#How High Up Can A Cat Spray Wonderful Useful Ideas

[inkmimicry]

how did coffee end up in animal testing? did he have a life before becoming a street cat?

Once a street cat, always a street cat - Coffee began as one and still is one, though he's had odd jobs here and there, he never quite managed to leave that life.

He has no idea who the scientists were - government agents? villains? some shadow organisation? Whoever they were, they got their mitts on the The Living Spray and altered it to 'continuously' bring its host back to life, using electricity. He and some other strays were snatched up by a van posing as bad-dog-catchers, and he was very surprised to awake in some high-tech nightmare lab and not the Pound. (he's been there before, teamed up with some fun characters to stage an escape, but that's a story for another day.) He was the last and only survivor of the tests, and he learned how to escape by watching the others fail and adjusting his plan accordingly.

Poor Coffee is who Lil' Petey may have been if nobody found him, living day to day, never really trusting anybody, never staying in one place to long. Lately, he's been wondering if he can use this new 'power' of his for something greater, but does he have the guts to do it?

[catsmei7]

Are Monsteras Toxic to Cats? 🐾🌿

Are Monsteras Toxic to Cats? 🐾🌿

If you’re a cat owner who also loves houseplants, you’ve probably heard of the Monstera deliciosa—that gorgeous, leafy plant that has become the centerpiece of many homes. But, if you’re also sharing your space with a curious cat, you might be wondering: Are monsteras toxic to cats? Let’s find out what you need to know to keep both your plants and your feline friend safe. 🌱🐱

The Short Answer: Yes, Monsteras Are Toxic to Cats 😬

While your monstera plant might look harmless with its beautiful, split leaves, it’s actually toxic to cats. Monsteras contain calcium oxalate crystals, which can cause irritation in your cat’s mouth and digestive system if ingested. So, if your curious cat decides to nibble on a monstera leaf (and let’s be honest, cats love to chew on plants), it can result in some uncomfortable symptoms. 🚨

What Happens If Your Cat Eats a Monstera? 🧐

If your cat chews on a monstera, you might notice some of these symptoms:

Excessive drooling 🐾

Pawing at their mouth or face 🤚

Vomiting 🤢

Diarrhea 💩

Trouble swallowing or a swollen mouth/throat 😿

While these symptoms are typically not life-threatening, they can be pretty unpleasant for your cat. If you notice any of these signs after your cat munches on a monstera, it’s a good idea to reach out to your vet to make sure everything is okay. 🏥

How to Keep Your Cat Safe from Monsteras 🛑

So, what can you do to protect your cat from these toxic plants? Here are a few tips:

Keep your plants out of reach: Try placing your monstera on a high shelf or in a room your cat can’t access. 🏠

Use deterrents: Cats dislike citrus scents, so you can use a citrus-scented spray around the base of your monstera to keep them away. 🍊

Cat-proof your plants: Consider wrapping the base of the plant in aluminum foil or double-sided tape, which cats tend to avoid. 🛑

Consider safer alternatives: If you’re really worried about your cat and plants, there are plenty of non-toxic plants that are safe for felines. Try spider plants, Boston ferns, or cat grass! 🌱🐾

Should You Still Keep a Monstera? 🤔

It’s up to you! While monsteras are toxic to cats, you can still enjoy them if you’re able to keep them out of your cat’s reach. Just be mindful of where you place them, and make sure your furry friend doesn’t have access to them. If your cat is particularly curious or prone to nibbling on plants, you might want to rethink bringing a monstera into your home, or consider a safer plant alternative. 🌿💚

By following these tips, you can keep both your monstera and your cat safe, so everyone in your household can stay happy and healthy! 🌿🐱

[sarahsrep]

Taylor’s bio on her website in 2011

Hi, I'm Taylor. I've been alive for 21 years now, and I finally have my own kitchen. I'm very excited about this, and generally excited by anything else that falls into the "cute" or "cozy" categories. I learned to play guitar when I was twelve from this guy named Ronnie who came over to fix my parents' computer. I like quilts. But that's probably because I'm always freezing cold. I LOVE Nashville. That's where I live, when I'm lucky enough to be there. I love the town so much, I sometimes feel like I should just roll the windows down in my car (nicknamed the Toyoat. Because it's a Toyota) and scream "I LOVE THIS TOWN" loudly out the windows. That wouldn't be weird, right? Every time I try and wink at someone, I mess it up and end up scaring people. My lucky number always has been and always will be 13. It pops up in front of me in the most obvious and undeniable ways, but only when something good is about to happen. I'm a Sagittarius. I think that means I'm always looking for something new. It also means I have a Christmas-themed birthday party every year. I love bright colors and things that make reality seem more whimsical than it is. I have a collection of ribbons and headbands, and I love them all the same.  I over-think and over-plan and over-organize. I've been like this since I was a baby, before I was gigantically tall and over-talkative.

These days, I've been trying to classify my thoughts into two categories: "Things I can change," and "Things I can't." It seems to help me sort through what to really stress about. But there I go again, over-planning and over-organizing my over-thinking! I write songs about my adventures and misadventures, most of which concern love. Love is a tricky business. But if it wasn't, I wouldn't be so enthralled with it. Lately I've come to a wonderful realization that makes me even more fascinated by it: I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to love. No one does! There's no pattern to it, except that it happens to all of us, of course. I can't plan for it. I can't predict how it'll end up. Because love is unpredictable and it's frustrating and it's tragic and it's beautiful. And even though there's no way to feel like I'm an expert at it, it's worth writing songs about -- more than anything else I've ever experienced in my life.

I've apparently been the victim of growing up, which apparently happens to all of us at one point or another. It's been going on for quite some time now, without me knowing it. I've found that growing up can mean a lot of things. For me, it doesn't mean I should become somebody completely new and stop loving the things I used to love. It means I've just added more things to my list. Like for example, I'm still beyond obsessed with the winter season and I still start putting up strings of lights in September. I still love sparkles and grocery shopping and really old cats that are only nice to you half the time. I still love writing in my journal and wearing dresses all the time and staring at chandeliers. But some new things I've fallen in love with -- mismatched everything. Mismatched chairs, mismatched colors, mismatched personalities. I love spraying perfumes I used to wear when I was in high school. It brings me back to the days of trying to get a close parking spot at school, trying to get noticed by soccer players, and trying to figure out how to avoid doing or saying anything uncool, and wishing every minute of every day that one day maybe I'd get a chance to win a Grammy. Or something crazy and out of reach like that. ;) I love old buildings with the paint chipping off the walls and my dad's stories about college. I love the freedom of living alone, but I also love things that make me feel seven again. Back then naivety was the norm and skepticism was a foreign language, and I just think every once in a while you need fries and a chocolate milkshake and your mom. I love picking up a cookbook and closing my eyes and opening it to a random page, then attempting to make that recipe. I've loved my fans from the very first day, but they've said things and done things recently that make me feel like they're my friends -- more now than ever before. I'll never go a day without thinking about our memories together.

For the last two years, I've been writing and recording an album called Speak Now. I only have the option of writing about things that happen in my life, so thankfully a LOT has happened in my life in the last two years. I know I don't always say the right thing at the right time or speak up when I should, but I write it all down. I get my guitar and a pen and all of a sudden, I have a chance to say exactly what I meant to say in real life. Some of the things I wrote about are things everyone saw me go through. Some of the things I wrote about are things nobody ever knew about. I'm beyond excited for you to hear these stories and confessions.

I think it's important that you know that I will never change. But I'll never stay the same either. Must be a Sagittarius thing.

I'm pretty stoked that you read this whole thing. I commend you for that. This was ridiculously long, and you probably have other stuff you could've done in the last four minutes. So to you, or anyone else who has spent four minutes on me in some way-- listening to just one song, or watching one of my videos….Thank you. I love you like I love sparkles and having the last word. And that's real love.

--Taylor

[overly-b]

Say It Again - JJ Maybank

In which JJ questions if he is deserving of you and your love. 

Warnings: swearing, sad JJ, fluff, awful editing don’t come for me

Word Count: 3.5k(whoops) 

Author's note: this is my first time writing in so long, be gentle with me friends. I know that a lot of people have done similar prompts of JJ feeling undeserving of love and the reader helps him through it, so this is a little bit unoriginal but, this is my take on it. 

Bold italics is a flash back. 

Thank you to @maybe-maybanks​ to the late night inspiration!

not my gif

As you, Kie and Pope approached the yard of the chateau, it became undeniably clear that JJ had gone off the rails with extravagant spending since you had seen him last. 

“What did you do JJ?” Pope questions the boy sitting in the hot tub. Looking at you through his sunglasses, he smirks. 

“I got a jet going straight in my butt right now” He ignores Pope. “Y’all, should get in here immediately, you hear me?” His sentence slurs slightly. “Salud!” He toasts his plastic champagne flute in the air, but opts to take a swig from the bottle in his other hand. 

JJ scans the faces of his three friends, eyes lingering at yours a moment longer than Kie and Popes. 

You see, just days ago, after getting arrested, then beaten by his father, JJ found you, and poured his heart out, to find that you shared his feelings, and the two of you started seeing each other in secret. 

Being that it was a secret, the two of you had yet to put any kind of label on it, but you loved that blonde boy to the ends of the earth, despite what had happened earlier that day. 

“You know what, that's exactly what I’m gonna do. Go off, by myself.”  

You watched as JJ began walking away. Pope attempted to stop him, but Sarah and John B had halted his efforts. You stood silently fuming at the actions of the boy you had such strong feelings for. How could he be doing something like this? This wasn’t the JJ you knew, had been friends with for years, and were now in love with. Though if you were being honest with yourself, you had loved him for years prior. 

“JJ!” You seethed, shaking off John B’s attempts to hold you back from running after him. He was already a good distance away from the group, he probably couldn’t even hear you yelling, so you started speed walking. It soon became apparent that he was simply ignoring you. 

“JJ!” You were merely twenty feet from him, screaming at his back. “JJ stop!” His strides continued. 

“You were real quiet back there princess, finally decide to comment?” You stepped in front of him, shoving his shoulders to force his walk to a stop. “What the fuck Y/N!” 

“What the fuck me? What the fuck you! What has gotten into you right now JJ what are you doing?” 

“Nothing has gotten into me Y/N I’m simply paying back what I owe.” He states, trying to walk past you. 

“By stealing the money from the drug dealer that just jumped us?” Your brows raise as you interrogate him. 

“He jumped us, he has this coming.” He nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, succeeding in getting past you, as you stand shocked by his words. 

“JJ you and I both know that you’re not that goddamned stupid.” His steps slow, he stands still. “Stealing money from a drug dealer? JJ I know that you owe money because of Pope but this isn’t right! You’re better than this-” 

“Am I?” He turns on his heels to face you again, this time squaring his shoulders to be purposeful in standing tall over you. Him standing over you made you feel small in comparison to the raging blond. “Am I better than this?” He repeats his question. 

“JJ what are you-” 

“Because I’m starting to think that you, and your high standards, and your perfect life, only think that I am better than this because you want me to be better than this.” 

You knew what he was referring to. You were by no means a kook, but your family was financially stable enough to afford a nice house, you had your own car, and if you wanted, you could afford to go to college on the mainland. Your life was unlike most lives on the cut, but JJ knew that your life was far from perfect. 

“What the hell-” 

“And that if we’re gonna be together,  you need me to be better than this so that I can fit in with your life.” You had no idea what he meant. Your life was on the cut, with the Pouges, with him, and the difference of financial well beings of your familys never changed that before, so why was it now? 

“What the fuck JJ stop-” 

“Well you know what Y/N! I’m not better than this, this is who I am! I get into fights, I steal, I have a criminal record, when I get hit, I hit back this is who I am!” 

“We both know that stealing twenty five thousand dollars from a drug dealer is never going to make anything better.” You attempt to reason with him. “This isn’t hitting back this is loading the gun that's already in your face!” 

“Y/N I have to!” He spits. “I know you could never understand being in so much debt but this is my only option.” His words hit you like a punch to the stomach. He looks down to his boots before continuing. “So I’m sorry that I’m not what you pictured as a boyfriend, but this is what I do Y/N. Maybe you trying to fight it means you deserve better than me.” 

And just like that, it was clear that he was more mad with himself then he was with you. However, everything that he said was uncalled for, and nasty, and he had no right. You watch as he storms away, even more tense than before, and you couldn’t help but wonder how this affects your newfound relationship. You blink away the water from your eyes, and do your best to compose yourself as you slowly wander back to your friends. 

“How much did this cost?” Pope asks. Your head was spinning as he listed all of the things that he had purchased since he left you standing in the woods. 

“Uh, well. With the generator, the petrol, and, oh, hey, express delivery,” You knew the answer before he even had time to speak. “Pretty much all of it, yeah.” 

“All of it?” Pope exclaims. 

“Oh my god” You whisper, mostly to yourself, rubbing your forehead with your palm. 

“Yeah all of it.” 

“You spent all the money in one day?” “Yeah burned a hole right through my pocket.” He confidently explains. “But, I mean like come on guys, look at this!”  The tone in his voice told you that he was holding back, it was alway his biggest tell when he would hold back his feelings. “Finest in jet based massage therapy, that's what they told me.” 

The three of you are left speechless. 

“Kie what? Can’t a man have a little luxury in life?” JJ still could not bring himself to look you in the eyes for more than a moment. “Come on, all this scrimping’ and scraping’” you notice his voice falter again. “I mean like, guys, we, you only live once. Right?” JJ finally locks eyes with you, and he reacts spastically, your dreaded look having the gravest effect on him.  

“Y/N, stop, why are you looking at me like that?” He knew full well, but he was trying too hard not to show it. “I know that you’re mad about earlier okay, but, everything is fine now!” His voice was louder now, concealing the breakdown you knew was coming, sooner or later, here with the three of you or somewhere else. “Enough of this emotional shit. Get in the Cat’s Ass come on.” He smiles, waving you to join him. 

“The what?” Kie furrows her brows. 

“The Cat’s Ass.” JJ smugly replies, proud of himself. “That's what I named her. Oh hey yo, I almost forgot,” JJ leans forward, pressing a button that makes water spray across the tub, and even more colorful lights flash in front of him. “Huh! Yeah that's right, disco mode, thats right baby!” His eyes scan yours, noticing that they were clouding with tears. He quickly looks away from you, not wanting to see the damage that he had done, and was still doing. 

“JJ,” Your voice is low and hushed as you blink back tears. 

“Are you kidding me?” Popes harsh voice overpowers yours, cutting off you and your tears. “You could have paid for restitution!” 

“Or literally given it to any charity” Kie fumes at the sight before her. 

“Guys,” You mutter, wanting them to stop being so hard on the broken boy you secretly called yours. You were mad too, if not more than Pope and Kie due to your argument. However, you could see straight through the smug grins and happy fasad that JJ was trying to project. He was hurting, and you knew it wasn’t just about the fight the two of you shared. 

“Or better yet, you could have helped us buy supplies to get the rest of the gold out of the well!” 

“Guys!” You spoke up louder this time, only to be cut off by JJ. 

“Okay well you know I didn’t do that!” As JJ’s swimsuit clad body surfaces from the hot water, you are confronted with what you knew would be there, and the tears pour from your eyes. “I got a hot tub!” JJ shakes in what appears to be anger, but you know it isn't anger he's reeling from. “For my friends,” 

Kie and Pope gape at JJ’s bruised abdomen and instantly connect the dots as to who is responsible. 

“I bought a hot tub for my friends.” He repeats. “You know what, no, you know what, screw friends. I got a hot tub for my family.” 

“JJ what the hell-” Kie gasps.

“I got this for you! Guys look what I did for you! Alright?” JJ spins and gestures to everything he bought. “Look at this!” When he turns back, he finds that you were no longer holding back the tears your eyes once held. 

“Y/N stop being emotional don’t, don’t cry okay? I know that I hurt you before,” His voice fails him as he recalls the words that he said to you. “But I did this for you,” He hangs his head, he knows how bad he fucked up, and it was hitting him all at once that this was not the way that he needed to make things right. This was not the way back to you, and the high of his twenty five thousand dollar spending spree was dissapating at his realisation, and at the sight of you before him. 

“I mean, it’s sweet right?” JJ hadn't even realized that as he began talking, you had climbed into the hot tub. He looks into your eyes for a moment as you stand before him, and lets out a sob as you gently wrap your arms around him. His forehead falls to your shoulder, and  all of his pent up energy released in the form of tears and heaves. 

“I’m sorry. Baby I’m so sorry.” He whimpers to you, only for you to shush him tenderly. Kie and Pope share a confused glance at the nickname. “I couldn’t do it.” You rub his hair and hold him close as he convulses. “I can’t take it anymore!” JJ wails, your tears land on his shoulders, and his tears land on yours. “I was gonna kill him!” 

Kie is next to join you, jumping into the steaming water and embracing the both of you. Pope follows. 

“I just want to do the right thing.” 

“Shh, JJ, I know. I know” You coo him, trying to calm his weeping. 

After minutes of holding him, Kie announces that she has to head home, and Pope offers to drive her. JJ rests in a nearly catatonic state in your arms, no doubt exhausted and knowing JJ, not ready to face the fact that he just broke down in front of his friends. 

The pair leaves bidding reassuring words to JJ, and a few more hugs. 

You are left in the hot tub, holding the blond boy as he clutches onto you. He wasn’t crying anymore, but his breaths were rapid and heavy as he was shaken, the events of the day had caught up to him in the form of you and your tears. He begins to spew soft “I’m sorry”s and other apologises, but his panic makes him stutter and his sentences start to lack direction. 

You shush him and direct the boy to listen to your heartbeat, trying your best to bring his shattered thoughts back to earth. 

“JJ, we should get out of the hottub.” You tell him, to which he simply sniffles and nods, unsure of how to speak to you after the horrible things he said to you, and his inability to form a proper apology. He knew that you were nothing like he had depicted, yet he said what he said, and there was no taking it back. 

His skin was red from the overheated water, and it itched with chlorine, so as the two of you entered the chateau, you started the shower. 

“You should rinse off the chlorine.” You told him, not sure of how to speak to him either. He followed your order and stripped of his bathing suit. You were able to track down clothes for him to sleep in, and as you waltzed back into the bathroom, you decided you couldn’t leave him alone in the shower.  

Taking off your soaked clothes quickly, you slip into the shower to find JJ standing still under the water. You snake your arms around his torso, careful of the bruises pressing your chest to his back. His hands find yours he holds them tight. You place a kiss on his spine, then rest your head where your lips touched. 

“I’m so sorry” He croaked, his voice was tired, worn out from the day. 

“JJ-” 

“No stop Y/N” He turns around to face you, grabbing your face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I should have never said any of those things about you, none of them were true, it's just that, its,” He stumbles on his words. You rub his back to ground him again, he takes a deep breath. “It's just that you do deserve better than me.” 

“JJ please-” He doesn’t let you continue. 

“No you do, Y/N you do. You deserve so much better than me, than this life, than what I can give you. You don’t deserve some, broken kid that's never getting off the cut, you don’t deserve, to, have to watch as I steal money from drug dealers, you don’t deserve any of the shit that I know that I put you through you just, you deserve better, better than someone who doesn’t come close to deserving you.” 

The tears streaming down both of your faces mix with the water coming from the shower and you have no idea how to make his saddening speech stop. 

“JJ” You sob, he pauses. “You deserve so much more, than what your life has given you. You deserve to be happy, you deserve to be loved JJ, you deserve everything that you want, why can’t you see that?” 

And instantly you feel stupid for asking. JJ’s eyes wander and find the bruises littering his body, answering your question. You stifle another sob as your eyes graze his battered skin. 

“Listen to me.” You demand his attention. “You are not worthless.” His eyes divert from yours as he realises what you’re referring to. “JJ look at me,” After a moment or two, his gaze wearily finds yours. “You are not worthless, you are worthy of love, and affection, and someone who takes care of you, and not only are you worthy but you deserve it too. Do you hear me?” 

JJ swallows thickly, nodding in acceptance of your beautiful words. He embraces you tightly, having no words of his own. No one had ever made him feel like this. No one had ever made him feel worthy of the good that was before him. 

He was hesitant to think that he deserved you. To him, no one was good enough to actually deserve you, especially not him. However your speech made him open to the idea that maybe he was at least worthy of your love. 

Your love. 

You both realised in the same moment that the word was shared between you. You had never shared the faithful declaration of love to each other since you had been together romantically, and yet now you had mentioned love twice in the span of thirty seconds. JJ smiled as he held you. You loved him, and this was one of the ways that you showed it. 

“Let's get the chlorine out of your hair J.” 

He let you massage his scalp with the shampoo that he's seen you use before to get pool chemicals out of your hair. He didn’t really know what it did or how it was different from other shampoos but, it smelled like you and he loved getting his head rubbed. His breathing was still shaky, but he finally felt some of his anxiety from the day wearing off. Fighting with you was something he never wanted to do again. Fighting with his dad was something he knew he would have to do the next time he went home. He elected to ignore those thoughts, as your fingers worked magic on his hair, seemingly drawing all of the negative ideas out of his head along with the chlorine. 

As JJ rinsed his hair of soap, he noticed you reaching for the bottle again, no doubt to wash your own hair. He holds out his hand, wordlessly asking if he could wash your hair for you, like you had done for him. This makes you grin as you hand him the bottle. JJ then realises that he doesn’t really know how to do what you did for him. That kind of small, soft, intimate touching was foreign to him. 

He squeezes way too much shampoo into his hand, but you pay that no mind. He starts slow, trying to remember the way your fingers moved on his scalp, but in the end knowing that he just wasn’t good at giving head massages. 

“I used way too much.” He states, watching as suds continue to produce from your locks.  

“It’s okay.” You hum watching the bubbles disappear down the drain. “I set out clothes for you when you’re ready, I’m probably gonna be another minute” You tell him, referring to the other bottles you had in the shower that you still had to use. 

“Okay, thank you” He kisses you as he exits the shower. You finish up quickly, wanting to be next to him, and hoping that his thoughts as he sits alone don’t carry him away like they had before. 

You find that he left his tee shirt for you, like he had on nights before. You wear the shirt that smelled of him along with a pair of comfortable running shorts and head to the spare bedroom of the chateau that JJ called his most nights. 

You spot JJ sitting at the edge of the bed, waiting for you. You slowly and carefully climb onto his lap, straddling him and holding his head close to your chest. You notice anxiety still radiating off of him. 

“Hey,” You start softly. “It’s okay, everythings okay-” 

“I love you” He states bluntly as he picks up his head from your chest. 

“What?” You stumble, surprised at his outburst. 

“I love you, and I want to be with you, like, publically, or whatever. I wanna tell the Pouges and-” before he starts rambling, you stop him. 

“I love you too JJ.” This pauses him. 

“Say it again.” 

You giggle, but inhale, knowing that he needs to hear it. 

“JJ.” You start. “I love you.” 

He lets out a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, eyes watering for the millionth time. 

“I still don’t think that I deserve this.” He admits, looking into your eyes with his crystal clear blue ones. 

“You do.” You push his hair back from his face. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you that you do.” 

He was hesitant to accept everything that you had said to him that day, but he never doubted that you would give him your all. This was all he needed to know before he allowed himself fully over to you, kissing you with more desperation and love than ever before. 

“I love you so much.” You muttered into his lips, and from that day on, you would say it again and again, as many times as he needed to hear it. A constant reminder to him that he was deserving and worthy of good, of love, and of you.

Taglist:  @maybe-maybanks​  @myrandom-fandomlife​

[fuyuweb]

─ TOKYO REVENGERS HEADCANONS

feat. TOKYO REVENGERS mikey, draken, takemitchi, + more

genre. headcanons ig

note. help these kept me up at night, thus i present tokyo revengers headcanons but its gen z energy, ig modernish au?? basically its set in present time instead of 2005/6

okay to start off

yall know that one naruto scene where kakashi sticks his fingers in narutos ass???

this but kakashi is mikey and naruto is draken-

everyone makes "is he gay or european" jokes abt hakkai HDNJHFDJCHG

mikey goes through a weekly process of contemplating whether or not he should give himself a mullet

draken talks him out of it

bc he's been in reform prison thingy for so long, kazutora has no idea how to use tiktok, insta, twt, etc...

baji makes fun of him for it

HELP KAZUTORA IS BASICALLY A GRANDPA

kazutora also had a mental breakdown thus he dyed his hair

emma is tiktok famous dont even try

she'll post mostly dances or funny videos, and occasionally gets mikey/draken/others to do tiktok dances with her

*cue mikey attempting to do the renegadeJBENJUHGB*

the mizo middle (takemitchi's friends) all listen to megan thee stalluon

hina and emma blast doja cat dont even with me

MIKEY LISTENS TO COUNTRY GNNN

smiley smells like axe spray and angry is shigarki 2.0

IM SORRY I LIKE TO SLANDER THE TWINSSS

nobody can tell when angry needs to shit bc he always looks constipatedJUEHDJFH

hanma like haikyuu

and you may be wondering, what does that have to do with this?

TALL NOYA ON DRUGS

hanma got his jesus sandals as a gift from kisaki

baji and chifuyu are olivia rodrigo stans (AS THEY SHOULD)

whenever mikey and draken get into a fight, mikey listens to good 4 u at 3 am

okay listen alright

shinchiro (mikey's brother) used to be in a band

TELL ME HE WASNT I DARE YOU

he was a bassist <3

naoto secretly slanders takemitchy in his head

mitsuya often wonders if hakkai is gay

mitsuya wonders is he himself is gayNEB DNJH

luna and mana (mitsuya's younger sisters) pretend to be gang members all. the. time.

ITS SO FUNNY

when baji's by himself at home, he likes to wear hairties that have flowers on them </3

they're from chifuyu and he loves them

you didnt hear this from me, but when takemitchi first met mikey and draken he thought they were dating

you guys also didnt hear this from me, but everyone wonders how how high takemitchi's hair gel bill isJHBNSJDH

I STILL HAVE MORE SO I MIGHT DO A PART TWO

[unbridgeabledistances]

omg hey I was wondering if you could write something about gallavich being walked in on by someone but they’re like cuddling or doing something really soft and intimate? Can be set any season <3

anon i LOVE this prompt <3 i decided to merge it with another prompt that i just got:

Ian waking up before Mickey, and watching him sleep, and Mickey teasing him when he realizes what Ian is doing.

also, i’m using this as an excuse to once again write the bath scene that we all want but never received (inspired by the intro to 11x05😔), and this takes place just before season 11- i hope u enjoy!!<3

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It was an early, silent Saturday morning—which was incredibly rare for the Gallagher house, but Ian wasn’t going to complain. The sunlight streamed down in ribbons through the broken blinds, casting a slanted glow onto the bed where he and Mickey were laying. Ian had woken up before Mickey, like he pretty much always did, but today he didn’t get up and put the coffee on or pull on a hat to go on his brisk morning jog like he usually would; today, he curled even deeper under the warm cocoon of his blankets that were staving off the winter chill and wriggled closer to Mickey, leaning into the heat that was radiating off of his body.

Someone had definitely paid the heating bill—thank fucking god—but it was still the dead of winter in Chicago, and the rickety walls of the Gallagher house weren’t known the be the most heat retentive, which meant that most mornings everyone sleeping on the second floor woke up to a drafty chill that sunk into the floorboards until someone decided to crank up the heat when they woke in the morning. But this morning, Ian couldn’t hear the familiar crackling of the radiator in the hall, or anyone bustling in the kitchen like usual- Lip and Tami had some doctor’s appointment for Fred, Debbie had a handywoman job and had left early, Carl was staying over some girl’s house and Liam had slept over at a friend’s. He and Mickey had taken advantage of having a mostly-empty house last night; last night was all skin and sweat and scathing touches, the heat of Mickey’s skin pressing against his. And now there was this- the frigid, fragile silence of the next morning, with Mickey laying there asleep next to Ian, with his mouth half open and an innocence in his sleeping face that was so bare and genuine that it almost hurt to look at.

They’d been so caught up in the flurry of shit going on for the both of them- the pandemic, Ian’s new job, just trying to make ends meet and keep the house running- that Ian realized he hadn’t really sat and looked, actually looked, at Mickey’s face for such a long time. He’d seen Mickey’s face plenty considering they were trapped around each other 24/7, sure, but it was the same catch-22 as when they’d shared a prison cell; being around each other all the time kept them from wanting, kept them from missing, kept them from realizing what was right in front of them. He and Mickey were constantly bumping elbows and getting in each other’s space and pressing against each other to blow off steam, but they hadn’t really sat in silence since this whole thing started- it was pretty impossible to, in the Gallagher house. Ian suddenly realized he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d woken up curled around Mickey- usually these days they spread onto their separate sides of the bed, slept on their own separate islands across the mattress. Ian wasn’t really sure when that had started- he remembered that night on the docks, years ago when Mickey had busted out of prison, and how the entire night as they’d slept in the van he had clung to Mickey like the shirt on his skin, like he wanted to soak him up and absorb him into the soft place in his chest that had always been reserved for Mickey, that everyone else just fit into wrong. But at some point after the wedding, between the lockdown and the bills piling up and Lip moving out, they’d just… drifted.

And now, staring at Mickey in the glow of the morning light, all Ian wanted was that innocent closeness again, that swirl of warmth in the pit of his stomach that made him feel completely and totally safe. He inched even closer to Mickey under the covers, draping a heavy arm over Mickey’s waist. He nuzzled his chilly nose to the base of Mickey’s neck, breathing in the scent of Mickey’s warm skin, all cheap shampoo and earthy cigarette smoke. Ian felt a raw ache unfurling in his chest at Mickey’s solid, comforting presence beside him- Mickey had been here all along, but Ian had missed this.

Suddenly, Mickey shifted and rustled the sheets, and Ian lifted his face from the crook of his neck, keeping his arm resting across Mickey’s torso. Mickey let out the gentlest of exhales as he woke, and Ian’s heart ached. Mickey rubbed the heel of his palm to his eyes, disoriented and probably more than a little confused about how close Ian was leaning to him as he watched Mickey intently with wide eyes.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Mickey asked, his voice gravelly and sleep-soft.

Ian gave him a lopsided smile. “Nothing. Just admiring my husband.”

Mickey’s eyes finally fully opened, wide enough for him to roll them as he pushed Ian away, pressing a solid hand to the center of his chest.

“You’re fucking soft, Gallagher.”

Ian just kept smiling a dopey smile, then reached with double the force in to encircle Mickey with his arms, feeling Mickey stiffen and squirm underneath him at first, and then unconsciously exhale into the bear hug of an embrace. There.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

That was the thing about Mickey; sometimes (hell, most of the time) he rejected intimacy like a cat that didn’t want to be pet, like someone that wasn’t used to soft touches or slow advances and only knew hard and fast and now. It had been an uphill battle to get here, so many years of being apart and together and then apart again, but now they were at the point where whenever Ian made advances to caress Mickey, Mickey would roll his eyes and feign resistance just before preening and melting into Ian’s touch.

Ian listened to Mickey’s steady breaths, and felt the vibration of his heartbeat against his chest. Mickey’s eyes were closed again, his lips pressed in a slight, contented smile as he soaked up Ian’s touch. Ian hummed in satisfaction, then pressed his face against the side of Mickey’s neck, breathing him in. The clouds of sleep hadn’t yet cleared, and for a timeless moment Ian let himself inhale the sweet skin at the crook of Mickey’s collarbone as the morning light pooled on their skin.

After a few minutes Ian softly cleared his throat, which was dry and slightly scratchy from the chill of the room. “What d’you wanna do today?”

Mickey rotated onto his side so he was facing Ian, his eyes still half-closed and his expression soft and dreamlike.

“A whole lot of nothing, Gallagher,” Mickey murmured sleepily.

Mickey’s face was millimeters from Ian’s, and Ian tasted his words more than he heard them. And then Ian couldn’t really do anything except slyly smile and bridge the gap between them, pressing a series of chaste kisses between their chapped lips. Mickey quickly escalated the embrace, pressing his mouth hotly against Ian’s and bringing his blazing palms up to the side of Ian’s neck to pull him closer, pressing his hips against the side of Ian’s torso and making Ian feel a rush of heat that zipped all the way down to his toes. And he would have kept kissing Mickey, if it wasn’t for the blitz of heat that drew such a stark contrast to just how cold the bedroom still was, the sharp chill still numbing Ian’s nose and ears and cheeks. Ian pulled away, leaving inches between his face and the face of an eager Mickey that was still clinging to the back of Ian’s neck.

“It’s fucking freezing. No one turned the heat on this morning.”

“So? Who cares? Bet I can warm you up, hot stuff.”

Ian rolled his eyes in what was supposed to be annoyance, but he knew the gesture ended up looking overly fond. “Mick, the blankets barely cover the bottom half of my legs. It’s not my fault you’re a four-foot-tall blanket hog.”

Mickey shoved Ian away again, then playfully rolled onto his chest. “First of all, fuck you. And second of all, it’s not my fault that I’m married to the fucking Jolly Green Giant. Use your new job money to invest in a bigger blanket and quit your whining, bitch.”

Ian grinned, then gently rolled Mickey off of his chest. “Seriously, Mick, give me two seconds, I just wanna turn up the heater and take a warm shower or some shit.”

Mickey sighed defeatedly but accepted the loss, curling himself up in the blankets as Ian rose from the bed. “Whatever. I’m going back to bed.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Of course you are.”

Ian slowly stretched, then grabbed a discarded towel that was crumpled in the corner beside the dresser. He slid open the flimsy bedroom door and adjusted the thermostat on the wall in the hallway, cranking the heat so at least Mickey could peacefully sleep for another few hours without freezing to death. Then he ambled into the bathroom and turned the shower faucet as high as it could go, the scalding spray immediately raining down.

Ian reached over to the bathroom shelf to grab his shampoo bottle, and his eye landed on the small pink bottle of Franny’s bubble bath. Suddenly, he had the perfect idea. He shut off the shower and immediately turned the tap for the bathtub on, starting to let the base of the tub pool with steaming water.

He turned back down the hallway and peeked his head around the corner into the bedroom. Mickey was probably not asleep again yet, but he was convincingly curled in a cocoon of blankets in the middle of the bed, his face pressed into the pillow and the duvet wrapped half around his head.

“Hey. Mick. You wanna take a bath?” Ian half-whispered.

Mickey groggily poked his head up from under the covers, his hair sticking up in all directions. “A fucking bath?” he asked sleepily, squinting at where Ian stood in the doorframe. “Isn’t that kind of… gay?”

Ian sighed. “We’re gay, Mickey. Calm the fuck down. Do you want to take a bath with me or not? Everyone’s gone, we’ve got the whole day to ourselves.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows, like he was still unconvinced but mulling it over. Then he started to lazily attempt unwrap himself from the layers of blankets around him. “Fuck it. Got too cold when you left the bed anyways.”

Ian smirked. “Water’s running. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Ian turned back into the bathroom once more, and squirted a few healthy doses of Franny’s bubble bath into the tub that was starting to fill with foamy suds. He undressed and slid into the bath, instantly feeling his tense muscles thaw as they hit the warm water. He leaned his head back onto the rim of the tub, letting himself lay there with his eyes closed until he felt the water inching up his torso, the air thick with the sweet floral smell of the bubble bath.

“Mick, c’mere!” Ian called, praying that Mickey had extracted himself from the blankets and not fallen asleep again. A few moments later a very sleepy and rumpled Mickey was standing in the doorway rubbing his eyes, and then zeroing in on Ian laying in the tub.

“Yeah, this might be the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Ian flipped him off, then scooted so he was sitting upright in the bath. “You coming in?”

Mickey seemed hesitant, but started to fumble with the tie of his flannel pajama pants. “Guess so.”

Ian smiled contentedly. “Come on.”

Mickey dubiously climbed into the tub, one leg after the other, and then slid to settle against Ian’s chest. Ian felt Mickey’s muscles relaxing against him, all of his usual tightness succumbing to the ripples of pleasant water enveloping them. Mickey leaned his head back onto Ian’s chest, exhaling.

“Yeah, okay. This is pretty fucking nice.”

Ian smirked. “Told you. Not too gay?”

Mickey scoffed. “Fuck you.”

Mickey closed his eyes, and Ian couldn’t resist lifting a hand to Mickey’s head and starting to run slow circles through his hair, tracing gentle patterns that he knew always made Mickey doze off. The bathroom was full of steam rolling off of the scalding water, the bubbles foaming and fizzing around them. Ian felt so perfectly content, sitting here with the sturdy weight of his husband pressing him down, breathing in the sugary scent of the bubbles sticking to Mickey’s skin and letting his own eyelids droop…

And then suddenly, Lip came barging through the door.

Immediately Mickey’s eyes flew open, his body tensing up. Lip just stood in the doorframe, his posture casual but frozen on the spot, staring at a very frilly smelling (and a very naked) Mickey and Ian laying in a bubble bath together.

Lip pursed his lips, like he was choking back a laugh.

“Uh. Hey guys. Didn’t think anyone was in here, considering the…silence.”

“Well, clearly we are, so get the fuck outta here!” Mickey was no longer drowsily collapsed onto Ian’s chest, sitting up straight and pointing at the door for emphasis. Ian just put his hand to his forehand and grimaced. So much for having the place to ourselves.

Lip snorted, still undoubtedly trying to hold back an avalanche of laughter, but he turned and started the close the door. As he was shutting it, Ian called after him.

“Lip, I thought you and Tami had some doctor’s appointment with Fred?”

Lip was in the hallway behind the closed bathroom door now, but he cracked it to let his voice in. He cleared his throat, clearly trying to compose himself. “Uh, yeah. Those usually only last an hour, though.”

Jesus. Maybe Ian had just been swept up in all the sappy emotions for the morning, but he could have sworn Lip and Tami were usually gone for hours whenever they had weekend errands to run. Oh well, it wasn’t really a big deal- half of the Gallaghers had seen each other in compromising positions, since privacy was definitely a somewhat foreign concept within these four walls. But underneath Mickey’s bravado when he was kicking Lip out, Ian noticed that Mickey’s cheeks were glowing red. And Ian totally got it; the two of them had been walked in on fucking plenty of times- hell, that was the whole theme of their hookups in the back of the Kash and Grab when they were in high school- but there was something about this, being interrupted in a truly vulnerable moment, that felt more excruciatingly embarrassing somehow.

Ian looked down at Mickey, who was still staring off into space at the closed door. Finally, he spoke.

“We’ve gotta get our own fucking place.”

Ian breathed out a laugh, and kissed the side of Mickey’s temple. “Yeah, we really do.”

[pilotcallsigns]

Start Again - Chapter Seven (Din Djarin x Reader)

SUMMARY: After being ambushed by the pair of Devaronians, you and the Mandalorian make the decision to expedite your journey into the city of Opseg. Upon your arrival, the city and its people welcome you with open arms and you find out more about what the Empire did to you while in their custody. 

CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of attack from the previous chapter, panic attacks, medical procedures including sedation, and VERY heavy discussion of forced sterilization. 

Author’s Note: This is my longest chapter yet at 3.2k words! I hope you enjoy this latest chapter and I hope I can be back on my regular update schedule. Feel free to reblog and like!

CHAPTER SEVEN - THE DIAGNOSIS

Trekking through the canyon might’ve been easier if you didn’t have such a debilitating headache. The bacta patch had healed the wound in your hairline, but your eye was still swelling and your head ached in a way that you hadn’t felt in months. In the back of your mind, a part of you really wished you had the Puvion leaves to alleviate the headache. The leaves had always worked better than any bacta spray or patch.

Your heart still raced at the thought of what happened earlier in the morning. Waking up to two Devaronians sniffing around your camp wasn’t exactly what you had in mind of a good morning. When they noticed you were awake, there was zero hesitation to take you out. They had even managed to do so quietly enough that it didn’t wake the Mandalorian.

The swelling at your eye aches as a reminder of how quickly they had managed to take you down. Your lack of training had made it easy, before you could even swing up your knife to defend yourself, the one Devaronian, Zek, punched you hard enough for you to see stars. There wasn’t much fight left in you after that.

When they noticed the Mandalorian, however, their motives changed. It wasn’t about kidnapping you and keeping you as their prize for the day, but instead getting the armor off the Mandalorian and selling it. Had they been successful they would’ve walked away with both you and possibly thousands of credits after pawning off the armor.  

But the Mandalorian had handled it, wielding his saber as he easily killed the two mercenaries. It still took your breath away thinking about how he had moved with it, fluid and precise. He may have held the weapon like it burned him, but he used it like second nature.

Your feet hit solid ground and you look up, eyeing the bustling city of Opseg around you. It was noisier than Tatooine. Children scream with joy as they run past you, disappearing into the crowd of people looking to buy the latest products. Fine jewelry and clothing were hung up on display, shopkeepers shouting prices to interested onlookers. The savory smell of vegetables cooking fills your nose and you turn to see another line of shops, these ones selling hot meals. The sights and sounds were both exciting and overwhelming all at the same time.  

“This is insane…” you say, laughing slightly. You had never experienced anything like this before, a city with life. Tatooine was nothing compared to this.

“It’s not insane, my dear! This is Opseg!” A voice shouts behind you, startling you. You turn and a green humanoid alien grins at you. The friendliness waving off this stranger is almost as overwhelming as Orus itself. You wondered if everyone on Orus was like this.

The Mandalorian steps just in front of you, putting a barrier between you and the stranger. You hadn’t hired him to be a bodyguard but given the events earlier this morning and your lack of training, you let it slide this time. Besides, you were tired of being snuck upon.

“Ah, apologies, my name is Ortib-Blik! But you can call me Obie for short,” The alien extends his hand out, clearing his throat when the Mandalorian doesn’t offer his hand in return. “I’m a tour guide here in Opseg. You looked lost, so I figured I’d offer my help.” He offers a sheepish smile when the Mandalorian doesn’t say anything.

“Hello Obie,” you greet, stepping to the side of the Mandalorian in order to introduce yourself. “We’re just passing through; we need to find a medcenter.”

“I’d assume it’s for that wound on your eye?” Obie asks, pointing at where your eye swells. You nod and he grins again. “Well, you’re just in luck, the medcenter is taking walk-ins today!”

“How much is a physical?” Mando asks from behind you.

“It’s free!” Obie exclaims, “Even to non-Orus citizens.”

“Is there work I can find here?” Mando asks and Obie’s expression changes.

“Yes, plenty! You look more like a hunter, so I’m sure if you were to stop by any of Opseg’s twenty cantinas you’d find something.”

You balk at the number, looking at the Mandalorian. You forget his facial expression is hidden by the helmet, but you can assume he’s also surprised. Twenty cantinas was an incredibly high amount and you couldn’t imagine the work going into finding a job would be worth it.  

“Thank you, Obie, but I think we’ll take it from here.” You offer a tight smile to the alien.

“Of course, of course! If you have any questions, don’t be afraid to shout!” He says, waving as he departs down the street.

“I think he was a lot nicer than the Devaronians that greeted us this morning,” you say, smiling when the Mandalorian sighs. “Too soon?” you chuckle.

“A little, yeah,” Mando says, turning around as he looked down the street. It seemed everywhere you look that it was teeming with life, people shouting and laughing. The shopkeepers yell over the playing children as parents stress over prices. This is way better than life on Puvo, you thought.

Puvo had its moments, the winter festival brought out a certain life in its citizens. Winter seasons were so rare that they celebrated the first indication of winter, whether it was a significant drop in temperature or animals beginning their hibernation. You had only ever experienced one festival and it was during the time your mind was still mending itself back together. But you remembered the laughing, the dancing, and the singing.

Valara had spent hours showing you how to braid her hair, repeating the motions over and over until you finally got it. She looked so happy dancing with that one boy from the neighboring village. Impressions meant everything on Puvo and she took it to heart when the boy didn’t offer another date after the festival. You had been too busy recovering to offer her any comfort, but Valara had moved on, throwing herself into work.  

They hadn’t even celebrated the last winter festival. There was too much work to be done, the council had announced. A cloud of depression remained over the village for some time. Valara mentioned it reminded her of when the Empire was still in power. The depressive atmosphere took a toll on your already weakened mental health. Try as she might, Valara’s grandmother struggled to pull you out of that episode. It had been one of the many deciding factors to leave Puvo, at least for the sake of your own well-being.

“We’re in the town square at the moment,” The Mandalorian says. The memories of Puvo fade as you focus your attention. “Medcenter shouldn’t be too far from here.”

“Right,” you murmur, “and what are you going to do while I’m being seen?”

“The guide said twenty cantinas, I have to start somewhere. Most of them are downtown. Small, shouldn’t be too hard to get through all of them before you’re done.” Mando replies, looking to you for confirmation. You nod.

The walk to the medcenter isn’t much. You manage to escape the craziness that’s the town square, there’s not as much yelling, but there’s still plenty of children running around their exasperated parents. It’s clear you’ve entered one of the housing areas, women and men alike staring as you both continue your path. The Mandalorian doesn’t seem to mind the stares. He’s probably used to it by now, you think.

The medcenter is daunting when you approach it. The all-white building amidst desert brown was shocking at first, freezing you in your movement as you stared at the twin doors in front of you. What if they found out something was wrong with you? What if it couldn’t be fixed? Your mind spirals at the idea of what could go wrong, words and thoughts jumbling together. Would they take you away from the Mandalorian? Send you back to Puvo so you can really get better? Institutionalize you? You weren’t that crazy…

“I can’t do this,” you whisper to the Mandalorian. He remains silent and you wonder if you’ve finally managed to make him angry.

“You can. I’ll be there with you the whole time.” He speaks.

“But-but you said you’d—”

“I know what I said earlier.” He murmurs, “But you’re clearly in distress and it’s better for me to stay close, especially in a city as big as this one. The cantinas can wait.”

You’re not sure if his words really soothe your nerves. Your heart is still racing at your earlier thoughts and it’s quickly becoming harder to breathe. He was promising to stay but would he be there when they read off what was wrong with you? Suddenly being on Puvo didn’t sound so bad after all.

You jump when the door opens behind you.

“Hello, I am Oralia. I am a nurse here at the Opseg Medical Center.” A Mirialan woman greets you. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The kindness in the woman’s voice makes you freeze again. You’re unsure what to say, what to tell her. Do you start with the current injuries you have? Do you tell her about your purpose for visiting before you were even attacked? Could she tell you were overloaded with anxiety? You were probably shaking like a wet Loth-cat.

“Miss, are you alright?” Oralia asks you and you shake your head. With gentle hands, she lifts your face, her warm eyes examining the wound by your eye and the peeling bacta patch. “Are you with her, sir?” Oralia asks the Mandalorian.

“Yes,” he replies.

“Let’s get her taken care of.” The nurse says, grasping your elbow with a comforting hand as she walks you through the doors. You can hear the Mandalorian’s boots just behind you as Oralia walks you past the front desk into a smaller room.

“Is she going to be alright?” The Mandalorian asks, watching as Oralia lays you on the examination table. The lights are too bright in this room, it’s almost a startling reminder of that nightmare you had days ago. Strapped down to a table and subjected to torture, you never wanted to experience that again. Not again, not again, not again…

“She is having a panic attack,” Oralia replies in a calm manner, placing a wet cloth against your burning forehead. Their voices sound distant, muted even as you try and get over this attack. It’s so much worse than the ones before, your limbs feel numb and weightless all at the same time and the sterile smell of the room fills your senses. It only makes the panic worse.

A whisper of “I’m sorry” and the white ceiling blurs above you, your eyelids become too heavy to keep open. Sleep consumes you.

When you wake up, the room is the same. White walls and white ceilings stare back at you as you try to take in your new environment. The softness of a bed fills the fists of your hands. They must’ve moved you while you were still sleeping. Sitting up, careful of the needle in your arm, you look around in confusion. Where was Mando? What happened? How long were you asleep for?

“It is good to see that you are awake,” a voice greets you. Oralia. The nurse from earlier.

“Where is the Mandalorian?” You ask, not sure whether or not you can trust her.

“He is out. I told him to walk off his anger.” The nurse replies. She walks over to your bedside and examines the IV needle in the crook of your elbow. The skin is bruised but you’re not sure if it’s her work or from the Devaronians from earlier.

“Does he know I’m awake?”

“He will return, I am sure. You needed fluids in your system as well as a proper examination, but only one of those things I could do while you were asleep.” Oralia replies, examining the needle in the crook of your elbow. Adjusting the bandages, she looks at you with a kind smile.

“Did I pass out?” The last moments before falling asleep aren’t clear, only a blur of pictures and muted dialogue.

“You did not. I sedated you. Your panic consumed you and even my years of training could not walk you down from that.” she murmurs, removing the needle from your vein with calm precision. A small bead of blood pools out and she wipes it away, before wrapping the tiny wound.

Bringing your hand to your face, you feel along where your eye had been bruised. Clearly, it had been treated in your sleep as the skin is no longer tender to your touch. The patch just before your hairline is also gone, the skin smooth with no evidence of a scar.

“I am surprised you made it as far as you did. The Mandalorian told me a great deal of what happened to you both this morning. A pair of Devaronians?”

“Yes,” you say in response. She doesn’t urge you for any more of the story, but you tell her anyways. “The Mandalorian held his own. I, well, I didn’t.” Oralia chuckles at your statement.

“You are brave.” She compliments and you feel your skin growing hot at the statement. “It takes a lot for a woman like you to travel the galaxy. Much less with a Mandalorian.”

“I’m searching for answers. I was a victim of the Imperials and they took my son from me. The Mandalorian is helping me find him.” You tell her and she hums, finishing her work on the bandage just in the crook of your elbow.

“You have other wounds,” Oralia says, this time her hand placing itself right above your heart. You look down at where her hand is and you nod, looking away from her in shame. “I will grab Dr. Orn.”

The door opens with a soft whoosh sound and Oralia departs. You’re left in silence, pondering over your thoughts again. You didn’t want to have another panic attack. Taking a deep breath, you think about where the Mandalorian may be. Oralia had told him to walk off his anger. Why had he been so angry? Was it because you were asleep for so long? Thinking on it, it was some of the best sleep you had in a long time. No nightmares, no memories weaving themselves into dreams.

A click and the door opens again, this time Oralia is followed by a human woman. Dr. Orn, you deduce. Dr. Orn quietly walks over to your bedside and examines what you think is your chart on a datapad. The information displayed is not in basic and you frown.

“Hello,” Dr. Orn greets you. She’s older, possibly a few years shy of Valara’s grandmother but her eyes hold the same kindness. Dr. Orn says your name and you blink, looking back up at her. “We did some bloodwork. First, I would like to welcome you to Orus and we’re grateful that you chose our medcenter as the place to handle your healthcare needs. Second, your bloodwork came back great.”

A sigh of relief. “That’s great,” you murmur and Dr. Orn smiles.

“Oralia did some investigating on your chain code and there’s no record of you in any system, not even ex-Imperial. I’m sure you were aware, as was the Mandalorian. He was kind enough to give us what little information you had on yourself. But given the current state of your health, you are in great shape. Minimal scarring from the leaves of Puvo, which is great. I’m sure you’re aware of the ongoing mental healing you’re going through, but with time, you can work through the nightmares and panic attacks. However, there is something I want to note.”

Dr. Orn displays the datapad to you, this time the information is in basic. A rundown of what medical records they could establish for you. One healthy pregnancy was just one of the few things that caught your eye.

“It’s great to see that you’ve been able to have a healthy pregnancy. Oralia tells me you had a son, about fifteen years ago, correct?” Dr. Orn asks you, pointing at the profile they had made of your son. It was blank except for his name and estimated age. You were listed as his mother, but the name underneath FATHER remained blank.

“Yes. Castin. He was about ten when he was taken from me,” you reply, hand reaching out to skim through the notes they had established for you. Most of the information was blank, mostly because it was unknown, even to you.

“Good, good, as you can already tell we’ve logged that in the file we created for you.” Dr. Orn smiles before she brings the datapad closer to herself and removing it from your view. “However, we detected some anomalies in your blood. A woman of your age should be producing the normal hormones that regulate a menstrual cycle. We found that there was a lack of most of those hormones. Can you tell me when your last cycle was?”

You open your mouth to give a quick answer but quickly realize you don’t know. When you had arrived on Puvo, Valara had explained it was a possibility that your cycle would be irregular, considering everything your body had been through. But now that you were thinking about it, you hadn’t even noticed a lack in your cycle. You had been distracted by the ongoing therapy and work on Puvo.

“I-I don’t know…possibly after I gave birth to Castin but I don’t really remember,” you chewed at your bottom lip. What could it mean for you?

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Dr. Orn sighs, looking back down at the datapad. Her fingers tap on the screen, possibly logging what you had said. “You see, when we did your blood test, we found the lack of hormones a sign that you were not having a regular cycle. It’s not unusual, travel can bring stress on the body and I’ve been informed of what happened in your past, but for you, it means something else. When the Empire had you in their custody, what exactly do you remember them doing to you?”

You can feel Oralia’s comforting hand on your lower back, rubbing circles to soothe your nerves. You weren’t sure if you actually felt soothed, but you took a deep breath.

“It’s mostly a blur, I remember the electrocution and how painful it was, but beyond that, I don’t know.” You inform her, your hands twisting together in your lap. Why was she dragging this out? How bad could it possibly be?

“I see,” Dr. Orn hums. You watch as her hand reaches out, resting on your knee. A gentle touch. “When the Empire had you in their custody, most likely while you were in between torture sessions, they performed a surgery to sterilize you. The lack of hormones in your blood and lack of cycle leads us to believe that this is true. I am terribly sorry that you had to suffer under their hand. If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.” Her face says it all, the sincereness in her tone and the sympathy in her eyes. The realization of the diagnosis hits you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Even with Oralia’s hand on your back, you weep.

Read Chapter Eight - Finally, A Lead here!

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

Dick reached as high as his eleven year old legs could take him, towards a set of pots in the cabinet. It wasn’t enough, but Bruce stepped over to help him, setting the pots down on the kitchen island.

“Okay,” Bruce said. “Review the rules for me again?”

“Alfred gives us three ingredients,” Dick explained, “and we have to make something that has all three in it.”

“How much time do I get?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“And I have to present it, right?”

“Yeah. Alfred’s the judge.”

“And then?”

“He puts the dish that loses under a cover, and we wait for a dramatic reveal.”

“Oh, drama. Good.”

Dick gave Bruce a look. “I’m gonna be the announcer.”

“I thought you were doing it with me?”

“I’ll be a contestant too.”

“Is that going to work?”

“Oh yeah,” said Dick, smiling brightly. “It’ll be great. Ready to start?”

“I guess.”

Dick ran to the other side of the kitchen, flipped off the light switch, did a quick twirl, and flipped it back on. He slid into the middle of the kitchen on his sock feet. 

“Good evening!” he said, in his best commentator voice. “And welcome back to Chopped at the Wayne Tower penthouse. I’m your host, Dick Grayson, and today I’ll be competing against Mr. Bruce Wayne!”

Dick struck a confident pose, motioning for Bruce to do the same. Bruce half-laughed and stepped forward into what Dick recognized as his Batman-overlooking-the-city stance. 

The image cracked Dick’s persona, and he laughed so hard he had to bend over and breathe for a few seconds. He got back to business. 

“Let me introduce you to our judge, the honorable Alfred Pennyworth! Let’s give him a round of applause, folks!”

Alfred gave a solemn nod from his place at the dining room table. Dick ducked to the other side of the island, clapping his hands loudly to simulate a fake audience. Bruce joined in.

“Contestants, grab your baskets!” Dick pulled his own cloth covered basket, the one Alfred prepared for him, from the island counter. It had some heft to it. He wondered what was inside. 

“Let’s take a look! Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce flipped open the matching basket on his counter and lifted out a glass jar. “Cherries,” he said, holding them up. 

“And?”

“Chocolate chips.”

“And last?”

“Uh.” Bruce examined another jar, this one plastic, and set it back down. “Cinnamon peanut butter.”

“Hm,” said Dick. “Interesting. A dessert round.”

“Oh yes,” Alfred confirmed. 

“Do you have the stop-watch?”

“I do, Master Richard.”

“Okay then— on your mark, get set… go!”

Dick ran towards the pantry, but Bruce stepped in front of him, blocking the way. 

“Hey!” Dick complained. 

“Sabotage,” said Bruce, grinning, before he let Dick pass. 

Dick pulled the bag of pancake mix from a shelf and scooted sideways, holding it behind his back so Bruce couldn’t see. Unnecessary, he realized, since he was going to announce his choice anyway. 

“Dick Grayson takes an early lead in speed! He has selected a bag of breakfast mix! Mr. Grayson, what do you plan to make?”

“Waffles!” said Dick, answering his own question. He slid over to the fridge and pulled out a gallon of milk and a container of heavy whipping cream. “I’ll be making chocolate chip waffles using the cherry juice for color and flavor, with the fruits themselves on top.”

“What about the peanut butter?” asked Bruce. 

“Flavor for whipped cream.”

“Oh. That’s clever.”

“No copy-cats. That’s cheating.”

“Right.” 

“What about you, Mr. Wayne? Ideas?” Dick pushed himself off the island and held a spatula up at Bruce’s face like a microphone.

Bruce held up a packet of something. 

“Ah!” Dick nodded in approval. “Can you tell us— why Jell-O?”

“It has instructions on the box.”

“You make good points.”

“I’m using the Speed-Set method. It’s highly technical.”

“I’m sure it is.” 

“But I’m still not positive it’s going to set in time.”

“I guess we’ll see?” said Dick. “It’s a good idea anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“Alfred will taste this jello, and you will taste defeat.”

“Okay.”

Dick ran back to his island with a mixing bowl stolen from Bruce’s side of the kitchen. 

“Hey!” Bruce complained. 

“Sabotage,” said Dick, grinning. 

Dick stirred his milk into the waffle mix, then dumped in a generous pour of cherry juice. The mixture turned a delightful shade of bright pink. Dick left it for a few moments to slide back to Bruce’s side of the room. He overshot slightly and collided softly with the counter. 

“Whoops. Mr. Wayne, how does it go at station number two?”

“Well,” said Bruce. “I’m using the cherries in this jello, but I don’t really know what to do with the other two ingredients.”

“Thought process?”

“None.”

“Oh, sure.”

“I bet chocolate and peanut butter go together,” Bruce mused. 

“Yeah.”

“But in what?”

“I dunno.” Dick stepped back into the kitchen center. “Time?” he yelled.

“Eighteen minutes left,” said Alfred. 

Bruce hurriedly shoved a few glasses of red jello into the freezer. Dick returned to his station to pour his chocolate chips into his mixture. 

He pulled the waffle iron from the cabinet under the counter, sprayed it with the bottle of no-stick, plugged it in, and waited for it to heat up. While he did, he wandered over to Alfred’s table with his spatula. He held it out to Alfred. 

“Judge Pennyworth, your impressions?”

“I believe this will be interesting if nothing else.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I have not decided at this point.”

Dick nodded. “Time?”

“Fourteen minutes.”

“Oh, I better get back.”

Waffle iron ready, Dick gave his pink mixture a final stir and poured it in. He did spill some over the side of the bowl, and the counter, and the iron, but that was okay by him. The waffle iron steamed cheerily. 

Dick rummaged through the drawers for a whisk. He added vanilla and powdered sugar to his cream, then scooped in a few spoonfuls of peanut butter, then began to whisk as quickly as possible.

While he did, he went to investigate the other side of the kitchen. 

“Mr. Wayne! Have you formed a plan?”

“I think I’m going to make hot chocolate. With peanut butter.”

“And jello?”

“Served with jello.”

“That doesn’t really… go together.”

“I’m aware. It’ll have to do.”

“Okay, I guess. I gotta flip my waffle.”

Bruce nodded. Dick spun around a few times, just because, and flipped his waffle. He returned to his whisk. 

“Time?” Bruce called.

“Eight minutes.”

“Thanks.” When Dick looked over, Bruce had the milk. Bruce poured it into a mug, studied it for a few moments, and stuck it in the microwave. He hesitated again before punching in a number.

One minute. Dick shrugged. He didn’t know how long to put it in either. Alfred always made the hot chocolate at home, and before that, Dick’s dad. Bruce’s guess was as good as his. 

The microwave hummed as Dick’s whipped cream began to peak. He hummed along with the microwave in satisfaction. 

“Six minutes,” said Alfred. 

Dick’s waffle came out just fine, if not as pretty as he wanted. The chocolate chips that landed on the outside of the waffle marred the color a little bit, but the rest was suitably bright, and Dick liked it.

He set the waffle on a plate, stuck a few cherries on top, and slid to Bruce’s side again. Wait until the last moment to put on the whipped cream, he figured. That way it wouldn’t wilt. 

“Mr. Wayne appears to be stirring in chocolate chips and peanut butter,” Dick narrated. “Any comments, Mr. Wayne?”

“I hope my jello set.”

“I do too. Are you going to pull it out now?”

“I suppose.” Bruce stepped over to the freezer and removed his glasses. The red at the bottom of the glasses jiggled a little bit over the cherries settled at the bottom.

“Hm,” said Bruce. 

“I think it set.”

“Maybe.”

“One minute,” said Alfred. 

Dick heaped on a dollop of peanut butter whipped cream and set his plate on the table in front of Alfred. Bruce followed with a glass of jello and a gently steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

“Time,” said Alfred.

“Folks, it’s time for Judge Pennyworth to make his comments. Judge Pennyworth?”

“I comment,” said Alfred, “that this is surprisingly competent on Mr. Wayne’s part.”

Bruce took a bow. 

“We’ll start with Mr. Grayson’s dish. It’s a lovely color.”

“Thank you,” Dick said, smiling. 

“And for taste…” Alfred scooped off a section of whipped cream and nodded thoughtfully. “This is very nice. Let us taste the waffle.”

Dick beckoned Alfred onward. 

“This also is very nice,” Alfred decided. “Well done, Master Richard. We will now move to Mr. Wayne’s dish. Hm. Jello does not go with hot chocolate.”

“I know,” Bruce groaned. 

“But the fine glass goblets are a nice touch.”

“Thank you.”

“Your jello does appear to be set.”

“Thank God.”

“And this hot chocolate is ah,” Alfred took a sip, “a little flavorless, actually. I might suggest more chocolate next time.”

“Hm,” said Bruce. “I will take that into account every other time I do this.”

“Your sarcasm is unappreciated. If you could both leave the room?”

“Okay!” Dick grabbed Bruce’s arm and pulled him out through the living room and into the hallway that led to the bedrooms. 

“Was it fun?” Dick asked. 

“Sure.”

“You don’t sound excited.”

“As long as you’re having fun, I’m having fun.”

“I am ready,” said Alfred’s voice.

They hurried back into the dining room, where Alfred sat at his table with a large, covered platter in front of him. 

“Yes!” Dick exclaimed. He hopped in front of the table with his spatula. 

“Before we show a winner, let’s talk about our experience. Mr. Wayne! You put on a great show today. Why did you join this contest?”

“Oh thank you, I was forced to be here.”

“Forced by your love of cooking?”

“Absolutely.”

“Are you proud of your dish?”

“I am, actually. That’s the best I’ve done in years.”

“I can confirm,” said Alfred. 

“You’re in fine form today,” said Bruce. 

“Okay!” said Dick. “Whose dish… is on the chopping block? Judge Pennyworth?”

Alfred lifted his cover to reveal a goblet of jello and a mug of hot chocolate.

“It was a hard decision, but alas, one I had to make.”

Dick grinned. 

“Bruce Wayne! Gotham nobility, the guillotine has come.”

“Dark,” said Bruce. 

“You have been chopped.”

“Okay.” 

“I receive honor and glory as my prize.”

“You receive clean-up duty,” said Alfred. “Both of you.”

[peppersonironi]

Duke Thomas VS The "Good Child" Stereotype Chapter Three

Wooo! Chapter Two (not including the prologue) is up now for my @dukethomasbigbang fic! Today's art is by @a-sketchy-character and you can find the glorious piece HERE

thx again to my betas @queerbutstillhere & @theycallme-ook

Today has a special thanks to @batgirls-appreciation who dropped out as a beta, but this chapter couldn't exist without her!

Summary:

Duke pursed his lips, not quite sure why Cass had come down to the basement, only to look into his soul, shrug, and leave. But that didn’t matter right now. As Bruce would say, “The mission comes first.”

Read on Ao3

Duke frowned down at his empty pad of paper, trying to brainstorm. It had been a mere twelve hours since the failed Rick Roll (though, the Rick Roll itself wasn’t a fail. Duke would be daydreaming about the chaos for years to come), and the day shift bat was itching for a way to make up for it.

Alas, the creative juices were not flowing that day. Duke had tried everything - taking a walk, training, meditation, writer’s sprint, and even resorting to watching prank compilations on YouTube. But nothing worked. So, he found himself watching the target Bat - Bruce - in his “natural habitat.”

Also known as the living room, mid lecture.

“But I don’t know what I did!” Tim pleaded desperately, trying to convey to Bruce his confusion.

Bruce shook his head. “No, you do, Tim. Dick told me you all will appeal to my affection to get out of the consequences for your actions -” wow, Duke remembered Dick using that exact tactic just yesterday, and it worked - “So I will not allow you to shirk the punishment.”

Tim groaned. “This is tyranny! I’m an emancipated minor, I don’t need to deal with this.”

“Actually, yes you do. You will be doing chores for Alfred for the next two weeks, and you aren’t allowed to run off to Mount Justice.”

“Then at least tell me what I did wrong!” Tim cried, throwing his hands up in the air. Bruce rubbed his temples, then glanced briefly at Duke.

“You know what you did, and how it affected those around you. And you’re grounded because of it. No room for arguments. Now go work on the sprinklers, Alfred has mentioned they’ve been finicky.”

Tim scoffed and stalked out, soon after followed by Bruce.

Duke considered relocating as well - he couldn’t very well observe Bruce if said wild furry wasn’t present. But something about that conversation that sent a light shiver up Duke’s spine, some small spark of inspiration.

An idea began to form in his mind, and Duke smiled slowly.

*****

“For all Bruce’s waxing poetic on the merits of high tech stuff, this pipe organization is seriously ancient,” Duke muttered under his breath as he glanced from the blueprints he had secured to the mess of pipes and spigots and nozzles in front of him.

Though to be fair, this wasn’t the Batcave. Duke was in the basement of Wayne Manor - yes, he was just as surprised to find they actually had one of those that wasn’t dedicated to the dark and mystique training of Gotham’s Protectors. And impromptu Mario Kart challenges, because as Tim had once told Duke “We all know that’s the real reason Bruce got a giant computer setup.”

Duke cursed softly under his breath when he dropped a wrench that began to clang around in the messy cage of metal. He set the blueprints aside atop the gallons of paint he had chosen, and reached around and down to get the wrench. When he came back up, he found himself face to face with his sister Cassandra.

Oh shit, Duke thought, as he tried to figure out how to cover for what he was doing in the plumbing of the Manor.

Cass squinted at him and, not for the first time, Duke felt like he was an onion trapped beneath her gaze, slowly being peeled back layer by layer till the young woman before him knew every little detail about him. Every thought or plan he ever had.

Duke began to sweat, unable to keep his panic under wraps. Cass was scarier than Bruce, that was just a fact.

Cass tilted her head a fraction of an inch, and Duke thought he was a dead man. But, much to his relief and confusion, Cass shrugged and turned. She walked lightheartedly out of the basement and to the stairs, whistling tunelessly as she went.

Duke pursed his lips, not quite sure why Cass had come down to the basement, only to look into his soul, shrug, and leave.

But that didn’t matter right now. As Bruce would say, “The mission comes first.”

*****

As all members of the Wayne family knew, the Library was one of the best places, period. Aside from the living room which was always a mess of pillows, bean bags, inflatable dinosaurs, spare semi-automatic weaponry and knives, the Library was the most personal room in the expansive home that was the Manor. Sure, it was cleaner and home to fewer surprise nerf gun fights, but It still had an air of warmth about it. It was the place that they would go to to rest after a difficult patrol. Where you could find Jason reading some book in a corner, Tim busy with WE work at the large table, Damian trying to teach Alfred the Cat and Titus to read picture books, Cass and Steph trying to be subtle about making out (though to be fair that was only half the time, other times Cass was working on reading with Steph helpfully giving her guidance). Dick would always be trying to decide what to read and but he would never actually succeed, Bruce would sit in his tall armchair in the corner overlooking every small detail of his children with a not-quick-smile-but-pretty-darn-close on his face.

Duke himself also had his own spot that he would work on writing poetry, or just surf Tumblr. It was a window seat at the far side of the library which was technically big enough for three people, but Duke had a strict policy that it was his and his alone and no he totally wasn’t bullied by Cass that one time to snuggle. Why on Earth would you ever consider such a thing?

It was in this spot now that Duke was situated, though he was not alone. Titus - yes, Damian’s dog - was draped across his lap. Now, Duke didn’t mean to steal his little brother’s pets, but it just happened. Titus was in need of snuggles or belly rubs when Damian was away with Jon or on patrol at night, and Duke just happened to be the only one that said canine could bully into granting him.

Thankfully, like all bats were, Duke was a multi-tasker. He wasn’t put off by having to scratch a dog behind the ears whilst simultaneously checking the twelve blinking dots on his laptop screen that represented his family members.

Duke stared intensely at the diagram of the Manor as all the dots slowed down and finally stayed in their predetermined positions. Huh, Tim was right. Stalking family members did pay off!

The dots suddenly stopped blinking, and Duke snapped out of his self congratulations. It was go time . He switched windows, then quickly pulled out his phone and pressed a button.

There were several screams that echoed throughout the ancient halls, those screams spoke of terror and surprise, and passed along the message that something was very, very wrong in the world. The status quo had been broken, and there was no returning from this.

Duke smirked down at his computer, where a dozen different squares displayed camera footage of the real time happenings of the Manor. Said footage was showing several members of Duke’s family drenched in paint. The same paint that Duke had meticulously divided and poured into the ceiling sprinkling system that the Manor had for some totally-not-plot-related reason. The same paint which had been primed and ready to be sprayed out of the spigots coating each bat with the perfectly calculated, even layer.

The paint had just finished being deployed, and yet several people were for some reason trying to fight it off like it was an attacker. Duke noticed that the swinging of bo staffs, AK-47’s and katanas were altogether unsuccessful. Honestly, the people who were standing completely still in shock, or who were trying to shake off the paint were having much better luck.

But then everyone finally realised that they weren’t being sprayed anymore, and a collective sigh spread out across the Manor. The onslaught was done, and they could finally gather together and grab the pitchforks to hunt down the responsible party.

It was then that the glitter was deployed.

The chaos immediately multiplied tenfold, and the screams sounded up again. The air was filled with the sparkly dust that was way too thin to swat away. (No, Duke totally didn’t spend extra time researching to find the world’s finest glitter)

Duke was outright laughing at this point, so hard that he almost fell off the window seat. Titus barked suddenly, and Duke sobered enough to get back upright and watch the finishing up of the chaos. He had to admit, this felt wonderful. If he had to describe his current state of thrill in two words, he would have admitted that he felt altogether too close to the Hellmo Meme.

Unfortunately, Duke was not Stephanie, and ran out of glitter eventually. The vents stopped blasting the film of fairy dust, and the bats were given a reprieve.

Though the break was short lived, as just then, Bruce’s loud bellow sounded throughout the giant house.

“ALL OF YOU GET IN HERE!”

Duke chuckled as he scooched Titus over and set his laptop to the side so he could get up. This was all working perfectly! He’d arrive at Bruce's interrogation completely free from all paint or glitter, which would immediately prove his guilt. And if that didn’t work, then he supposed he could outright confess. But that wasn’t the point of this. The point was for Bruce to come to the conclusion on his own.

He walked down the hall, completely carefree. So happy and confident in his own abilities that he never even noticed that Cassandra’s paint or glitter didn’t go off. That she wasn’t even present where the tracker he had subtly placed on her earlier that day said she was.

*****

Duke hummed to himself as he skipped along the carpet, past the antique vases and random finger paintings, past the drawing rooms and bathrooms, and towards Bruce. All was quiet.

Though that began to trouble Duke, as he got closer to one of the rooms which was very special. It was where Cass had been situated, playing with Selina’s cat Isis, for the past hour. Now, Cassandra was quiet, sure. But not that quiet. And besides, wouldn’t the cat be screeching right about now? Cass didn’t seem like the person to give a nerve hit to an animal just because it was being loud ( cough Jason cough ).

He slowly entered the room and looked around, but was surprised to find it completely empty. Not just of girl and cat, but of paint and glitter too.

“You were mistaken.”

Duke whirled around to find Cass sitting in an armchair, wrapped in shadows, and stroking Isis in a manner not altogether different from that of an Evil Mastermind™.

“Uh…” Duke replied, “about what?”

Cass smirked, and Duke felt a shiver run up his spine. “Actions have consequences. ”

Duke frowned. Wait, what? He glanced around again, trying to figure out what Cass meant. On a surface level he understood, but there was something about the way Cass was eyeing him that told him something else was up.

The only thing he could find that was out of the ordinary, however, was the camera he had placed just yesterday. Huh, now that he thought about it, he was at just the right angle to see it. Which meant he was in direct view of the camera itself. Pretty darn to close to where he had been planning Cass would stand, actually.

Then a faint spitting noise came from above him.

Oh.

*****

Duke trudged forlornly into the room where the rest of the bats - except Cassandra, who had disappeared after the glitter had deployed onto Duke - had gathered. He was one of the last to arrive, muttering curses under his breath, so all eyes were on him as he opened the door and joined them.

Though that also meant that Duke could see them. He had to admit, that as disappointed as he was, it was still hard to keep a grin from spreading across his face. Boy, he had done a great job with color coordination, hadn’t he?

Bruce was front and center, covered in a dark gray paint which had the sheen of yellow glitter. Dick had black paint completely covering him (much more than Duke planned. Did Dick roll in the stuff?) along with blue glitter. Jason had both red paint and glitter on him. Tim had started off with a lighter colored paint - this time red - and then the look was finished by black glitter. Damian looked like a small Christmas tree in his green paint and red glitter. Harper had blue paint then covered in purple glitter, both of which were the exact shades of her hair. Duke wasn’t a monster ; he knew how to match colors.

The cousins - both honorary and actually - had also been present. Bette had been appropriately targeted with a flaming orange and gold combination. Kate had black paint and, instead of red, Duke had picked a rainbow glitter for her. From the slight glint in her eye, Duke supposed he had chosen correctly. Jean-Paul had been doused in yellow paint and red glitter, and he honestly looked like a very large and human shaped version of his sword. Luke was covered in silver paint and an electric blue glitter.

Bruce, however, didn’t give Duke a second glance, covered in yellow paint and black glitter (which had been meant for Cass, but honestly, it fit Duke quite well), though he was.

“Good, now we just have to wait for Steph,” Tim remarked, rolling his eyes.

Duke frowned. “What about Cass? She’s here too.”

Everyone gave Duke a weird look. “Uh, no she isn’t. She’s been hanging out with Selina and Babs all weekend.”

“Then your intel is wrong,” Duke countered. “She was just here! I planned on her being here!”

The silence in the room was palpable. Before, where there had been bickering and accusations, the quiet had taken over. Everyone stared at Duke with suspicion in their eyes.

Finally, Duke thought, sighing in relief.

Bruce opened his mouth about to question Duke’s statement when the doors to the room banged open.

“What’s up, Bitches? The Waffle Queen has arrived and looks as fabulous as ever!”

Duke stared, completely amazed that she actually seemed to like the purple on purple combo Duke had picked for her. Oh, yeah, now that he thought about it made perfect sense that Steph was the only one to like this.

“Wow, whoever did this really got my colors right!" Steph continued as she waltzed in and posed in front of everyone, her hip cocked and arm thrown up dramatically.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, and he began to growl at her. “This is not funny.”

Steph pouted. “What do you mean? I sure think it is!”

Oh boy, she didn’t notice she was digging her own grave, did she? From the looks of the other bats, they shared Duke’s sentiment.

“Stephanie Brown, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Stephanie smirked. “Yup! I look way better than you, you old fur- hey wait! Are you blaming me ?!”

Bruce glared even harder, and Stephanie started to protest, claiming that she was but an innocent victim of these pain-filled proceedings! It was not her fault! Nor was it her fault that she happened to get colors that she liked better than everyone else.

Bruce refused to hear what she said, and told her to go get changed. “You will be cleaning up this whole mess, and no patrolling until it’s done.”

Bruce turned and stalked out, and Steph was left speechless - for once - in the hall. She backed away, seeing the angry stares from the others. The only one who didn’t seem mad at her, was Duke himself. He opened his eyes wide, conveying pity. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed silently.

Instead of being reassuring, however, Steph squinted in suspicion. Oh shit, that probably hadn’t been the best move.

Just moments after Steph left, Jason threw up his hands. “Okay, who wants to have a water gun fight to clean off?”

There were several cheers of assent, but Duke quickly made his own escape at that time. He honestly wasn’t in the mood to get splashed in the face with water. Now was not the time for fun, as the failed prank still hung over him.

Now was the time for plotting.

*****

“Okay, but why on earth do you have a fully functioning sprinkler system in every room?”

“Yeah, Bruce, even for you that’s paranoid! What caused you to think that was necessary?”

“You.”

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 22

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-consensual&dark sexual situations, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat  additional warnings: open the read more, CTRL + F and search “content warnings” to skip to the additional "spoiler-y" tags for trigger warnings

hey guys! i made a ko-fi! if you enjoy this and have some cash you could spare to help me out with my bills, id really appreciate it! if you follow the link and check out the ‘posts’, there’s a snippet for ch. 4 of posies! 

Their parents had died a few months after her thirteenth birthday and Penny essentially blacked out for the next 8 months. She didn’t remember anything from that school year, although she’d evidently scraped by in all of her classes—actually, Penny was still convinced that little Peter, who was already showing signs of being a tiny genius, had done at least half of her homework. She didn’t remember Hanukkah that year, or the first Christmas she’d ever celebrated with Aunt May and Uncle Ben. She had zero friends coming out of that year, having accidentally pushed everyone away in fits of rage or sadness that she couldn’t even remember. The pain cut just as deep every time she remembered showing up to school the first day of her freshman year only to receive the cold shoulder from half her grade.

That was actually one of the first memories she’d retained after coming out of 7 months and 3 weeks of complete emptiness, how none of her best friends wanted anything to do with her. Everything had been confusing, somehow devastating all over again but… it was less. Her parents were gone and it hurt so much but it was nothing compared to the agony that had beset her form seconds after being informed her mom and dad were dead. When Penny racked her brain she could almost remember Aunt May crouched in front of her while she sat on the couch at home, holding her hands.

Somewhere in her brain, Penny had known that plane crashes were possible. Like, as a concept she understood the idea. The plane that was flying through the air stops doing that, and all the people inside the plane die. But it couldn’t possibly happen to her parents—they were her parents, they were infallible. Plane crashes happened, yeah, but her parents couldn’t be gone. Aunt May had told her several years later that she and Ben had been petrified she would try to kill herself, especially when the state tried to take the young girl away from the Parker’s.

They’d never had the money for therapy and Penny figured she’d never regain the memories from those months but honestly, she didn’t want them. The gaps were reprieves, the missing conversations, the absence of any and all detail. Wasn’t she sad to not remember her eighth-grade graduation? Fuck no, it was a blessing to forget how she’d felt like everyone in existence had their eyes on her—except for the ones she wanted.

There were times she absently wondered how disappointed her parents would be that she didn’t finish college, let alone get an actual high school degree. Her dad had been so smart, a genius in his own right. And her mom… Penny tried not to think of her mom often, not when it hurt so deeply. Mary Parker had been a gentle soul with an IQ of 150 who made Penny feel safe and loved and understood every day of her life. Her mother would’ve been understanding, she would’ve seen the necessity in her dropping out but it would’ve hurt that gentle soul to know the opportunities her baby had missed.

It hurt Penny in a special way that neither of Mary and Richard Parker’s children would be graduating from high school. Neither would attend university. They wouldn’t go on to press the limits of their parent’s knowledge or make an impact on the world. Somehow despite everything she’d sacrificed, Peter would never get the opportunity that he deserved. Her genius baby brother, his potential capped before he had a chance to try. God, it was an agonizing burn in her chest, a searing pain that made her nauseous and light-headed.

Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if her ribs would crack. The cabin was lovely. Dark wood and an A-frame, a nice deck in the back and lots of windows. It was surrounded by trees, with dark needles or thin pale trunks, the purple mountains of the Rockies a lovely backdrop. It was colder than she’d expect for summer, especially considering the overcast sky and the breeze. The clouds moved so fast at such a high altitude and Penny watched trembling as a shadow passed over the house, chasing the light away before the sun followed its path ravenously once more.

Steve and Bucky were unloading suitcases from the back of the SUV, passing each other calculating looks as Penny stood practically frozen in place. Her shoulders were hunched almost to her ears, arms wrapped gently but tightly around the white kitten in her arms. It was purring quietly, the same way it had been for hours now. The little thing had cried the first few hours after they’d left the tower and subsequently the chubby cheeked orange kitten behind, only settling when Penny laid down across the middle seat in the SUV and let it burrow into the crook of her neck.

If Penny turned around she would’ve recognized the mournful looks on their faces, the pain in the lines of their eyes. The soldiers knew the hurt she felt, to be separated from their most important person—they understood that Peter was the most important person in Penny’s world. This separation was on their heads, but what could they do? They’d worked themselves into a rut, the three of them, wearing such deep treads into their negative behaviors that they couldn’t climb out. A complete shakeup was the only solution.

Both winced when she abruptly folded at the waist, clutching the kitten to her chest, and vomited over the pine needle strewn dirt of the driveway. Her hair fell in heavy, curly curtains around her face as she heaved again, hiding her tear-streaked face from the soldiers’ view. The sound of them setting the bags they held down registered in Penny’s ears but she couldn’t find the strength to collect herself before they converged on her.

“Come ‘ere doll, lemme take you up to the bathroom,” Bucky stated quietly, sweeping her and the cat up into his arms as gently as he could, “you can take a bath while me and Steve get everything unloaded. I think you’ll really like the cabin baby, we… well, we designed it just for you. If there’s anything you want to change, you just tell us. We want it to be perfect for you.”

She mostly caught flashes of green and white and brown, tucking her chin to look at the kitten snuggled into her cleavage. It felt cruel, to have taken the white one and left the orange, but the little chubby-cheeked kitten had taken to her brother so well—better than it had taken to her, even. Peter had named it Malcah and while it still didn’t like being picked up or held, it twined his ankles and meowed at him for love.

“Sit here baby,” the soldier set her carefully on the lid of the toilet, after having climbed a set of stairs and turned multiple blurry corners, “let me run your bath.”

It was all white tile, the toilet built into the wall. The tub was a freestanding clawfoot, with a spray nozzle and high sides. It was surprisingly small, considering how large the tub in the tower had been. Penny idly speculated that only perhaps one of the soldiers would be able to fit at time and it would certainly be a tight squeeze if she was forced in with them. There was a standing shower on the other side, where the roof wasn’t so sharply sloped by the A-framed roof. The nice thing, that Penny would never admit was very nice, was all of the plants. The entire room was predominantly white but there was a long-vined philodendron hanging gracefully over the tub, snake plants sitting on the shelf before the toilet. She could see a rubber plant and another type of vine by the sinks, framing the mirror.

They’d obviously gone to great lengths to make sure it would be something she liked, clearly evidenced by the bathroom alone. There were even candles waiting to be used on the antique, hunter green shelves and bath bombs with lovely scents. If she’d been able to design a personal bathroom, Penny figured it would probably have looked something like this and that made her hate it all the more.

The bastards were so in their heads they could barely see the sunlight. Penny was convinced that they were so distracted orchestrating her nightmare they’d lost the plot. They kept throwing stuff at her; beautiful plants, nice clothing, cute cats, lovely homes—but it didn’t mean a single thing. All of the possessions in the world didn’t make up for the gaping, rotting hole in her chest.

“Alright doll, let’s get you undressed,” Bucky shifted towards her once the water was at the right temperature and filling the tub, a small smile on his stubbled face.

“Do you think I’m debilitated?” She rasped after a moment, rolling her eyes up to stare him in the face before spitting a vomit speckled wad of phlegm onto the rug by her feet and setting the kitten on the shelf next to the snake plants. “Last time I checked I didn’t need to be treated like a baby. Are you gonna keep standing over me like a pervert? Get out.”

The soldier’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, surprised by the calmness behind her cutting tongue. Usually, when Penny got an attitude, it came with fury and fists and resulted in broken bones or bleeding wounds. This was overwhelmingly controlled; a bitchy rebuttal. Her voice was the gravelly tone she usually got after screaming or crying, dark brown eyes nearly black.  When he didn’t move, Penny rolled her eyes and stood, whipping her t-shirt over her head and dropping it to the ground.

“You’re bein’ a little moody, babe,” Bucky watched calmly as she undressed, her clothes piling up on the floor. “Wanna think about reigning it in?”

Penny’s hair was big and curly around her face, framing the clenched jaw and sneering nose. “What are you gonna do, kill me? Whatever.”

“Penny, what—”

“Peter is a thousand miles away,” Penny’s voice started out sharp but very quickly faded into a tired drawl, “you can’t hurt him from here. And what do I care if you hurt me? So could you either get the fuck out and let me take a bath or fucking drown me in it? Whatever it takes for this interaction to be over.”  

“Are you looking for a punishment right now?” Bucky’s lips pulled down at the corners, eyebrows furrowing, “‘Cause you’re working your way towards one really quick.”

“What’re you gonna do? Kill someone in front of me?” She groaned, reaching up to dig her fingers into the roots of her hair, tugging sharply before dragging it into a tangled, thoughtless bun on the top of her head “Or spank me until I can’t sit? Rape me? Could you just get it over with? I want to be alone, please!”

Bucky was silent for several long seconds before sighing through his nose, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. “Take your bath, think about your fuckin’ attitude. Steve and I are gonna bring the bags in.”

He left the door open and Penny was further irritated to learn he had too much dignity to stomp down the stairs the way she’d hoped he would. His break in composure had been so good for her it was unbelievable—but there was likely a punishment on the horizon and Steve wasn’t likely to let her off easy once the brunet told him what she’d said. The bastard was stone cold when it came to that shit.

She stared idly at the steaming bath, naked with her clothes piled around her feet—the question was whether she wanted a bath or if she’d been resigned to it? The water was scented, because of course it was. It was even one of her favorite citrusy scents, she noted disdainfully, another thing they had paid so much attention to while keeping her locked up in a tower like fucking Rapunzel. Now in a cabin, she figured she was a Jewish Goldilocks surrounded by hungry bears.

But it smelled nice and her body ached from the long car ride, it had already been run so why not hop in? Besides, it would keep her busy while the soldier’s fucked around and she wouldn’t have to see them for a bit. They were shuffling around and she could hear the sounds of bags being placed around the cabin. The door banged off the walls several times, always accompanied by a groan or a curse, one of which she recognized as a Yiddish swear—which she refused to find endearing. The kitten meowed at her from its position on the shelf, looking put out to be so far away but Penny shushed it quietly.

“You won’t like the water, just stay there,” she murmured quietly at the distraught little creature, picking up a washcloth and dunking it into the perfumed water. “If I come get you I’ll make a huge mess.”

She ignored the kitten as it continued to communicate with her, chittering in annoyance and pawing the edge of the ledge for several minutes before evidently surrendering and lying down with its little paws draped over the edge. Penny smiled to herself, the cat’s tail was roughly the size of its body and when it curled the fluffy mass of fur around itself it became unrecognizable as a cat. The orange one would’ve continued to complain until Penny let it down, would’ve just barely given her ankles a rub before running off to hide somewhere.

That’s why she decided to leave Malcah with Peter; the orange cat didn’t run from or scratch him. She twined his ankles, sat next to his thigh on the couch, kneaded her little paws against him. Peter had decided both kittens were female, based on the very reasonable basis that he wanted them to be. Penny wasn’t sure, didn’t quite care. The only thing she ever referred to the cats as was Chatul—which literally meant cat in Hebrew. She’d shortened it to Tuly for the white kitten, for the sake of ease, but refused to say it in front of the soldiers. The cat was hers, she didn’t have to share it with them.

The sounds of the soldiers were becoming more consistent throughout the cabin and Penny figured they must’ve brought in all of the bags and were focused on unpacking. She could hear someone down in the kitchen, unloading the masses of groceries they’d brought up the mountain while the other was in the bedroom. Penny rubbed the washcloth over her skin lightly, the oils from the fragrance making her skin soft and slippery.

She didn’t hear him come in, she felt Steve come in. The blond’s presence was just as overwhelming as Tony Stark’s, an aura bigger than his body that filled the room. She could feel the disappointed stare, even as she continued to wipe herself down with the washcloth. Her teeth ground together as he watched in silence, just waiting.

“Bucky said you’ve caught an attitude, baby doll.”

“Caught an attitude?” She rolled her eyes. “Wow, if only I hadn’t become desensitized to living in constant terror—you never would’ve realized I’ve had an attitude the whole time!”

“We’re supposed to be turning a new page, Pen.”

“Turning a—” Penny scoffed, face appalled as she abruptly stood from the bath and ignored the water going everywhere, “we’re not turning a new page—You burnt the fucking book!”

The blond’s eyes widened; Penny had gotten angry in the past, furious even. She’d broken things, broken skin, broken bones and it was always accompanied by outraged screaming. But Penny didn’t make unnervingly straight eye contact while she did it. She was barely coherent at the best of times, mostly she screamed to the room at large before flying into a violent frenzy—it was different. It was startling, the light in her eyes and the way her voice cracked.

“There is no page turning, there’s no fucking­—fucking reconciliation here, Steve,” she snatched a towel from the rack behind the tub, wrapping the light green fabric around her chest tightly, “I can’t believe after, fuck, how long has it been? A month and a half? Two months? What fucking day is it?”

“…It’s July 2nd,” he found himself choking out, still feeling shell shocked as she stepped out of the tub.

“A month and a half,” Penny’s face twitched, just barely concealing the distraught look he could see she wanted to make and she started shifting past him, “Jesus Christ after a month and a half you guys still don’t get it—you know what, never mind. After a month and a half, I should’ve been smart enough to realize what dumbasses you both are.”

“Penny—”

“God, fuck!” She shouted up at the ceiling, stopping in place halfway out the door. “I have listened to you two talk at length for what’s apparently been a month and a half! I have tried to listen to your stupid fucking rules, I put in the fucking effort and you still decided to take away the one thing I care about! I’m sick and tired of you saying my name in that fucking tone, I’m tired of constantly internalizing and I’m tired of being fucking walked on! So I’ll tell you what I told Bucky—either kill me or leave me alone, but for fucks’ sake just give me space!”

A low mew followed her statement and Penny made an abrupt about face, stomping past him to snatch up the kitten from where it had been sitting on the ledge and storming past him again. It was like getting brushed by a wildfire and Steve fought the urge to take a step back when her wet hair whipped against him.

She dug through one of the bags that held her belongings angrily, kitten on her shoulder, knowing that the blond continued to watch her from the bathroom doorway. Shorts, underwear, a sports bra, a t-shirt, and a hoodie over that. She would’ve put on socks but she knew it bothered Steve when she went barefoot.

“Come downstairs, precious,” he sighed after watching her dress, gesturing towards the stairs, “we’ve got to talk.”

“We’ve always got to talk,” Penny snorted derisively but started down the stairs anyway, Tuly back in her arms, “but it’s usually just you two telling me what I can and can’t do. Stop bossing me around.”

Steve followed after her, aghast and confused—Penny had always been brave in the situations she was forced into, whether it was taking custody of her fourteen year old brother or dealing with being kidnapped from her apartment by a billionaire criminal, but she hadn’t ever antagonized before. She’d talked back, got irritated, snapped, but she hadn’t ever just been flat out bitchy.

On the main floor, Bucky had already put away all of the groceries and was folding up the cloth shopping bags to tuck away for next time. The brunet’s eyes locked on Penny for several long calculating seconds and her hackles raised; whatever was coming was going to be annoying. She refused to be afraid though, not when there wasn’t anything to lose. Not anymore.

“Sit on the couch, let’s talk,” Steve directed, watching as she seemed to contemplate following the direction before doing so, “things are obviously going to be different here, precious.”

“The cabin is equipped with the same AI as the tower but its restricted to monitoring and safety protocols,” Bucky explained, gesturing to the open layout of the main floor, “you’ll be able to go outside so long as you ask first, there’s plenty to do out there. When Steve bought it there was an overgrown vegetable garden out there, we had it cleaned up for you and the shed fixed up and stocked. A lot of good hiking around here too.”

“I can’t talk to JARVIS?” She asked, eyes tracking the way the soldier’s exchanged glances. “Of course not. Then I would have some sort of interaction beyond the pair of you. Damaging to your plan, huh?”

“Penny, the rules didn’t end just because we’re out of the tower,” Steve had one hand braced on his hip while the other rubbed over his forehead, “be—”

“If you say Be Sweet I’ll find a way to kill myself,” Penny intoned, a dry look on her face. “Jews don’t have an afterlife you know, I’m not afraid of going to Hell.”

“Penny, we’re trying—”

“Penny we’re trying,” she mocked in a high-pitched voice, dead eye stare once again boring into Bucky’s, “I’m not. I’m done trying. You’ll either kill me or drive me insane, I’ll never see Peter again—I…I failed. I couldn’t protect him, I couldn’t even keep him safe until he was an adult, isn’t that insane? Grand total of three years and some change and I fucked it up.”

Penny stood up from the couch, shaking her head as she went. The kitten was quick to jump off the couch and follow after her, meowing while that massive fluffy squirrel tail curled over its back. The open floor plan of the cabin came in handy for the soldiers though, because she couldn’t really escape even as she walked across the living room and into the kitchen.

It was hard to pretend she didn’t actually love the cabin. The kitchen was small, located beneath the loft that held the bedroom and bathroom. The railing to the loft was covered in live vines that hung down to create a tiny illusion of separation between the living room and kitchen, the kitchen itself was sage green with white and dark brown accents. There were more plants, open cabinets mounted to the walls, the sink was small but there was a dishwasher. She loved the spiral staircase that led up to the loft, framing the kitchen to the left with small shiny baubles hanging from it.

There was a hamsa and a cross, both stained glass and hanging from the tallest step. Pretty cat toys hung from the lower railings, just within the kitten’s reach. It made Penny’s skin itch, just how lovely and perfect the whole cabin was. More evidence that they were paying a freaky amount of attention to her and every move she made.

“You didn’t fail, doll,” Bucky’s tone was quiet and he hesitated for a moment before following after her several paces, ending up on the edge of the kitchen, “You didn’t fuck it up, Peter—”

“Peter is trapped in a prison in New York with a creep more than twice his age who wants to violate and brainwash him,” Penny was on her knees in front of the fridge, digging through the crisper drawer in the bottom. “Literally all I had to do to prevent that from happening was pay more attention to his daily life. Fuck, kid was practically raising himself with how often I was gone—never stood a chance, you know?”

“Don’t think like that Penny,” Steve sighed, leaning down to pick up the kitten that had circled back to his ankles and setting it on his shoulder, “there’s nothing you could’ve done. You know who Tony Stark is, you know what he’s capable of. You can’t heap that guilt on your shoulders.”

“Oh, can’t I?” She hummed, absently throwing a package of bacon onto the floor, followed by a flat of raw chicken and beef. “There can be dairy in here or there can be meat, not both.”

“We might need a second fridge,” Bucky observed quietly, watching Penny drop a couple of deli bags with sandwich meat onto the ground before she started shuffling everything into different places within the cooler. “We could keep it in the shed?”

“No room,” Steve shook his head absently, “garage?”

Penny had collected a stack of items from the fridge and piled them onto the counter, not even bothering to look back on the soldiers as she began puttering around. The open-faced cabinets on the walls held mostly dishes and containers filled with ingredients and she ducked down, opening the lower cabinets and digging out several pans.

“Do you… do you want a hand, doll?” Bucky asked hesitantly after several moments, watching her collect ingredients and tools and turn on the stove.

“No.”

“Penny—”

“Can I make lunch please?” She whipped around, an irritated look on her face and a spatula in hand, looking like she was about to use it to beat them both, “I’m hungry and I want to die, I figure you’ll only allow me to fulfill one of those wants so can you let me cook?”

The next thing she knew, Penny had been swept up into Bucky’s arms. The solider looked confused, lips curled in frustration but his brow furrowed with dismay. She stiffened at the action when he stomped back to the couch and sat down roughly, dropping her over his knees and landing a smarting blow to her ass through her shorts without warning.

“Thirty for this fucking attitude,” he barked, yanking the shorts down until the waistband settled under the curve of her ass against the tops of her thighs, “count.”

A sharp inhale followed the first skin to skin hit and Penny snarled in response, “one.”

“Apologize,” Steve’s fingers tangled into her hair, extracting the hair tie and letting the curls fall in chaotic waves over her shoulders and face.

“Two,” she counted dutifully and angrily, narrowed eyes landing on Steve’s face, “I’m sorry you’re a fucking monster!”

“That just added ten more, Penny,” Bucky sighed through gritted teeth, “you better reign it in.”

“You better just kill me,” she rasped, nails digging into his leg where she was holding on for balance through the hits, “because I won’t reign it in. I’m sick to death of you motherfuckers—Oh, fuck, three!”

“No cursing during punishments, start from one,” Steve ordered darkly, the hand in her hair pulling taught as he glanced into Bucky’s eyes—the baffling combination of anger and dismay and loss in the brunet’s eyes let him know he wasn’t the only one scrambling.

“Fuck you!” Penny shook her head roughly as if to dislodge his hand, canting her head to the side the best she could manage to look him in the eye, “beat me black and blue, I don’t fucking care. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter anymore! Nothing fucking matters.”

content warnings: spanking *edit, addition content warning: disrespectful terminology for Jewish people 

[sunseteyes]

MOONLIGHT - S. CHOI

theme/s: bestfriend, confession, makeout, only mild nsfw

this is my second present for my friend because sae is her baby haha. anyway, feel free to listen to the song whilst reading!

You knew you couldn’t be selfish to call him yours.

He’s different; his job, his life, heck even his identity. As much as he kept secrets from you, you knew there was more to him than just that bubbly, slightly cringey, cute guy you met in the net.

You were bored by time when you matched with him in some random dating app, not really knowing you’d enjoy his crazy jokes and eventually, his company. It took you awhile before he actually went by your place and vice versa. However, he preferred the latter since he said he has a lot of work and he’d bring at least his laptop when he comes by your place or he’d have to go home early to finish his work. He’s a very busy man, you realized. That’s also why you two never progressed into something other than that line between friendship and being an official couple.

It was not what you two intended anyway at first. There were some casual flirting—wait, scratch that. There were a lot of flirting especially in texts or calls. However, he tends to shy up and just friend-zone you whenever you see each other in real life. You figured it was just his personality and he was never really interested to get serious so you pushed aside those budding feelings, going to several blind dates setup by your other friends or hookups that only lasted for just one night or at most, a week.

No one was like Luciel—or if that’s really his name.

You figured out it was not his real name when you got to talk to one of his friends—Yoosung, who went by his place one time to pickup some Honey Buddha Chips when he saw you, surprising the hell out of the boy. You could remember how freaked out he was that “Seven”—another name of his—was not telling anyone he has someone who he hangs out every now and then. You two exchanged numbers at that time and became friends. You tried to flirt with him, but you just couldn’t do it.

He’s just not Luciel.

Until one day, you realized you’d been trying to find him in every person you meet, setting up the standards to match the kind of person he is. Ah, shit. You totally fell deep into this one, you cursed to yourself.

“Hey, hey, are you still watching?” a voice pulls you from your train of thoughts, the owner of the said voice being the center of said thoughts. You sigh as you turn to Luciel, gazing at his golden eyes, laced with dark bags underneath, his glasses sitting comfortably under his sharp nose. He seems tired but he still made time for you to hangout today. Why does he have to be so kind? Why is he making it hard for you not to fall deeper into that unfair thing called love—or whatever it is?

“What? What’s wrong?” he asks, his smile falling as he looks at you worriedly. “Do you not like the movie?”

You avert away, avoiding his eyes, afraid he’d see through the hundred bricked walls you’ve built up against him, just like the security gate that he has before you could get in his home.

“It’s not that-“ your voice comes out rushed. “-maybe I’m just tired.” you were—it’s not a lie. You’re tired of hiding these feelings and not acting upon it. How could you? You’re too afraid to break whatever friendship you had with him—the only relationship that mattered to you right now.

“Oh.” he lets out. “Do you want to-uhm-stop watching? Do you want to sleep? You can sleep for awhile, I think. If only you want to though! I’m not forcing you or anything.” he blabbered, clearly embarrassed.

Don’t do that, Luciel, you say to your mind. Don’t make me hope.

“No, it’s alright. Let’s watch.” you say, dropping your hands to fish some Honey Buddha Chips that were settled onto a big bowl in between the two of you. However, before you could even do so, a familiar warmth envelops your hand and your head whips to Luciel, surprised.

He has a blush on his cheeks, almost resembling the color of his hair. “Y/n-I could tell something’s bothering you. What is it? You should not feel this way, it’s your birthday.”

Ah, that’s right. The reason he probably invited you was because he felt bad he couldn’t even go to your birthday gathering, where you gathered several of your friends to a club last night. Your head still spins from all the stuff that went on; all the drinking, kissing, dancing. Have you hooked up with someone else? You can’t even remember. Maybe you did. All you knew was that you hated Luciel’s work—for taking him from you, even if he wasn’t yours anyway.

“It’s nothing.” you brush his question away, but not his hand. His hand felt too warm and amazing against yours. You’re too selfish to push it away.

The look on his eyes made you want to say what’s been bothering you. But it’s not that simple. You can’t really tell him you’ve been in love with him after almost two years of friendship; that you can’t get him off your head even if you’re fucking another person or in another blind date, finding his warmth and touches in other people. Did you though? Nope. Not a single one.

His thumb brushes softly against your hand, butterflies spreading from your stomach, traveling to your heart. He’s not one to initiate skinship and it made you wonder why he’s doing this now. You wanted to question him, you really do. But how could you? You’re afraid he’d stop it altogether.

“It’s not nothing.” he objects, his voice soft. “Today’s your special day. Uh-Do you want to do something else? Do you want to play games? Do you-“

“You can’t-“ you cut him off from his rambling, pulling your gaze away from his eyes to divert your attention back at the television screen. “You can’t give me what I want.”

You tried focusing, despite the distraction that his hand provided. However, your efforts were futile. You can’t even get the gist of the movie by now. Is this an action movie? Or comedy? You’ve got not a single idea.

You felt him remove the bowl in between the two of you without letting go of your hand and move closer, until he was inches away, his whole body facing yours. “Come on, tell it to me! I’m sure I can probably hack my way into it.” he laughs, trying to lift up the mood, probably.

“You can’t, Luciel.” you used his name—fake name, your tone indicating that the conversation was over and you didn’t want to talk about it. You could tell he wanted to push it but he kept his mouth shut. It ached you to act like this to him. But what could you do? One look from him will make you get on your knees if he wanted. One touch and you’d be crumbling down your walls to let him in. Maybe-

Maybe you should stop hiding?

I mean, there’s nothing left to recover, right? If this keeps on going, it would just be the same as being heartbroken from the unrequited feelings. Were you willing to risk Luciel and your friendship?

You were not the one who decided that, however, for a hand grasps gently on your chin, making you face him once again. You noticed how he had leaned closer to you, taking your breath away at the current proximity between the two of you.

“Hey...” you snap, a bit harsher than you intended. “What are you doing?”

He was blushing, but he did not back down. This is not just part of those flirting you’ve done before—it’s different from all of those you’ve done before.

“I...” he trails off, almost like he wanted to say something. But then he lets out a sigh, bumping his forehead into yours while closing his eyes.

You could smell him—it was not the scent from the Honey Buddha Chips he’d probably eaten all day, but rather it was a the sweetness and freshness of his perfume, most likely sprayed earlier on before you came. Bergamot with hints of lemon? You don’t really know much about luxurious perfumes but you could tell that he’d spent a generous money on this one.

You couldn’t hold back. It was your fault for cutting that thin thread of separation between friends and something more. You were the one who held on his jacket, pulling him closer to you and inhaling on his scent.

His eyes shot open, now looking at you with a surprised look. You could feel your heart pound when you met his golden irises, observing his reaction.

You dreaded as the seconds pass by, silence hanging between the two of you despite the distant noise from the built-in speakers that was installed in his living room. Yet, the only thing you could focus on were his eyes, his scent, his warmth, his soft breaths—in short, him.

Until he finally closes his eyes and relents all the restraints that bounded him from doing something more, leaning forward to brush his lips slightly onto yours, testing the waters.

Your heart jumps but you didn’t move away. Instead, you decided to let it all go and met his lips again, this time giving in to your inner desires for once and for all. You knew you should’ve stopped, should’ve pushed him away. But what can you do when you’ve just ached for him that much?

The kisses were light as a feather, and his lips were inexperienced. Yet, it didn’t fail to make your heart flutter like a high-school girl kissing her crush. The hands that gripped on his jacket pulled him closer, deepening the kiss as a result.

You pull away to kiss the side of his lips, a hand raising to cup his jaw, relishing on the way he responds. You did sense uncertainty in his aura however, and it made you stop your actions.

“Is this... okay?” you ask, voice hushed in a whisper, like you’re afraid anybody else will hear despite knowing no on else was there aside from you and him.

He peaks a look at you and nods, a simple action yet it weighed much more than anything else you’ve done your whole life. You caress his cheek, as gentle as a dove flopping its wings as it glides into the air. You adored the way he leans into your touch, resembling a scene of yourself petting a cat.

“There will be no going back.” you spilled the words out of your mouth, as if telling it to yourself at the same time. This time, he looks you straight in the eye behind his Gucci glasses, his messy vermillion locks adoring his head, accentuating more of his sharp but adorable face.

“I know. I just-“ he pauses, his brows furrowing. “I can’t hide it anymore. Whenever I see you sad, it hurts me how I can’t comfort you the way I want to.”

You held the sides of his face and gave him all of your attention, letting him speak further. His expressions told you a lot of his emotions, mirroring the inside with the outside with how exposed he was.

“I want to hug you whenever you’re stressed, I want to kiss all of your tears away. You don’t know how much I want to take your mind away from all the things that brings a frown to your face.” he rattles on, pouring out all of his emotions to you. You’ve never seen him look so broken and desperate, and you just want to hug the daylights out of him.

But you did more than that, pressing your lips to his once again, lasting for a couple of seconds before you lean back and gaze at him lovingly. “You can, you know. You just have to let me in.”

He didn’t respond verbally after that. Instead, he kissed you again, filled with emotions of the moon that chose to show itself in the darkness of the night.

Moments passed by in a blur; his touches making you feel light-headed and his kisses being the only thing that’s keeping you from pushing on. It was finally happening—he’s finally the one in front of you, taking you to bed, not just some random stranger you’ve picked up from the bar or someone who you’ve just had your first date with.

“Luciel, I-“

“I’m not Luciel.”

Your head snapped to look him in the eyes. “What?”

“Don’t call me Luciel.” he says, glancing up at you from his position below you as you straddled his lap, his hands wrapped around you protectively.

“I want you to call me by my real name, Saeyoung.” his golden irises held the sincerity and trust that he felt towards you and you can’t help but gaze adoringly at him, raising your hands to cup his cheeks before grasping upon the temples of his glasses and gently remove it out of his face. You had to stretch a bit to place it on the bedside table but once you came back in front of him, he pulls you once again into a heated make-up session, spreading more butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Both your tops were discarded in a matter of seconds, heat rushing through your blood the more exposed you two were becoming.

He pecks your cheeks and his lips travel down your neck, and then down to the valley of your breasts.

Tracing down on his arms, you grabbed into his hands kissed his fingertips, taking his breath away in the process. You could see the way he looks at you and you then wondered why you even were worried before.

However, a sound of ringing echoed throughout the walls of the house and you recognized it as your own phone. You fish your hand on one of your jeans’ pockets, feeling Saeyoung resume his soft kisses on your neck, pulling you close.

“Who’s that?” he questions, his voice muffled by your skin as he peaks at the screen.

“I don’t know, honestly.” you respond and you were about to ignore the call and turn off the phone when he speaks again.

“Answer it.”

“What? Why?”

He looks at you intensely. “Answer it, babe.”

It might have been the way his tone accentuated with the pet name that slipped out of his mouth or the way he continued giving you open-mouthed kisses on your neck and chest, but you obliged. You felt giddy, and nervous by the time you held the gadget on one ear, making sure you won’t make a single noise that would hint that you were being intimate at the moment.

“Hello?”

A voice greets on the other line and you immediately recognize it. From what you could recall, it was someone you met at the bar last night.

“Hey, I thought you’re free tonight?”

You avert your eyes to Saeyoung, who was busying himself with marking your skin or running his lips and tongue on it. Yet, you were quite certain he could hear the conversation very well with the way he ducks his head and refuses to meet your gaze.

“Oh-uhm, sorry, who are you again?” your voice came out breathily more than you intended.

“You forgot? You slept with me last night.”

Both you and Saeyoung froze, thickness suddenly looming in the air around you. It took awhile but he reaches out to grab your phone from your ear and put it away before tackling you to bed, pulling you underneath him as he hovered on top of you.

“Sae-”

“Do you really want to do this with me?” he whispers and that’s when you noticed the hurt in his golden orbs, gleaming beneath the beauty of its color. You thought he was going to be angry at you, but his reaction pained you more.

You nod at him while softly saying, “I’ve never wanted anyone else other than you.”

Your affirmation was all he needed to hold you tight all night and never let you go from now on.

feel free to send requests~ as for birthday dedications, i’ll post the guidelines probably tomorrow or the day after so please do check it out!

[springday-aus]

Superpower!AU with Hyungwon

—

Group: Monsta X

Member: Chae Hyungwon

Genre: fluff, romance, small [very minimal] angst

TW: car accident - don’t worry, no one died 

Type: Bulletpoint AU 

Word Count: approx. 2.8k

→ Inspired by the AU Prompt: “I know you can read minds and I really like you so I’m constantly filtering my thoughts—stop making fun of how I think of fighting giraffes, it’s my go-to when I think about you shirtless” 

so Hyungwon has the power of telepathy

how he got it was rather odd

he wasn’t necessarily born with it—it kind of came to him

despite what people might think, it wasn’t radioactivity

it was actually due to an accident

when he was young, there was a minor encounter

basically, there was a car and semi-truck incident

next thing he knew, his parents were in critical condition and he was being rolled into the ER for surgery

when he woke up, he was in his hospital bed and the ventilator was hooked up to him

he heard the voices of the nurses and the doctors, but their mouths weren’t moving

originally he brushed it off since he hasn’t fully recovered and his vision kept going in and out

but once he did recover… he could still hear them

luckily, his parents were okay

and that was how he was able to confirm his new-found power

he was able to hear theirs first and it was…. insane

he was freaked out, his parents were freaked out 

once they calmed down, they tried to figure out what to do—they eventually came to the conclusion to just let it happen

they can’t control that so they might as well figure it out together 

at first, it was uncontrollable, so he heard these voices whether or not he wanted to hear them

it was always loud and his own thoughts were never heard in his own head

oh, the amount of migraines he’d gotten from a young age…

but, don’t worry, he learned to maintain it as he grew up

now, he’s able to listen whenever he looks at someone and concentrate a bit more

he’s got a better control of it, but it also means he has to be careful as to where he looks bc he doesn’t wanna listen in on someone’s private thoughts

he’s always been getting in trouble when he was trying not to get in trouble when it comes to his telepathy

that tends to happen a lot in general though

because you’re hearing a lot of thoughts that you’re not trying to hear

which is why music became a good route of distraction

at first, the monsta x boys made fun of him for not getting airpods, but, after telling them about his telepathy, they understood why he got those big ass headphones

but, we’ll get to them later

anyways

bruh, high school was extra rough on this man

can you imagine hearing all of those thoughts? especially of hormonal teenage boys?

nasty

anyways

I like to think that this is why he sleeps so much

when he first got it, it was very emotionally draining for him and he slept like twelve hours at a time

unfortunately, he got into this habit and now he can doze off if he zones out enough

he slept a lot in high school, considering that he was trying not to hear his teacher’s thoughts and the other students and focus on the lesson and would end up falling asleep on his desk and then getting in trouble with the teachers

again, it’s that whole getting in trouble without meaning to get into trouble

so anyways

his family are the main people who know and god

the amount of family tea he’s gotten from his parents’ thoughts

while he does hate being able to hear all these thoughts without a choice, his favorite is the family gatherings and reunions

homeboy could make a tv novella with all the information he’s got on his family

because his immediate family are the ones who know, whereas his cousin that’s like twice removed doesn’t, but that’s justifiable

also, his parents have to be careful when they’re talking about him or his younger brother tho

(Hyungwon: “dad, am I not your favorite?”

his dad: “I don’t have have favorites”

Hyungwon: “the lies”)

other than his family, his long time friends also know, i.e. the monsta x boys

I’m talking long term because he’s so comfortable with them and Hyungwon was stupid and let it slip

Jooheon: I know we agreed on Chinese but I kind of wanted pizza

Hyungwon: “we can get both if you want”

Jooheon: “get what?”

Hyungwon: wait a second

oh, whenever they play games, Hyungwon uses this telepathy to help him cheat

and Changkyun was suspicious of how Hyungwon, the guy who falls asleep 20 minutes into a movie, had such good gaming tactics

his suspicions were confirmed when Hyungwon told them but they all also lowkey were confused and didn’t believe him, altho it did fill in a few of the gaps

like how Hyungwon gives perfect gifts for people that they can actually use

and how he can easily solve issues before they can even become bigger issues

there were just bits and pieces that came together and he did get to prove it

Kihyun: “what am I thinking about?”

Hyungwon: “I don’t think you would want me to say it in front of our Minhyuk here”

Kihyun: …… “okay, you pass”

but revealing this also means a lot of questions

especially from Minhyuk, who’s bouncing around and is curious as to how it works

and isn’t like always being verbally asked

like, the questions will just pop into their heads and Hyungwon hears it

actually what he hears is

Minhyuk: can he hear animal thoughts?

Minhyuk: do they speak English? or do they speak in that animal sound?

Minhyuk: should I ask him? or am I going to be bothering him?

Minhyuk: okay, try to be casual and slip it in and-

Hyungwon: “I can only hear people’s thoughts, now can we please get on with the meal?”

Minhyuk: oh right he can hear mine

Hyungwon: “YES I CAN HEAR IT PLEASE BE QUIET”

Wonho: …. “what’s going on????”

this is why he favors you compared to the others

you’re curious, but not like super curious like Minhyuk

but it’s also because your thoughts are the most hilarious ones

it’s primarily because you censor a lot of your thoughts with other thoughts and they are….. eccentric

there’s a reason tho

long story short: you like him

you two are basically childhood friends

you met in middle school and woke him up before he could get in trouble and it was all history from there

it wasn’t until around the college years that the feeling hit you like a ton of bricks

and when it did hit, you were lucky Hyungwon wasn’t around to read your thoughts

because……... oof

he went from that kid with acne that you used to spray water at to keep awake

to a handsome young man that makes your heart pound so loudly in your chest

he had told you about these powers of his about a year into college, when he realized you weren’t going to disappear from his life so easily

but also because you were thinking about how the fbi is definitely listening in on your conversations because you got an ad on instagram about those sleeping bags that make it look like you were being eaten by a shark and he HAD to make a comment

Hyungwon: “dude what the fuck”

You: “what?”

Hyungwon: “how bad is your anxiety that you’re worried about the fbi agent in your phone?”

You: …… **narrows eyes** “I didn’t say anything about an fbi agent”

Hyungwon: ah shit, here we go again

anyways

that’s just a small glimpse of what Hyungwon has to hear

your thoughts were hilarious to tune into, to the point where Hyungwon listens in when you’re daydreaming and it’s like his news for the day

and it only got worse (at least for you) because you were constantly censoring your thoughts after your self-discovery of your feelings for him

you two were studying in the library one time for finals and he got real close to get a good look at the textbook to see where you were

and you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he was

but when he looked at you

you immediately switched your thoughts to think about that time Wonho choked on his ramen noodles

Hyungwon: “why are you thinking about Wonho choking?”

You: “because it’s funny?”

Hyungwon: …… “fair point”

and so now, you have something to turn to each time an incident happens

whenever he says something that makes your heart flutter, you think about Ted Bundy’s yellow buggy

whenever he makes you unconsciously jealous, you think about fat cats sitting on glass tables

you have something for everything

and Hyungwon has no idea because you’ve gotten so fucking good at hiding it

until one day, you were out with the boys, trying out this new restaurant that opened beside the river

Jooheon talks about how nice it would be nice to go to the beach sometime

Shownu tries to start plans and says y’all could plan a barbeque and make a whole trip out of it

but then Kihyun whines, saying he’s not ready because he hasn’t gone to the gym in a month

Wonho: “you haven’t gone to the gym period”

Kihyun: “better than me living there like you do”

Wonho: “and who’s the one with the abs?”

Kihyun: “son of a bitch”

that got you thinking

Hyungwon? on the beach? that means he’s just gonna chill on the side

but that also means….. a shirtless Hyungwon

Shownu: “what do you think (y/n)?”

You: “nothing, absolutely nothing”

Hyungwon looks over at you with a knowing look in his eyes

You: “what?”

Hyungwon: ………….. “why are you thinking about fighting giraffes?”

Minhyuk: “.... is that really what (y/n)’s thinking?”

Changkyun: “dude”

You: “sorry for thinking about the zoo?”

Hyungwon: “we were talking about the beach, why were you thinking about the zoo?”

You: god, I wanna die

Hyungwon: “well, are you going to die before or after the beach trip?”

Shownu: “we need to keep track of the body count, (y/n), this is important” 

sometimes you also wonder why you like him when these moments occur

but then he gives you that smile and you think to yourself

it do be like that 

and because you all are trying to plan out the beach trip, you couldn’t stop thinking about…. shirtless Hyungwon

therefore 

starts up more thoughts about fighting giraffes ensue

and more teasing on behalf of Hyungwon to you

Hyungwon: “do you wanna go to the zoo instead???? is that why you keep thinking about these giraffes????”

You: I. want. to. die.

Hyungwon: “you’ll die if you join the fighting giraffes—oW OWW OKAY I’LL SHUT UP”

the nonstop teasing for weekkkkkksss

until he finally asks you, the day before the trip

Hyungwon: “seriously, are you upset that we went out to the beach instead of the zoo?”

You: ugh, this whole ass man keeps making fun of me for thinking about fighting giraffes, this is your fault for being so fucking attract-

You: WONH O CHOKI NG ON RAMEN

Hyungwon: “WHOA NO FINISH YOUR THOUGHT”

You: NO

You: WONHO. CHOKING. LALALALLALA-

you avoided him for the rest of the day and filled your head with more censored thoughts

so he couldn’t hear anything else

and he didn’t

homeboy was left so confused because

he really likes having you as a friend but

having you as a partner would be so much better

he’s liked you since high school

hearing your thought process and little quirks

he grew fond of them

he knows it’s really invasive, but, in his defense, he was still learning to control them

and he found himself staring at you more and more, accidentally hearing your thoughts

one thing he really hated about his power is that even when he’s just taking in your presence………… he can still hear it even if he doesn’t try to

but anyways

he was sure of his feelings, but didn’t wanna push anything until he was absolutely sure

and now just might be that chance

so, after ducking him the entire day, which is hard to do when he’s trying to find you the entire day

(it’s not that hard considering all he hears from you is “FBI AGENTS GET OUT”)

(at least, that’s what you were trying to think so he doesn’t hear anything else about how you were going to explain yourself)

and he manages to catch you when the boys set up a bonfire and there’s no other spots…… except the one next to Hyungwon

which he totally, 100% did not plan

;)

anyways, you try to distract yourself by focusing your attention the marshmallow you have roasting over the fire

whereas he’s trying to read your mind, but it goes to waste as your attention is solely focused on the marshmallow

hence the tune of IU’s Marshmallow being played in your head

some of the other guys leave the bonfire, either to take a nightly beach stroll or to sleep 

and that left you, Hyungwon, and a melting marshmallow that you were trying to keep from completely burning

before you could flee though, Hyungwon speaks up

Hyungwon: “what? no fighting giraffes?”

You: “I will hit you with a flaming marshmallow”

you thought about it for a second tho, why did you think about fighting giraffes?

the boys were talking about the beach and then they talked about the trip

and the beach made you think about a shirtless Hyungwon

…………. shirtless Hyungwon

FIGHTING GIRAFFES

Hyungwon: “wait what”

You: fuck

You: “fuck”

and then your worst nightmare happens

he starts laughing

You: “sssttttoooppppppp”

You: “it’s my go-to when I think about you shirtless, okay? are you satisfied?”

he keeps laughing

Hyungwon: “do you like the image that much that you have diverted your thoughts from it?”

You: bitch

Hyungwon: “I heard that”

You: “I KNOW YOU DID” 

there’s a bit of a lull and you try to focus on your marshmallow again, but the heat on your face isn’t from the fire alone

Hyungwon: “don’t be embarrassed”

You: “I’m embarrassed because it’s you, idiot”

Hyungwon: “why?”

You: because I like you

Hyungwon: “how dumb of you to think I didn’t feel the same way”

you turn to him

You: really?”

Hyungwon: “yeah really”

Hyungwon: “your marshmallow is burning”

that’s not the only thing burning 

you both assumed that was the night that you both agreed to date

the next day, were the boys shocked that the two of you are dating?

not exactly

bc they knew Hyungwon liked you for quite some time and also the fact that whenever one of them did think you were cute….

let’s just say Hyungwon’s mouth said idc but his eyes said he could murder them and get away with it

also he trusted you enough to tell you about this secret of his, so there was definitely a high chance he was going to develop romantic feelings for you anyways

*cue a sad Minhyuk in the corner somewhere*

KIDDING

or am I

anyways

there isn’t much change to your relationship

other than additional cuddling and pecks here and now

altho there are a couple of changes

your thought processes are more clear because now you have nothing to hide but

they are also unclear because it’s like

Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hy—

he also tries more and more not to hear your thoughts, but sometimes it’s hard not to hear them, especially as he openly stares at you more and more

but then again, because of that, he’s gaining better and better control of his powers

he lowkey does use it when you get into arguments because it gives him a better understanding of your perspective and that allows him to provide his and it opens up more communication between you two, even if you don’t have telepathy

also he tried to make up for it by saying everything he’s thinking

that was a very bad idea from the start bc you got annoyed really quickly

but you also kind of sympathized with him

You: “I’m sorry you have to hear my thoughts all the time”

Hyungwon: “that’s not your fault”

You: “but that’s not yours either”

he loves being able to talk to you about these things bc it really feels like someone’s in his corner

you try to understand him better and make things easier

whether it’s getting him better headphones

or distracting him with your own obscure thoughts

I’m very sure that anyone who dates Hyungwon in general is going to nap with him so…

many many naps with him with lots and lots of cuddles

you both take care of one another, physically and mentally

especially since you know he isn’t the type that opens himself up to many people

and hearing all of these thoughts, yours and others, must be exhausting for him 

anyways in this household we love and protect Chae Hyungwon bc homeboy is just tired and needs a break 

[darlingsdevil]

Of The Valley (Joel x Reader)

Chapter 5: The Flesh Failures

Summary: Life in Jackson is never easy. Consoling angsty teenagers, wading through the mysterious waters of Joel’s romance language and with a child of your own on the way? Life is about to get a lot harder.

Of The Valley Masterlist

RDR2 Masterlist

Tag list (please comment to be added or removed): @sidepuff @joelsheartache @fangirl-inthe-us @cowboyfrazer @scarletpines @mikah-writes @writersblockincoming @sleepylunarwolf

A/N: Thank you guys so so much for all this support, it’s genuinely astounding! Your guys comments really make my day!

•••

There was no way you were pregnant. Absolutely no way. It was a stupid thought. You couldn’t be pregnant, there was no possibility of that.

You were probably just sick from dinner last night. It was common. Especially since Tommy couldn’t manage to find any fresh ingredients. It was definitely the stew, you assured yourself. Not a chance you could be carrying a baby.

When was the last time you had your period? Two months? Even before that? It was probably just the stress that caused you to miss it, or forget about it entirely. That was most likely it. You were okay. There was no baby.

“You alright in there?” Joel’s gruff voice asked from the other side of the door.

His question didn’t even register for a few seconds.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You said, trying to keep the pain out of your voice, regardless it still came out weak and painful.

“Why do you sound like you’re on the floor?”

You got up quickly and opened the door for him. “I’m fine.”

Joel stared at you in confusion and glanced over your shoulder. The nausea was making it hard to stand up straight, but you managed, as wobbly as you looked.

“Are you sure? You don’t look too well,” Joel interrogated you.

“I’m good. Just feeling a little sick.” The nausea was slowly increasing, causing your stomach and head to feel much worse. Your body began feeling warmer.

“We can head back right now to Jackson if you aren’t feeling well,” Joel suggested, his eyes filled with worry.

As much as you wanted to go home, you still owed Maria. You couldn’t give her a half assed job, even though Tommy could have finished it easily.

“Whatever Tommy thinks is best,” You dismissed as you leaned against the counter, feeling the sickness wash over you.

“I don’t think Tommy would want you getting sick on the job.”

“Well, let’s just run it by him first,” You managed to get out as you felt your stomach churn. It was too damn bright in here and the sound of Joel’s voice was almost too loud.

“Okay. I’ll go get him.” Joel left the bathroom in search of Tommy while you tried to balance yourself on the counter.

This was not the first time you were sick in the morning. It was common enough that you didn’t bat an eye at it. It was surely that.

There was no way you were pregnant.

Tommy and Joel came back a few moments later.

“How you feeling?” Tommy asked you, stepping into the bathroom with you.

“Not that good. Did any of you guys get sick last night from the food?” You wondered. Joel and Tommy shook their heads, eyeing you cautiously.

“No. I don’t think Ellie did either. Maybe you got sick from the bar,” Tommy suggested.

“That’s probably it. I heard the daycare got hit pretty badly with the stomach flu, maybe Denise or Charlie came to the bar and spread it,” You replied, making up excuses you hoped to be true. Denise and Charlie were the owners of the daycare.

“Last I heard they didn’t get it. Not many of the parents did either. Could be something else though, who knows,” Tommy answered. Your stomach was feeling worse and worse, going out and finishing off the rest of the infected seemed nearly impossible now.

You were quiet, trying to quell your intrusive thoughts and your stomach pain.

“We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to. Maria will understand,” Tommy assured you. Maria would understand, that was given, but she had begged you to do the job outside of town, you didn’t want to let her down. But you were not going to do another job again out here, as easy as this one was, you had to put your foot down. You couldn’t risk having to go back outside of a Jackson again.

“I have to finish this job,” You grumbled. You really weren’t looking forward to throwing up in front of Joel and Tommy. They needed to leave.

“You’re looking awfully sick. I don’t think it’s best if we go out again,” Joel said this time, Tommy nodded in agreement.

“I’m not going back out here to finish the job if I go back,” You replied firmly.

“I can finish it off. Joel will take you back with Ellie,” Tommy said.

You nodded, someone would have to explain it to Maria when you got back, and then you would return to your normalcy, however that looked from now on.

“Just don’t take too long. Maria will get worried,” You told Tommy, wincing in pain.

“I would never. She would have my head on a spike.”

•••

Joel, you, and Ellie set out for Jackson once again. Levia was happy to see you, you hoped it wasn’t too cold for her and Caesar in the garage.

Ellie and Joel were mostly quiet for awhile. Everything was quiet, you hated it. There was only the clicking of hooves and the gentle noises from the horses.You passed through the abandoned buildings and streets with ease, there was no infected, but wildlife was abundant, although autumn was quickly killing off the land.

Yet you couldn’t take your mind off everything that happened. Would you even be able to return to normal with your friends? Was that even an option anymore? You shut them out for three months, they felt betrayed. You were worried about Ellie in particular, a lot seemingly happened with her and Joel. You couldn’t place your finger on the severity of it, you prayed you would be able to mediate it soon, if you could.

And then there was the possibility of you being pregnant. Was there a possibility of you being pregnant?

You looked down at your abdomen briefly. Was there life inside of there? Was there a baby and you had no idea for three months? There was a small bump.. when had that gotten there? It was just from the change in your occupation, patrol was a lot more physically demanding, you told yourself.

A shiver ran down your spine at the thought raising a child. Especially in a world as cruel as this one. You were barely able to manage yourself these days, let alone a baby.

Your mind was on high alert, though you didn’t let it show. Not even when every toss and turn made you feel sick. Your stomach was still feeling as awful as ever, you were sure it would last most of the day.

You wanted nothing more than to be in bed at your home. Despite the memories held there, you could care less.

Ellie and Joel were talking up ahead. Neither of the two seemed particularly pleased with each other. Their words were muffled, both speaking quietly as they trotted next to each other, nipped sentences and awkward silence. It was uncomfortable for even you to watch.

•••

You snuck quietly back into town, Joel and Ellie handed Levia back to the stables, taking your rifle with them, Joel offering to explain it to Maria while you got some rest while you went back to your house at the edge of town. It was a nicer house, small but homey. It was in one of the neighborhoods near the north district. Though your backyard wasn’t next to the wall, you were only a street away.

It was a craftsman style home. The flowers on your porch had long since died, your lawn was neglected too. Your neighbor was kind enough to cut it occasionally since your property wasn’t too big, but you felt embarrassed knowing that you hadn’t taken care of it, and that it was noticeable. Mark liked cutting the grass especially.

Two chairs out on the front porch, dusty from lack of use, you sighed, adding property care to your list of to-do’s. You opened the front door with your key, pulling off your shoes as you entered.

“I’m home,” You mumbled quietly, hoping perhaps someone would hear you. But no one did, and no one would. You lived alone these days.

Your house was painfully quiet. And you hated quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the life you lived three months ago. Dancing to music in your kitchen while you made dinner, the flickering candle in the corner creating a warm glow, children laughing outside, spraying each other with a hose. The buzzing sound of cicadas outside, the heat of early July on the blacktop, a man who loved you in the corner cutting watermelon. You missed it. You missed it dearly.

Now there was a cold, dark, house, devoid of any life. There was no music, there was no glow, there was no sound. Only the cold, dusty air, a bedroom empty yet filled with things, boxes of records you would never touch again.

You were tired, sickly feeling. There was no one to hold your hair back while you emptied your stomach, no one to hug you while you cried. There was no one here now, just an empty house and an even emptier woman, your secrets suffocating you.

•••

Ellie and Joel returned to their respective rooms for the day.

Ellie was planning on going out with Cat later in the day to watch a movie or two, maybe sneak out at night to go down to the lake with a few other friends, smoke some pot, eat some s’mores, steal a six pack. Normal teenage things. Ellie just wanted to take her mind off things again and not have to worry about her old man.

Joel had nothing on his agenda for today. He had things to do on his day off yesterday, but it was too late in the day to get started on them now. So instead, he decided to finish a carving he had begun, a sparrow. It was a nice enough hobby, it kept his mind off things and it was time consuming. He was using a book Ellie had gotten him for his birthday a few years back as a reference. He was thinking about giving the carving to Maria, he had enough carvings as is.

Later in the day, when the sun was beginning to set Maria knocked on Joel’s door. Ellie left with her friend Cat, he saw them through the window of his bedroom earlier, he wondered where they were going.

“Maria, Tommy,” Joel said as he opened the door, noticing Tommy was with her. He was glad his brother had made it home safely.

“May we come in?” Maria asked, glancing through his door behind him.

Joel opened the door further and let them in. It wasn’t unusual for Maria and Tommy to visit him, sometimes just wanting to socialize, other times coming to him for the odd job or two, or patrol reports.

Joel went into the living room and sat down in his chair, Tommy and Maria going for the couch. They exchanged a look before speaking. Joel immediately knew something was up.

“How was it yesterday?” Maria asked.

“Tommy didn’t fill you in?” Joel replied, raising a brow.

“He did. I want your take on it.”

Joel was perplexed until he remembered yesterday was supposed to be a test for you, he would just be grading it.

“On what exactly?” Joel pressed.

“Y/N. How she did,” Maria corrected.

“She panicked when she shot that first pack of infected. Was hard for her to do the second round too, but she managed,” Joel shrugged, there wasn’t much else to say.

Maria nodded her head. “And her shooting, still as sharp as everyone says?”

Joel nodded in response. You were always a good shot.

“What’s all this testing stuff even for? Why is everyone being so damn secretive?”

Maria and Tommy looked at one another, Tommy began to say something but Maria shook her head, stopping him.

“We want her back on patrol. She asked me not to say anything to you, but I think it would be best if I did. Something happened out there with her, it’s why she went off the grid,” Maria said, her words serious and careful.

Joel knew of this already. Tommy had told him yesterday too.

“What happened?” Joel questioned, trying to piece together the complex puzzle.

“As head of Jackson, it’s not my place to say. But because I’m her friend I think it’s best if you know.”

“Okay,” Joel trailed off, wondering what Maria was going to say.

“Mark died on patrol while they were together.” Maria confessed.

“Mark Lane? As in Y/N’s Mark?”

Tommy and Maria both nodded grimly.

Joel cursed under his breath before speaking to them. No wonder he hadn’t seen him around town, then again he hadn’t seen you much either. But Mark was dead? They hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but they were well enough acquaintanced. Mark was an amazing patrolman, a little under the radar, but his talent was well known.

“How’d he die?” Joel asked.

“Just died out on patrol,” Tommy replied, his eyes boring into Joel’s. Joel took the hint.

“Is that why she has been avoiding everyone?”

“I tried to get her to talk to you, I did. She wouldn’t budge,” Maria said to Joel.

“You should have told me.”

“I told Y/N it was her call and she asked me not to mention it, so I did. But it’s dragged on too long, we need her now,” Maria told him. Joel nodded understandingly.

“For what? We have enough people on patrol as is. Ellie’s moving up, she can take Y/N’s place.”

“I told her I wouldn’t put her on patrol anymore, but we have word of a large horde of infected heading directly our way as we speak. We’re dividing assigned patrollers and future volunteers into groups, we need Y/N as the leader of our sniping group,” She explained carefully.

“A horde?” Joel asked dumbfounded. He had never in his life been even caught in one. He knew New York City was one big horde now, as well as Los Angeles and Miami, he had ran from large groups of infected, sure, but he had never been close to a horde.

“We can take them. We already have our traders coming early to bring supplies. Best case scenario, the horde barely misses us for the winter, worst case scenario, we lose some people in the fight, but we can kill this many infected, we have the manpower to do it,” Tommy replied determinedly.

“We have groups of infected coming up here every damn winter, what makes this one any different?”

“The difference is that this is a large horde. Bigger than any one we’ve seen yet, our people down south said we need to prepared, we can’t risk this horde getting close to town,” Tommy explained to him.

“And where do I fit into this?” Joel asked. The sun was setting further now, it was beginning to get darker. The street lamps turned on outside. Halloween was in a few weeks, he had been meaning to decorate. It was Sarah’s favorite holiday, they always went all out. Perhaps he would light an autumn candle tonight and make some fall comfort food — hearty soup or pasta.

“You’ll be head of our field patrol with Tommy, along with a few others. Tommy and you will coordinate defenses, you’ll be out on the frontlines,” Maria was the one to explain this time.

Joel’s heart began beating faster, he couldn’t sit back and watch his friends fight a horde of infected, he was glad he would be fighting alongside them.

“And the sniper unit?”

“That’s where Y/N comes in. Where our frontliners can’t work, we’ll have our snipers lead,” Maria claimed. They would have a good chance, especially with the supplies and manpower Jackson had.

“When is this horde due to hit us?” Joel asked. All they would need is a couple days, lots of molotovs and explosives and ammo to pick off this pack

“Right now it’s looking like early December. We expect the horde to leave some stragglers behind through cities they pass so it won’t be quite as big as it is looking right now,” His brother explained.

Jackson being hit by a horde? Joel was more worried about the people of Jackson panicking, the frenzied fear of people was sometimes more dangerous than a group of infected.

“Have you told Y/N about this?” Joel asked Maria quietly.

She shook her head gently, “I don’t want to spring this all on her so quickly. We just need to ease her into this, I’m sure it’s all very overwhelming right now.”

Joel understood well enough. Losing someone you were close with is never easy, he was well acquainted in that department, he knew the pain that came with it. He would talk with you later about it, but first he would take you to the lake like he had promised.

•••

Maria came by at night, holding a box of cookies, waking you from your nap. At least your stomach had stopped hurting, yet you still felt beyond tired, your whole body ached.

“Hey,” You greeted her softly as you opened the door, your eyes still adjusting to the light.

“I heard you got sick earlier, how are you feeling?” She asked as you let her in. You could smell the leaves as you opened the door, the slight remnants of the crisp autumn air from last night still lingering in your mind.

“Better, not sure what came over me,” You sighed, shutting the door while you both stood by the door.

“Do you think you can go into work tomorrow?” Maria asked you, her eyes softening.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I’m good,” You said quickly with a shrug, playing it off.

“Are you sure you’re not getting sick? Flu is common around this time of year, working in a bar probably wouldn’t make it better.”

“I’m fine, Maria, seriously,” You reassured her.

“Have you gotten sick at all recently?” She continued.

“Yeah, I get sick usually in the morning, I’m sure it’s just because of my nerves and what not,” You confessed to her. Maria’s eyes widened briefly.

“You look a little flushed.. you’re one hundred percent sure you’re not getting sick? Or that this isn’t something else?” She emphasized on the last sentence.

Your mind wrestled with itself, should you tell Maria you think you may be pregnant? She would be supportive of you surely and would make sure to accommodate you.. but you didn’t want her to fret and you weren’t even totally convinced.

“I don’t feel sick now, it’s probably nothing,” You said, attempting to reassure not only her but yourself too.

“Okay well, how was yesterday then?”

“Joel’s angry with me. Ellie’s angry too,” You sighed, looking down at your shoes.

“They’ll come around eventually. But patrol went off without a hitch?” She redirected the question, dismissing your original statement.

“I guess, I’m glad it’s over though.” Patrol hadn’t gone off without a hitch, in fact, it was anything but smooth, but at least you had gotten some work done. You were sure Tommy or Joel had already told her all about it.

“Good. Well, it’s getting late, I still have to go stop by Ellie’s room when she gets back from wherever the hell she is, so goodnight. I hope you like the cookies,” Maria said, handing you the tin of cookies.

You looked out into the street, your neighbors had already put up some decorations for Halloween. Mark had a love-hate relationship with Halloween, sure he got candy and could indulge in as much as he wanted, but when he was little he had tripped and fell on Halloween and broke an arm and the year after that he had broken his other arm on the same night. His birthday was near Halloween too, hence why you teased him and called him Devil Boy. He hated the nickname, but it didn’t stop him from teasing you right back.

There wasn’t much Trick-or-Treating in Jackson, people carved pumpkins and made costumes and went to the Halloween party, but you always missed seeing little kids go door to door, their eyes bright as they shouted for candy. You were only a kid too when Trick-Or-Treating died out.. it was one of the things you missed the most.

You picked up your box of cookies and examined it, it seemed Maria had made chocolate chip, her specialty. You decided to eat a few now before you went to bed again, you got up from the couch and placed the box on the counter.

A movie sounded nice too, so you went to go retrieve a blanket from your bed. You grabbed the heavy blanket and folded it in your hands, looking over at your calendar by your bed. Luckily, someone in Jackson had kept up with the days and made yearly calendars, it saved you a lot of trouble.

You forgot to mark off some days, so you picked up the marker on your bedside table and began crossing off the days that had already passed, then you noticed something.

You had put the days on your calendar where your period would come, months in advance so you could plan around it.. you had missed your period by a week.

It was just a coincidence.. a few coincidences in a row. Then you looked back at your other months.. you didn’t remember having your period on any of those days…

“There’s no way I’m fucking pregnant,” You said quickly, panic rising in your voice.

“There’s no way, no way at all,” You muttered, your breathing unsteady. You flipped through all the way back to July, remembering the Fourth of July.

“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!” You shouted, realization hitting you like a tidal wave, hot tears forming in your eyes. You were pregnant. There was no doubt in your mind now.

You sat down on your bed and tried wiping away your tears with a shaky head. A thousand thoughts raced through your head, how would you raise a child? You knew nothing about childcare. The last thing you wanted to do would be to bring a child into a world as cruel and unforgiving as this one.

You felt angry, confused, cheated, scared for your baby’s future. You couldn’t give the baby a conventional childhood, there was none of that now. Raising a child on your own was scary enough as it is, you weren’t fit to be a mother.

How could you be so careless and not see any of the warning signs? How could you even let this happen? You were three months pregnant and not once did you think of the possibility you could be before today. The morning sickness, increased fatigue, nausea to certain smells, heightened moods and appetite? The warning signs were right there in front of you, how had you missed every single one of them?

How would you even tell anyone about it? Would Maria truly understand? Would she look down at you for not being careful enough?

And Joel? How would he react? There was enough you were keeping from him already.. you could only keep this secret for a few more weeks anyways.

How would your life look with a child? Limited freedoms? Always having someone to look out for? Perhaps it was selfish to think that way.. there was supposed to be unconditional love between a mother and child

Yet there was a spark of hope in your heart. The thought of having a little one giggling as you held them, their bright eyes twinkling up at you, their tiny fingers so gentle, curling around your own.

Maybe things would turn out okay for you and your child, Jackson was much better than raising a child in a QZ or outside of one, it was the closest thing you would get to a normal civilization. There were other children around in Jackson too, a daycare, a school, playgrounds, other families who would help you.

You rubbed your stomach gently, wiping away all your tears, thinking of the good and the bad that would come out of this situation. There was the sound of a child’s laughter or the sound of a gunshot, which one would resonate louder?

•••

[lionheartkrbkzine]

Lionheart’s Interactive KiriBaku Twitter Thread

Pro Heroes, Bed-Sharing, Fake Dating, Quirk Accident

Rating: T (for swearing & canon-typical violence)

At the end of each Twitter update was an overnight poll where our followers got to decide the direction of the plot or details about story elements!

Feel free to reply with your thoughts, predictions, or desires, and Head Mod ET and Social Media Mod Belle will do our best to incorporate your ideas! This is a thank you and a way for us all to collaborate together until application responses are sent out on April 5th.

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

Three buildings were on fire, and it wasn’t Bakugou’s fault.

Blackened smokestacks billowed above the Tokyo cityscape as he and Kirishima raced toward the scene. Bakugou took to the skies while his partner swerved between sedans and work trucks parked bumper-to-bumper on the roadway. Bakugou’s boots skid on the rough gravel of rooftops as he blasted from one to the next, his scorching propellant warping the air behind him, leaving trails of Schlieren lines in his wake.

He crouched on the edge of a four-story building above the battle, glimpses of a hero battle raging beneath the haze of ash and concrete dust. Heroes with water-based quirks tried and failed to mitigate the damage of six gangly beams of red-hot light.

“Riot, you got eyes?” he asked into his earpiece.

“Not directly on the prize, but I’m getting intel now! Are you seeing how the beams flicker in and out?”

“Yeah. Probably low level of quirk control or erratic mentality. Or both.”

“The team leader on the ground says the villain’s in a donut hole of concrete. Rubble’s piled up on all sides, so no one can get to him.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Amateurs.” The villain probably got himself cornered in a pit of fallen debris and figured he could wait it out or cause enough damage to try to make a run for it. “Shock Diamond, then.”

“Now?! Finally?! Hell yeah, let's go!"

Bakugou felt the heat of the lasers as one shaved the side of his building. He sneered at the heroes doing a piss-poor job of containment and checked behind him for the extent of the damage. A singed line gouged into the wall of a parking garage, but it stopped with a blunted tip before it speared the next building. The lasers didn’t seem to work like Aoyama’s — they could only extend so far.

Not made out of light, then. Kiri will be fine.

Not that he was worried about his partner. Kirishima could handle himself.

Even if Bakugou did pack the idiot a lunch every day and nudge him to go to bed when he fell asleep on the couch. And bought him cold medicine when he stayed out late walking Mirko’s seventy-eight-year-old receptionist home on dark, rainy nights. And bleached and dyed his roots when they started growing out.

But he wasn’t worried. The fact that the beams must be a form of slow-moving energy just gave them a tactical advantage. It had nothing to do with the fact that Kirishima’s hardening was more sensitive to concentrated light attacks yet the hero would bulldoze his way in front of them anyway.

The idiot’s voice rang through Bakugou’s earpiece. “Greenlight, Dynamight!”

“No matter how many times you say it, the rhyme doesn’t get any catchier.” Like a swimmer, he gripped the edge of the roof, rose halfway from his crouch, and dove into the pool of ash and smoke head-first. 

Catching the current mid-air, he soared closer to where Kirishima was probably charging into the fray. Bakugou used the familiar shock of red hair as his signal and dropped feet-first, sending down a counterblast to stick the landing. 

As Dynamight set himself up directly behind Red Riot, they charged the villain in a single-file line. 

Without missing a beat, Kirishima extended his arms behind him at the same time Bakugou pushed his chest into the other man’s back. Kirishima’s arms locked onto Bakugou’s sides.

Bakugou tucked his chin, extended his hands behind him, and sent out a blinding explosion.

They rocketed forward — an unbreakable wall and a ballistic force. The perfect offense and defense. Explosion and Hardening. 

Dynamight and Red Riot: Shock Diamond.

As they smashed through the rubble, the devastating strength of Red Riot’s quirk wracked through Bakugou’s body, but Kirishima held him tightly against his back. The shock waves cleared from Bakugou’s spine, and he jumped into the rapidly-clearing fog of smoke and dust.

His eyes widened. He whipped his head from side to side. He stopped, listened.

The pit was empty.

Meeting his partner’s eyes, Bakugou could only think of one thing to say. “What the fuck?!”

But Red Riot was similarly dumbfounded, his brows furrowed and jaw hanging slack, glancing around the center of the crater.

Bakugou kicked at a fallen pebble, its mere presence offensive in the heat of his frustration. 

“Dynamight! Red Riot!” An aged hero with a sky blue costume ran toward them, waving his arms in ridiculous circles and spraying arcs of water through the air. “Good work out there!”

“We didn’t do shit! We just busted through a wall!”

"What Bakugou means to say is 'thank you', sir!”

“Well, the guy’s a problem for tomorrow’s heroes now. I’ve sent a team to scout the perimeter, and the police have his mugshot and quirk info. Another group is putting out the last of the fires. We’re lucky it’s a weekend — no one in those office buildings meant no casualties.” The older hero jiggled and sloshed as he rested his hands on his service belt, the edges of his existence just barely see-through as his costume molded to his mutation quirk. “For now, we need you two to handle some of the media coverage while we start to get a section of road opened back up.”

“No problem! Leave it to us!”

Flubber strode off, his boots leaving wet footprints on the asphalt.

Bakugou turned to his partner. “No.”

"Hey— where are you going?! You can't just leave the press to me all the time!"

Huffing, Bakugou slipped through an unblocked alleyway, brushing concrete crumbs off his shoulders as he took deep breaths. Normally he would feel some semblance of guilt about leaving a crime scene or abandoning Kirishima to fend off the harpies on his own, but the villain did escape. Bakugou might as well join the search of the perimeter.

A sharp scream had his feet slapping the pavement before his brain caught up.

Rounding the corner of an office park, the street opened up to allow for a municipal park one block long and one wide. Amidst swing sets and jungle gyms stood a proud maple tree. In one of its branches clung a girl no more than six years old.

Below her, a group of parents huddled in a crescent moon around the trunk, some gawking, some enjoying the entertainment, and others consoling one woman in the center of it all. Bakugou made a beeline for her.

She jumped at the hulking form of a grenade-adorned hero. He never tried very hard to work on his public image.

“Oh, Dynamight.” The whites of the woman’s eyes gaped in surprise, and she looked back and forth between the imposing hero and the girl high up in the tree. “She just— She feels more secure when she’s up high, and she got scared by all the noise and the lights, so she climbed into the tree, but now she can’t get back down and she’s too high for me to reach her, and I can’t climb up—”

“Stop.” The woman snapped her teeth closed with a click. “I’ll get her down.”

She didn’t look especially reassured. Shit. What would Kirishima do? Probably flash a smile and bang his fists together or some other cute-ass Kirishima-ism. Bakugou gave her a closed-mouth smile and a stiff pat on the shoulder instead. That’ll do.

Grasping a branch with one hand and placing the flat of his boot on the trunk, he hoisted himself into the tree. He climbed higher and higher, wary of the thinning branches. When he couldn’t fit on the remaining limbs, he lifted his arms out for the girl.

“C’mon, I’ll take you back to your mom.” His voice was soft, low, and practiced. The girl eyed him warily, but after catching a glimpse of her mom below, shuffled into Bakugou’s hold. “Good job. Just hold on to me like you did to the branch, okay?”

She nodded against his shoulder, and he began his climb back down.

“What’s your name?”

“Matatabi,” she mumbled.

“What were you doin’ that high up?”

“Wanted to catch it.”

He frowned, wondering what it was, but they had reached the bottom and he had reached his patience quota for the day. Especially when the girl threw a fit in his arms, hissing and wiggling, and pushing and scratching at him. “Oi!” He dropped her, and she scurried to her mom, leaving him with whiplash and three welts on his bicep.

“Oh. Oh, dear.” The mother looked like she was about to confess to murder. Great. “Did she scratch you?”

No shit. “Yes, but it’s completely understandable.”

“Ah, awe, thank you—” at least he got a smile out of that one “—but, um, there may be a bit of an issue?” Of course there is. “She seems to activate her quirk when she scratches or bites.” She grimaced, floundering for her next words.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. “It’s fine. What should I expect with the effects?”

“Um. Cat?”

He blinked. “Cat?”

She nodded. “Cat.”

“Dynamight!”

They both looked up then to Red Riot’s jogging figure, dust and cement billowing behind his ass cape. 

“Everything alri-oh.” Kirishima was staring somewhere above Bakugou’s forehead, his mouth formed in the perfect ‘O’ shape.

“What are you looking at?!”

“Ears.”

Bakugou’s stomach fell into his butt. “What?”

“Bro… ears. You have… ears.”

“No.”

“Dude they look so soft.” Slow hands lifted higher and higher, above Bakugou’s face up to the top of his head. “Can I just—”

Bakugou slapped his hands away. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

Kirishima chortled— chortled! — and turned to the mother of the tree climbing, cat nabbing daughter.

Bakugou watched the exchange with clenched fists.

“I’m so sorry!” She bowed low, almost tipping her kid onto the ground. “Is she in trouble?”

“No, no!” Kirishima smiled at them. They seeped into it like a warm blanket on a cold day. “We’ll just get your contact information in case we have any further questions about the quirk—”

A sharp pain stung both of Bakugou’s palms. He hissed and checked his hands, tuning out the rest of Kirishima’s mediation.

Claws. He had ears and claws.

Well, at least he had another weapon now — that was pretty cool, actually. As soon as the thought passed through his head, the claws retracted into his nail beds, leaving behind his normal, blunt nails.

He felt his ears droop to the side of his head.

“So… do you want to head back to the agency?”

He looked up at his partner, giving him his best baleful glare with the ears and all. Kirishima just snorted. “There’s no way in Hell I’m going back there like this.”

“Awe, but you could be our new office mascot.” He reached forward to pet Bakugou’s ear again. He was unsuccessful. “Alright, alright,” he laughed, pulling out his phone, “let’s call Mirko and get our next orders, then.” The ringer blasted loud and clear, Kirishima holding his phone in selfie-mode.

“You little shit! She doesn’t need to see!”

They played a game of impromptu tag until their boss picked up. She, of course, immediately burst into guffaws of laughter. 

Bakugou was so ready for today to be over.

“Hey, boss! What, uh— What do you suggest we do here with uh, Cat...kugou?”

“I’ll kill you,” he whispered.

“Hell if I know, I’ve never needed flea prevention.” Bakugou balked. “Take him to the vet, I guess!”

“Yessir!” Kirishima hung up before Bakugou could even process the words that just came out of his boss’s mouth.

“I am not—” he huffed “—going—” huff “—to the fucking VET!”

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

If All Might himself had told Bakugou that hero life would involve sitting on a metal exam table in a veterinarian’s office, he wouldn’t believe a word of it. Not because it was impossible. Just because Bakugou would never get himself into that kind of situation.

He craned his neck back, glaring at his reflection in the operating mirror hanging from the ceiling. Two ash blond ears twitched back at him.

He sighed, crossing his arms and adjusting his seat on the hard metal. If I grow a tail, I’m gonna scream.

After what felt like hours of waiting, twitching, and reading pamphlets about “What to do if you have a fat cat,” the vet finally strode through the door, Kirishima hot on her heels.

She turned, frowning. “Oh, I’m so sorry — I know you’re hero partners, but technically the exam room is family only."

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to Kirishima. His partner met his desperate glare head-on.

[sandwichrin]

A Little into You (Kim Junkyu x Reader fanfic) (Ch. 2)

Word count: 1.9k words

Genre: Fanfiction, PG13, Comedy, Romance.

Author’s note: Hi! Chapter 2 is up! I made it shorter than the first chapter but I feel like this is good progress for the story :3 I hope you guys enjoy reading this chapter! <3

Chapter 2 - Rumor Has It.

“How?” You looked at him with both your eyebrows furrowed.

“You can use my shirt here.” He pointed to the green plaid button-up shirt tied around his waist. (Note: Imagine the plaid dark green shirt he wore tied around him in the Going Crazy Vertical Cam Version)

“Oh…” Your eyes roamed down to the plaid shirt tied around his hips. You blinked a few times. You were clearly confused on what was going on. It’s only 9.30am in the morning and yet so many things have happened to you today!

Hyunsuk saw the thoughtful look you had, your eyes not looking into his. He felt sorry for you. He really does. As much as how he felt that you getting peed on by a cat was funny—he really did feel sorry for you for having to go through something so dramatic early in the morning.

Hyunsuk hurriedly unravelled his plaid shirt from his waist and held it out to you. “Look, it’s not dirty or anything, if that’s what you’re worried of…”

Your head instantly snapped up and looked at him. That wasn’t what you had in mind at all! There was no way you would ever judge him of being dirty in any way. If at all, you felt that you were the one about to dirty his shirt by wearing it.

You shook your head, “No, no! I don’t mean that! I just…am still overwhelmed with what just happened. That’s all.”

Hyunsuk gave you a smile. “No worries. Here, take this. You can use the public restroom in the convenience store too. They won’t mind.” He pointed to the store where you ran off to yesterday.

You looked at the store which was located on the other side of the road. You smiled timidly at Hyunsuk, “Thanks…really. You didn’t have to though.”

Hyunsuk shoved the shirt into your hands, forcing you to take it since you wouldn’t take it from his hands. “Just go change. I want to help you. Isn’t this what we call humanity?”, he smiled again.

You scoffed. This guy really knows how to use his words! Humanity? You laughed a little. “Okay fine. Thank you, again. I’ll return it to you once I washed it though. Deal?” You held out a hand for him to shake.

“Deal!”Hyunsuk said as he shakes your hand.

“Alright then. I’ll be going now. You better hurry inside too. You must be busy or something.”

“Yeah, or something.” He grinned at you before waving goodbye as he walked inside the big building.

You on the other hand, hurriedly went to change out of the urine-reeked blouse you were wearing. Omg! It literally reeks of pee! How did I even talk to him smelling like this?! You mentally face-palmed yourself for not realising how you made him have to stand and talk to you whilst you smell like literal urine.

Hyunsuk’s green plaid shirt looked like a semi-formal outfit now that you tucked it into your black pencil skirt. Another thing you were grateful of was that how lucky you were the cat didn’t spray its pee onto your skirt as well. Taking out your bottle of perfume that you always carry in your tote bag, you spray it onto you a few times to get the pee stench out of you.

“Alright. Off to work.” You made sure all your stuff was with you, (including the soiled shirt, tucked into a paper bag you had asked from the store’s kind cashier) before leaving for your job that was located a block away from where you were.

                                                                  *

 “Wow, you look different today. I never knew you had anything green in your closet, y/n,” your colleague said as she saw you walk through the office door.

“Oh. Oh yeah, this isn’t something I usually wear.”

“Yeah but green looks good on you. You should wear it more often,” she said before swinging her chair back to focus on the PC monitor on her desk.

You smiled a little. Okay maybe you’ll add on some green into your closet one day. You walked over to your desk and started up your computer. You had some online activities to prepare for your classes. You worked on it diligently as the day passed.

                                                                  *

 It was afternoon and the rest of the boys were already in the practice room. They were all practicing their new song’s choreography, all sweaty and face red from the movements they made without any breaks as they wanted to get it down right. The song played 4 more times as they still practiced the moves, when by the end of it, Jeongwoo voiced out, “Hyung, can we take a break? I can’t hear myself scream that high note again, seriously, I might break that song player,”

Jihoon snickered at the younger boy’s whine. “Alright all, time out! 30 minutes break!” he called out loudly.

Jeongwoo cheered loudly and ran towards his water bottle at the corner of the room.

Yedam wiped his sweat off with the back of his hand. “Can we take an hour off instead hyung? It’s almost lunchtime anyways,” he bargained.

Jihoon turned to look at Hyunsuk who was on the floor, tying up his shoelaces that kept coming off during their practice. “Hyunsuk-hyung, what do you think?”

“Just let them take break til lunchtime is over. They’ve worked hard today,” he said, hands still busy tying up the shoelaces.

“Alright then. BREAKTIME TIL LUNCH IS OVER GUYS!” Jihoon yelled out loud for all his kids to hear him.

“YAYYYYYYY!” Loud cheers formed in the room. Jihoon and Hyunsuk smiled watching the boys shuffle out of the room, all being loud and excited with the extra break they’re getting from both their leaders.

Jihoon sat down next to Hyunsuk, who was finally done with his shoelaces. Hyunsuk stretched out his arms and lay down on the cold floor.

“You’re not going out for lunch hyung?” Jihoon asked.

“I will. In a bit. Let me just rest here for a while.”

“Alright then. I’ll go with you then.” Jihoon joined Hyunsuk on the floor.

The both of them stared at the ceiling of the practice room quietly, both immersed in their own thoughts.

“Today, something funny happened…”Hyunsuk started speaking.

Jihoon turned his head to Hyunsuk. “Yeah? What happened?”

Hyunsuk smiled to himself, recalling the incident that happened that morning with you. “Gosh, you’ll never believe me if I tell you,” he lets out a laugh.

Jihoon rested his head against his palm, ready to listen what the older guy beside him has to share.

Hyunsuk looked at Jihoon. He sat up and hugged his knees close to his chin. “Okay but Hoon, to be honest, have you ever….seen a cat pee on a person before?”

Jihoon shot him a confused look. “What?”

Hyunsuk felt like he wanted to laugh just saying it but he still wanted to share what had happened to you today even though Jihoon had no idea who you were. (Neither does Hyunsuk but he clearly knew what happened to you today lol)

“Stop smiling goofily to yourself omg! Just tell me what happened!” Jihoon said, growing impatient. He sat up from his spot as well and crossed his legs.

“Alright, alright.” Hyunsuk composed himself. “Earlier today…I saw…a girl getting peed on by a cat…”

Jihoon looked at his hyung weirdly. “What? Wait- what no I don’t get it.”

“Noooo! It’s true, there was a girl outside the building today, and she got peed on by a stray cat! I’m not making this up!”

Jihoon chuckled. “No way! That’s so…”

“Unbelievable right? I didn’t think cats could do that too! But omg-“ Hyunsuk started laughing, “Omg the girl! You should’ve seen the clueless look on her face! She looked so done, so lost,” he said as he laughs out loud.

Jihoon smiled at his hyung. “So, you met a girl today?”

Hyunsuk stopped laughing. “Really? That was all you caught from my story? You weren’t even interested with the part where the cat peed on a human being??”

Pushing his hair to the back with one hand, Jihoon responds, “Come on hyung. You know we don’t have much encounters with girls so this is quite a catchy point to take from your story don’t you think?”

Hyunsuk rolled his eyes at his friend. “Okay fine, fair point. But still, isn’t it funny?”

Smiling, Jihoon nodded. “Yeah funny.”

Hyunsuk smiled widely. “Man, if you were there you would’ve laughed out loud right at her face though.” He glanced at Jihoon, “Yup, you would be that kind of guy,” he snickered.

Jihoon swatted Hyunsuk’s arm. “Hey! I would have been very nice okay. I would’ve helped her.”

Hyunsuk raised an eyebrow at Jihoon.

“Okay fine! Maybe I’ll have a good laugh before I help her.”

Hyunsuk grinned at Jihoon. “I knew you would.”

Rolling his eyes, Jihoon asked Hyunsuk, “So, did you help her?”

“Yeah, I did actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I lent her my plaid shirt so she could go change. I mean, I couldn’t just let her walk to work wearing piss covered shirt, no?”

“The green one? That plaid one?” Hyunsuk nodded. “Aw come on nooo! I like that green plaid shirt of yours!”

“Hey! I had no other choice okay. I couldn’t take this shirt off my body in public and hand it to her, could I?” Hyunsuk gestured to the shirt he was wearing at the moment.

Jihoon laughed at his hyung. “That would’ve been hilarious to be honest.”

Hyunsuk motioned towards his dongsaeng. He wanted to pinch this guy for teasing him this much.

Jihoon evaded Hyunsuk’s hands from pinching him and ran further from him. “No wonder you look less fashionable today hyung!” he said whilst he laughed and ran at the same time.

“Come here you! Stop teasing!” Hyunsuk yelled as he chased after Jihoon around the room.

                                                                    *

 As usual, at 5pm you prepared to clock out from work. You made sure the stacks of books on your table were neatly arranged before beeping your card at the machine located opposite the exit of your office.

Walking back to your apartment, you passed by your usual route. And as usual, you passed by the convenience store on your right….and that same intimidating building on your left. Usually, you would’ve walked by without thinking much about the building, except that it’s intimidating for its reputation and size—but this time, today, your steps stopped when you passed by it briefly.

Your eyes lurked at the building. You wonder what it’s like inside it. How are the people inside it too?

You looked at the spot where the incident from this morning happened. How did something so ridiculous happened there? And right in front of Hyunsuk- THE CHOI HYUNSUK of Treasure. You mentally facepalmed yourself. This is certainly something you would remember of for a long long time.

Your eyes travelled to your arm. Your arm hugged by the sleeves of Hyunsuk’s shirt.

How is he so nice to a stranger? What if I was a sasaeng fan? What if I was the kind of person to sell off the things he gave me on eBay to get some profit from his fans??

Okay but you’re not that kind of person. He’s lucky you weren’t. You turned around and proceeded to go back home. You couldn’t wait to wash the shirt he lent you and return it to him.

 To be continued...

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]

Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃

And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)  

The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜

Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊

“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”

You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”

“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.  

“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”

He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.

“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”

You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”

“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.

It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.

“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”

He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”

“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”

“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”

“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.

“Rog...I don���t know.”

“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”

“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”

“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.

“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”

“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”

“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”

You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.

Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.

“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”

“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”

Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”

Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”

Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”

“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”

“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.

“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.

John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”

“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”

“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”

“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?

“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”

“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.

Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”

Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”

The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”

He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.

“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”

“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”

“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.

Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”

She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.

“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.

“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.

“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”

Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”

Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.

When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.

That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.

“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”

“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.

“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”

Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.

“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.

Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”

He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.

“Let’s go to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.

“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”

“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”

John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?

Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”

He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”

John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.

“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”

“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”

“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”

“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.

“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”

I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”

John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.

With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”

“We’re going straight to the party?”

“We certainly are.”

“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”

John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”

John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.

You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”

He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.

“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”

“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”

Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.

John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.

“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”

“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.

“You look incredible, baby.”

“Roger, what’s going on...?”

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”

“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.

You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.

It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.

It doesn’t mean anything.