibalism, gore etc…), mentions of suicide, attempt of suicide

word count: about 3k

Natalie simply loved being close to you. Not in an overbearing way—at least not when it was just the two of you—but it didn't take a genius to see that this girl had fallen for you. Completely. And maybe, for the first time in her life, Natalie didn't want to change that. She couldn't even entertain the thought of a world where your presence might be gone in any way. Natalie could push everyone else away just to draw you in, closer and closer with each day.

And sure, there were nights when her fingers itched to pick up some random payphone on the street just to tell you it was over—but she knew that by morning, she'd be crawling back on her knees, begging you to take her in like some stray dog.

It all started when you moved into the trailer park. Life had already dragged you through enough that relocating to some shithole town like Wiskayok in New Jersey, didn't exactly feel like rock bottom. Money was tight. Your parents weren't exactly winning medals in the "doing what they should" category.

Word got around fast. Kids from your neighborhood didn't have it easy at school, so it came as a shock when you found out about Natalie Scatorccio. Natalie, who had zero tolerance for the bullshit constantly thrown her way. Natalie, who was so effortlessly cool you couldn't tell if you wanted to be her or be with her. Natalie, who strutted through the school halls with her headphones on, untouchable, unreachable.

Natalie—who one day offered you a cigarette.

It was late. You'd slammed the door of your trailer behind you after yet another fight with your parents. Your hands were shaking with rage and frustration. You collapsed onto the front steps, trying to calm yourself before having to listen to your dad's endless ranting again.

Then Natalie appeared. Of course, headphones on, dressed in her soccer gear. She walked the length of the park with heavy steps, a gym bag slung over her shoulder, lazily smoking a cigarette.

She was smiling. That's what made you stare—that crooked smile.

Then Natalie's gaze—like she knew someone was watching—landed on you. Shit. You must've looked wrecked, because she came over. The smile vanished, but she didn't replace it with that distant, blank stare you knew so well. You couldn't read her at all.

Without a word, she pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and gave you a look. The kind of look someone gives when they know what it's like to have shitty parents. What it's like to feel like a screw-up since the day you learned to talk back.

You blinked. Once, twice. Then finally took the cigarette from her hand, and she pulled out a lighter.

Your hand trembled as you reached for it, but before you could grab it, Natalie was already leaning in, lighting the cigarette for you.

"Thanks," you mumbled. Natalie looked, for a second, like she was about to turn and pretend the whole thing never happened. But instead, she dropped down beside you on the concrete steps.

She stayed.

And maybe that's why you couldn't ever let her go.

The rest happened pretty naturally. Natalie just started hanging around. At first with a hint of hesitation, then not even bothering to hide the stupid grin on her face whenever she saw you.

You started smoking more around her. One time she even passed you a joint, and after a few hits, when you were completely high, Nat couldn't stop laughing.

"I'm gonna throw up," you groaned, lying limply on her bed. Something by Nirvana was playing in the background, and the air was so thick with smoke it felt suffocating. You wondered if the smell would ever leave your clothes. Maybe it would cling to you the same way it did to Natalie

"Bullshit," Nat grinned. "And if you do, make sure it's outside."

She handed you the joint again. You looked at her through bloodshot eyes, your expression twisted in mild disgust.

"I hate you," you mumbled — but still brought it to your lips.

"Sure you do," she replied, and took your hand like it already belonged to her. Only to intertwine her fingers with yours and press them to her chest. She didn't even look at you. And that's when you knew — you were both screwed.

Natalie could've won an official title as your guard dog. Every time someone bumped into you on purpose in the hallway or threw a stupid comment your way, she was there. As if she had a sixth sense for when someone was trying to bitch at you, even just a little.

"You need to learn to defend yourself," she once said, while you were painting her nails. You frowned, not quite understanding why. Aggression wasn't... your thing. You endured the jabs and teasing because no one had taught you any other way to cope. And besides, the thought of breaking someone's nose didn't exactly thrill you.

"I have you," you replied, looking her straight in the eyes. Even if it was selfish.

"I won't always be there," Natalie said, staring at you. Not because she didn't want to. If anything, she was just waiting for an excuse to be near you. But she knew she couldn't always be.

A moment of silence. A pause. And before you could think about why you probably shouldn't, your lips found hers — brief, sweet. Nat accidentally smudged black polish onto your shirt.

Neither of you ever brought it up. Maybe because you were both terrible at talking about feelings. Still — Natalie didn't push you away.

Oh, quite the opposite. From that moment on, she may as well have been chained to your side. She even begged you to join the Yellowjackets just so she could crack jokes during practice and hear the coach yell at you both to focus, for Christ's sake!

You spent every spare moment together — drinking, smoking. Sometimes just listening to music. Sometimes Nat would sneak kisses from your mouth, even though neither of you ever defined what this was. You got used to it. Maybe it wasn't part of friendship, but you weren't complaining. There was some unspoken rule that you didn't talk about it, but neither of you ever considered being with anyone else.

You won states. Nat even convinced the coach to let you room together at the hotel, despite being a complete pain in the ass most of the time. He probably suspected Natalie would sneak into your room after curfew anyway.

And honestly? She didn't need anyone else when she had you.

Then the plane crashed. In the middle of nowhere. And as if that wasn't enough — help never came.

At first, it wasn't so bad. Almost peaceful. Natalie was near, and you were far away from that New Jersey hellhole, from the annoying parents. From fights, school rumors, real life.

Nat learned how to hunt. She often went out with Travis for hours, but when she came back — whether she had food or not — she always made time for you. Sometimes she insisted on taking you along, even though you knew nothing about shooting animals and were more or less useless.

Sometimes Natalie picked flowers for you. Sometimes you'd end up in the wreckage of the plane, making out for long minutes until you had to go back. It wasn't paradise, it wasn't easy. But it could've been a lot worse.

The avalanche started with Laura Lee. When she was gone, hope began to flicker out. Something dimmed. Everyone's posture changed, like something inside had slumped.

Then came Doomcoming. You remembered little. You weren't even sure you wanted to remember. It was easier not to.

Natalie found you on the ground in front of the cabin. She was panting like she'd just run a marathon — maybe she had. You weren't sure. You stared at her, trying to figure out whether she was real or just another hallucination.

"Nat..." you started, but she just led you to the lake. Helped wash the blood (God knows whose) off your dress and the dirt from your hands. She cleaned your cuts while you stared blankly into the distance, rinsing yourself off without much thought.

Natalie should have known that's when it started. That moment, when your eyes went lifeless for just a second — that's when you began slipping out of her hands.

She never told you what really happened. Maybe that, too, was her weird way of taking care of you.

Shauna and Jackie had a fight. Jackie stormed out, and you wanted to go after her — tell her not to be stupid and just come back inside. But Nat grabbed your wrist.

Maybe Jackie wasn't the kindest to Nat, but she was never cruel to you the way the other popular girls were. Sure, she cared way too much about gossip, but she never asked where you lived, never cared that your parents weren't picture-perfect or that you couldn't afford better clothes.

"Let her go," Natalie pulled you back. "She'll be fine. It's just one night. Maybe she'll finally swallow her fucking pride."

You didn't quite understand. Jackie didn't deserve that.

But then morning came. Snow had fallen. And when you saw Jackie's lifeless body, Natalie's words started haunting you. You threw her a look from the cabin doorway, but her eyes were fixed on the corpse. That was the third time you'd seen Nat look truly terrified — once when you kissed her, once when the plane crashed. And now this.

Something inside you shattered. Whatever little hope you still carried scattered like dust, and you stopped believing her when she whispered above your head at night, "It's going to be okay."

Jackie was dead. Winter had come. No help in sight. It was hell. And suddenly, you'd rather be back home enduring another screaming match with your parents than lying curled up beside Natalie.

And just when you thought this nightmare couldn't get any worse, one night you heard knocking. Coach limped frantically back into the dark cabin, panic written all over him. But Natalie wasn't with him. No one else was.

So naturally, you went to look for her.

Natalie, who at that exact moment was tearing into a strip of meat—ripped from Jackie's leg.

Jackie, who not that long ago had helped you do your makeup for Doomcoming.

You vomited on the spot, even though there was nothing in your stomach to bring up. There hadn't been much food for days.

The next day, you found Natalie in pieces. Sitting in the snow, staring horrified at what was left of Jackie. And even though you had never cared about anyone more in your life — you couldn't bring yourself to comfort her. The words stuck in your throat.

You walked past her. Some grim compulsion driving you to see what was left of Jackie's skull.

"Wait—" Natalie scrambled to her feet and followed you, like she was trying to stop you. Like she wanted to shield you from seeing the truth. You turned around and found you could barely meet her eyes.

"Tell me you didn't..."

Even though you'd seen it. Even though it was burned into your memory. Maybe it was just another sick dream.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, trying to pull you into her arms. She was repulsed with herself. She looked like she might throw up right then and there. "I had to, okay? We're starving—"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Nat," you cut her off. "I'm starving too, and I haven't eaten a fucking corpse!"

After that, everything started to unravel. At least for Natalie.

The others noticed, but either didn't want another problem on their hands or just didn't know how to deal with it. They sent you looks, tried to reach out. But you never answered the way they hoped.

You simply couldn't take it anymore.

And the truth was: you began to vanish before their eyes. A little more each day. Natalie grew desperate.

You barely spoke. Not many people felt like talking anymore, but you — you only spoke when you absolutely had to. You refused meals. Maybe because the image of Jackie being devoured had made it impossible to eat. Or maybe because at some point, you just stopped wanting to live. Maybe you didn't care whether help came or not. What was the point of eating if you might end up like Jackie anyway?

You still did your chores. Quietly. Carefully. But your body was starting to betray you.

Natalie went feral.

You pulled away from her, and she couldn't stand it. She clung to you with everything she had, terrified of what would happen if you slipped away. She couldn't even imagine it. It would break her in ways she wouldn't recover from. She started hunting more. When she brought back a rabbit or two, you refused your portion.

She begged. Got on her knees. Pleaded with you to eat, just a little, because your wrists were getting dangerously thin. Because she could see every bone. Because your skin had turned ghost-pale, and sometimes you froze mid-movement — your body simply giving out.

You wouldn't even look at her. You scooted away on the cabin floor, just far enough that it felt like a knife in her chest. Natalie had only felt this broken once before — when her father died. Maybe that had been easier. His death was sudden, quick. This? This was slow. Cruel. She was watching you fade. Watching the life leave you, and she was powerless to stop it.

No begging helped. No touch. No voice.

The worst part was — you didn't want to live anymore. Your eyes were completely empty. And this time, not even Natalie could save you.

She was at the edge.

One day, you just drifted away.

Your legs gave out. Your body — worn thin from hunger, cold, and the never-ending fight to survive — simply stopped working. You were supposed to bring water back to the cabin that day. At some point, you just collapsed into the snow. Everything went black.

Like you were meant to share Jackie's fate.

When Natalie returned from the hunt and you weren't there, the air was already heavy with tension. She knew. Deep down, she knew something was wrong. And there was no fucking way she was letting you go.

Someone said something — Natalie snapped. Furious at all of them for letting you go out alone in that condition.

Eventually, someone found you.

Natalie nearly twisted her ankle tearing through the snow to reach you. The last time she ran that fast was during the game that got them into Nationals.

She refused. Refused to accept the idea that she might lose you. Decided the wilderness could go to hell this time, because she was not agreeing to this.

She dragged you back. Screamed at Misty, voice cracking between sobs, telling her to finally make herself useful and help.

She didn't leave your side. Not for a second. She watched for every breath, every twitch of your fingers while you lay unconscious. She skipped hunts. Obsessively checked that you were bundled in as many blankets as they had. You were still cold — but not as frozen as when she found you. You were still breathing. That was enough. Lottie could shove her wilderness truths in her ass, really.

Natalie stayed awake for nights. Slept in short, shallow bursts in case you opened your eyes. Her head had just dipped when she felt a sudden movement beside her — stronger than before. The fire crackled in the dark.

And finally, finally, your eyes opened.

"Hey," Natalie was by your side in an instant, on her knees. Her fingers gently brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. "You're safe, I promise." She clutched your hand, trying to warm it with hers, desperation bleeding through her voice. "I'm here. I'm right here. I'm never leaving you again, I swear—"

She whispered in the dark until the words collapsed into silence. Then she pulled you into her arms. You didn't speak, but that didn't surprise her. What mattered was that you were alive. Natalie still had a chance to keep you breathing — and that was all that counted.

When you drifted off again — weak, after hours of being rocked gently in her arms, lulled by promises and shattered reassurances — Natalie made a decision. She would get food into you. Even if it meant forcing it.

But before she could figure out how to do that, they organized a hunt. You and Lottie were both too far gone to be aware of much. There was no time to plan.

The next thing you remembered was waking to find Natalie sitting beside you, just like always — except now she looked worse. Shaking. Her cheeks streaked with dried tears, her hair a mess. You furrowed your brows, trying to take in the scene.

Jackie's necklace was hanging from Natalie's neck.

You were about to ask what happened when she spoke first.

"Please," she whispered, voice hoarse and cracked.

Your gaze dropped to her hands — a bowl of warm meat cradled in her palms.

"Please," she repeated.

And this time — you agreed.

You trusted her. Didn't ask where the meat came from. Wanted to believe that maybe, somehow, she'd managed to catch something. That maybe things were turning.

Natalie felt the weight slip from her chest.

She helped you sit up, carefully propping you against her chest. Her hands trembled as she fed you, silently praying you wouldn't notice that Javi was nowhere to be seen in the cabin.

She hated lying to you. Hated it more than anything.

But the thought of losing you was way worse.

And you ate. You let her help. You accepted the food.

So Natalie told herself everything else could wait.

That night, she whispered it into your ear like a secret.

"I love you."

Natalie loved you so much that she could accept the possibility of you hating her, once you knew. As long as you were still alive.

[lover-of-mine]

This is "Let's Drown Buck, Giving Eddie a Shooting Moment and Triggering a Buck Breakdown: An Updated Season 7 Speculation Based on Exactly One Picture Posted by The Props Department and The Voices In My Head"

Okay, so, my Buck will drown in season 7 spec is in its 3rd installment, you can read installment one here, this one has the drowning work as a climax for buddie in a sense, a mid-season or season finale situation, you can read installment number two here, this one is a climax for Buck to break, and now I'm gonna type out a Buck drowning as a season premiere trigger. (You can go here to see all my Buck drowning thoughts)

So, this whole thing hinges on one thing: the fact that the show consistently mirrors Buck and Eddie's personal journeys, with Buck mostly being a few steps behind Eddie. I feel like we collectively got caught up in the way the lightning reminds us of the shooting, and we failed to notice the way the lightning is actually the well. The rain aspect, the night aspect, the team as audience aspect, the volunteering into the rescue that goes wrong over lightning, the way both of them are screaming, the moments of irrational action with the way Buck is trying to dig Eddie by hand and Eddie is trying to pull Buck up to him, the breathing thing with the way Eddie was about to drown and Buck's lungs weren't working, I think even the way Eddie saved himself and the whole concept of the coma dream can work here (here's a set for visuals).

We know Eddie didn't deal with any of his trauma until after the shooting, dude was very just move forward until he couldn't anymore. And one thing is true, you can draw quite a few parallels between the way Buck was acting in season 6 with the way Eddie acts in seasons 3 and 4. Up to the way you can draw direct parallels between Buck and Natalia to Eddie and Ana (here's a set for visuals), or the way he sounds like Eddie did with the just make the best of it, the way Buck is talking in the cemetery really reminds me of what Eddie tells him in kids today when he drops Chris off before the tsunami. And, well, let's face it, Buck hasn't dealt with any strong emotion ever and this man needs to break to move on with his life.

But, sure, how does any of this adds up to Buck drowning? Most of Buck's major traumas/near-death experiences involve water or breathing, the emergency tracheotomy on the first date with Abby, the blood clots in his lung, the tsunami, the well, the warehouse fire, the lightning leading to damage in his lungs (here's a set for visuals) also, Bobby nearly drowned in the plane crash, he got caught with Chris in a tsunami and then Chris falls back into the water, Eddie nearly drowned at the well, Maddie walked into the ocean, I think even the bathtub incident with Jee, creates this pattern of water hurting Buck or people Buck loves. So water is a common trauma factor here.

Why is this important? When you look at the shooting, there are a lot of things that make it as intense as it is: it happens by chance, it's a case of wrong place/wrong time, they're not supposed to be there but they are because Eddie got called there specifically, Buck has to save Eddie alone because they are there with another house and Buck doesn't trust anyone else, and it brings up a previous trauma for Eddie. I also wanna add the fact that, like it or not, Eddie is that attached to what's happening to Charlie because it makes him think of Christopher, at least on some level. So having Buck drown covers the previous trauma thing and it's very easy to make it happen by chance. So let's work out the rest of it, shall we?

Season 6 ends with Bobby and Athena finally going on their honeymoon cruise. I know I'm not the only one sitting here chanting *cruise disaster* because of that, because let's face it when does anything ever go right for anyone on that show. But the props department posted this picture of life vests. Also, one of the writers posted a picture of a script where you can read the word boats. The speculation of something is gonna happen in that cruise writes itself. Add in the fact that people don't know bathena are on the cruise to begin with and you have a GREAT season premiere disaster in your hands. (I don't really wanna bring up Grey's Anatomy here even though a lot of this has me thinking about 3 Grey's episodes, but if you've seen the show, think the ferry boat crash/Meredith drowning arc in season 3)

That means we have a whole ass ocean to drown Buck in while responding to that. Because what's another thing that keeps trying to kill Buck? That's right, city equipment.

Okay, so back to the shooting elements, wrong place/wrong time, they're not really supposed to be there, another crew, previous trauma, no one else they trust around. Not really supposed to be there/got called there directly can be cloudy, but it could just be a "we're going because it's Bobby and Athena's ship". So that's down. Another house, well, a call in that scale would have multiple houses, them getting separated is expected, so that's down too. Previous trauma, Buck getting trapped under something, Buck almost drowning, water, beaches as a whole, all cover that. Wrong place/wrong time, I keep going back to equipment malfunctioning in some way. Maybe they're lowering Buck somewhere and it gets loose, a harness breaking, the oxygen tank stops working, that's something that can happen by chance and create a situation that triggers a past trauma for Buck.

Okay, so we have a lot of elements at play here let's get to the actual vision.

At first, when I saw the life vests, I actually thought about this all happening while they try to save Bobby. They find Bobby, they get Bobby out, Eddie is working on him because he's the one with medical training, it takes him a moment to notice Buck hasn't resurfaced, then he dives back to go get Buck, mostly because that could have some fun implications on the dynamic between the 3, especially if we go to a situation where Buck could've gotten himself out but doesn't, a situation where Buck stops trying, also because I think Buck believes dying for someone he loves is the way to go, so dying for Bobby would be fine with him, but it wouldn't be fine with Bobby or Eddie, and Eddie not dealing with saving Buck's life again could absolutely redirect those feeling towards Bobby because he can't get mad at Buck for dying, so that could create some fun tension.

BUT, if we see Charlie as a surrogate for Chris, to have the situation be triggered by a stranger that reminds Buck of someone he loves, Maddie, Bobby, not Chris because then Eddie would also be irrational in the situation, Eddie is the one that gets reckless when children are involved, could be fun.

So vision: Buck and Eddie are paired doing water rescues or something, they spot someone, that someone brings a more extreme reaction from Buck, I will say he thinks the stranger is Bobby for convenience over the fact that this whole thing is happening on a cruise Bobby is supposed to be in, but it doesn't have to. They go through with the rescue, because again, the thing they went to do is done when Eddie gets shot, something goes wrong, Buck gets pinned down (I don't love the idea of Buck just stopping swimming, I like the idea of something he could get out of if he tried hard enough but he doesn't have it in him to keep struggling, so pinned down it is, also because that brings up the truck bombing), Eddie doesn't notice Buck didn't resurface for a bit (that can also be fun considering the way Eddie is always the last to know, he was the last to see Shannon in the crash, he only found out Buck and Chris were in the tsunami once they were safe, he was the last one to look up at Buck after the lightning, so fun implications all around) just long enough for us to cut back and forth to Buck struggling and Eddie, then cutting to Buck stopping, then Eddie noticing Buck is not there and diving back in. Then we have the fun little aspects of Eddie saving Buck, dragging him out, Buck being unresponsive, desperate cpr, "you're not doing this to me again", Buck finally reacting, sitting up and coughing up water, if we're lucky him dropping back into Eddie and a nice little "I got you, I got you" if we're even luckier maybe some forehead touching or Eddie burying his face on Buck's hair (let Ryan's emotional power out for a spin yk?).

Implication of this for Buck, Eddie, and buddie could be fun. Because you can have Buck spiraling over the fact that almost died again and he was actually okay with it for a while there, kickstarting a breakdown era, because he thought dying was supposed to give him some peace because of Levi and the whole happiness convention thing, and some fun parallels with 5b Eddie. We can have Eddie spiraling over the situation because he had to save Buck again, and Buck is not dealing with it so he's not dealing with it because they don't talk about what it's like being the one doing the saving. And Eddie is already pulling back from Buck, to have this create a real gap between them is easy as hell. And since I'm a "the shooting was Eddie's oh! moment truther" and I'm a believer that Eddie is fully aware of his feelings and just thinks Buck will never feel the same, to throw that energy on Buck would interesting. Just have Buck dealing with having his oh! moment in a very inconvenient moment and with the fact that Eddie is pulling away from him while he spirals.

Do I actually believe any of this is gonna happen? No, no I don't. But I will share the thought on the off chance it does so can get the bragging rights lol.

I will tag @slowlyfoggydestiny because we were talking about this the other day and her inputs helped a lot while I was trying to work out how to make the drowning a trigger, and also because she's been here with me through the whole "let's drown Buck" conversation 🫶.

If you read this I love you 🫶🫶

[berry-nonnie]

So for the promt from @egganonman, I was going to do a little animation of Berry pacing and freaking out about the vote. But it turns out today I can't draw anything :/

Here's a written thing instead, I think it'll have the right kind of spiral feeling that I wanted :]

Cut due to length

...

Silence, just for a moment while the weight of this choice pressed down on everyone involved. This wasn't the same choice as it was last time, not nearly as easy to decide the right answer. Of course She would make it much harder, so much harder.

"What do we pick?"

And just like that, the silence shattered and chaos unfolded. Voices drowned each other, though many of them had similar opinions on the matter. Panic filled the air for some, afterall who could decide which of two evils were the worse? To tell someone we care for to either give up his freedom without a fight, or to let him fight something that he had no real chance of winning against.

Words were shared amongst the anons, beings that were on a different plane of existence. Votes cast, some with an explanation as to why they leaned the way they did, others silently. The numbers were adding up, so many were putting their vote to fight, and whether it was to show Hetch that they believed in him or to watch him go down swinging, it was unknown for most.

And though it already cast its vote, once away from the others, one of the anons would begin a spiral into its own fears about what its choice would become.

"I voted too fast, I was too quick! Oh, he's going to be torn to shreds. The new toy that She was talking about must've been Security," it muttered into the silence of its solitude. One step, another, pause, and then two more steps. "He's doomed. I voted already, I can't change it."

"Not like it would matter if we could. It's a choice between giving up or fighting, nearly everyone would choose to die fighting. And they did choose," it sighed in response to itself. One hand pushed violet hair out of its blank eyes, its ears pulled back and the anxious energy pooling in its body left its tail flicking.

"Did we make the right choice? Is it really better for us to let him fight when I'm positive that he can't win?" It asked, and though there was nobody there with it, it was like it was asking another. "I should've stuck with my plan to wait an hour before voting."

A silence covered the space, only interrupted by footsteps. In the middle of another pacing step, it paused as if someone had said something outrageous.

"Of course it matters! I care about those people, and if I can help them, I'll do my damn best," its tone biting, but the deep sigh that followed implied a feeling of helplessness. "You know, it's only been 3 or 4 days for us, but for them? We've all been gone for TWO whole months! Something traumatic happened to a 17-year-old, another kid DIED, and as soon as all that happens, we all just disappeared. Radio silence! Nothing at all, for two fucking months!"

"Hetch probably thought we left, just up and abandoned him. Not just him, but all of them. I know how it feels for someone to just dissappear for months, and it sucks ass. I wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone," it hesitated for a moment after that, "actually, I hope that the Founder is abandoned by everyone. She deserves absolutely nothing good."

"I'm not being harsh. Am I? No, I'm not," it shook its head, as if clearing unwanted thoughts from its mind. "Hush, I'm perfectly reasonable to hoping She gets what she deserves."

"Listen, I'm trying to say that Hetch needed us but we were gone. And now we're all back, and he was about to get out of there with his kid, Sneeg, and Charlie. But then they get caught, right as we return. That's suspicious, right?" it resumed its anxious pacing, chewing on its nails as its mind was plauged with thoughts. "The timing was too on the nose. She's got to be behind it."

"Yeah, you're right. That was obvious, She's behind everything. Man, I kind of regret my vote. If we told him to just take the mask, he'd probably think we hate him, wouldn't he?" it mused. "I mean, I might just be overthinking. But if he puts on the mask without a fight, he would have more energy to resist it, right? We'd have a chance to snap him out of it, or at least a slightly better one."

It paused its pacing again and tilted its head.

"Yeah, I guess I should get some rest... Alright, I'll leave this for me to worry about in the morning. Goodnight."

[mariacallous]

The day after the plane crash that apparently killed both Yevgeny Prigozhin and his right-hand man Dmitry Utkin (who gave his nom-de-guerre “Wagner” to the entire Wagner Group), local residents and leaderless mercenaries gathered by the former PMC Wagner Center in St. Petersburg. The flowers, candles, and other offerings they brought heaped up into a sprawling memorial to a man who had gained immense notoriety, both in Russia and abroad, for his private military company’s role in Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Ekaterina Barkalova, a reporter writing for the independent Russian outlet Bumaga, visited the memorial and spoke to the people who came to honor Prigozhin. With the publication’s permission, Meduza is publishing an abridged translation of her reportage on why many Russians admired Prigozhin, despite his criminal biography and Wagner Group’s reputation for grotesque violence and colossal losses of mercenaries’ lives.

A burial mound in the midst of St. Petersburg

At noon, the time when mourners were asked to gather at the former PMC Wagner Center, around 50 people stand in front of the office building. A mound of loose soil left behind by city landscapers must have reminded someone of a burial site: within a short time, it’s covered with red carnations and begins to really look like a fresh grave.

Mothers with children, teens, and men in military uniforms marked with “Z” patches all show up carrying flowers and Wagner banners. Crossing themselves before the memorial, they step away to make room for others. “Teaching the kids respect,” says a woman holding a pair of red-headed twin boys by the hands.

A uniformed man in a balaclava has fallen to his knees before the mound. His whole body shakes as he bursts into tears. He turns out to be a currently enlisted mercenary. Another Wagner fighter says he is going to stay on with the private military company. “We’re a brotherhood,” he says, and “you can’t trade your family for another.” “We’re all of the same blood. We’re bound by the blood we shed in Bakhmut, Slovyansk, and Popasna. Life is hard here,” he says, gesturing at the civilian life around him, “but easy at the front.”

Over there, you know who’s who, both your enemies and your friends. Here, you can’t sort it out. It’s like a disease. People who try to quit manage for a couple of weeks. But there’s that pull to go back.

A police car passes by the memorial a few times. The operatives inside are watching the mourners, but the car doesn’t stop. A group of people, likely associated with Wagner Group, are attending the memorial, keeping order.

In the afternoon, a courier arrives with an enormous wreath. He adds it to the growing mound of offerings without telling anyone who had paid for it. Shortly afterwards, a young man named Dmitry brings a sledgehammer to the memorial site. This reminds the crowd of the brutal executions practiced by Wagner mercenaries.

“Prigozhin liked sledgehammers,” Dmitry says, explaining that he got this particular tool from his friends, some of them former Wagner mercenaries.

“He didn’t like sledgehammers,” objects a woman from the crowd. “It was just a symbol,” she says.

Dmitry bows to the public. A state television crew asks him to lay the sledgehammer again, for a TV segment. He lays it on the flowers again. And again.

A man and his son are arranging votive candles into cross shapes. “When it gets dark, the cross will be visible from up there,” the man says, heaving a sigh as he gestures towards the heavens.

When the memorial is already heaped high with flowers, flags, chevrons, and the sledgehammer, a young woman comes with a drawing and adds it to the mound. It’s a drawing of a cute capybara with Wagner insignia. Next to the capybara, a handwritten message is scrawled: “We’ll always remember you. Should we still believe in a better future, Pops?” The artist dries her eyes with a tissue. One of her friends, she says, also served in Wagner Group.

The former PMC Wagner building’s new occupants are watching the crowd from a distance. They work for Megastroy, a company that moved into the former PMC Wagner Center after Prigozhin’s mutiny fizzled out on June 24. “We’ve read the news,” one of them says. “We think it’s a staged death. Prigozhin must be in Hawaii now, drinking cocktails.”

The night before, the building’s 13th floor was lit, the lights forming the shape of a cross. Employees working in the building now don’t think it was intentional.

Who mourns Prigozhin and why

Many of those who came to say farewell to Prigozhin have a personal connection to Wagner Group. Some writers who worked for his “troll farm” from last November to June joined the crowd briefly but declined to talk to journalists. Some visitors sympathize with the PMC because they know someone who serves there or died as a Wagner mercenary.

At a distance, a group of men in military camouflage look like current Wagner fighters.

A pair of teenage boys

We came to honor the memory of a great Russian man and patriot who fought for our Fatherland. We’d like to join the PMC ourselves, but we’re not 18 yet.

A Wagner fighter

I took the news really hard. The commander’s death — I don’t know if he’s really dead, they haven’t confirmed that yet, have they? We’re waiting to hear this isn’t true. We absolutely don’t want this to be true. It’s a heartache, it’s like your next-of-kin. What are we gonna without him?

The mercenary says he met Prigozhin in person: he used to visit the troops. The speaker joined the PMC long before 2022. He has a hard time believing that Prigozhin and Utkin could be dead. “They always had some moves in reserve,” he says. Besides, the paramilitary group wouldn’t let something like this just slide. Though partly under the Defense Ministry’s control, it’s a force unto itself in Africa, he argues. “Those who did it will be caught and punished very harshly.”

“Do you realize who those pilots were?” he says about the crew of Prigozhin’s executive jet. “They were the best pilots in the world — pilots who could fly without a plane!”

Prigozhin had plenty of enemies, because he always told the truth. He said everything just how it was, without embellishment or hypocrisy. Not how they do it today on TV and everywhere else — it’s all liars the world over. He was our fighting spirit. He had our back.

He doesn’t believe that Ukraine could have been interested in the crash. “There’s plenty of villains here too,” he says about Russia, “people who will do anything for $100 — sell whatever, break whatever, damage the infrastructure.” Wagnerites, on the other hand, “had ironclad discipline” and “never had any problems with civilians,” he is certain.

An entrepreneur who arranged candles into cross shapes

How could you not worship a hero? There are very few of them left in our country. Since the day he founded Wagner Group, he was a man of his word. He said he’d capture Bakhmut no matter the cost, and he did it. God only knows what he had to do when no one gave him [the ammunition] he needed, but he did everything he said he would.

“It’s a pity to lose such a huge presence — and he was a huge presence for about two years,” the speaker goes on. “Time will tell what comes next. Our people act first and think later. I’m more than certain this was no accident,” he says about the crash and those who presumably arranged it. He doesn’t think this is the end of Wagner Group, though. “Our guys went horizontal in droves when [the authorities] needed it. And they will be needed again,” he adds, referring to combat operations. “Africa is nothing,” he shrugs.

A man who says he was connected to Prigozhin ‘by way of the special operation’

These dead are Russia’s most remarkable people who had a vivid, clear position and broadcast it everywhere. This is why there’re people here with flowers, and why they’re crying. They know that the people who were really doing something for our country — who had real victories, and whom everybody loved — they have been taken away. This is why we’re here to show our support for the rest.

“We don’t really care what happens to his assets,” the speaker adds. “Everybody knows what will happen to those assets. But it would be interesting to see what becomes of Wagner Group itself.” He hopes that the PMC won’t fall apart but “keeps serving the country.”

A woman who brought a single flower

“I think of him as a hero,” says a woman with a flower, adding that the mutiny didn’t change her attitude. She thinks that the crash was a “provocation,” and that both Ukraine and the Russian opposition are responsible. The destabilizing “fifth column” is everywhere, she thinks, and trouble in the country is just beginning.

[rabbitcruiser]

Mickey Mouse Day

If there’s one image that everyone in the world can recognize, it’s the iconic ever-so-giant ears of that favorite mouse, Disney’s Mickey Mouse. His face (and those very dramatic ears) graces everything from ceramic mugs to balloons, touching on every industry and area of the lives of people all over the planet.

Mickey’s face can be found in the shape of ice cream on a hot summer afternoon, or on the back of a hoodie on a frigid autumn morning. And when the day’s work is done, kids and adults alike can join him in Kingdom Hearts as their King.

It all started with a short film called “Steamboat Willie”, and ever since, Mickey has been the very icon of family fun, hope over adversity, and following your dreams. And from there, the entire imaginative world of Disney was born.

It’s time for Mickey Mouse Day!

History of Mickey Mouse Day

Mickey Mouse was originally dreamed up by Ub Iwerks and Walt Disney in 1928. Actually, if it wasn’t for a bit of duplicitous backstabbing and a little bit of Hollywood drama, Mickey might never have come into existence.

Mickey first came to pass as a replacement for Walt’s first popular creation, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit. Since Disney left his job at Universal, he had to cut ties with Oswald. After the relationship with Universal Studios soured, Mickey Mouse was created and came to be the avatar of the happiest place on earth.

In doing so, the adorable mouse was created and made his debut in a short cartoon called Plane Crazy. Even then, it wasn’t a great hit with the test crowd, which just goes to show that perseverance is everything. It wasn’t until the third release, Steamboat Willie, that Mickey’s career finally got off the ground.

And from that first short film, Mickey has risen to be a worldwide recognized Icon. Year after year, the mouse garnered nominations for the Academy Award for the Best Animated Short film, and finally won one in 1942. As a tribute to just how popular and ground-breaking this fantastic mouse is, he was the first animated character to ever receive a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Since then, humans have seen the rise and fall of “The Mickey Mouse Club”, and a growing family of characters, including Minnie Mouse, Goofy, Donald Duck and the rest of the gang that have all become part of the Disney IP.

It’s been more than 90 years now! And since this day also happens to be Mickey Mouse’s Birthday (the same day Steamboat Willie was released), it’s the exact perfect day to enjoy everything that has to do with this fantastic creature.

How to Celebrate Mickey Mouse Day

With Mickey appearing in so many places and in so many different types of media, the ways to celebrate Mickey Mouse day are only as limited as a person’s imagination.

Dress Up to Honor Mickey Mouse Day

Start off small by wearing or buying a Mickey Mouse-themed piece of clothing, maybe a hoodie bearing his image or a hat with Mickey Mouse ears. Franchised items abound with clothes including t-shirts, shorts, sweatpants, jackets, baseball hats, socks or even shoes! But it’s also possible to get creative and make your own Mickey Mouse attire.

Sing the Mickey Mouse Club Song Together

Once you’re dressed like hikm, take it one step further by singing that most popular song “M I C. K E Y. M O U S E! Mickey Mouse! (Donald Duck!)” from the Mousketeers show. Listen online if you need a boost to get started.

Gather with all of your friends and family and sing the songs from the days when your grandparents were children. Mickey Mouse has been around for many a year, and some of the oldies are the goodies.

Learn to Draw Mickey Mouse

Since it all began with a pencil on paper drawing of a mouse, a great way to enjoy the day is by practicing drawing the mouse himself. It can start with something as easy as three circles, one large one for the head and two smaller ones for the ears. Add a bit of a nose and some facial features, and there’s Mickey Mouse!

Head Over to a Disney Adventure Park

Best of all, plan a trip to one of Mickey Mouse’s kingdoms, located all over the world. Nothing celebrates the day of this Disney great like taking the whole family to the Magic Kingdom and spending the day enjoying everything Disney has to offer. With six in total, including Disney World located in Orlando, Florida, and Disneyland in Anaheim, California, the international locations can be visited in these places in the world:

Tokyo, Japan. Twin parks located here include Disneyland as well as its neighbor the DisneySea Resort, this park offers loads of options for accessing Mickey Mouse and his friends.

Paris, France. With Disneyland and a Walt Disney Studios Park, this is the only place in Europe to get really up close and personal with everyone’s favorite mouse.

Hong Kong. Disneyland here offers seven different adventure areas, one of which is themed “Main Street USA”.

Shanghai, China. This Disneyland is centered around Roaring Mountain which is located on a jungled-up Adventure Isle.

Watch Some Mickey Mouse Shows

Whether it’s some reruns of the original Mickey Mouse Club, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (the new version of the show), or the full-length feature film, Fantasia, this is a great day to enjoy some Mickey Mouse animation on the big screen. Grab some friends, be sure to have the snacks at the ready, and enjoy Mickey and his friends!

Source

[kidspartyideas]

Enjoyable Theme-Based Activities to Use at Your Kid's Birthday

Kids are very excited about their birthday and eagerly await this special day. You can contribute in several ways to make this day memorable for them. The first step is choosing the right theme based on kids' choices like Dora, Pokémon, Skylanders, PJ Mask, Minions, etc. Another very easy step is using several activities to make the event venue more inviting and exciting for kids. We all know that kids are always very picky, and they don't want to sit idle for too long. Regular activities in the birthday event for the kids can keep guests engaged, and there are several of them that we have discussed here.

BALANCING ACT

This is a quick, easy, and tried-and-tested activity for kids that can keep them busy and engaged for a long time. You can wrap light boxes with colourful wrapping paper based on the theme chosen, like Dora, Pokémon, Skylanders, PJ Mask, Minions, etc. and instruct them to walk slowly in the circle while balancing the box on their head. The one who balances the box for the longest time is the winner and you can keep the interest with some gifts like $5 or chocolates.

FUN PHOTO BOOTH

This photo booth will allow people to capture the event's memories, and the best feature is that you can create a DIY photo booth very easily. You just have to pull noodles and oversized balls and give striking poses. This setup can be arranged very easily with colourful noodles-based on the theme like Dora, Pokémon, Skylanders, PJ Mask, Minions, etc. You can also set some props against the plane wall and allow kids to use sunglasses and other props for beautiful photographs.

PARTY LIMBO

This is the most straightforward activity to engage your guests in at your kid's birthday. You just need a broom or a stick to set up an indoor party activity. Limbo is a classic party game as the kid just has to lower the broom with each turn to see which child can go the lowest.

PARTY PAINTING

Small kids love painting, and you can use this hobby as a creative party activity. You can allow kids to display their artistic skills by covering a long table with a plain white paper and give them colourful art supplies like paints, markers, crayons, etc. and ask them to draw whatever they feel like. You can encourage them to perform better with some treats or gifts assured after the activity.

Learn more:

How to choose the right pinata buster from Shake It Up category

Why do you think the Tickety Toc birthday party theme is so popular?

[nurseshannansreviews]

💚 Zelah loves this game & activity therapy whiteboard system from @amindtocare! It's packed with fun and engaging screen free activities for people with developmental, cognitive challenges and/or motor skill limitations. I can see why pediatric occupational therapists love it for its versatility for kids sitting or lying on the floor. This compact, lightweight, portable system is so easy to use, carry and store! It's also a wonderful tool for older people with #alzheimers, dementia, stroke, als and more. I love how it promotes social interaction, engagement, and positive emotions. The magnetic whiteboard sheets simply stick to the whiteboard so you can change it up in seconds.

✅ Zelah received the following activity sheets:

* Ladybug Draw and Color Activity Sheet - She loved drawing and coloring the cute images. The connect-the-dots exercises and the flower colorbynumbers are fun screen free activities.

* About Me Sheet - She had fun writing in her responses to some simple questions about who she is and things she likes.

* Mood Pointer - adorable engaging pictures of mood images to help with communication.

* Plane and Boat Activity Sheet - drawing and coloring with an airplane design connect-the-dots and a sail boat color-by-numbers.

* Weekly Planner - perfect for writing reminders about upcoming appointments, birthdays, household chores etc. At the end of the week we can simply wipe clean and reuse!

* Gardening Color Sheet - Super cute gardening themed image to color in.

💚 I also started reading Caring for the Caregiver. It's a 52 week journal with inspirational quotes, exercises and tips to help with stress. Love how each week I can look forward to a new chapter of #selfcare. It's packed with useful #caregivingtips and steps to manage stress and self-reflect. It gives me a sense of gratitude and positive well-being.

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amindtocare.com

[totally-not-here-for-the-smut]

NO IDEA why I can't edit the draft, so I'll keep writing here.

••° That Epty Crib /2 °••

M6 reacts to an infertile Mc

Asra

You try. Gods, if you try. First things, asking Julian. He's uncomfortable telling you the result of his exams, since he knows how much Asra is eager to have kids of his own. He was orphaned and alone, his childhood was cold and unhappy... maybe it's not the healthiest idea, but raising a kid, keeping his safe and loved and giving him what they didn't have would mean the world to Asra... and Julian knows. Actually, he knows better than you do. What he doesn't know is how much YOU needed to feel that life inside you. A living proof that your body is real, is not some conjured half-life from another plane. "I'm sorry", he says. "So, so sorry... but maybe in Prakra someone can help?". So you and Asra jump on a boat... but no prakran doctor can help, nor nevivons, nor anyone else even farer away. So you resort to magic. You resort to herbs, and rituals, and long night under the full moon and potions and magic circles and... no. You draw the line at the major Arcana. Not that, not again. But you met kids along your journey, and there are kids here in Vesuvia, so many little ones who live in orphanages or worse... by the end of the year, you and Asra have to move to a bigger house. The shop will always be your shop, but nothing more. You need a place, a safe place, one big enough to lots of kids to live and play and eat and sleep. And there is a place in Vesuvia that desperately needs laughter hand little accidents and smiles and bedtime stories to be told within its walls. It takes the whole city to clean all the ashes from the island shores, and months of work to restore the building and dismantle the crematories and clean up the jungle... but years later, as you watch one of the many kids of The Magic Palace for Children learning to swim on those once cursed shores, you think that it was so, so worth it.

○

Portia

She wants kids. She wants to be a mom. "Yes darling, of course we can adopt, but I want to feel them, I want to cradle them as they're still inside me and whispering to them, and I want Pepi to purr on my bump, because she totally would...!". The conversations aren't easy. You're hurt by the news that you can't have kids, but Portia is adamant about wanting them. Eventually, you realize that things are getting ugly between the two of you. She doesn't seem to understand why you're uncomfortable with the fact that they will have a different bio dad than you -it feels unfair enough to you that you can't carry them, but not contributing the slightest...? -, and she says thay you're the one who doesn't understand how much it matters for her to be a bio mom. Luckily, Nadia steps in and help the two of you sorting things out... starting from the fact that you have plenty of time to decide and discuss. It's going to take a lot of time, and talking, and mediation from your friends to unravel this mess, but luckily the two of you are not alone.

Muriel

How many times did he told you? Messing too much with magic, taking all those risks, going out drinking with Julian... and Lucio! For sure he's somehow his influence in this. It was the plague. You got too close to the beetles, if only you let him protect you, maybe now you won't be in this situation!

You were speechless. Your eyes were burning with hot, big tears. How could him tell you such things...?! You run to Asra, who brewed some tea and uncomfortably tried to explain how Muriel was just hurt. And yes, he expressed it in the worst, most stupid way, since he's so protective, and maybe he just didn't want to believe the fact that your dream got shattered by such brutal reality. Julian, Portia and Lucio are enraged. They seems to be ready to face Muriel fists first for how he treated you... but he's not home. Actually, the shack in the woods is epty... and so remains for months.

Until one day, Innana comes running to the magic shop, where you moved back to with a broken heart. The wolf is tired and hurt, but manages to have you understand that Muriel is hurt and in danger. You and Asra run to him, and manage to save his big stupid butt... and then you proceed to yell at him. Where the fuck did he went?! And why, why did he run?!

With his low, sad voice, Muriel explains himself. "I was ashamed. Having told you all those cruel things. I'm sorry. So sorry. I figured you didn't want to see me again. So I went away". Yet again, he manages to make you cry. You would have forgiven him. But leaving me like this...? No. You don't want someone who runs and hides away from his guilt. You thought he did change... but clearly, deep down, he didn't.

Lucio

He. Is. Outraged. How dares the stupid mother nature treating you like that?! He'll make her see. Oh, if he will! He stands up from the bed where he was comforting you and pulls out the sword "I'll find her! And I'll show her what a Morgasson can do!" He says, mimiking an epic battle against the evil mother nature, as he narrates what he'll do to avenge you. He's serious, but also so, so funny, with the dogs jumping like crazy around him, all wrapped into his fictional fight against nature, that eventualy your frown changes into a laughter. You go out to drink, "To nature's stupid face! Who needs those stupid baby, am I right?!". You spend the night laughing and kissing him... but later, in your bed, silent tears come again. You don't want him to notice, so you try to not wake him up...

But Lucio notices. Every night, he notices, yet he doesn't show it. He pretends to be sleeping, and to wrap his arms around you in his sleep every time you weep. But as soon as your breath becomes regular and deep, he opens his eyes, staring the ceiling. Thinking.

Until one morning you start feeling sick. Julian gets called, and the answer leaves everyone in shock. You're pregnant.

... and one card from your major arcana deck is missing.

Hello- just finished reading your main 6 with baby fever post- wanna know ho you think they’d react if MC has fertility issues or are just infertile

AT LAST I'm back. And I'm down

For

Some

Angst

I'd consider natural concieving, since implying some magical methods would make the whole fertility issue... well, not an issue at all. Still, will try to write it as gn as I can :)

Disclaimer: this is a serious matter for lots of people. It's not something I faced myself, so it may be widely inaccurate. Some of them will be dark and sad, so beware. Please remember that this is purely fictional and written for fun. A distorted disgraced twisted form of fun.

••○ That Empty Crib ○••

Nadia

Even though everybody agrees she'd make a great mother, having kids is not her nr.1 desire. She would consider the idea, but motherhood wasn't a part of her life plan she would actively put an effort in. Yet, as the time passes month by month and nothing happens even though you're -well, not exactly careful by now-, you start to see a shadow in her eyes. She seems bothered by something she wouldn't tell -until one night, after a party. She's taking off her headpieces and earrings and out of the blue she says: "I think I might be infertile". You freeze. What...? Oh. Oh. "And... well, you never told me you wanted wanted kids. So... is this a problem?". She collects herself an instant. "No. Of course not", she says, but her voice is strangely hard. That night, she slips away from your arms. By the morning, she's on the other side of the bed. You didn't talk again about it, but you find out she's seeing Juian. Well, she always used to see Julian, but from that night you noticed the lack of the doctor's laugh when they meet. One day, he awkwardly mentions a fertility screening program, "To check any long term plague effects, you know. For science". He's a bad liar, but you comply. And it turns out, you're the sterile one... and considering where your body comes from, maybe is not that strange. When you talk about it with Nadia, she seems... relieved? And you can't help but notice how comforting she is toward you... even though you weren't planning any kids. So much more comforting than you had been with her, actually. And so, you apologize. Istantly, Nadia smiles. "You know, what bothered me was the fact that the choice wasn't up to me. Being robbed of the right to choose... that hurt. It doesn't matter whether I wanted it or not". Now you understand. And apologize, again. She has never slipped away from your embrace since.

[goodlucktai]

coming right on back for you

part 4 of 5

rise of the tmnt x tmnt 2k12 pairing: leo & mikey, leo & everyone word count: 3714 title borrowed from hurricane by lord huron post-movie

(previous) (next)

read on ao3

x

This time, they’re watching closely, and they don’t miss the flickers of blue light that run across the striped turtle’s skin like tiny electric currents. He’s out cold so it can’t be something he’s doing on purpose. Thankfully, it doesn’t manifest in any other sharp weapons flying out of thin air, which Mikey and Raph agree to take as a win.

Leo’s brow is wrinkled beneath his mask. He lays a careful hand on the kid’s chest and closes his eyes.

Their eldest brother always listened the closest to sensei’s teachings. He absorbed everything—qigong, the healing arts, boryaku, strategy and tactics, seishin teki kyoyo, spiritual refinement. His siblings used to call him a teacher’s pet, overachiever, Splinter Jr. It hurts to think about that now.

Leo wanted so badly to be the perfect son, to honor his family, because he always thought love was something he needed to work for. He had to be good. He had to earn it.

And all those extra hours Leo spent in the dojo, pouring his heart and soul into an unattainable dream, are something his brothers continue to benefit from to this day. It sucks that Leo can’t just stick all of it behind him and move on; they rely on him too much for that.

Wordlessly, Donnie steps back, circling the bed to join Raph on the other side. He glances at Mikey, a silent cue for him to join them and give Leo space, but Mikey presses a little closer instead. Step by careful step, emboldened when he isn’t snubbed immediately. He ends up shoulder-to-shoulder with Leo, and it still feels far away.

So he closes his eyes, too, and reaches for that hazy peripheral plane he’s been to a couple of times before. It’s easy to find his brothers there, their vibrant, colorful qi flickering like candle flames in his mind, but he doesn’t know how to go farther. His vision quest was a long time ago, and that was more about looking in than looking out.

Maybe it’s not too late for Leo to teach him. Maybe if Leo had someone to go with him, he wouldn’t get lost in his head so much.

It takes closer to twenty minutes than ten, but Leo finally opens his eyes. He looks a little bewildered, and pulls his fingers off the striped turtle’s plastron like it’s hot to the touch.

“I saw a woman there,” Leo says, slowly, each word picking its way delicately out of his mouth. “Um—not a ghost. She was there the way—the way sensei is still here.”

“Like a memory?” Don asks carefully.

“More like a presence.” Jumping right over the implications of that before they have a chance to settle, he goes on, “There were a lot of other people with her, and they were all wearing the Hamato clan symbol. I think they might have been Blue’s ancestors. They seemed to be watching over him. She—the woman—isn’t aware of everything that’s going on out here, just what’s in his head. She sensed that he’s frightened and lost, so she’s sticking close. Normally she’s…sleeping? There’s like a—a huge source of qi that Little Blue is tied to. I think it’s where his family’s spirits go to rest. He can draw from their combined qi when he needs help, and that's why he’s…” Leo gestures at the occasional little cyan sparks dancing playfully around the kid’s body. “…even though his own energy is completely exhausted.”

Mikey thinks that’s really nice, actually. Even though he’s in the wrong place, farther away from home than he’s maybe ever been, part of his family came here with him. He doesn’t understand why Donnie and Raph both seem so unsettled by this development.

“So not just a traumatized kid version of Fearless, a haunted traumatized kid version,” Raph says. “Perfect.”

“Not haunted, I said,” Leo starts, a little testy.

“Was she nice?” Mikey interrupts.

His brothers look at him. The potential argument is cut off before it can gain traction.

It’s a softer Leo who says, “Yeah, she was.”

“Did the not-ghost who’s not-haunting the kid have anything else to say?” Raph grumbles, clearly having reached his threshold with the spooky stuff.

“She wasn’t really—talkative. But she said anata wa hitori janai. It seemed important.” Leo rubs a hand over his mouth. He’s smiling a little. “And when I asked who she was, she told me to call her Gram-gram.”

“Gram-gram,” Donnie and Mikey both parrot, in tones of disbelief and delight, respectively.

The whole thing, the whole spiritual encounter, was like a poultice. It soaked all the fear and uncertainty out of the room in the way of draining a wound, and now there’s just regular worry, regular restlessness. Leo seems quieted by what he sensed in that little metaphysical walk he took, comforted by it, and his is always the cue the rest of them follow.

The next time Little Blue wakes up, he’s much less drugged, and much more coherent. Mikey doesn’t even know the kid is conscious until he hears a dull thud from the back of the lab, followed by a hoarse, “And ow.”

“Yeah?” Donnie says, not without sympathy. “That’s what an attempted jailbreak while you’re recovering from multiple traumatic injuries will do to you. Maybe just stay in bed for right now.”

“Not that you’re in jail,” Leo adds quickly. “The doors aren’t locked, you’re not a prisoner. You’re just, um—not in any shape to be moving around.”

“Heard, felt, seen,” croaks Little Blue, breath hitching as he gingerly eases himself into a sitting position. He presses a hand against his plastron with a wince. He’s probably sore all over beneath that built-in armor. “Damn, I was kind of—kind of hoping I’d hallucinated you.” His eyes are sharp despite the muddled confusion and lines of pain on his face; they trail to the side, following the IV tubing to the drip chamber beside his bed. “‘Course, that’s still a possibility.”

“Doc took you off the opioids after you woke up and pulled a knife on us,” Raph says. He’s got a magazine open in his lap that he’s been pretending to read for the last hour, and now he gestures to the sword propped up by Little Blue’s bed. “Once was enough.”

The striped turtle’s expression does something bizarre when he sees Raphael. He looks like he has no idea who he’s looking at, even though the red mask should be a dead giveaway. For a horrible minute, Mikey thinks maybe he’s from a dimension where Raph doesn’t exist—or worse, one where he’s—

“You’re so short!” Little Blue blurts, eyes big and round, his whole person animated with surprise. For the first time since he fell through that yellow portal in Brooklyn, he looks and sounds like a teenager. “I don’t believe it! Am I taller than you?”

He starts to wriggle, like he’s going to hop off the bed and measure his height against Raph’s. Donnie says, “Hey, remember all your broken bones?” and Little Blue only reluctantly subsides. Raphael seems to go through the five stages of grief right in front of Mikey’s eyes.

“You’re taking this really well,” Mikey pipes up, smiling when he gets the kid’s attention. “Have you gone dimension-hopping before?”

Little Blue gazes at him for a moment too long, searching his face. His brow wrinkles a little bit when he doesn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for. When Mikey tips his head, Little Blue remembers the question with a jolt.

“Uhh, no, can’t say I have,” he says quickly. “I mean, I get the gist. I’ve heard Don’s three AM conspiracy theory on parallel universes about a billion times by now. He’s got a whole corkboard setup in his room, it’s equal parts pathetic and amazing. And, you know, we sort of just created an alternate timeline back home? So, whatever.”

His fixedly unimpressed attitude isn’t taking him as far as he probably hopes. Mikey knows exactly what he’s doing—he’s seen it before. It’s what Mikey used to do. Patch on a smile and make a joke. It’s the maladaptive defense mechanism that lasted the longest out of all of the fun little neuroses Mikey’s volatile childhood left behind as souvenirs.

“Very much not whatever,” Donnie replies, and reaches over to pick a clipboard off the counter. He takes extensive notes for his own benefit, but in this case, it’s a useful tool in proving his point.

Blue takes it from him and starts flipping through the pages in the manner of a person familiar with medical charts. It kind of throws Mikey off a little bit, because it’s a very Donnie-like personality trait and not a very Leo-like one.

The longer the kid reads, the more incredulous his expression becomes. He gets halfway through the third page and that seems to be enough.

“Bullshit,” he blurts. Then, incredibly, he darts a swift, guilty look at Raph, of all people. Like Raph is going to be the one to tell him off for cussing? Please, in what universe? “I mean, uh, balderdash. There’s no way this is—I wouldn’t have survived this. Even if you’d rushed me to an ER with doctors who were totally cool about operating on a mutant, no questions asked, and didn’t mind having zero earthly understanding of their patient’s physiology and no medical history to cross-reference.” He pauses and squints. “Is that what you did?”

Don looks like he might laugh. He doesn’t normally engage with strangers quite like this, even familiar alternate-self ones. Mikey doesn’t know how to articulate, in his own head, why it’s nice to see him smiling at their little guest, but it really is.

“No, Blue, unfortunately we don’t know of any ER quite like that.” Something surprised and pleased darts into the kid’s face when he hears the nickname. A little wondering, Don ventures to ask, “Are you the team medic?”

“Always have been,” Little Blue says, clearly wrong-footed by the question. He sets the clipboard on the bed beside him. “I’ve hauled around a first aid kit since I was like nine. Donnie—my Donnie—he’s got that big ol’ brain, but he’s into machines, not people. And he has this sensory thing, it’d be unfair to make him, you know, touch icky stuff. And Raph and Mikey are both somehow simultaneously the toughest and the squishiest people I’ve ever met. It wouldn’t be fair to them either. So, me.”

“God, it’s universal,” Raph says, which is sort of along the lines of what Mikey was thinking—that every Leo everywhere, when he finds any need, any hole in the team, will just change himself to fill it.

“Anyway!” Little Blue says brightly. “These charts are wrong and I’m good to go. So it’s been real, but I’ve gotta scoot. Places to be. I’m a turtle in high demand.”

Oh, so this whole conversation has been a red herring, Mikey thinks. Noted.

Blue hops off the bed and staggers even though he lands on his good foot, going two shades paler with pain. But before any of them can so much as reach out to steady the kid, he’s regained both equilibrium and that devil-may-care grin. At a glance it’s impossible to find the false edges of it.

Donnie says, just a little bitchy, “I think I know how to chart injuries. And clearly, you hurt, which is your body’s natural, built-in, “stop jumping around, you idiot” warning signal.”

“It can’t be that bad,” the kid shoots back, “‘cause I feel fine now, and if I had even half of what you wrote down there, I’d be in a coma, breathing through a straw.”

“And you would be, if Leo didn’t use his healing hands!” Raph barks. It sounds angry, and it makes Blue draw up short, but Mikey can hear the worry in it clear as day. None of them like to see their big brother actively hurting himself—even this smart-mouthed, pint-sized version of their big brother.

“Healing hands?” Little Blue asks warily.

Leo moves closer to stand right in front of him. Blue can’t seem to look him in the eye for whatever reason, gaze darting down and away and finally finding a place to rest on Leo’s hands when he lifts them into the first seal.

He moves more slowly than usual, each gesture deliberate and precise. As familiar as he is with his brother and this particular technique, Mikey can sense the energy building up like pressure before a storm, on a smaller, more condensed scale. It prickles across his skin, never seeking to harm, only to help.

“Are we in Naruto?” Blue quips half-heartedly, then goes absolutely still when Leo reaches for him.

Leo doesn’t touch, just leaves his hands outstretched between them and waits for Blue to close the distance. It can’t be comfortable, holding onto all that qi that he’s channeled that wants someplace to go, but he holds it anyway, as steady and implacable as he’s been Mikey’s whole life.

Blue hesitates just long enough to look past Leo at the rest of them. His eyes fly to Donnie first, then slide away to Raph—they want to linger there, for some reason, but they don’t. His gaze comes to land on Mikey, where it stays longest, and Mikey smiles warmly at him.

“Go on,” he nudges. “It’s neat.”

It’s enough. Blue scoffs a little, but he does take Leo’s hands in both his own, cast and all. His eyes get big and wide as he feels the healing start to happen almost immediately, that energy rushing through his meridians and settling in his dantian, before flowing out to whatever specific wound Leo is directing it to.

When Leo is done, he gives a little tug on their joined hands and then lets go. Blue looks absolutely gobsmacked, and tentatively puts pressure on his bad leg. When it doesn’t make him wince, he stands on it normally, then hops in place a couple of times, and at that point he gazes up at Leo with literal stars in his eyes.

“How!” he demands.

“Looks like one cast has been rendered obsolete,” Donnie says, already turning to find any one of his power tools that would be able to buzz through the fiberglass like butter.

“And after all the effort Mike put into it, too,” Raph adds from the peanut gallery.

“Call it a good faith gesture,” Leo says wryly. For all that he and Blue don’t seem to know how to act around each other, he’s clearly fond of the kid. Or maybe fondness isn’t the right word. There’s something wistful and affectionate about his expression when he looks at their little guest, something Mikey isn’t sure he knows how to name. “To prove that I really did heal you, and you really…you were in serious danger of not being okay. Now that your leg is healed you’re free to move around, but I’m asking you to take it easy.”

It’s typical of Leonardo to be so hypocritical from such a genuine, good-natured place. Mikey can’t think of one single time in their entire lives when Leo was given a choice between jumping into action and taking it easy and he actually chose to take it easy.

Clearly it doesn’t sit right with Blue either. His immediate, knee-jerk reaction is one of open bewilderment, like the idea of just doing as he’s told and climbing back into bed is so absurd he’s surprised any of them were willing to say it out loud. Right on the heels of that confusion comes frustration, so bright and hot it’s like staring into the sun.

“I can’t,” he says. “I have to go home.”

“We haven’t figured out a way to get you back home yet,” Donnie interjects. His tone is firm but not unkind. Blue gives him a dismissive look anyway.

“I know how to get there myself,” he says, every inch a harassed teenager. “I’ll just go through the Hidden City.”

Mikey opens his mouth to ask the obvious question—what is the Hidden City, and is it as cool as it sounds—but Raph beats him to it. “Is this about the fight you were in? The thing you escaped from? You think it’s still a threat?”

Blue’s expression is on the verge of crumbling. “I didn’t escape anything. My brothers saved me. That gold light—it was them, I’m sure it was. But if I got out, then that monster might have gotten out with me, and I don’t—I don’t know if—”

“Your brothers would want you to be okay,” Donnie says, with all the authority of a younger sibling who has only ever wanted his big brother to be okay.

It’s the breaking point. Blue shatters.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m okay!” he shouts, hurling the awful truth as he knows it at them like he’s flinging knives. “I’m the family fuck-up alright? The world almost ended and it was my fault! My big brother could have died because of me! All I do is screw everything up at every turn, every chance I get!”

He’s miserable and it’s hard to watch, it’s loud and ugly and comes wrenching out from some place in the very center of him, someplace raw and honest. It’s a wound that needs healing as much as the punctured lung and broken ribs did, but this isn’t something one of Splinter’s ancient techniques can fix.

Mikey’s hands are half-raised in front of him. He wants so badly to help but he doesn’t know how. There’s no way to catch and contain any of this. There’s no way to hold it. He has no idea how Little Blue has been holding it.

“Dad made me the leader and didn’t tell me why and I didn’t want it! I never wanted that! I thought if I didn’t take it seriously, if I messed up and goofed off enough, he’d take it away and give it back to Raph, but he didn’t. So I was the one leading us and I was the one who nearly got us all killed and even when I tried to—to fix it, to be a hero like I’m supposed to be—I messed up again. They had to save me. And now I don’t know if they’re—”

He’s panting now, his battered body struggling to catch up to this marathon of fear and self-hatred and uncertainty. His hands are shaking and his chest is heaving and his eyes are glassy.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m okay,” he says again, really meaning it. “It matters that they are. And I won’t know if they are until I go home. So I have to go home.”

“Okay,” Mikey says at once. He steps forward carefully, even though all his instincts tell him to spring forward and scoop him into a hug and never let him go. “We’ll take you home. I’ll carry you there myself if I have to, I promise.”

Little Blue’s mouth is trembling, like he wants to just give in and start bawling, but of course he doesn’t. He nods at Mikey, maybe just as an excuse to dip his head and shove the heel of his good hand into his eyes even though he hasn’t cried properly yet.

“It was my fault,” he repeats. It seems important to him that they understand that.

“I know it feels that way,” Leo says, very gently. “Believe me, I know.”

There’s an expression on his face Mikey almost doesn’t recognize, for all that it’s familiar. Leo has looked at each of his brothers like that a million times, but he’s never ever shown himself a sliver of that same kindness.

“But Leo,” he adds, the first time his tiny counterpart has been called by name since he got here, “you’re just a kid.”

It’s something someone probably should have said to Leonardo, back when he was fifteen years old and already carrying the world on his shoulders; acting as a second parent to his siblings, inheriting his place in a war their father never should have passed down, always trying to be everything he needed to be for everyone else. Always trying to be good.

Maybe that’s why he’s been so weird around Blue, Mikey realizes, in the tidy little corner of his mind that isn’t preoccupied with the way his heart is literally breaking. It must be strange for him to look at this devastated, grief-stricken teenager and recognize himself.  

“Stay a little bit longer,” Leo barters. “I’ll teach you the healing hands. You’ll be an even better medic for your family once you can practice qigong.”

“And you can tell me about the Hidden City,” Mikey adds brightly, his tone at odds with the nervous way he’s wringing his fingers together.

“I still need to get the cast off your leg,” Donnie says, brandishing an ominous-looking oscillating multi-tool. His red eyes are very gentle, even if his smile is a little ironic. “Also, I think I really want to know more about my counterpart’s conspiracy corkboard.”

Blue hesitates, on the verge of accepting their help, not certain if he should be allowed to.

“Anata wa hitori janai,” Raph says gruffly, arms folded, as if that will disguise how much he clearly cares about this boy. “Right?”

He didn’t miss it, that bit somewhere in the middle of Blue’s meltdown when he mentioned Raphael as his leader and his older brother. And it makes sense now, perfect sense, why the kid always seemed to look toward Raph first. It’s the way Mikey always looked to Leo first—playmate, confidant, best friend, guardian, protector. Like recognizes like.

Raph didn’t miss it, and he acts on it now, in true Raph fashion. Repeating that thing the kid’s Gram-gram said, even though he doesn’t jibe with spooky spiritual stuff, just because Leo said it sounded important and Raph thinks it might help.

From the look on Blue’s face, it helps. When tears finally drip down his striped cheeks, he’s smiling, and Mikey thinks it’s the first real one he’s given them in the whole time he’s been here. Lopsided and charming because it isn’t picture-perfect.

“Right,” he says, leaning into the arm Mikey wraps around his shoulders. “That’s right.”

[sasamelons]

WIP word search

Oooh this is so much fun! Thanks @elenothar for tagging me, for the words “break”, “sun” and “mind”.

I actually have multiple entries for each of these, so I just picked one from three different WIPs that I thought made for interesting excerpts.

BREAK

From the Zhu Hong fic which is the next in the series of my Sailor Moon AU:

Why do humans have to learn these stupid things? Back in the Snake Tribe lands, they were taught useful things, like how to identify and grow medicinal plants, how to fight off vengeful ghosts, and of course, cultivation. What are math equations supposed to do for them, anyway? It's not like you can eat them or use them to reach a higher plane of existence.

She probably should have listened more when her father had warned her about all the things she would have to deal with if she decided to enroll in what the humans call "high school", but she had been too busy watching the groups of teenagers walking down the street outside their shop, a sea of blue and white in their uniforms as they laughed and called out to each other.

She grimaces and turns her attention back to the equation in front of her. She will figure this out. She had always done well in her lessons before, and she isn't going to be defeated by some squiggly lines on a piece of paper — even if they are starting to dance before her eyes now.

Well, she can afford to take a break. She pulls out her phone from her bag — one of the good human inventions. This is the kind of thing she had been imagining when she had insisted on leaving the tribal lands to see the city, to Fourth Uncle's vehement disapproval.

SUN

From the double identity porn/vigilante!SW fic (1, 2, 3):

"What is it?" Zhao Yunlan asks, curious. "Have you been here before? Embarrassed to be seen with your boss by the cool kids?" He chuckles, imagining Lao Chu as a pimply-faced teenager with his grungy band t-shirts, sneaking away from his parents' car.

"No," the man replies shortly. He is turned to the side so that Zhao Yunlan can only see his profile, those square, rigid shoulders inside his dark jacket and the veins visible where his neck meets the back of his head.

Zhao Yunlan shrugs. Not his business if Lao Chu got out of the wrong side of his coffin this morning, he jokes to himself. "Well, shall we go in then?"

They push open the glass doors in front of them and step inside. The decor in the restaurant is simple. White walls and brown wood furniture, the tables covered in transparent plastic cloth for easy cleaning. The early Haixing sun shines through the windows with their curtains drawn open, painting the room's occupants with a golden glow.

MIND

From the big cat Da Qing WIP inspired by Missy’s lovely panther DQ fic, once again related to my favourite topic of Da Qing raising lost teenager Zhao Yunlan:

He pads into the living room and looks up to the clock. As his ears have already told him, it is after midnight. The boy may be a handful these days, staying out long after the end of school hours and drawing ire from his father when Zhao Xinci is there to notice, but this is unusual even for him. A sense of unease crawls up Da Qing's spine, even as he tries to tell himself there is no need to worry, that he is spending too much time amongst humans if something like this is making him anxious; after all, there is nothing wrong with a kitten doing a bit of wandering, learning the shape of the world and finding his own way through it.

But ever since his mother died, everything about the kid has been wrong. His usual mischief have taken on a hint of destructiveness, and sometimes, there is an edge of desperation in his eyes that wounds Da Qing's guts into knots as if he had eaten rotten fish.

Da Qing shakes himself, and makes up his mind. Closing his eyes and concentrating on his sense of smell, he picks out the latest trail and follows it out into the night.

I’m tagging @miss-ingno, @buriedbybooks and @tehfanglyfish for the words: remember, soft, and always.

[nobodiesheartlessshitblog45]

My headcanons For Gojo Satoru

This Dingus right here is a huge movie fan. Loves pretty much anything, the old classics black and white movies, foreign films, main stream movies and so bad that it’s good movies. He loves TV shows, he’s big Supernatural fanboy. Loves Dean  Winchester and strong shipper of Deancel, Walking Dead fan all the way. Both the comics, Tv show and games. (He only played the first season and balled his eyes out for a weeks, and refuses to play rest of the games) Dose have a soft spot of horror movies, Like The Screams, Halloween, The Saw  franchise, classic monster movies of course. Gotta respect the classics.

His favorite movies of all time are  Beetlejuice (Satoru’s roll model) Corpse Bride, Frankenweenie, Edward scissors hand The Princess Bride , all the old George Romero zombie movies, again classic monster movies, The Lord Of The Rings and Hobbit  franchise. He’s a big Bruce Campbell fan, and loves, loves all the Evil Dead movies and show. Loves Deadpool and has a huge man crush Ran Reynolds. Loves all Marvel Movies. Big Spider Man fanboy.

His favorite Disney movies are Princess and the frog, disney’s Atlantis, Tangrled, 101 Dalmatians, Emperors new groove, Hercules, Toy Story, but he can’t watch the 3rd because he will cry for ours.

He wasn’t a sorcerer, he would have loved to be an actor or  film Director.

Dose play videos games, Pretty much played all the telltale games, Loves Red Dead redemption games The second one is his favorite, and loves Arthur Morgan. He’s only played Season 1 of the Walking Dead and still not over Lee’s death. Loves Stardew Valley, Pokemon and Animal Crossing.

Our boy loves his sweets, but hates eating his veggies. Trying to get this grown ass man to eat veggies is like a small fish trying fight a great white shark. It’s fight everyone is going to lose.

His favorite Tv shows’s are the Walking Dead, Game of Throwns, The Office both American and British, Big Big Doctor Who fan, loves the 10th Doctor (David Tennen is his boy) Watched Pokémon Anime that has come out the years, knows the lore like that back of his hand.

This man loves to crossdress, love to wear fancy ballgown dress, sundress and  skirts. He can walk around in high heels with easy. He owns a lot high heels shoes.

Drinks a lot of coffee, 5-8 cups a day. Cannot stand the bitterness plane coffee. He adds 12 spoonful of sugar and milk to each cup. Hell is coffee isn’t really coffee pure sugar and milk or as Nanami dubs a cup of diabetes and tooth decay.

This man has the maturity of a 6 year old. He still think fart jokes are hilarious, it you say the word ‘booger’ this man child will start laughing uncontrollably, and he makes a lot dick jokes whenever he can and innuendos. He will even go into random empty classrooms and draw a lot of stupid doodles of random shit, like you would see in kids notebook if they were bored in class, and he draws lot of that penises. For some reason he draw dicks all over the chock bored. He’s been doing this since meddle and high school, he still thinks it funny. No body else dose. ... possibly Yuji.

He will out no where will start singing show toons. He just dose. Weather he’s in a meeting, doing a mission, teaching a class or singing in the shower, he will hum or sing out right of no where. Disney songs he knows by heart, themes of anime he’s into or watching. It helps him to relax... Or annoyed the shit of the others. 

He dose not care spots but he dose enjoy baseball.

Gojo Satour’s ideal s/o

This man is a huge tease and jokester. He need someone who can match or almost his Energy.  Humor is a very important thing to him, help deal with some shit that he had to go through. Someone with a good sence of humor is one attraction to him.

He’s a patien guy, and understands that it some people take getting out their shells, and he’s very excepting, but as long as you don’t try to kill or hurt is students things should be fine.

He is very overprotective lover. His s/o could very powerful sorcerer, capable of handling themselves in battle with curses or evil sorcerers, still doesn’t change that this man will worry and will step in if things will get hairy for liking. But al the same time of s/o a very strong sorcerer and knows how to care of themselves in n a battle it dose put Satoru’a mind at ease in away, still hate the idea of being away from his lover is something to them or they get hurt. If his s/o got badly injured or his s/o was about the brink of dying. HELL. HAVE. NO. FURY. TO. THIS. MAN’S. ANGER. He kill without think twice. No mercy, no secret changes, just death. He’ll rushed over to help his S/o and take them to Dr. Shoko, and will not leave until they are taken care and healed.

He’s his overprotective of his s/o and students so don’t fuck with any of them and no has to die. This man kill with thinking twice about it.

This man is loaded. As cash, and would give Yuji, Megumi and Nobara some money to enjoy themselves with. But this man dose love to spoil his s/o when he could. Somethings he will go overboard and his s/o tells him but it’s not necessarily to spend all this money on them. Which makes him love them even more because they not love him for his money. However Gojo being, well, Gojo will randomly get bouquets of flowers for his lovely s/o I will bring it to them randomly. It doesn’t matter if they’re teaching a class or and a very important meeting with Yaga-San, he’ll ust pop out of nowhere with a big goofy grin on his face and give his s/o the flowers kiss them and disappears, there is an awkward and annoying silence from from the students or the principal. And his s/o mildly embarrassed, but flattered shall go on as if nothing happened. And it becomes has become a running joke around in the school.

Hugs, Kissses and Cuddles are a must.  Again Satour doesn’t give a shit there is a meeting or A class being taught when this man wants affection, he’s going to get affection. He’ll come from behind and rest his head on his s/o’s chin on his s/o’s head. (Because the guy’s freakishly tall) And will just annoyin the shit out of then until he gets what he wants. Then he will leave them alone, maybe not. He’s Hot mess of chaotic energy after all. Plus he thinks it’s adorable When they get a little annoyed with him.

Being Married To Gojo Satoru or just have a  domestic life with him

This man never really saw himself getting married. It’s something that he was rather against for a while, until he meets his s/o. Nothings really changed in their relationship after they got married, did a few years and they just try to not have nowhere Most of everyone at the school cannot believe that someone would actually marry this maniac. Either his s/o is as as patient as a saint, just as bad shit crazy as Gojo Satour himself.

He dose everything in his power too make this work, and so dose his s/o. The two of them being power for sorcerers is basically a couple goal, The ultimate couple. At least Satour says. That being said working as a Jujutsu Sorcerer is both a mental, emotional and sometimes a physical strain on people. When things get too much for S/O, this man will stop what he’s doing, and will will be there his s/o, and his will be there for him when he the most. Having someone being there each is the most important thing in a relationships.

His clan was very against their relationship from the beginning. But Satour did not care, he loves who he loves so his clan/family can suck it.

His favorite nicknames for s/o are Sweetness, cutiepie, pumpkin, sugar, sweetheart, honeybuns and to get cringy Pookie. So weird one’s like Mochi cheeks, and beautiful or handsome. 

His favorite nickname that his s/o calls sweetie, honey, goofball, goober and  whackadoodle, knucklehead and dingus

When s/o are going away for a mission for a few a few days or few month, or Vice versa they would text, FaceTime pretty everyday. They talk about they day, and talk about the missions that had. Satour would have his students in the background who would say hello, and he and Yuji would make stupid jokes, and Nobara would laugh a bit and Megumi would roll his eyes in the background. And when his s/o get back from a mission this man is a very clingy little shit, he will hug the hell out his s/o when they get back. And would pout and whin if you have to a meeting or don’t have to see him. He’s a big a baby like that.

Over all this man is just big goofball, sure he’s annoying as fuck sometimes, but he dose cares about other’s. He’s a hot chaotic mess of a man, by God we love him for it.

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, co-written with @darkmagyk [read on ao3]

“I’m in love,” Piper tells her when she shows up for another fitting. “Have you seen the new Beyonce video?”

“I heard the song.” Annabeth says, “isn’t that enough?”

“God, your whole play-acting thing is too far if you’re pretending to not like Beyonce.”

“I never said that.” Annabeth holds up her hands, “I like the song. But I did not see the video.”

“Well, when you see it, you’ll be in love too, but I will fight you.”

Piper could be scrappy in a fight. But Annabeth had been a champion fencer in high school.

“Kidding!” Piper says at her look. “There’s plenty of them to go around.” She didn’t even start to drape fabric over Annabeth, pushing her onto a muslin covered couch, and then pulling the video on the TV. She didn’t have one of those voice control devices. Because she was friends with Leo, and he was pretty firm on them being evil. “But I do call dibs on the main guy. The CALVES. The thighs. He’s unreal.”

“That good?” Piper went all ways, though as of late she gravitated towards women more often than not, so this was some high praise indeed. 

“Unreal, I am telling you. Like, the hand of God came down and sculpted him personally out of marble.”

Already in her recent watch history, the thumbnail of the video greets them, the song title splashed across the TV screen, weaving between  a very, very familiar set of legs. 

Like, intimately familiar. 

In something of detached horror, she watches the camera pan up, lovingly lingering on every inch of bare skin, following the muscles of his calves (which were unreal) to his knees then his thighs (which Annabeth had spent almost too much time between now), up his torso and his chest (which she knew made for an excellent pillow) to Percy’s face, set in a firm, hard stare. 

And that fucking blue lipstick again. 

She can’t even focus on Beyonce herself, too distracted by the way her hand traces the length of Percy’s outstretched thigh held in perfect arabesque as she gracefully drapes herself over him, crooning softly into his ear.

Annabeth should do that next time. That’s her spot, after all. 

Tearing her eyes away from the screen even as Piper watches, enraptured, she slips out her phone, sending a quick, furious text. 

annabeth: BEYONCE???????

A minute, then he responds. 

percy: oh lol i didn’t realize that came out today 😁

percy: what’d you think?

annabeth: i think im going to kill you later

“Just look at him,” Piper says, pausing on Percy’s form, his arms outstretched, fingers placed delicately around a bar. “I mean--look at him!”

“Yeah,” she chuckles, maybe a little uneasy. “He’s alright I guess.”

Incredulous, Piper swivels her head. “Alright? Alright? Do you need your eyes checked?”

She just shrugs. 

Why is she being so weird about this? It’s just Piper. She’s trained to find symmetry and beauty in bodies. They’ve happily shared crushes and fixations plenty of times before, so why is Annabeth being so weird about Percy? It’s not like they’re… you know… dating or anything. Just hooking up a bit. 

Piper squints at her, then shrugs herself. “Fine. I don’t have time to get an answer out of you anyway. Come on.”

“Speaking of time,” Annabeth says, following Piper back into the kitchen studio, “I have to head out by 6:30.”

“Oh yeah?” Piper’s head is buried in her belt box, searching for the perfect accent. “What for?”

“I’ve got a show to catch.”

“Kind of early,” she says, pulling out something thin and silver. “Don’t you usually meet Thalia at the ass crack of midnight?”

“Well I kind of want to eat first.”

“Okay.” She cinches the belt around her waist, tight. “Then you’re going to have to help me with this skirt.”

***

Hands aching from hours of macrame, Annabeth walks up to the box office window at the Koch Theater at 7:46, having a handful of second thoughts. 

Old, uppity white couples keep shooting her some particularly intense passive aggressive glares, some of them even venturing into actually aggressive territory, which usually wouldn’t even register on her very short list of things to care about, except that she is feeling woefully out of place. The lady in front of her has ten pounds of diamonds hanging off of each old, wrinkly ear, and the best Annabeth could do was fish out her least-ripped pair of jeans, pairing it with one of her nicer black shirts, the sleeves long enough to cover most of her tattoos. The macrame kept her longer than she had meant, so she didn’t have time to change before dinner, but fuck it, right?

She did also take out most of her face jewelry on the way. But she left the nose stud, obviously. And the tongue piercing. And the industrial, because Percy really likes those, so she doesn’t feel that bad about it. And he hadn’t even told her about this until after she had already given herself the half-undercut, so it’s not like she could do anything about that either.

“Can I help you?” At least this box office worker isn’t giving her the stink-eye. 

“I’m here to pick up a ticket? Should be under ‘Jackson.’” He’d offered to leave it under her name, but this was safer. She doesn’t think her mom is a big ballet person, but she isn’t about to risk it, either.

She slides the ticket towards Annabeth beneath the glass plane. “Enjoy the show,” she says, with a quirk of her mouth that is surprisingly sincere for someone in customer service. 

She’s pretty sure she’d enjoy the show more if she weren’t panicking thinking about getting dirt on their fancy carpets. Her boots are clean, of course, and she doesn’t really care, but she doesn’t want to, like, embarrass Percy or whatever. She’d asked him if she should dress up, but he’d assured her otherwise. “No one’s going to care, I promise,” he’d told her the night before, her lounging in his bed while he did some pushups. “And if anyone says something, let me know and we can kick their ass after the show together.”

“Great. Guess I don’t have to break out the Chanel, then.”

He’d paused, frowned, then huffed a laugh, shaking his head. Like the idea of Annabeth wearing Chanel was hilarious. Like what she’s wearing tonight really is the best that she can do.

Self-consciousness isn’t really a feeling that Annabeth has anymore. She’s spent so many years chafing against expectations, shucking them off when she inevitably failed to meet them, desperate for a place, a crowd where she could just be. In her scene, she doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone, and when Percy is out with her, he doesn’t need any convincing. He likes her. He likes her a lot, she thinks. He likes her enough to let himself be dragged out to every shitty dive bar and shittier rock show in New York City, laughing and cheering and holding her close the whole time. He likes her enough to cart her to his apartment at 4 AM, inevitably waking Nico up from his undead slumber, and leave her with nothing but a glass of water and a kiss on the forehead. And she likes him, too--a lot. Annabeth likes Percy enough to ditch her band t-shirts for a night and track mud on the carpet of the Koch Theater and willingly sit through a performance of fucking Swan goddamn Lake of all things, and it’s only a little scary how much she is willing to do for him after only a few months of fucking him. Because this really isn’t her scene, not anymore. 

The weight of everyone’s stares bears down on her, threatening to crush her beneath them, a feeling she was so sure she’d left behind. 

At least Percy had been thoughtful enough to get her a ticket out of the way in the back of one of the balcony sections. It’s a bit of a hike, but the audience members aren’t dressed quite as nicely as the ones downstairs, and she feels like she can breathe a little easier.

She pulls out her phone, checking her text messages on instinct. There’s a selfie from Percy in his stage makeup (and she’s not going to lie… he looks fucking pretty), with his standard accompanying three blue heart emojis. She can’t help it, her heart skips a beat and she can’t help but smile, even as she rolls her eyes. She’s just about to send him something appropriately sarcastic when another text notification slides in. It’s from her father. 

Hi Annabeth… I was talking to a friend in Boston who said he's looking for a new 

prospective in his architecture firm. Passed your information along. 

Love you, dear

She swipes it away. Deletes the whole text conversation, for good measure. 

Forget about him. This night is about Percy.

A few minutes later, so engrossed in Percy’s program bio (it’s about all she can focus on right now), she doesn’t even notice everyone around her leaning forward in breathless anticipation, until the warm, honey-like sound of the oboe draws her head up. 

Roughly two minutes in, she’s really wishing she had attempted the synopsis. The extent of her knowledge of Swan Lake is a few half-remembered orchestra rehearsals in her teens and reading the Wikipedia article on that Natalie Portman movie a few months ago, and she definitely doesn’t recall there being anything about any Men-in-Tights looking motherfuckers prancing around. They’re sort of bobbing, back and forth, elegantly stepping from one side of the stage to another. Even from back here, she can see the delicate, precise placement of their hands, fingers curved just so, moving through space as though they aren’t bound by the laws of physics.

The fingers, she remembers. She could never get the hang of the fingers. Her old ballet teacher had given up on them after a week, and that had been the beginning of the end for that particular extracurricular. 

Now her fingers tap on her jeans, impatient, far faster than the easy going music on stage. She’s just about to give in to the millennial instinct and pull out her phone, maybe play a round of sudoku, when the dancers motion as one to the back corner, and Percy comes stepping out. His hair is perfectly slicked back, gelled down, any hint of curl beaten into submission, and his smile is small, but white, gleaming against the tanned brown of his skin. She can’t help but smile back, like he could somehow see her. Finally, she thinks, relaxing a little more into her seat. Something to watch.

On his off days, her off days, any day when she would spent the night at his (always at his, never at hers) and wake up wrapped in his comforter and the smell of seawater, she would take the blanket with her and steal into his living room, curl up on his couch with her feet tucked under her legs, and watch him dance. She’s seen him drill these sequences over, and over, and over again, counting furious sequences of sixes and eights beneath his breath in duet with the thuds of his feet on his floor. Most times he would notice her and shoot her a grin, granting her permission to observe the artist at work. Sometimes, though, he would be so caught up in his body, the shifting of his feet and the music in his head, that it was like he couldn’t see her at all. Seemingly alone, he would dance, uninhibited, and she would be struck by a feeling that she usually reserves for specific monuments. Watching Percy dance in his apartment, in his brown tights and black tank top, lost in his own world, is like looking at pictures of the Gateway Arch, or the Hoover Dam, or the Parthenon.

She searches for that feeling now, leaning forward in her seat, eyes hungrily raving his form, but she just doesn’t see it. It’s… honestly, it’s a little boring. She won’t lie. He had warned her it would be something of a slow start, but this isn’t exactly an ADHD friendly medium, and she is losing her patience, just a bit. He’s so reserved, like he’s holding something close to his chest, impersonal as he takes the hands of the female dancers and lets them twirl around him. 

Personally, Annabeth thinks that he looks kind of lost. Maybe he’s just nervous--it’s a big role and he’s a young guy. But he had seemed fine when he’d kissed her goodbye just after lunch. 

The court jester is killing it though. Feeling just the slightest bit guilty, she lets her eyes drift over to him, deciding to watch him for a while instead.

On some level, she does appreciate the skill on display here. Percy can raise his back leg in a perfect ninety degree angle that would make her architecture professors sweat. The girls drift back and forth across the stage on the tips of their toes, weightless and ethereal. It’s mesmerizing, and she lets herself be mesmerized.

Time must slip away from her, because she blinks and all of a sudden the stage has gone from sunny yellow to cool blue, the crowds of dancers having vanished. He is alone on stage. Percy kneels in a deep lunge that makes her thighs ache just looking at him (and for… other reasons), his arms and his attention pointed to the wings, with a… Annabeth squints. When the hell did he get a crossbow?

But everything is swept to the sides when the White Swan tiptoes her way on stage, impossibly graceful, and all of a sudden, Annabeth gets it. 

It feels a little cliche to say, but the way that woman moves on the floor really does remind her of those old, vintage jewelry boxes, suspended in animation, moved by some otherworldly force. It’s amazing. It’s a little terrifying. Sublime is the word that comes to mind as Annabeth watches her. Her arms move with fluidity, perfect curves, her fingers trailing behind her like wings. 

And Percy is just as mesmerized as Annabeth is. As the audience is. 

A few things hit her, in rapid succession. First, that Percy is, actually, a really good actor. His reticence before--he’d been playing a character. He’d been playing aloof and reserved and unmoored, because Percy--Siegfried--whatever--has been waiting his whole life for something to fulfill him, until this singular moment, the moment he laid eyes on this beautiful creature. Second, that she doesn’t need words to understand what’s going on. It’s all there, in every look and gesture and step, as the two characters circle each other, slowly but irrevocably falling in love. And third, that she recognizes the look on his face. It’s the look that Percy gives her when she has been talking for too long and he can’t get a word in edgewise, or when she screams along to the god awful underground bands, three beers in and missing every single fuck she’d ever had, or when she wakes up after him to Percy’s arms around her waist, her hair in his mouth and her head resting against his collarbone. She recognizes it, because that’s the look that Siegfried has for Odette. Because that’s the look that Percy has for Annabeth. Because he loves her.

And fourth, that that doesn’t make her as happy as she wishes it would. 

There’s a cold pit in her stomach for the rest of the show, a turning screw that twists in deeper, minute by minute, with every turn of the dancers. She wastes the next hour trying to puzzle this out, not even pretending to watch the drama unfolding on stage, because it makes no goddamn sense. (Her situation, not the ballet--she managed to skim the synopsis during intermission, her foot tapping incessantly against the blessedly empty seat in front of her.) Things are great between them. It’s been a heady, intoxicating four months, full of bubbles and butterflies, sweet, soft mornings, and some really, really phenomenal sex. This should make her happy. This should put her over the fucking moon, and she cannot, for the life of her, figure out why it doesn’t.

The prima ballerina comes back out as the Black Swan, just as poised and precise as her counterpart, but she’s a great actress as well, because there is something undeniably different about her. Her arms move like rubber, like joints are just an afterthought, wrapping themselves around Percy’s neck and shoulders. She misdirects his attention, drawing his eyes to her wrists, her clavicle, the curve of a leg or the point of her toe. Seducing him. Tricking him. 

Like Annabeth. 

Because try as she might to run from it, Annabeth isn’t who she says she is. She wants so desperately to be this fuck-the-rules, fight-the-power, punk rock princess that she took every part of her that didn’t fit that image and tried to rip it out of her, bloody and struggling. Her trust fund, her two (two!) Harvard degrees, her enriched childhood and her bright and shining future; she took it all out back and shot it, and prayed that would be the end of it. She’s a phony, just like that goddamn Black Swan. Percy is in love with a phony. 

Her sweet, wonderful, devastatingly kind and handsome Percy--she tricked him and made him fall in love with a mishmash of archetypes and aesthetics, distracting him with nose piercings and ripped t-shirts and ugly, deafening noise. 

She’s not surprised that she’s crying when the curtain falls. She’d never known that Siegfried and Odette both died at the end. 

When the cast reunites for curtain call, Percy is given a standing ovation, and Annabeth enthusiastically joins in, wiping the tears from her eyes, smearing her makeup. 

She doesn’t wait for him at the stage door, but sits on the steps of the theater, plucking at her sleeves, aching for a drink and wishing she had had the presence of mind to wear something a little nicer. Percy finds her there almost an hour after the show ended. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

In the dark of night, illuminated only by streetlamps, she can’t read his face--but she can read exhaustion, in every part of his body. “I was waiting for you by the stage door.”

Something in her stomach goes cold. “I… wasn’t sure if I was allowed,” she offers, weakly. 

He smiles, a light in the dark. “Of course you’re allowed,” he says, offering her a hand. “Shall we?”

She knows what will happen next. She’ll take his hand, and they’ll walk to the subway together, fingers intertwined. They’ll get on the 1 train headed north, and Percy will let her rest her head against him, tilting his head back against the window, eyes closed, almost asleep. The doorman will nod at them as they walk up to Nico’s apartment, barely batting an eye at his sweats and her ripped jeans, the two of them sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of impeccably dressed rich New Yorkers. Nico will wave at them distractedly from his office, gulping down his sixth coffee of the night, and they’ll tiptoe into his room, falling asleep in each other’s arms with little more than a good night kiss. 

Which, of course, is exactly what does end up happening.

Almost. 

Annabeth crawls on top of him in his bed, kissing him soft and senseless. She doesn’t know where he’s getting this energy from, but she is not complaining as he slips up inside of her, the two of them rocking each other gently to orgasm, their foreheads pressed together. Shuddering as he comes, he captures her mouth in another kiss, pouring every ounce of love he has in him into her.

A waste, honestly. 

But as far as goodbye sex, it’s pretty damn great. 

She needs to end this, before either of them get hurt. It’s the least of what he deserves, after all. To put yourself out there, to offer yourself up like that, that might be the bravest thing Annabeth’s ever heard of, and surely, Annabeth can find the courage to do what needs to be done.

[rabbitcruiser]

Mickey Mouse Day

If there’s one image that everyone in the world can recognize, it’s the iconic ever-so-giant ears of that favorite mouse, Disney’s Mickey Mouse. His face (and those very dramatic ears) graces everything from ceramic mugs to balloons, touching on every industry and area of the lives of people all over the planet.

Mickey’s face can be found in the shape of ice cream on a hot summer afternoon, or on the back of a hoodie on a frigid autumn morning. And when the day’s work is done, kids and adults alike can join him in Kingdom Hearts as their King.

It all started with a short film called “Steamboat Willie”, and ever since, Mickey has been the very icon of family fun, hope over adversity, and following your dreams. And from there, the entire imaginative world of Disney was born.

It’s time for Mickey Mouse Day!

History of Mickey Mouse Day

Mickey Mouse was originally dreamed up by Ub Iwerks and Walt Disney in 1928. Actually, if it wasn’t for a bit of duplicitous backstabbing and a little bit of Hollywood drama, Mickey might never have come into existence.

Mickey first came to pass as a replacement for Walt’s first popular creation, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit. Since Disney left his job at Universal, he had to cut ties with Oswald. After the relationship with Universal Studios soured, Mickey Mouse was created and came to be the avatar of the happiest place on earth.

In doing so, the adorable mouse was created and made his debut in a short cartoon called Plane Crazy. Even then, it wasn’t a great hit with the test crowd, which just goes to show that perseverance is everything. It wasn’t until the third release, Steamboat Willie, that Mickey’s career finally got off the ground.

And from that first short film, Mickey has risen to be a worldwide recognized Icon. Year after year, the mouse garnered nominations for the Academy Award for the Best Animated Short film, and finally won one in 1942. As a tribute to just how popular and ground-breaking this fantastic mouse is, he was the first animated character to ever receive a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Since then, humans have seen the rise and fall of “The Mickey Mouse Club”, and a growing family of characters, including Minnie Mouse, Goofy, Donald Duck and the rest of the gang that have all become part of the Disney IP.

It’s been more than 90 years now! And since this day also happens to be Mickey Mouse’s Birthday (the same day Steamboat Willie was released), it’s the exact perfect day to enjoy everything that has to do with this fantastic creature.

How to Celebrate Mickey Mouse Day

With Mickey appearing in so many places and in so many different types of media, the ways to celebrate Mickey Mouse day are only as limited as a person’s imagination.

Dress Up to Honor Mickey Mouse Day

Start off small by wearing or buying a Mickey Mouse-themed piece of clothing, maybe a hoodie bearing his image or a hat with Mickey Mouse ears. Franchised items abound with clothes including t-shirts, shorts, sweatpants, jackets, baseball hats, socks or even shoes! But it’s also possible to get creative and make your own Mickey Mouse attire.

Sing the Mickey Mouse Club Song Together

Once you’re dressed like hikm, take it one step further by singing that most popular song “M I C. K E Y. M O U S E! Mickey Mouse! (Donald Duck!)” from the Mousketeers show. Listen online if you need a boost to get started.

Gather with all of your friends and family and sing the songs from the days when your grandparents were children. Mickey Mouse has been around for many a year, and some of the oldies are the goodies.

Learn to Draw Mickey Mouse

Since it all began with a pencil on paper drawing of a mouse, a great way to enjoy the day is by practicing drawing the mouse himself. It can start with something as easy as three circles, one large one for the head and two smaller ones for the ears. Add a bit of a nose and some facial features, and there’s Mickey Mouse!

Head Over to a Disney Adventure Park

Best of all, plan a trip to one of Mickey Mouse’s kingdoms, located all over the world. Nothing celebrates the day of this Disney great like taking the whole family to the Magic Kingdom and spending the day enjoying everything Disney has to offer. With six in total, including Disney World located in Orlando, Florida, and Disneyland in Anaheim, California, the international locations can be visited in these places in the world:

Tokyo, Japan. Twin parks located here include Disneyland as well as its neighbor the DisneySea Resort, this park offers loads of options for accessing Mickey Mouse and his friends.

Paris, France. With Disneyland and a Walt Disney Studios Park, this is the only place in Europe to get really up close and personal with everyone’s favorite mouse.

Hong Kong. Disneyland here offers seven different adventure areas, one of which is themed “Main Street USA”.

Shanghai, China. This Disneyland is centered around Roaring Mountain which is located on a jungled-up Adventure Isle.

Watch Some Mickey Mouse Shows

Whether it’s some reruns of the original Mickey Mouse Club, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (the new version of the show), or the full-length feature film, Fantasia, this is a great day to enjoy some Mickey Mouse animation on the big screen. Grab some friends, be sure to have the snacks at the ready, and enjoy Mickey and his friends!

Source

[justcourttee]

I love your sibling Jasonette, so may I please have some more? *Raises gruel bowl*

A little angsty, a little sweet. I hope you love this one too :)

The Birthday Gift

Jason was having a shitty day.

Marinette was supposed to call him when her plane touched down at Gotham Airport, but that was hours ago and she had yet to return a single message. On top of that, stupid Bruce blindsided with yet another intervention with Batman Incorporated and how yes there are terrible villains out there, but we are not the judge, jury, and executioner. A load of hypocrites if you asked him. Finally, Roy stood him up for a drink at their favorite bar due to a meeting with Oliver.

So he could honestly say he was not surprised when a handful of Joker’s thugs dropped in on him on his self-pitying walk home.

“Look, guys, today is not my day. I’ll let you off easy if you leave now.”

The men’s painted smiles sent shivers down his back, reminding him just a little too much of the original. They said nothing as they circled him, waiting for him to make the first move, a mistake he had made many times with them.

“C’mon dudes, can’t you give a guy a break. It’s my birthday today and even my own sister stood me up.”

One of the men began to snicker as if he found the idea of Jason’s loneliness funny. Maybe it was, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to laugh with them. The sound of footsteps approaching caught his attention. He felt his whole body stiffen as the maniacal laughter reached his ears. No one else sounded so deranged, so crazy, but it couldn’t be. The world didn’t hate him this much right?

Wrong.

“Well, well, well, little Jason Todd. Oh my, it’s been so long, you’ve grown so much.”

Joker himself in all of his clown prince glory. His smile sickened Jason’s stomach to the core.

“What do you want, Joker?”

The clown’s face frowned in mock hurt as he placed a dramatic hand over his heart.

“Is that any way to talk to your favorite agent of chaos? Now now little bird, I’m not here as a threat, I’m here to offer you some birthday fun! After all, you always were my favorite little Robin. It’s why I treated you so much more tenderly than the rest.”

Joker reached up to wipe a fake tear from his face before allowing the grin to stretch it’s way back slowly. Jason’s mind was racing with possibilities, the number one being an exit strategy. Four men, all deranged, plus the Joker himself. It wasn’t looking great, but there was no way this clown was going to kill him twice in this lifetime.

“What’s this gift you mentioned? So kind of you to think of me on this day.” It took everything he had to hold back the sarcasm from dripping off his tongue. His hand moved in the slightest, trying to reach the gun he had tucked in his waistband.

“I’m glad you asked-”

Before he could finish his sentence, a figure dropped from the rooftops, landing on the nearest goon. The three remaining men all reached for their weapons, but could never touch them. Something shot out, gripping their guns and pulling them into the abyss of darkness. For a brief second, Jason allowed himself to feel hopeful.

Maybe the old man finally remembered his birthday, maybe he was here to help him. But as the figure stood, taking a step into the light, he felt his heart drop. A small girl stood in front of him dressed in a skintight black suit, small red dots lining her sides. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, her mask solid red matching the side of her suit.

“I’ll give you one chance Joker, let go of the boy and I’ll let you go.”

There was a tense silence for a moment before Joker laughter tore through the air.

“A child! Are you Batman's new birdy my girl?”

The small figure stiffened as Joker’s men began recovering their wits, some drawing pocket knives, others closing in with their bare hands.

“Do I look like a bird to you?”

Jason had to hand it to her. The kid had guts to stand before the Joker and insult his jokes, but he knew the clown’s patience was running thin. Sooner or later, he was going to give the order and the thugs would tear into her. He was so close to his gun, but any sudden movement could put her in danger now.

“Now now, it sounds like you need an attitude adjustment. Why don’t you ask Jason here how it feels?”

His smirk was sinister and with the flick of his hand, the thugs all jumped. They were fast, but she was faster. One by one she knocked them out, flipping and twirling with grace as she dodged each attempt on her life. Jason’s fingers finally wrapped around his gun, a sense of relief flooding through his body.

This was what he needed to shift the fight, but something stopped him. Numbness spread through his limbs as he lost his grip on the gun, the weapon clattering against the concrete. He vaguely recognized the hand on his back giving him a shove forward, but he couldn’t put his arms out to save himself.

“No!” The girl tried to rush forward, but she was distracted as one of the thugs landed a punch, knocking her off her balance. They managed to subdue her, holding her still as Joker moved forward to examine the new curiosity.

“Quite interesting. How do you know my Jason?”

The girl’s eyes clouded over as she mustered as much strength as she could, trying to pull her arms free. Joker raised his hand, a sickening smack coming from the girl’s face as a red mark began to form. Jason tried to move, he needed to protect her like she tried to do for him, but it was impossible.

“Now, I asked you a question. Show some respect for your elders!”  His laughter only enraged the girl.

“Don’t you dare touch him.”

“Oh, you mean, like this?” Joker raised his leg, landing a kick right into Jason’s ribcage sending the clown into a fit of laughter. “Or this?”

“Stop it! No! Jason!”

He knew the voice sounded so familiar, but he couldn’t focus on it, not with the endless pain rolling in.

“All you have to do is answer the question! You have the power to stop this dear.”

Jason tried his best to raise his head to look at her properly, but the best he could do was land one eye on the girl. The face, mask or not, he knew that face. Joker raised his foot once more, stopping only a millimeter from Jason’s face.

“He’s my brother! I swear if you hurt him again I’ll kill you. I’ll kill all of you.”

Jason felt the realization flood through him as his heart dropped. She didn’t abandon him. She was right here. Marinette.

“I see, I didn’t know my dear Jason had a sister. Honestly, I wouldn’t expect him to be related to someone so weak.”

He reared back his foot again, delivering yet another blow. Jason heard Marinette yell in rage, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“What the-”

Jason couldn’t see anything, he could barely move from the paralysis and the bruised rib cage. He heard the sounds of commotion sending panic through his body. These weren’t like the villains Marinette faced in Paris, these were rougher around the edge, their only goal to kill. Parsian villains killed, but almost always on accident, collateral damage. These men did it for fun.

He tested his fingers, a sense of urgency flooding through him as they twitched under his strained effort. Jason just about had his full hand in motion again when five shots rang through the air sucking the breath from his lungs.

“Bug? Bug are you alright?”

Jason couldn’t help the tears that fell down his face and trickled into his voice. She was the only family that mattered to him, the only one that ever cared for him. Using his good hand, he attempted to flip himself, only succeeding in straining his wrist.

“Bug!”

Two hands wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into their lap, his head lolled backward before a soft touch helped him prop upwards. Two shining blue eyes stared down into his, a splatter of blood staining her mask.

“Bug what did you do? You don’t kill.”

She shook her head, dropping down to hug his numb body.

“I only wounded them. They crawled away carrying their stupid clown leader. Jason, I was so scared they were going to kill you.”

He felt a hot tear hit his face and then another. Soon her tears mixed with his own as the shock faded away. He almost let that asshole kill him again and in front of Marinette.

“Hey, hey, no tears on your birthday.”

Marinette wiped away his before she took care of her own, a shaky giggle escaping her lips.

“Mari, why didn’t you call back? I was so worried.”

The feeling had returned in both his arms as he tried his best to move his legs next.

“I was trying to finish your birthday gift, you know how I get when I’m sewing.”

It was Jason’s turn to laugh, still shaky as well as he tried to push what had happened out of his mind.

“What did you get me?”

“A new jacket. I know leather is your favorite and you always seem to ruin the ones I make you.”

They both shared a laugh as Marinette shook her head.

“Let me see if we’re lucky tonight.”

Marinette gently set him back on the ground as she called upon her lucky charm, only to throw it directly into the air with her signature phrase. Hundreds of small ladybugs circled his body, a warmth spreading throughout where they touched.

As they disappeared into the night sky, Jason tested his legs, a small smile tugging at his lips when they moved at his command.

“You know how much I love that thing right?”

Marinette shook her head as she called off her transformation catching a small, exhausted Tikki.

“You know how lucky you are that I transformed before they laid a hand on you right?”

Jason gently shoved her shoulder as she stuck her tongue out at him. As she finished caring for Tikki, she turned her full attention to him, slipping off the oversized jacket she was wearing.

“Here, this was your gift. It was the only way I could think to protect it without leaving it up on the rooftop.”

He slipped off his older jacket, a gift from his last day in Paris, and slipped on his new one, relishing in the perfect fit.

“You know, you’re a miracle worker Marinette. And since you’re in town, I think we can now use that phone of yours to contact Damian.”

“Don’t even think about it, after all, you don’t want to end up like those thugs.” Her tone was playful as she handed him back his fallen gun.

“I think I could take my chances.” He threw his arm over her shoulders as he guided her out of the alleyway. “Now, how about you  buy me a birthday drink?”

“How about not? This is the States, my friend, I’m technically not legal here.”

Jason cursed under his breath earning a laugh from the smaller girl as they headed down the avenue. Jason felt his phone buzzing from his back pocket, most likely Bruce calling him about his Joker encounter (which he had no doubt he already found out about), but he didn’t have the energy for yet another lecture on his birthday. Not from him.

“Are you going to get that? It could be your family?”

Jason looked down to meet her concerned eyes, a sight that melted his heart. He shook his head, planting a small kiss on the top of her head.

“I’ve got the only family that matters right here and that’s the best birthday gift anyone could ask for.”

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @rebecarojas07 @ash-amg

[with-my-murder-flute]

I rewatched TOG recently with a friend who’s in the military, and the one thing she said that’s stuck with me is that Nile’s unit freezing her out really didn’t ring true to her. Like, it makes sense that at that point in the plot they really needed to emphasize that her new immortality was making things weird for her, but if they wanted it to specifically be her Marine teammates, they needed to set up ahead of time that Nile was already an outsider. Otherwise, that’s just not how military bonds work, especially on deployment.

So it’s not as simple and cinematic, but I can imagine an alternate version, where her team supports her no matter what kind of supernatural shit is going on. “But uh, let’s put a bandage around your neck for the next little bit, or this is going to be all over camp by tomorrow.”

So when she gets orders to report for transport to Landstuhl, her team is disappointed and worried. They’re already thinking: Okay, Freeman is an X-Man now. They’re gonna want to do experiments on her and lock her up. We might never see her again.

So Nile is sitting with her bags at her feet, waiting for her plane, when Andy shows up and fights off her escort. Dizzy wasn’t allowed in the airstrip, but she did want to see the plane take off, so she notices Andy.

There’s enough of an ominous silence that Dizzy needs to move. She pelts around the corner in time to see Andy loading Nile’s unconscious body into the back of a vehicle.

“What are you doing with her?” she asks, sidearm levelled at Andy. She didn’t even think about drawing it; it’s just out.

“Taking her where she’ll be safe,” Andy says, and swings the tailgate closed. She doesn’t look worried.

“And who’re you?” Dizzy demands.

Andy looks at her, really looks at her. “You’re a friend of hers, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Dizzy says, and swallows.

“You know where these guys were taking her?” Andy tips her head sideways at the unconscious Marines on the ground.

“For, uh...” Dizzy shifts her feet, adjusts her grip on her weapon. “Tests.”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

Dizzy doesn’t like the sound of this. Hasn’t from the beginning. It’s like all the warmth is being sucked out of her. “I was there.”

Andy reaches for her back pocket, takes out a knife. That’s the kind of thing Dizzy should have shot her for. Hands moving. Not facing her. Reaching for something. Holding a weapon.

But she hasn’t, yet.

“I’m like her,” Andy says, showing a fresh new cut in the ball of her thumb, letting Dizzy see the skin close again. “She isn’t safe here.”

Dizzy steps forward. She can’t help herself. It’s just so incredible. So weird.

Before she knows it, Andy’s moved. Dizzy’s sidearm is gone. She’s pressed into the dust, her arm twisted behind her back.

“Let me make this easy on you, kid,” Andy says, throwing the clip to Dizzy’s sidearm a good thirty feet and zip-tying Dizzy’s arms and legs. “And if you care about your friend, you won’t mention me to anybody.”

When she drives off, Dizzy tries to spit dust out of her mouth around her gag and thinks.

She has to tell her sergeant about this. It’s the only way she’ll get authorization to take a vehicle out and track where Nile’s been taken. The hard part is going to be doing it independently of the official investigation. There are things you can keep inside a unit, and things that will carry up the chain no matter when. You have to create two separate streams of information: One designed to travel up, and one designed to only travel down. Her sergeant she can work around, but the only people she knows she can really trust are the rest of Nile’s team.

God, they’re lucky there isn’t a CCTV out here.

Because she? Is getting Nile back. And the asshole who stole her and the Pentagon can both go to hell if they think they can stop her.

[comphersjost]

All for You | 2 ➸ Brady Tkachuk and Matthew Tkachuk

hi, its 3 am, and i couldnt stop until i finished this. ik i promised yall another part on thursday so im sorry this is later then i was hoping. i hope you enjoy it :) i took a different approach to brady here than ive normally seen, let me know how you guys like it!!

It’s been 4 and a half months since that day in the basement. With Christmas just days away and Matty on a flight back home, you and Brady take a risk, leaving Matt to wonder where he went wrong.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: this is really angsty yall, like actually, smut, sir kink, brady is Mean, uh moral ambiguity sorta (thinking abt someone else during sex), d/s undertones sorta, unprotected sex (be safe), oral (m on f), some choking, alcohol (wine), sex under the influence, pls ignore any typos fkakldfa

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

masterlist

Even with how utterly fucked the situation was that Matt had found himself in, there was one thing he couldn't stop thinking about. It was the way his logo and his last name and his number rested against your back that drove him insane.

It was burned into his retinas.

Even now, on a plane back home to St. Louis it was all he could think about. Every time he closed his eyes it was you you you.

It had been months since he had seen you. Nearly 5 months had passed since that night in the basement. And it killed him.

He was in a slump. Everyone knew it. He knew it, his teammates knew it, the damn front office knew it. And it was because of you.

His teammates had quickly put together your absence at any sort of gathering and Matty’s sulking. 4 and a half months later he resembles a shell of the man he used to be.

He had called, of course he had. Over and over, hoping, pleading, praying to any deity that existed out there to hear from you again.

Matthew’s prayer was answered one day, when he had come out of practice to find a text from you. His heart rate accelerated, time felt like molasses as his phone camera ID’d his face. As the facial recognition unlocks his phone, the message is revealed.

Please stop calling me. And tell the boys to stop too.

The text tears his heart to shreds. It was the last straw. Before he had been mopey, but now - now he was spiraling. His play was abysmal - a shit show on the ice really. He drank until he blacked out every time, not even looking at another girl.

He had contemplated going to your work, but decided a player in the middle of a slump having a restraining order filed against him would not go over well with the Flames management. Every time he went out for the most mundane task, groceries, dry cleaning, he couldn’t help the hope that he would run into you. Even if you didn’t give him the time of day it would be enough for him to just see you.

He hadn’t seen you since that day. Not for lack of trying, though. Matthew had been to all the spots you used to frequent—the grocery store you love, the clubs you two used to go to, even the 7/11 you had both been to after the both of you got so drunk that you could barely walk. You weren’t on the flight you had booked back together. In fact, he had no idea about anything that’s been going on in your life, his mom just told him that you’re okay and that was all he got.

Now it was 3 days before Christmas and the idea of seeing you again both filled him with dread and also made him feel more alive than he had in months. He was equally utterly terrified and buzzing with excitement. His hands itched to hold you again, though he knew there was a bigger chance of you slapping him than letting him kiss you the way he wanted.

As Matt stares out the window at the clouds, he lets his mind wander. He wonders how you're doing; are you okay? After everything that happened did you pick up right where you left off? He wondered if you missed him, if he was on your mind as much as you were on his.

He still wondered if you loved him back.

-

“Mom, I really just, I really want to stay home and do nothing tonight okay? I'm tired.”

Your mom rolls her eyes at your attempt at getting out of going over to Tkachuk’s house tonight. You’d been trying since 9 am.

“Honey, I know you said you and Matthew don’t hang out anymore, but he won't be there!” she tried reassuring you, “Brady and Taryn will be there to hang out with you until Taryn goes to spend the night with the Johnson’s.” That made you groan even louder - you had to be alone with Brady. Great, now you had to steel yourself for a night of utter humiliation.

Brady isn't even downstairs yet when you enter the Tkachuk’s threshold, Chantal’s call for her kids brings Taryn down in an instant, ever excited to see you.

“Y/N!” she squeals, running down the stairs, “You're here, you're here!”

“Y/N?” you hear faintly, and then the slam of Brady’s door and rapid footsteps. He nearly slides down the stairs, freezing at the bottom when he spots you. Taryn lets you out of her embrace, leaving you to stare wide-eyed at Brady. Unsure how to navigate your way out of this situation, you keep staring at Brady as your parents and Taryn follow Chantal to the kitchen.

“Hi, B,” you say meekly, unsure of how he’ll receive you after so long.

“Hi, buttercup,” he responds, a bright smile pulling at his lips. It’s all he needs to take a few quick steps in your direction and draw you into his arms.

“I missed you so much, buttercup,” he whispers against your hairline, “More than you know.”

Despite his warm welcome, the night is tense. You still don't know what he thinks of that night, not wanting to ask him in front of your families - well, most of your families anyways. You didn't even let yourself think about what would happen when you saw Matthew at the next dinner party. You sat at the table and ate your food, barely speaking to Taryn and answering Keith and Chantal’s inquiries about your life in Calgary with a tight smile.

You’re so zoned out trying to make time go faster you barely register your parents telling you that they’re going out with Keith and Chantal.

“Mom, wait-”

“Y/N,” she warns, looking at you with that look, and you sigh in resignation. She smiles at you, a silent promise to make it up to you.

Taryn had left 30 minutes ago, announcing that she had somewhere to be before leaving as quickly as she could, uncomfortable with the palpable tension between you and Brady.

You watch your parents leave, wincing for a moment at what awaits you when you turn around. To your surprise, what greets you is a glass of wine hovering in front of your face.

You take the peace offering gingerly from Brady’s hand with a tiny smile. And it’s a really bad idea, the way you let him keep refilling your glass, and his own, let him draw you in during The Grinch on the couch, let him hold you tight under the blanket that was covering the both of you.

You can hear your common sense screaming in the back of your mind when you snuggle closer into Brady’s chest. It’s near 11 now, and your parents are still together, laughing and drinking in the living room of your house before Keith and Chantal are supposed to head to the airport. You're cuddled up to Brady, shifting every few minutes to try and get closer, even though nearly every inch of your body is practically glued to him.

He hums when you shift again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “Gotta go home,” you say, your voice muffled against him. It’s not like you haven't spent the night with him before; you just haven't since that night.

“Probably,” he mumbles, arms tightening around you. “But I don't want you to.” And like, you've had way too much wine and you should probably go before Matty gets here cause you really can't handle that conversation like this so you push off of Brady, standing up but stumbling, wine sloshing over the lip of the glass and splattering on your pants.

“Fuck,” you hiss, the red wine surely staining the gray leggings you wore. Brady takes the glass from you, placing it on the table and stabilizing you with his other hand.

“Go change upstairs,” he says softly, looking up at you with those eyes you're such a sucker for. “Stay.”

And - how can you say no to that? You can't, because it's Brady and you're so damn easy for him it didn't matter what he’d asked you to do, you would do it without a second thought.

That's how you find yourself stumbling to Brady’s bedroom, barely finding your way to his bathroom to change out of your stained leggings and wipe yourself down. You rummage through Brady’s dresser, searching for - there it was. A pair of Brady’s sweatpants from high school that he stopped wearing approximately 2 months after he got them [mostly because he couldn't find them (mostly mostly because they were either in your room or on your body)].

You place the worn sweats on top of Brady’s dresser, fumbling to close the drawer and find your balance. Someone clears their throat and your head snaps towards the doorway. Brady is leaning against the doorframe and through the fuzziness of the wine, you register the thought that he looks so good like this - in his comfort zone.

“Hey,” he says, pushing off the doorframe towards you.

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes too focused on Brady moving towards you.

“We should give it a shot,” Brady husks, hooded eyes trailing down your body and back up again. Suddenly the room feels too cold, the oversized sweater you had on stopped at the top of your thighs, barely covering the pale pink panties you were wearing. The sweater paws gave an air of innocence around you that Brady knew was fake.

“What are you talking about?” you whisper meekly, both concerned about what was going on in that head of his, and intrigued.

“You know how you feel about me,” Brady states - which isn't entirely true anymore, but you don’t interrupt. “I don’t know how I feel about you, and neither of us actually knows if this-” he motions between the two of you “-is it for us, so I say, we give it a shot and see how it feels. Let’s give it until we go back?”

When did he get so close to you? Brady’s taking more steps forward, and you’re taking as many steps back, until the back of your thighs hit the corner of the bed and you instinctively sit.

Which - in retrospect, was probably a mistake, because now Brady towers over you even more than before and now - you’re really intrigued. His fingers trail over your jaw, thumb swiping gently across your bottom lip.

You part your lips out of habit, eyes widen when you realize what you’ve done. Brady laughs darkly when he catches your slip up, stroking your face affectionately.

His thumb slips between your lips for a moment, and your eyes flutter shut as your cheeks hollow around him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, and you do, opening your eyes to stare up at him again; Brady, your best friend. He smiles proudly, murmuring a soft, “Good girl.”

The words are uttered at the same time he withdraws from your warm mouth, wrapping his fingers gently around your throat. You can’t help the whine that escapes, mortified when Brady’s grin widens.

He leans down, mouth next to your ear to whisper, “Matty always did like it when they’re needy. Needy girls drive us crazy.”

Really, the thought of Matt shouldn’t be driving you crazy, but it is. And when you feel Brady’s nose nudge against yours, his mouth just millimeters from you - your biggest fantasy for nearly 20 years - you knew you were going to hell.

A needy moan escapes your throat before Brady’s hand tightens around your throat and you give in, looping your arms around his neck. You pull him down to meet your lips, nearly clawing at him in your desperation.

Faintly, you think that this is a bad idea, this would only hurt you more later on.

But the longer you kissed him, the less you cared about the consequences. You wanted - you needed Brady so fucking bad right now you were willing to deal with whatever the aftermath presented you with. Brady’s other hand finds the bottom of your sweater, slipping underneath the fabric to lay against your rib cage.

You needed more.

“Brady,” you whine as you break away from his lips, tugging at his hoodie. “Need you.” Brady chuckles darkly, tugging you by your throat to kiss him again.

“Ask nicely,” he husks against your mouth.

“Please,” you whimper again, pulling harder at the fabric to just get him closer. “Please, Brady, I need you so bad.”

“Try again.” Brady pushes you - nearly tosses you really - further up the bed with a snarl, ignoring the yelp you let out at the suddenness of his mood shift. You stare up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. You're unsure of your next words.

“Please…Daddy?”

A cocky smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “Not quite.”

You think for a moment, watching him bring his hand behind his back and pull his shirt over his head. The dark look he gives you makes you shrink, as if to say ‘Still?’.

Suddenly your eyes light up, and Brady can see it. He's already on the bed, crawling up your body as you attempt to control your breath. The words are barely out before he's kissing you again.

“Please sir?”

Brady groans into your mouth when he hears you say the words, slotting himself between your thighs to grind his hips against yours. You mewl into his mouth when his clothed cock catches against your clit, pushing your hips up against him for more. He growls as he pulls away again, swatting your thigh as a warning.

“Careful, princess,” Brady warns - voice low and dangerous - and his grip on your hip so tight you knew there would be bruises in the morning, “or I won't be.” His words are thick with intention, both a threat and a promise.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe shakily, letting yourself fall against the sheets to look up at him.

Brady’s eyes soften for a moment, reaching up to brush your hair out of your eyes. “Hi,” he whispers, leaning down to steal a kiss.

“Hi,” comes your response. He steals another kiss before pulling away again, and you can't help but think that he looks beautiful like this.

I love you. I'm in love with you.

You want to say it, the voice inside you is screaming it. It’s screaming for you to say it, and Brady is looking at you almost like he wants you to too.

The feeling of his hands pushing your sweater up distracts you from your plight. Brady’s movement is slow, and he’s looking at you intensely, giving you time to stop him. You only nod, and the softness is gone as soon as it had come. You lift your arms to help him bring the material over your head. He tosses the sweater to the side, catching your wrists when you reach for him. He guides them back over your head, smirking as you suppress a shudder when he leans in a whispers against your mouth. “Be a good girl and keep your hands there princess.”

You nod quickly, grasping the sheets in anticipation. Another slap to your thigh has you rethinking.

“I’m sorry!” you gasp. “Yes, sir.”

Brady hums in acknowledgment, kissing down your throat until he’s staring up at you from the valley between your breasts. You whine softly when he pulls a nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing the harden peak before soothing it with his tongue. His hand is pinching and pulling at your other nipple, making your noises significantly louder. He alternates, playing with your nipples until they're swollen and sensitive and sore.

He sits back on his heels to look at you, hands on your knees now, sliding up your thighs. His eyes roam your body unabashedly, while his fingers play with the waistband of your panties. There's a burning look in his eyes as he says, “You're gorgeous. You're so fucking beautiful.”

You don't know why hearing him say it makes you tear up. Brady had told you that you were pretty before, that you cleaned up nice, always telling you how hot you were when he'd see you dressed up before events. He was your own personal hype man but he'd never called you beautiful.

Not like this.

Not like Matty.

Not like Matty.

The thought makes your blood run cold.

“Please,” you mewl, starting to reach for Brady before remembering what he told you. Your hands fly back above your head, twisting in the sheets, whispering, “I’m sorry, sir, I forgot.”

Brady smiles softly, slipping his finger under the waistband of your panties, tugging on it before letting it snap back against your skin. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss softly at your stomach. “Trying so hard to be good for me.” He shuffles himself backwards as he kisses his way down your body, sliding your panties down your legs at the same time until they've fallen to the floor.

“Wait,” you say softly, causing Brady to pause, his expression quizzical. “Please, I need you.”

Brady grins wickedly. “Just a taste princess.”

It turns out, ‘a taste’ actually means Brady edging you with his tongue until you were nearly crying. He's brought you to the brink three times now, each time getting you closer and closer before pulling away. At this point he's holding your hips down and your hands are as tangled in the sheets as you could get them, not wanting the repercussions of disobeying.

Brady’s tongue is sliding through your folds again when you finally break.

“Please!” you sob, tears finally sliding down your cheeks as your back arches from the pleasure. “Please, Brady, please, sir, please please, I- I need - please just - fuck - please.”

Brady hums against your cunt, the vibrations tearing a scream from your throat. Suddenly the warmth of Brady’s mouth is gone, leaving you chasing him with a buck of your hips. He pins you back down again easily, his lips glistening as he smirks. You hate the way the sleazy look on his face does it for you.

It reminds you of Matt.

You whine again, wiggling your hips as much as you could in Brady’s grip. “Please just fuck me,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. You feel his lips press against your hip, smiling against your skin.

“Anything my girl wants, she gets,” he murmurs against your skin.

My girl. The words echo over and over again in your head. My girl my girl my girl.

Two words you've been waiting years to hear come out of his mouth, and the only thing you could think of was how you liked it better when Matty said it.

Your eyes stay shut as Brady kisses up your body, fingertips dancing over your skin. His mouth finds yours, emptying your brain of all other thoughts but him.

“You ready for me, pretty girl?” he asks you, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek gently, wiping your tears away. Your eyes flutter open, to look at him, nodding as you bite your lip. His thumb tugs your lip out from between your teeth as you feel the tip of his dick brush against your thigh. You didn't even realize that he had taken off the rest of his clothes, but you weren't complaining. Not with him so close like this.

“Please,” you whimper, and after stealing another kiss, Brady sinks into your heat.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groans, gripping the back of your thigh to spread your legs even further. “You're so fucking tight, fuck you feel so good.” Once he’s bottomed out, Brady leans down to kiss you, swallowing your desperate noises.

He gives you little time to adjust, and really - you don't need it considering the way he tortured you with his mouth and fingers. You're whining into his mouth as his hips move against you, the drag off his cock inside you so fucking good after being denied like you were.

You're close already, and Brady knows, delivering sharp thrusts and hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars.

He finally breaks from your lips, breathing heavily as his hips slam into your cunt. “I'm so close,” you tell him, gripping the sheets above your head so hard you feel like you might rip them. “Please, please let me cum, sir, please.”

It seems like Brady finally thinks you've had enough torture, because he brings his hand from your thigh to your clit, rubbing quick tight circles. “You've been so good for me baby,” he grunts, his other hand holding him up so he can look down at you. “Come on baby, you can touch me now, come on princess, cum for me.”

That's all it takes to send you over the edge. Your hands come flying from above your head to grasp at Brady, his shoulders, his back, tangling in his hair, anything to just touch him. You cry out as your orgasm hits, your back arching under Brady as he relentlessly fucks you through it.

You faintly register Brady’s filthy encouragement in your ears, telling you how good you are for doing what he says, for not touching him this whole time, for cumming for him like this. You writhe against him as you feel him spill into you, grunting as he fucks into you, chasing his orgams with shallow, sloppy thrusts. It feels like you've been riding your high forever; your vision is blurry when you finally come down.

Brady’s breath is hot on your neck, his hands stroking your skin gently as the two of you catch your breath. He shushes you gently as you moan when he pulls out of you. Brady practically collapses next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you into his chest. He peppers kisses across your skin, nudging his nose against your cheek to grab your attention.

You can barely turn your head, suddenly so tired you feel like you'll pass out right that second. “Hi,” he murmurs, kissing you gently. You hum and bury your face in his neck.

“‘M sleepy,” you mumble against his skin, eliciting a soft laugh from him.

“Then sleep,” he says, before smirking devilishly, “don't worry there's lots more where that came from, but in the morning.” You snort at his words, squeezing the back of his neck before burying your fingers in his curls.

“Night, B,” you mumble.

“Goodnight, buttercup.”

-

Matthew was going to kill his brother. He was going to straight up murder him. On top of not being there to pick him up from the airport, he also didn't answer any texts or calls from Matt.

So yeah, when Matthew got home, he was going to kill Brady. When the Uber finally pulls up in front of him, Matthew is nearly halfway done with his plan to get away with it.

He fiddles with his phone as the driver pulls away from the curb, scanning the random notifications that he had popped up when he got off the plane. It's when he opens up Instagram that he really pays attention, the 3 stories in a row at the top of his feed catching his eye.

Taryn’s, yours, and Brady’s. Against his better judgement, he taps Taryn’s magenta-rimmed profile picture. The story takes a moment to load, but when it does, he sees a picture of you in front of the Tkachuk’s Christmas tree. You had your arms out in a ‘ta-da’ fashion, the fingers barely poking out through the sleeves of your sweater. Taryn’s caption reads “didn’t need an angel for the tree cause we already got @y/n/y/l/n”. He can't help but smile fondly, so distracted by how cute you look that he just stares at you until the time is up - but not before pressing on the screen so he could screenshot the photo.

Your first story was a repost of Taryn’s, a simple white heart emoji in the bottom corner. The second was a shot of the TV in the Tkachuk’s living room displaying the Grinch’s title. The caption reads “heart grows two sizes bigger when i’m home :)”. The location is tagged as St. Louis, with Taryn and Brady tagged in the corner of the photo. The third post makes his blood run cold, it's a video of you and Brady, your back against his chest as you lay on the couch, the caption the cross-eyed emoji and Brady’s handle. Brady is facing away from the camera in the beginning of the video, your eyebrows raised as you wait for him to notice. When he does he laughs and reaches for your phone. The video cuts off there.

Matthew taps the left side of his screen to replay it, an unpleasant feeling twisting in his gut. He doesn't want to watch Brady’s story, but he taps the right side of his screen anyways. It's a photo of you on the couch, one knee pulled up to your chest with the other in Brady’s lap, and a glass of wine in your hand. Your hair is piled into a messy bun on top of your head as you wink at the camera and make a peace sign with your free hand, tongue peaking out of the corner of your mouth.

Matt screenshots the picture.

He’s angry; angry because his brother left him stranded at the airport. Angry because he said he hadn't spoken to you either, that you didn't answer any of his texts and calls since that night. He's angry because Brady managed to get you back, and Matt didn't.

Matty’s angry because he loves you, and he's pretty sure you still love Brady.

When the car finally pulls up to the house, he’s almost relieved. He notes that the lights are off downstairs as he lets himself in, pausing when he sees your shoes still by the door. The glow of the TV is visible in the living room, and as Matt pads towards it, the uneasy feeling grows.

There's two partially filled glasses of wine on the coffee table, as well as yours and Brady’s phones. He taps on Brady’s phone, revealing the unread texts and unanswered calls from Matt, as well as an unread text from Chantal, telling Brady that he would have to be the one to pick up Matty from the airport.

The pit in Matt’s stomach only deepens as he climbs the stairs, duffle bag in hand. He goes slowly, trying to prolong his inevitable heartbreak, but it doesn't change what he sees at the top.

Brady’s bedroom door is half open, the light from the hallway streaming in.

Matthew knows it's a bad idea when he takes one, two, three steps and he's in front of Brady’s door. He takes a deep breath and pokes his head inside the room. The sight nearly knocks the wind out of him.

You're tucked under Brady’s arm, your nose squished against his cheek and your hand curled around his neck.  He can see the bare skin of your back and stomach pressed against Brady’s bare torso. A blanket covers the both of you from the waist down. Brady’s hair is a mess, and so is yours, and suddenly Matt feels nauseous.

He feels like he would do anything - anything - to make the feeling in his chest go away. It feels like pressure, too much pressure, in his chest, and he nearly clutches his heart. The blood is rushing in his ears, he can't breathe, he feels dizzy.

Why does it hurt so much?

Before he can think it through he’s stumbling to his room. He kicks the door shut behind him, tossing the duffle back on the floor near his bed. His hands are reaching for the backpack on his shoulders and pulling out his laptop before it even hits the ground. He doesn't even sit, placing the laptop on his bed and bending down to type into the search bar.

He barely pays attention to the final amount when he hits “confirm” - he has more money than he knows what to do with anyways. The moment it’s done he sighs, watching the Gmail notification light up on his phone.

“Flight Confirmation, December 23rd, 2020 11:25 pm

St. Louis, Missouri to Calgary, Canada”