#Just takin' out the trash. -{Crack}-

[pleathewrites]

bellow the fire into my deadened lungs

chapter 3 excerpt — giran takes in a stray in the form of teen dabi read full story here

They bring in a woman covered in silks, embroidered at the hem and patterned throughout the length. Her top reaches her knees, slit and loose around the hips. A matching scarf layers around her head in waves and billows over her shoulder with each step she takes, and the deep scent of oud trails behind her. 

Her eyes are dark, but they’re kind.

“Salaam, Dabi-san,” The woman's voice is soft as sleep, “My name is Seiko, and I’m here to help with the investigation. My quirk makes people tell the truth, so they cannot lie to me.”

Touya grimaces, “Ever?” 

“Ever.” 

“Wow. That’s fuckin’ awful.” 

Seiko has a warm laugh, “Why do you say that?” 

Touya shrugs, “The truth usually sucks,” and that is not what Touya had meant to say, “Can you turn it off?” 

Seiko seems to ponder for a moment, “I can... lessen the effect of my tone,” She sits down across from him and takes out a leather binder from her tote, “But even then, people can only evade my questions.” 

“Better than nothing.” 

Seiko opens her binder, and her eyes scan over whatever page she has opened.

‘Most likely questions they’d told her to ask.’ — Touya notices she has an earpiece.

The woman smiles at him once more, “Shall we start?”

Touya nods.

Seiko’s eyes glow a bright green, and Touya thinks, ‘Here we fuckin’ go.’

“How did you get involved with the League of Villains?”

Her quirk is seriously no joke. Touya tries to tell a lie — really, just for the sake of it — but the minute he opens his mouth, it feels like his vocal cords physically shut, barring any deceitful sound from crossing. 

When he tries to speak again, this time with the actual truth, it’s like that barrier was never there and Touya has this odd feeling of calm wash over him, “Giran introduced me.”

Seiko nods. 

“How did you meet Giran? We understand he’s one of the main recruiters for the League.”

Touya scoffs, “He ain’t a ‘recruiter’. He doesn’t go up to strays ‘n tell them to join this crew and that. He’s... A guy who gives broken kids a home. Give people like us options.”

Seiko holds a finger to her earpiece for a moment before addressing Touya again, “What do you mean by that? ‘Options’?”

Touya doesn’t even try to lie, “This society likes to pretend it’s civilized and progressive, but people like us, like Giran... We understand what it’s like out there, alrigh’ — it's kill or be killed. Without ‘im, I’m pretty sure I would’ve stayed in the red light district as their Freak-Show-Special, and Toga would have definitely been trafficked — maybe in prison after stabbin’ the guy that’d try.”

Touya smirks at that — takes a little bit of comfort in Toga’s bloody unhinged-ness.

“Nah, he… Giran’s closer to a hero than any of you could ever wish for,” and Touya cracks a smile, “He’s just ugly ‘n underpaid!”

The woman writes down whatever notes she needs to before looking back up at Touya with a ticked and thick eyebrow, her small smile conveying, ‘continue.’

He thinks back to a time when he was sixteen and absolutely terrified. 

“I met him at one of the bars I was workin’ at in the red light. I wasn’t a working boy, yet, but the ladies were training me ‘n I mostly stayed in the kitchen — doin’ grunt work, whatever, shit like that. Was takin’ out the trash when I saw him, Giran, hangin’ ‘round the corner. He had a nice watch ‘n I thought he was one of ‘em rich fucks that’d come in and think they own the place — own the people, and…”

Touya suppresses a shudder at the memories of that time. 

“Yeah, anyways, long-story-short, I tried to pick his pocket. Obviously, I was no good at that kinda shit back then ‘n he caught me. Thought he was gonna beat my ass, but he actually just,” Touya laughs under his breath, “He bought me a burger.”

[ Touya’s stomach feels like it’s been swelled up to his chest, he’s so full. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s had a meal — a proper hot one, not just a bowl of rice and canned fish. He doesn’t fault the ladies, they get the same meal, have the same weighted bags under their eyes, same sunken cheeks and jutted jaws, the same protruding collarbones and exposed ribs — ‘It’s attractive, young’un. All the rave, these days. You’ll learn.’

Touya doesn’t want to learn. He isn't keen on being taught all the ways his suffering will attract hungry hands like vultures to a carcass.

“I can offer ya a place to stay,” the man called ‘Giran’ says. 

He’s missing a tooth, a pretty important one, front row and everything. The ladies would have a field day about it, but then again, Touya doesn’t really think this guy is someone hoping to make a quick buck as a Fancy Boy. Touya wonders if, maybe, a lifetime ago, when this man was Touya’s age, he might have then considered it — selling his body for safety and sustenance. The man has sleazy eyes but his forehead is also fucking massive, but then again, if the ladies are so convinced they’ll have customers interested in Touya’s scarred and mottled skin, there’s probably some kind of market for the kind of ugly Giran is and it’s probably more booming than the one for Touya. 

It takes Touya a few seconds to realize the man is still talking.

“ — Might be a lil’ cramped with the other strays, but you gotta promise to keep it t’yerself.” 

The man is talking about a home, a home to offer Touya. But that doesn’t seem right because, “You’re a villain.” 

“Oh? Is that what they call people like me these days?”

Touya physically feels the weight of his eyebrows when he scrunches them together. There’s not much scarring on his forehead, but moving his face too much still hurts like a mother, “People like you?”

“The same category they’re gonna chuck you in the minute they take one look at ya. Geeze, what the hell happened to ya, kid?”

‘This guy’s a dick.’

“Ah, so you don’t even have a good cover story set up. What about in that bag, whaddya got?” Giran nods to Touya’s backpack, some blue ratty thing the nurse pushed into Touya’s arms, — probably from the hospital’s Lost-and-Found — before she had unlocked the back door and walked him to a cab, “Some kinda first aid, disinfectant, I’d hope. You're covered in open wounds. If ya don’t die of starvation, you’ll definitely succumb t’infection, sepsis. Ya know about sepsis?”

Touya bristles, “I’m not fucking stupid, yeah, I know about sepsis,” He doesn’t — ‘literally, what the hell is that?’ — but like hell, he’s gonna let some stranger patronize him. His father already did that enough. 

“So? Medical supplies, show me what ya got. I can help ya build a routine with what you’ve got, can probably even add t’yer lil’ collection, too.”

“Fuck off, old man! Just because you got me some food doesn’t mean I have to show you anything! And even if I don’t have it, I’ll find a way to get it!” 

Seriously, who the fuck is this guy?

Giran sighs and rolls his neck. For a second, Touya thinks the man will stand up and walk away, praying for it even, but only for a split second before taking it back because this is probably the most human interaction he’s had in a month — taking instruction from the ladies doesn’t really count. 

“Listen, kid, with that cheap hair dye ‘n a body that’s closer t’death, you’re not gonna get very far. They may call me a villain, but I’m not half as bad as the monsters that go bump in the night.”

Touya’s parents warned him to never accept offers from a stranger — ‘stranger danger! stranger danger!’ Fuyumi would always scream — but ever since that night, there’s only one evil Touya can focus on running away from, and he can’t do that by being a Fancy Boy. This province is too close to home, and he’s seen what the work does to the ladies. How it wears them down, how each and every customer views these women — these women who have tended to Touya’s injuries with nothing but gentle hands and soft lullabies — treats them like domesticated pets, something to be owned and groomed, kept in the comfort of one place only. 

It’s been days since he’s slept properly. He has his fire, he can protect himself if need be. At least, he hopes so. He hopes to the Gods this guy isn’t a monster.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

He feels like an idiot, ‘Who asks that kind of question? Anyone can utter some bullshit response.’

Giran shrugs and leans back into the velvet red cushion of the booth they sit at, “That’s somethin’ you’re gonna have ta figure out how t’do now that you’re in this kinda life, kid. Trust’s a bitch, if you get it wrong, could cost ya yer life.” 

“Oh, that’s super reassuring,” Touya scoffs, “You’re a real Good Samaritan.”

‘Gods. This guy is such a dick.’ 

Giran looks at him, and the man’s dark gaze is different now. His eyebrows don’t have that sly upward curve anymore — instead, they sit straight as a line, heavy over tired eyelids, “Have you ever trusted someone before?” 

The answer is automatic, “Yeah.”

“Were you right about them?” 

He thinks about his father and his mind screams, ‘NO!’  

He thinks about his mother, and how even though he loves her and he understands her suffering, the only answer he can come up with is —

“ — No.” 

Giran leans forward, rests both elbows on the table, and ducks down to level his eyes with Touya's, “Take a real good look ‘n take your time. Focus where my eyes are — are they flickerin’? Leerin’ towards places they shouldn’t be?” 

The weight of the man’s gaze is a bit overwhelming, but it never falters. Touya doesn’t even realize that he’d shaken his head slightly in response until Giran speaks again, “What about my hands?” 

Giran lifts and wiggles his fingers for a moment before placing them flat on the wooden table again, “Am I fidgety, trynna touch you before we’ve established any kinda boundaries? The tone of my voice — does it waver? Are any of the questions I’m asking completely irrelevant to our conversation?”

Touya takes a long moment and tries to recall every single second of their conversation up until now and he realizes that, “I — No, no. None of that, you’re... steady,” He gulps, “What if you’re just good at lying?” Touya hates how desperate he sounds. 

His father was so good at lying. 

Giran smiles sideways, “Everybody’s got a tell, kid.” 

Touya raises a brow, “What’s yours?” 

Giran barks a short laugh, “A liar is only gonna lie. If I told you, would you even know if it’s true?”

Touya’s always liked a challenge. He’s a Todoroki, after all. 

“Try me.” 

Giran considers for a moment, “I talk too much when I lie. Words just come spewin’ right outta me. Can’t help it, mama said I talked the midwife through my own birth, came upside down, I did. Feet first n’ everything,” Giran sniffs, particularly loudly, and his eyes flicker to the table quickly but he covers it up with a lighthearted shrug, leaning back against the booth in an act of nonchalance. 

Touya smiles.

“You’re lying.” 

It’s not cold in this diner, Giran showed no signs of sniffling before — he didn’t even rub his nose or sneeze afterward. Moreover, the old man never showed any aversion to eye contact this whole night until now. 

Giran grins right back and smacks the table in triumph, “Ha! Yer sharp, kid, that’s good, that’s real good. What’s the name you’re goin’ by?”

Touya notices the odd wording of Giran’s question; not ‘what’s your name,’ but instead asking, ‘what are you going to call yourself in this new life?'

Touya’s actually given this a lot of thought, “Dabi.” 

Giran fumbles with his pocket before handing him something thin and rectangular.

“Alright, Dabi, I don’t know what or if you even got a quirk, but this switchblade is the only thing I got on me at the moment. Am I lyin’?” 

“... I don’t think so.” 

“Good. Take it, mind your fingers, keep your hand on the closed side,” Giran points to what he calls ‘the closed side’, and Touya grips the silver piece gently, “Yeah, like that. See this slit? That’s where the blade’s gonna come out from when you push that button. Wait, back up a little.” 

Touya moves his hand so that the blade is clear of any fleshy appendages. He quicks a glance around the diner, but it’s so dead in here that the waitresses haven’t left the kitchen ever since bringing Touya his burger over an hour ago. 

“Alright, like I said, mind your fingers, thumb on the button, okay… Now press down,” Touya follows Giran’s instruction, and quicker than his father’s flame, a sharp blade reveals itself and points straight, “Aha! Nice, nice, ya learn fast, kid. Now you can grip it fully, blade won’t move until you pull down on that lever — that’s the lock — yeah, that, push it back inside. Got it?”

“Yeah — yeah.” 

Once the blade is safely tucked inside, Touya tries to give it back to Giran.

“Nah, keep it. Obviously, it’s good to trust your gut, but sometimes we’re wrong, right? Can’t read minds — unless that’s your quirk. But nah, if it’s not, body language is the closest thing you got, but real filthy people know how to work around that. You finished with that?” Giran points to his mostly empty dish, a few fries gone cold. 

“Yeah, I… I’m done,” Touya honestly has a bit of whiplash. Out of all the scenarios he’d conjured up when he made a swipe for the old man’s watch, this entire encounter was never something he’d foresee. 

It’s been a while since he’s felt… cared for, in a sense. Like maybe someone actually gave a shit if he were safe, instead of powerful. 

“You want somethin’ else before we head out?” Giran asks, arm halfway up to call a waitress. 

“Nah, I’m good.” 

Giran drops his hand, eyes wide, “You sure? I got stuff back at the house to make sandwiches in the fridge, but that’s about it. Grocery day is Wednesday, ‘cause of the specials, y’know.”

Touya would smile if he had the energy, but his pain medication is starting to wear off and all he can think about right now is how his seams are starting to itch, “Thanks, but I’m alright, honestly.”

Giran throws some crumpled bills on the table — definitely more than what Touya’s meal was worth — and nods to the exit door, “Let’s get a move on, then.” ]

Seiko smiles, “I see. Thank you for sharing, Dabi-san. These next questions might be a bit harder, but we need as much information as possible. If you need a break, please inform me.”

They asked everything Touya had prepared for them to ask, and still, it was one of the hardest things he’d faced in a long, long, time — calming truth quirk and all. 

“Who is Todoroki Enji, to you?”

“Can you please tell us about the abuse Todoroki Enji inflicted on you?”

“Can you please tell us about the abuse you’ve witnessed Todoroki Enji inflicting on the other individuals you’ve listed on your report — Todoroki Fuyumi, Todoroki Natsou, Todoroki Shouto, and your mother, Todoroki Rei?”

And finally, “Can you please tell me about the attempted murder incident you have reported, stating Todoroki Enji as the perpetrator and yourself as the victim.”

He needed three breaks, telling that one. 

Eraserhead couldn’t look Touya in the eye when he brought in coffee for him and Seiko. All Might looked red around the eyes. Fuyumi… Touya only really caught a glance of her when Eraserhead opened the door to go back outside, but he doesn’t think he’d ever seen her look so guilty. Even when she planted lilies in the garden where Touya’s favorite stray cat used to roam around. 

He doesn’t want her to feel guilty, though, because just like what happened with the cat, what happened to Touya — she didn’t know.

Seiko cleared her throat before reading off the paper Eraserhead had scribbled on before he’d left, “Which heroes, besides Endeavor, do you also believe to be ‘dirty’ — criminal or immoral — and what kind of incriminating evidence can you provide?”

Touya laughs through his nose, a bull’s breath without the anger, and he tilts his head, “After I left, I still kept in contact with the ladies. They keep records of everythin’ — have to protect themselves from getting shut down or locked up. And you would be surprised how many heroes visit the red light district. And not for rescue missions.”

“Please, write them down — only the ones you have evidence against.”

Touya does so, and Eraserhead comes in to inspect the list, “… This list has over thirty names, all within the top fifty.”

“They’re fucked up lil’ freaks, too. And that’s just what I personally know.”

Eraserhead rubs at the bridge of his pointed nose and mutters something to Seiko. 

“Is this all the criminal activity you have evidence of regarding the heroes?” 

Touya scoffs, “How much time you got?” And just for flare, he uses his fingers to tick each item off.

Index, “I’ve got money launderers, they’re my favorite because it’s all just so original.”

Middle, “Sexual assault reports, you would ‘n wouldn’t be surprised with that one.”

Ringer finger, “Domestic abuse because, well, that’s my specialty, ain’t it.” 

He snorts and lifts his pinky, “Unethical funding for groups like the Anti-Mutant Association, conversion therapy, etcetera etcetera yadda yadda. Then I’ve got the Commission’s not-so-top-secret Assassination ‘n Honey-Pot unit — they really need better firewalls, for fuck’s sake, I mean, and — oh! Finally, Eraserhead yer gonna love this one…" 

Touya looks directly at Eraserhead to make sure the underground hero is paying attention before wiggling his thumb, all five fingers of his scarred hand spread wide, "I know who the U.A. informant for the League is.”

Eraserhead's eyes bug out of his head before he remembers himself. He clears his throat and sits down next to Seiko, “Well, go on.”

This is his chance. Seiko hasn’t asked him anything, so he figures he might as well try bending the truth slightly. 

Touya puts on his best smile, the one he knows looks like a cadaverous shit-inhaler, “I need one private phone call.”

Eraserhead’s eyes harden, “What.”

Touya puts his hands up, “Hey man, I didn’t know if you would make the deal. Had to keep some insurance, y’know. Your boys frisked me ‘n everything. Pretty sure that old one with the patchy beard copped more than just my lighter, if you know what I mean,” He winks at Seiko. 

The woman rolled her eyes but her fond smile softened the blow. 

“What does this have to do with a phone call?”

“I put all this evidence on a USB — remember, I told you I got guys ready to leak this shit? Well, I gotta call ‘em to, y’know, not. And then they’ll send it here.”

Eraserhead’s fingers flex on the table as if he wants to hit something — hit Touya, most likely. 

“If you tell us the location of the USB, we can retrieve it.”

“Uh, no. We signed the deal, yeah, but I don’t have a lawyer to know whether you screwed me over.” 

“Why private?”

“For their protection,” Touya says, mostly honest, “C’mon, think of it as a trust exercise. Worst comes to worst, you still got me locked ‘n loaded,” He waves his wrist around, the one with the deadly metal band. 

Seriously, though, that vein in Eraserhead’s forehead is going to burst into an aneurysm one day. 

“Seiko-san, please ask Dabi whether he’s being truthful.” 

Seiko looks at Touya, and he’s not sure what the woman sees but when she asks, “Dabi-san, do you have the intention to retrieve the USB containing evidence via making a phone call, and to deliver this USB to Eraserhead?” he could have kissed her. 

Because she didn’t ask who Touya was going to call, what else he needed to tell Giran, and he just knew the woman decreased the intensity of her voice, felt it in the freedom of his tongue. 

So he means it, says it so proudly, chest puffed and shitty stretched grin, when he answers, “Yes.”

read full story here

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[obsidiancreates]

Not As Bad As It Could Be (Gradually Getting Worse) Part 3

Casey stashes his gear in the alley outside of the restaurant, and pulls the stained apron out of the trash. He slips inside, grabbing dirty plates off a random table and slowly making his way closer to the main event.

Vizioso slurps and bites and barely chews, eating as loud as humanly possible. Casey tries to remember that thing Donnie mentioned once, misophonia, maybe? If anyone had it and got within a foot of Vizioso, Casey thinks they might drop dead.

"So what's the problem, huh?" Vizioso says around a mouthful of the wettest spaghetti known to Earth.

"He says the subjects are too inconsistent, boss," one of the twins says. "Doc's havin' trouble telling which ones used to be humans and which ones weren't."

"So whadda we supposed to do?"

"He wants ones we know for sure about. So he can look for uh, identifiers."

"What, does he think we're takin' some of The Shredder's guys? Tell him he gets what he gets for now."

"Whatever you say, boss."

Casey drops the dishes off in the kitchen and bolts back out, throwing his gear on and skating away like his life depends on it. Because it very well might.

He reaches his bike and hops on, pulling his phone out as he gets pedaling. "Red! Oh, man, it's way worse than we thought. Yeah, put the guys on. But uh, might want to keep D out of this one..."

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

So. Everyone's hiding something from him.

He knows thanks to a few things. First, Mikey hasn't come into his lab once in almost a week. Second, Raph has also been avoiding him by pretending to read the same comic he's finished four times every single time Donnie enters the living room. Third, Leo keeps asking everyone else to go to the dojo with him for 'extra training', and saying Donnie needs to stay on bedrest. Which, yes. The pain is no better than last week with the bad street pain meds. But it's still an obvious attempt at hiding something.

Not to mention Casey and April. April whispered something to Leo an hour ago, and they all went to the dojo. Mere minutes later Casey burst into the lair and ran straight for the dojo without even bothering to say 'Hey nerd.'

Which would have been normal pre-farmhouse, but post? Casey always says 'Hi.'

So they're hiding something.

Donnie sighs, and winces. He's all tucked into the hoodie again. He's been wearing it nonstop since April gave it to him. It helps with not seeing the crack, but not with not feeling it. He hugs himself tightly, trying to push the crack closed, some small less-than-scientific part of him hoping it'll just click back together and be done.

But all it does is put pressure on his sides, which he thinks he might be bruising with all of his self-hugging. They're starting to hurt, a dull ache not unlike the crack itself. He stumbles over to the couch and eases down onto it, pulling himself into the hoodie like it's his shell.

Stupid shell. Stupid, useless shell. What's the point of it if it can't even protect him well? All it serves as right now is a remind of how he's a mutant Freak.

He whines as another sharp pain shoots through him, making him suck in a sharp breath which just aggravates his sides. Tears prick at his eyes as he tries to breathe through the episode, but the pain sharpens, his sides going from aching to feeling like- like the scalpel did-

He hears the dojo doors open and quickly wipes his eyes, hoping no tears fell into his mask. He focuses on breathing, gritting his teeth through it as Casey steps in front of him.

"Hey Don." Casey holds out some painkillers. "We uh, heard you from the-"

"I'm fine, Jones." It comes out harsher than he meant, and he sighs. "I- it was just a flare-up. I already had the maximum recommended amount of those."

"Oh." Casey pulls his hand away and rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, I could try to find some other painkillers for you."

"Yeah, that ended so well last time," Donnie mumbles. He's not bitter at Casey about it, just... bitter in general.

"Hey, Red and I did tests and everything! We thought it was fine!"

"It's not you he's mad at, Casey," Leo says, gently pushing his human friend away from Donnie. "He just wishes he was healing faster. Right, Donnie?"

Donnie looks to the side. "Sorry, Casey."

"It's all good, man. I know being sidelined sucks."

Donnie scoffs. Not like Casey seems to want to bring him back into the game. They're all still sharing looks. Leaving him out of something.

"Here." Raph picks Donnie up like he's a vase, holding onto his sides while the rest of Donnie stays tucked up into his hoodie. "How about today you do lunch in your lab, so you can do nerd stuff and not think about the pain."

"Raph-"

"Relax Leo, I'm just going to carry him in and bring him some food." Raph carries Donnie like a vase the whole way and sets him down on his chair, then ducks out and comes back in a few minutes later with some ramen.

"Thanks." Donnie lets the too-long sleeves continue to cover his hands as he takes the ramen from his brother.

"Listen," Raph says, looking behind them and then leaning in close. "Leo doesn't want us saying anything, but I think you deserve to know. Slash tipped us off about Vizioso doing something lately."

Donnie stiffens. "Wait, what? That's what everyone is hiding from me?"

Raph nods. "Leo's worried you can't handle it. But you can, right?" Raph gives him a friendly and light punch to the shoulder. "We don't know exactly what he's doing yet, but apparently some of Slash's mutant contacts have gone missing, and Casey said Vizioso might be behind it."

Did the ramen go cold, or just Donnie? He thinks his hand is shaking, but it's hard to tell through the tunnel vision. He swallows. "And you're all going after him?"

"Not right now. I keep arguing we wait for you to get better. I figure you probably want a chance to give the guy some payback."

Donnie's stomach twists. It's not really fear, not really anticipation, just... something. It makes his whole body ache, like he's been waiting to jump into a fight that hasn't even started yet. It's a startling feeling, a sort of cold, consuming rage that leaves him almost dizzy.

Yes. He wants payback on Vizioso. But at the same time he doesn't know if he can even look at him without breaking down.

"I guess," he says hesitantly.

"There he is." Raph pats his back with a smile. "I knew you wouldn't let this knock you out of the fight. We'll show that stupid crime boss exactly who he messed with!"

"A sewer-dwelling mutant geek freak?"

"An awesome ninja who's smarter than most of the stupid humans on the surface. Look, don't tell Leo I told you any of this, alright? He's worried you'll break or something."

Donnie laughs weakly. Raph gives him one last pat on the back, and leaves the room.

Donnie sets down the ramen and tucks himself fully inside of his hoodie, head and all, and tries to sort out his emotions without having another episode.

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

Raph gets into bed late that evening- well, morning. Maybe. He forgot to check the time, ad being nocturnal and underground make it's a little hard to guess. But it's probably sometime past sunrise already.

He knew Leo was being overprotective. Donnie had been fine. Donnie is fine. He got one bad injury, and- and something horrible done to him. Something that makes Raph's blood boil and his eyes do the glow thing every time he thinks about it, every time he sees Donnie wince or hug his sides. Something that made Mikey cry for hours until Donnie woke up after they'd brought him home from Vizioso's lab, and made Leo practically ban Donnie from any strenuous activity until he was fully healed. Something that made Raph so guilty and so angry he could drive his sai right into Vizioso's greasy sauce-stained face-

But that's not for him to decide on.

It happened to Donnie. So Donnie gets to decide what they do. And he can't get that chance if Leo keeps leaving him out of everything.

He's not broken. Vizioso didn't break him. His little brother is way stronger than that. He's handled all kinds of terrible torture and people messing with his mind and things like that, and he's always come out on top. This isn't any different. It can't be any different.

He'll be okay.

Raph shuts his eyes, repeating that over and over. He'll be okay. He'll be okay. He'll be okay.

He's almost asleep when he hears the whimpers.

The walls are thick, but everything echoes in their home. It comes again, and then-

A scream.

Short, sharp, and Raph bolts out of bed. Everyone else went to sleep ages ago as far as he knows, and he finds himself alone as he pushes open the door to Donnie's room.

Donnie is laying in bed curled into fetal position, hugging his sides as tight as he can. If he was human his fingernails would be digging into his sides hard enough to draw blood. Raph slowly inches closer as Donnie whimpers again, breathing too quickly for someone who's supposed to be asleep.

"Donnie?" Raph whispers, touching his shoulder.

Donnie shoots upright, eyes flying open and a scream ripping out of him! He starts shoving and clawing at the air in front of him like he's trying to fight something off. Raph tries to move in again but Donnie swipes at him. He catches his brother by the wrist and then grabs his other arm by the bicep, forcing it down. He does the same with the other arm, but Donnie keeps struggling and panting.

"Donnie, DONNIE! CALM DOWN"

His little brother gasps desperately for breath and only manages to suck in his own tears. Donnie's eyes are wide, pupils pinpricks, but they roam aimlessly around the room like he can't see anything-

Raph's heart pounds and he changes his hold on his brother. He grabs his hands instead, giving a firm squeeze to try and ground him. "Donnie, breathe! Oh, f- hey, snap out of it, what-"

"I don't want to be a mutant," he gasps out, like the words will keep him from drowning. Raph's thundering heart stutters. Donnie's eyes remain wide and unseeing, not focusing on Raph even once. His chest rises and falls so quickly that the crack in his shell click, click, clicks as the sides hit together and push apart.

"What're you talking about, man?" Raph's voice shakes. He's heard something once or twice, muttered or shouted from the lab, but-but everyone gets irritated about how they look sometimes-

"I don't want to be a mutant," Donnie croaks again. "I-I don't- help, help I don't want it anymore, I don't want it anymore-"

"Whoa, whoa." Raph isn't sure what to do, and suddenly Donnie snatches his hands out of Raph's and clutches his head.

"I don't want it, I don't want it, I don't want it," Donnie whispers over and over and over, still not here, still somewhere far away and Raph can't just leave him alone but what can he do without hel-

Donnie grabs at the crack and tugs.

"Get it off," he breathes out, and Raph's heart stops.

Donnie is trying to peel his plastron off. His hands are weak and fumbling but-

"Stop." Raph climbs onto the bed, his own hands shaking, and he pulls Donnie to his chest. He cradles his little brother, keeping his hands away from the healing crack. "Stop it."

"I don't want it," Donnie whimpers, a hiccupping sob following the plea.

"You had a nightmare," Raph says, rubbing the back of Donnie's shell. "Okay? Just settle down."

"I'm a freak."

"We all are. It's fine."

"I don't want it."

"... I'm sorry." Raph doesn't remember the last time his voice felt so weak.

Donnie keeps crying, whimpering, pleading, and Raph holds him, making sure Donnie's hands stay away from the tender healing wound. Eventually his little brother falls asleep, with one last pitiful clawing at his chest.

Raph stays on the bed for hours, holding Donnie, waiting for himself to stop shaking. He spends the whole time trying to process what just happened.

Donnie whimpers again, and Raph rubs the back of his shell, staring at the blueprints on Donnie's wall.

Maybe Leo was right.

This time IS different.

[corky-the-gluttony-demon]

DMC: An Absurd Comedy - Card Games

Characters: Nero, V, Felix (OC), Corky (OC), Marcus (OC)

Summary: Some people can take certain games a little more seriously than others...

Location: Devil May Cry shop, Red Grave City

February 26th, 2015

2:58am

The Devil May Cry shop was unusually quiet for this time of night. The soft crackling of the neon sign outside and the occasional clatter of ice in a glass filled the air as the crew had gathered around the beat-up card table in the middle of the shop, a mismatched assortment of chairs pulled up as they settled in for their usual late-night ritual: card games.

Nero and Felix sat opposite each other, eyes locked in.

Nico, perched on the edge of the couch with a beer in hand, glanced between the two of them, smirking. “Y’all look like you’re about to throw down. What’s the stakes this time?”

“Loser cleans the shop for a week," Felix explained, "And no skippin’ out on the hard stuff. We’re talkin’ scrubbin’ the toilets, takin’ out the trash… the whole shebang.”

“You’re on, Felix," Nero said with a cocky grin, "Hope you like the smell of bleach.”

“You two and your pissing contests," Corky muttered, mouth full of pizza. "I swear, this is more fun to watch than to play.”

Marcus was nervously adjusting his glasses from his spot at the far end of the table. He was acting as the designated dealer for the night.

V sat off to the side, a cup of tea steamed in front of him, and he seemed content to simply observe, his gaze drifting between Nero and Felix.

“So, what’s it gonna be tonight, boys?” Marcus asked. He started dealing out the cards with surprisingly nimble fingers.

Felix grinned as he picked up his hand, “Texas Hold’em, of course. Something to separate the men from the boys.”

Nero scoffed, “I’ve got this one in the bag.”

Nico grinned, leaning back and sipping her beer as she watched the unfolding drama. “Can’t wait to see who’s scrubbing the floor tomorrow.”

The first round was tense, Felix occasionally cursing when a card didn’t go his way. Nero, on the other hand, kept his expression carefully neutral, though there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he was holding onto something big.

Felix narrowed his eyes, watching Nero with the kind of focus that suggested he was trying to read his soul. “You’re bluffin’, man. I can see it in your eyes.”

Nero raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Am I? Or are you just sweating because you know you’re beat?”

V sipped his tea silently.

Marcus dealt the next round, with a childish grin. He wasn’t much of a gambler, but he couldn’t help but enjoy the show. “Place your bets, gentlemen. Let’s see who’s got the stones.”

Felix threw in a few chips, leaning forward as he eyed Nero. “I’m all in. Let’s see what you got, pretty boy.”

Nero’s grin widened as he pushed his own stack of chips into the center of the table. “You’re about to find out.”

The others watched with bated breath as the final cards were revealed. Felix’s face twisted in frustration as he saw Nero’s hand—a full house, aces over kings. Nero’s grin turned into a full-blown smirk as he raked in the chips.

“Looks like you’ll be getting real familiar with a mop and bucket, Felix,” Nero said

Felix shook his head with a rueful smile. “You got me this time, Nero. But don’t get too comfortable. Next round, I’m takin’ you down.”

Nico laughed, reaching over to give Nero a playful punch on the arm. “Damn, you really are ruthless. Remind me never to bet against you.”

Corky, still munching on pizza, grinned at Felix. “Better start planning your cleaning schedule, Felix. Those toilets aren’t gonna scrub themselves.”

Marcus, relieved that the round was over, started shuffling the deck for the next game. “Alright, who’s in for round two? Same stakes?”

Felix cracked his knuckles. “Hell yeah. I ain’t goin’ down like this.”

Nero leaned back in his chair, a cocky smile playing on his lips. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

By the time the clock ticked past 3 AM, the pile of chips in front of Nero was looking dangerously large, while Felix’s stack had dwindled considerably.

“Alright, last round,” Nero announced, leaning forward as he eyed his cards. “Winner takes all, and the loser… well, let’s just say they’re gonna be real busy tomorrow.”

Felix threw in his last few chips, looking like he was having much less fun than in the beginning.

As the final cards were dealt, Nero and Felix stared each other down. But in the end, it was Nero who laid down the winning hand, his full house beating Felix’s straight.

“Looks like I win again,” Nero said, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

Felix shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Damn, you really are one lucky bastard.”

"Fuck!" Felix swore, throwing a bottle. "Fuck this game!"

Corky and Nico burst out laughing, while V smoothly moved his head from the incoming bottle as it shattered against the wall. Marcus flinched.

“Alright, Felix,” Nero said, grinning as he gathered up the chips. “You know the deal. Shop’s gotta be spotless by tomorrow night.”

Felix waved him off as he stood up from the table. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I'm goin' to Love Planet.”

Felix stormed out, slamming the door behind and as Nico winced glancing at Nero he merely shrugged. "He's a sore loser."

"No kiddin'," Nico muttered.

With the cards put away and the chips divided, the group began to disperse.

[pesterloglog]

Gamzee Makara, Karkat Vantas

Act 5, page 2010

terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

TC: wHaT iS uUuUuP mY iNvErTeBrOtHeR?

CG: WHAT IN THE SWEET ALMIGHTY TAINTCHAFING FUCK DO YOU WANT.

TC: NoT a MoThErFuCkInG tHiNg BrO.

TC: oThEr ThAn I bE cHeCkIn OuT hOw My BeSt MoThErFuCkIn FrIeNd Is At Yo.

CG: I REALLY CAN'T STAND YOU AND I HATE HOW YOU TYPE, IT JUST BOTHERS ME SO MUCH, HAVE I MENTIONED THAT?

TC: YoU SaY iT pReTtY mUcH eVeRy TiMe We TaLk YeAh.

TC: but uh, i don't have to...

TC: uhhh see?

TC: but i mean man this feels so motherfuckin unnatural and shit.

TC: YoU jUsT gOt To Be GoInG wItH wHaT fEeLs RiGhT aT wHeRe YoUr HeArT's Up In, YoU kNoW?

TC: bEsT fRiEnD.

CG: I WONDER WHAT KIND OF SHITTY THING I DID TO DESERVE SUCH AN AWFUL BEST FRIEND.

CG: OR MAYBE WHAT TERRIBLE THING I'M GOING TO DO AND GET PUNISHED FOR IN ADVANCE.

CG: MAYBE I'M JUST LIKE PREEMPTIVELY THE WORST FUCKING PIECE OF TRASH WHO EVER LIVED AND DON'T EVEN KNOW IT YET, BUT HEY LOOK, YOUR FRIENDSHIP IS EXHIBIT A I GUESS.

TC: It'S sUcH a BeAuTiFuL tHiNg.

TC: ThIs TrOlL dIsEaSe CaLlEd FrIeNdShIp.

CG: FRIENDSHIP ISN'T A DISEASE SHITSPONGE.

CG: IT'S LIKE...

CG: A MISTAKE.

CG: A BIG JOKE OF NATURE.

TC: iT's A mIrAcLe.

CG: OH NO, DON'T.

CG: DON'T START WITH THE MIRACLES AGAIN.

TC: MaN eVeRyWhErE i LoOk...

TC: aLlS i SeE iS mOtHeRfUcKiN mIrAcLeS.

TC: It'S sO sPiRiTuAl, AlL tHeSe mIrAcLeS aNd ShIt.

TC: oK lIkE jUsT bE tAkIn tHiS fUcKiN tItS bOtTlE oF fUcKiN fAyGo I jUsT cRaCkEd Up OpEn.

TC: AnD hOw It'S bEiNg AlL lIkE hIsSiNg AnD sHiT.

TC: mOtHeRfUcKiN hIsSiNg MaN, wHo WeNt AlL aNd ToLd It To Do ThAt?

TC: HoW wOuLd It EvEn Do ThAt, It'S cRaZy.

TC: iT's A mIrAcLe.

CG: IT'S CARBONATION YOU IGNORANT DOUCHE.

CG: TRY GETTING SCHOOLFED SOME TIME INSTEAD OF SLURPING DOWN THAT WEIRD SWILL ALL DAY AND FONDLING YOUR STUPID HORNS.

TC: No No BrO, i DoN't WaNnA kNoW, dOn'T eVeN tElL mE.

TC: kNoWiNg ShIt JuSt StEaLs Up AlL tHe FuCkIn MaGiC fRoM mY mIrAcLeS lIkE a MoThErFuCkIn ThIeF.

TC: AnD tHaT aIn'T cOoL.

CG: THE ONLY MIRACLE IS THAT YOU LIKE THAT DISGUSTING SLUDGE, WHERE DO YOU EVEN GET THAT STUFF.

CG: IT'S ALSO A MIRACLE HOW YOU DRESS LIKE AN IMBECILE AND ARE BASICALLY THE STUPIDEST ASSHOLE I'VE EVER KNOWN.

CG: ACTUALLY YOU'RE RIGHT, THERE ARE MIRACLES EVERYWHERE, I'VE BEEN A FOOL.

TC: sEe MaN, i Am StRaIgHt Up TeLlInG yOu.

TC: MiRaClEs.

TC: iT's LiKe, AlRiGhT, cOmPuTeRs, RiGhT?

TC: WhAt ThE fUcK?

TC: mIrAcLeS iS wHaT.

CG: FUCK YOU.

CG: FUCK YOU FOR ME JUST READING THAT.

TC: AnYwAy WhAt'S uP wItH yOuR bAd SeLf, FoR sErIoUs HeRe.

TC: iSn'T sOmEtHiNg BiG aLl GoInG dOwN?

CG: WHAT?

TC: i HeArD sOmEtHiNg bIg WaS gOiNg AlL dOwN.

TC: JuSt AlL bE tElLiNg Me AlL wHaT mOtHeRfUcKiN iT's Up AnD aLl AbOuT.

CG: STOP SAYING ALL. ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT TA'S THING?

TC: yEaH!! fUcK yEaH mAn, So MyStErIoUs.

TC: I'm NeVeR bEiNg GeTtInG cEaSeD tO bE aMaZeD bY aLl ThEsE fUcKiN mYsTeRiEs LiFe'S gOt FoR uS.

CG: UUUUUUGH.

CG: ANYWAY, I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S UP WITH THAT.

CG: MAYBE I'LL TALK TO HIM TONIGHT ABOUT IT. MAYBE I WON'T.

CG: IT'S PROBABLY JUST ANOTHER ONE OF HIS PROJECTS THAT WINDS UP BEING COMPLETELY USELESS AND A HUGE WASTE OF MY TIME.

TC: yEaH mAyBe BuT hE's YoUr BeSt FrIeNd ThOuGh So It'S aLl CoOl.

TC: AnYwAy I tHoUgHt ThIs SoUnDeD lIkE a PrEtTy BiG mOtHeRfUcKiN dEaL mY mAn.

TC: aAaUuUhHh...

CG: WHAT.

TC: Aw BrO nEvErMiNd, I jUsT fUcKiN dId LiKe To ScArE tHe ShIt OuTtA mYsElF hErE.

TC: tHeSe DaMn HoRnS.

CG: YOU'VE GOT TO GET RID OF THOSE THINGS.

CG: THEY MAKE IT MORE EMBARRASSING TO KNOW YOU.

CG: WHICH IS A FRIGGIN MIRACLE THAT THAT'S EVEN POSSIBLE.

CG: LIKE, WOW, GOD SURE COOKED UP A DOOZY THERE.

CG: TWINKLY EYED SON OF A BITCH JUST KEEPS YOU GUESSING, DOESN'T HE.

TC: MaN yOu KnOw YoU wAnNa GiVe My HoRnS a GoOd SqUeEzE. :o)

CG: ACTUALLY YOU KNOW WHAT WILL BE THE MIRACLE TO END ALL MIRACLES?

CG: IT'LL BE IF I EVER MEET A KID I DESPISE MORE THAN YOU.

CG: THAT WILL MAKE ME A MOTHERFUCKIN CONVERT.

CG: I'LL SEE LIGHT SO BRIGHT I'LL NEED GC TO WALK ME AROUND SO I DON'T BUMP INTO SHIT.

CG: SIGN ME UP FOR YOUR IDIOTIC CLOWN RELIGION OK.

TC: hAhAhAhA yOu fUcKiN gOt It BrOtHeR!

[mobstxr]

“Yes, this bitch.”

[supernova-cas]

so @itsinjustbeing made this post and @mochadean added the tags and I wrote a little thing about Dean studying for his GED. 

The humidity surrounded him like a thick coat, seeping into the kitchen through the window screens, barely held at bay by the old fan whirring about two inches from Dean’s face. He wiped at his face with one hand, the other pushing down at the page he was reading, trying to stop the flapping page from flying away and taking the prep book with it. He was just on the verge of finishing the chapter, pen between his teeth as he ran his finger down the page when he heard the car pull up. Within moments he was up, the book flipped over and shoved far away from him, his own hands around a half-assembled rifle. By the time the screen door slammed shut he looked, for all intents and purposes, like he was just taking care of his weapon.

It was a moment before he heard the tell-tale sound of Bobby’s thick boots scuffing the floor and he sagged slightly, the tension draining out of him even before Bobby came into the kitchen and spoke

“You can put that down, boy, it’s just me.” He came in, groceries on one arm, a takeout bag on the other. “Brought dinner. Get your shit off the table and we can eat.”

“Thanks.” Dean put the rifle down sheepishly, and picked his book back up. He piled it up with the notebook he’d been writing in, the three different pens and the odd blue highlighter Bobby had found in a drawer somewhere that made up his studying tools. He dropped them down on the couch before coming back to join Bobby.

They ate in a comfortable silence for a bit before Bobby spoke up.

“I told you this morning. Your dad’s halfway across the country, he’s not coming back for another few weeks. Trust me, there’re plenty of jobs up there, and he’ll want to take them.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean answered around a mouthful of food. “I know that, he called last night.”

He’d picked up the phone, listened to John tell him about the job he was on, coughed a few times into the phone to try and make it convincing. Bobby had been skeptical of his plan at first, pretending to be sick to get the few weeks off without John realizing what he was doing. But Dean knew his father well enough to realize the moment Dean wasn’t going to be helpful John would be happy to drop him on anyone who’d take him, and understood him well enough to know that despite Bobby’s comments to the contrary Dean’s father wouldn’t get too worried when that sickness extended longer than a week or so. He chalked it up to his father wanting him to be tough. Trusting that Dean could handle whatever came after him, be it vamp or virus. It was a sign of his father’s trust in him and of course that only made what he was doing worse.

“So, there’s no reason to go throwing books about.” Bobby said.

“Yeah, I know.” Dean repeated.

Bobby looked like he was going to say something else but thought the better of it. Neither of them was very good at talking, but both of them understood the full unsaid conversation that hung in the air between them. Dean looked away, around at the cluttered room, down at the scratched table, anywhere but Bobby’s face. They lapsed into their regular silence until it settled again, back to comfortable.

Dean crumpled the trash up when they’d finished, throwing it out while Bobby took out a six pack and took one out. Dean reached for one, getting his hand slapped away.

“You done with what you wanted to do today?” Bobby asked in a tone that made it clear he knew what the answer was going to be.

“No.” Dean said it anyway, slumping back in his chair.

“Well then.” Bobby stuck the rest of them in the fridge.

Dean rolled his eyes but retrieved his books from the couch anyways, setting himself back up at the table and trying his best to refocus. It was hard, his mind kept trying to run in a million different directions, all directly away from the path the book was trying to take him. He’d been doing alright before but his mind had taken the break as a cue to shut down all functions responsible for understanding the numbers on the page and how he was supposed to be solving them.

This was why school was Sammy’s thing.

Still, Dean wanted to do this. He didn’t know why, knew he could never defend his case for it, but Dean wanted his GED. Even if right now his brain was fighting him about it. It wasn’t that he was stupid, he picked up on most the lessons in school easily enough when he was able to attend and even studying on his own, when he was able to keep his head down, when he got really drawn into the material, he was able to do fine. But now, suddenly he was faced with the practice questions and half of what he thought he’d known had flown right out of his mind. Fuck. Maybe he was stupid.

He sighed, flipping back through the chapter, trying to pin the knowledge back down, lock it up so it couldn’t fly away again. He was vaguely aware of Bobby working the phones in the background, his voice melding into the rest of the background noise, mixing with the old fan, the creaky chair he kept moving about in, the mosquito who was always just out of reach. Suddenly that whine was all he could focus on, unable to force his attention on anything else. He reread the same paragraph twice without taking anything in, the persistent droning impossible to ignore. He pushed his chair back, determined to find it and put an end to it. He tried to swat it but it was quick, darting out of the way every time. He waited another moment, until it seemed settled on the table before he swung his book down, crushing it with a loud, heavy thud!

For a moment there was blessed silence.

“Dean? What’s going on in there?” Bobby called from the other room.

“Nothing!” he answered back. “Mosquito.”

“So ya killed it with a hammer?” Bobby asked, coming back in. He took a moment to take in the scene. Dean, standing above the table, frustrated frown still on his face, the book slammed down onto the table face down, the back flipped over to reveal the past owner’s graffiti. He stared for about a second before he picked up the book, shut it and put it aside. He walked over to the fridge and took out another couple of beers, offering one to Dean.

“I didn’t finish.” Dean said.

“You’re finished for tonight.” Bobby said, gesturing for him to take it.

“You don’t think I can keep going?” Dean asked.

“I don’t think you should. You’ve been at it all day; you’ll be at it tomorrow. You’re not getting anything more done tonight.”

Dean took it wordlessly, stepping out of the kitchen out onto the back porch. Bobby followed after, sitting on the bench pressed against the wall.

“This is stupid.” Dean said finally. “This whole thing, me trying to study for this, lying to my father, it’s stupid. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Bobby waited until he was finished, taking a long drink.

“You done?” he asked. “With that little pity party of yours?”

“It’s not a pity party!” Dean turned back to face him. “I can’t even study properly, couldn’t even finish the section today.”

“So, you’ll finish it tomorrow.” Bobby answered. “You’ve been studying non stop since you got here, got your head bent over that book and takin a break right now aint gonna undo that. It’s just gonna let you focus tomorrow.”

“And if it doesn’t? If I fail, and this whole thing was just a waste?”

“Then we’ll do this all again I guess.” Bobby shrugged. “Listen boy, you’ve had a lot of stupid ideas. This is one of your rare sensible ones, don’t go screwin it up now by just giving up.”

Dean just shrugged, cracking open his beer and sitting down next to him. Between the two of them hung his agreement, his apology and his gratitude. Between them hung Bobby’s support, his acceptance.

Tomorrow he’d keep studying. Next week he’d take the test. And then it’d be over or they’d do this all again.

[vizowrites]

omg wait have you heard of that shut up challenge that mom and kids do to prank the dad? I can imagine Blitzo putting Loona and the twins up to it and Blitzo going “kids I need one of you to take out the trash,I’m not telling you again” and one of them goes “SHUT THE F*** UP, DO IT YOURSELF” and Striker immediately going after the kid like “Who do ya think yer talkin’ to?!”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA oh Satan thank you so much for sending me this!!  I am so fucking happy right now.  :D

I hope it’s okay if I make oooooone little change here, where instead of this being purely Blitz’s idea from the start......I think it would be really fucking funny if Loona was the one who came up with the idea first.  You’ll see why in a minute. :3  

So imagine her going up to Blitz one day and being like, “Hey, so, can we do this?” and holds up her phone to show Blitz a video on Voxtigram of someone else doing the challenge.  Blitz, with a wicked gleam in his eye, wholeheartedly agrees that this is brilliant, thinking that it would be hilarious to see that moment of stupified what the FUCK did you just say?? look on Striker’s face before they let him in on the joke.

However, what he doesn’t fully realize is that Loona has a plan of her own, to switch out herself for Twist and Ty, without telling Striker OR Blitz ahead of time.  :3

So she and Blitz have this plan to do the challenge on their next day off, because that’s usually when they do most of the chores around their house and it would be really really easy to just have Blitz be like, “Loona!  Can you be a dear and wash the dishes for me?” and have it not tip off Striker as being something out of the ordinary. 

HOWEVER it actually ends up happening the night before, just after they’ve all finished having a lovely family dinner together.  Loona’s at the sink washing dishes, Striker’s standing beside her with a dishtowel casually thrown over his shoulder that he uses to dry them once she’s ready to start handing them over, and Blitz is helping Twist and Ty gather up any remaining dishes on the table and scrape their uneaten food scraps into the trash.  Neither he nor Striker catch the shared glance that sparks between Loona and her siblings as they walk past her with their plates.  

“And before you two even think about running off first, go and take the trash out,” Blitz said as he took their newly emptied plates, heading back over to the sink to give them to Loona.  

“Shut the fuck up and do it yourself, Dad.” 

The plates crashed to the ground as Blitz whipped around to face the twins with shocked, wide eyes--followed very quickly by the sound of a third plate shattering as the one that Striker had been drying fell onto the floor.  

It was, in turn, followed by the very distinct sound of a very unhappy tail rattling.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Blitz demanded as he met Twist’s eyes directly, his own every bit as stunned and outraged as his voice was--and Twist’s every bit as reckless and unrepentant as they typically were.  

“He said: “Shut the fuck up and do it yourself, Dad”,” Ty replied before his brother got the chance to open his mouth, flicking his tail out to curl around Twist’s as casually as if they were linking arms before he started to lead the way back out to the living room.  “You might want to hurry it up, too--it smells like shit.” 

They made it exactly one step each before all hell broke loose.  

“Where the FUCK do you two think you’re goin’?!” Striker’s voice came as sharp and sudden as the cracking of a whip, causing both Twist and Ty to freeze in the doorway and turn back around to look at him.  The rattling of Strker’s tail only intensified as he stepped closer, his dishtowel still in hand and flopping around as he gestured at them furiously.  “First of all, you’re both gonna fuckin’ apologize to your dad for sayin’ that kinda shit when he asks ya t’do somethin’ like that!  Just who do ya think yer talkin’ to?!  He ain’t Moxxie!!  And then second of all, you’re gonna take out that fuckin’ trash and you’re gonna be the ones takin’ out the trash for the next two weeks until ya learn to keep those trashy attitudes of yours outta this house!!”

The best part of all is that Blitz doesn’t realize what’s happening here, up until he catches a soft snort from Loona behind him and turns to see her recording all of this on her phone.

“This is fucking beautiful,” she whispers in absolute bliss as she watches as Twist and Ty frantically try to assure Striker that it was all just a joke in between laughing their asses off.  

[cellard0ors]

WHELP.

No one hated this. so, it's continuing. I have no title as of yet. Still dedicated to @lallyloo

Part 1 here

Rhett used to live closer.

Now he doesn’t.

Link knows there are a variety of factors that went into the move, and he respects them. Still, it was nice before - when he didn’t have to travel so far. Now here he is, driving out into the middle of nowhere to see someone who used to be a short distance away.

Everything used to be…closer.

Sometimes Link looks back, riffles through his memories and it’s almost painful. It’s not that the memories are bad per say, it’s more how they feel. So close and so far – recent, yet ages ago. It’s an uncomfortable dichotomy, so he does his best to just concentrate on the present.

And, presently, he’s pulling up to a tiny little cabin surrounded by towering California redwoods. His car crunches loudly over the gravel drive - loud enough to summon his friend, even if his hearing’s declining. Although - to be fair, Link’s hearing is not the greatest either.

Hearing, sight, the combined ache of your muscles and bones - yeah, getting older is a real bitch. Not a word Link likes to say, much less think, but facts are facts. Age isn’t pretty, albeit there are some advantages. One of which being that you can pretty much go and do whatever you please, whenever you please.

Especially if you made a rather lucrative creative endeavor at one point. Mythical Morning may be gone, but the capital earned is doing its job of keeping him cushy in his golden years. Rhett as well, who certainly couldn’t have afforded this place otherwise and as he emerges from his home he offers a wave.

Link returns it, but finds he has to fight off a scowl. Really, it’s not fair. Link went silver early and he always thought he looked pretty damned handsome with it- a total silver fox.

But Rhett?

Well, Rhett always did have a history of beating him.

He might have gone silver later, but damned if he doesn’t wear it better. His beard is neatly trimmed, long hair tied back and he looks like some kind of rugged highlander cowboy combo that could get away with being on the cover of one of those old romance novels Christy used to thumb through.

…terrible…

A man his age shouldn’t look so good.

Rhett shouldn’t look so good.

And considering what Link’s come here to talk about he really doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Focus on the present, Neal, he reminds himself, shaking his head while he parks. When he gets out Rhett charges up, one hand out for a shake, which Link takes and then the two share a brief, back slapping hug.

“How ya been, brother?”

“Told you last night - tired and tired of being tired. You?”

“Same,” Rhett chuckles, “but figured if you were makin’ the drive up here, there might be more to say.”

There is, but Link’s not ready for it, instead clearing his throat while moving towards the two rocking chairs near the porch, “Mind if I-?”

“Help yourself,” Rhett says with an expansive gesture and the two end up seated and looking out over the wilderness. Link’s been here before. They’ve done this before. Just sat in these chairs and shot the shit. But today, Link finds himself a little more riled than usual, a little stiffer, and Rhett must pick up on it, because he sighs, “You might as well spit it out.”

“Spit what out?”

“Whatever it is you’re trying to avoid, bo,” Rhett says and he’s got a cooler of sprite nearby. He grabs a can and cracks it open, taking a swig before continuing, “We can sit here and waste time until you work up the nerve or-”

“I have the nerve!” Link cries but Rhett just goes on as if he hasn’t been interrupted, “-you can just spill. Probably feel better after.”

“Doubt that,” Link grouses and reaches into the cooler to get his own drink. Because Rhett managed to call him out so smoothly, so quickly, he decides to take his time on purpose. What was it Lily said? Be ‘deliberately obtuse’? It’s not quite what he’s doing now, but close enough.

Rhett, unbothered by Link’s act of defiance, merely sips his can and rests in his chair - annoyingly regal and relaxed. Sometimes Link really hates him. But it’s the kind of hate that’s so tangled up with affection that it’s irritating beyond measure, so he just stews over his own soda and waits.

For the longest time, it feels like neither will break the silence, but - considering Link came here to see Rhett and not the other way around - he decides (very graciously, he might add) to bend first, “Is it ever hard on you?”

One of Rhett’s eyebrows wing upwards, “Is what ever hard on me?”

Link shifts about, suddenly wishing these wooden chairs had some cushion, “The whole,” he waves a hand around them, “lonely woodsman thing?”

“…you think I’m lonely?”

“Well, I mean…” Link feels very tongue tied and very stupid and he doesn’t want to somehow inadvertently insult or hurt his friend, “Do you-? Do you ever think about how-how things changed?”

Rhett shrugs easily, “Things change, Link. That’s just life. Nature.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Link grumbles, “But I mean-? I’m more like-?” he growls under his breath because he’s annoyed that he can’t articulate his thoughts easily, “You and Jessie…”

“What about me and Jessie?”

“I mean…you were married…”

“We were?” Rhett asks the last as if it’s a hugely shocking revelation and Link hopes his expression manages to convey how he feels about that kind of response, “Yes. You and Jessie were married and then, y'know, um, you-you weren’t and I-I guess I just wondered if-if-?”

Rhett takes a deep pull on his sprite before sighing, “Are you asking if I’m lonely without Jessie?”

“Uh…sort of? Or, I mean, more-more directly - did you ever think this…this is how it would end up.”

“Gosh, no,” Rhett laughs and the corners of his eyes crinkle in that way that always makes Link’s heart twirl a little, “No, I sure didn’t. But; mean, ’s like I said, things change. So do people. Jessie and I loved one another, but,” he shrugs again, “Kids grew up, moved out, and when it was just me and her we’d found things’d changed.”

“But…” Link sounds sort of lost, “How?”

Rhett’s narrows his eyes at him, “Man, you know how. We’ve talked about this! She and I were just…different people than we used to be. Different from who we were when we got married and all. It wasn’t bad - we still loved one another. But there just…”

He rolls his shoulders and sighs again, one big hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “Wasn’t that spark anymore. I love her. Still do. Heck, we still talk - just spoke to her last week! But being in love with her?”

The last is asked in a way that pretty much answers itself. Link gets it. He does understand it. And as Rhett said – they’ve talked about this before. Back when it first happened, even. Link knows the story. He knows it and he knows it and yet…

“I guess, I’m…well, I’m-I’m just asking because you-you live up here all by yourself and I…I live by myself and…”

Rhett’s heavy lidded eyes take on this sad, soulful look, one that makes Link’s throat close up around his words, “That what this really about, brother? You thinkin’ about Christy again? You really the lonely one?”

“Yes,” Link blurts and, sort of horrified that he did, rushes on, “And no. No, mean…this-this isn’t about Christy…this-this is about Lily.”

Rhett’s eyes widen and his head rears back, the confusion on his face paramount, “Okay, alright then - color me perplexed, 'cause I don’t see how my being lonely and then your being lonely has anything to do with your daughter.”

“Lily thinks we should go out!” Link squeaks loudly and hoo boy! Bad enough the words came out in that sharp of a tone, but he also Did. Not. Mean. To. Say. Them!

He was planning on working into it in a far more casual manner. Maybe even jokingly. Like, 'Hey, my daughter thinks we should go out! Isn’t that a laugh riot?’ Or 'So, my children are conspiring against us!’ Or really anything - any way - different than how it came out just now.

Rhett, for his part, doesn’t seem all that rocked by this announcement, “Oh. Um. Alright. Sounds good.”

“Sounds good?!” And wow. Just wow. Link thought he sounded squeaky and loud before. That came out even worse. Mickey-Mouse-sucked-on-helium-and-went-hysterical worse. Rhett must have misunderstood, right? Right?!

As if sensing the question, Rhett finishes off his sprite and tosses the can in a nearby trash can, “Sure. We can go out. Where you wanna go? Wouldn’t mind takin’ a trip. Been an age since we done it.”

His reply confirms Link’s thinking and he deflates, but only a smidge, because he now knows he still has to explain, “No, no, no. I-I mean she wants us to go out. As-as in out out.”

Watching the realization dawn on Rhett’s face should be funny. It really should. More so when he asks in a higher tenor, “Out out as in-?”

“As in a date, man. My little girl thinks we should date,” Link wants to make this into a joke. He feels like he should be able to do that. He knows he should. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? One big joke and he tries to laugh but the sound comes out so false and weird he stops it immediately, instead pressing on, “Rest of my kids too. She was just…just the one elected to bring it up or-or something…”

Rhett sits up straighter and crosses his arms. His eyes dart from side to side and he looks like he’s thinking so danged hard about this. Way harder than Link thinks he should.

“Let me get this straight: your kids,” Rhett points to Link, “think we,” he waves a finger between the two of them, “should go out with one another?”

“Yes.”

Rhett blinks several times as if he’s physically processing this. His mind a computer pushing through a big old file of data. Which is probably why he offers an indelicate, “Huh.”

“Right?!” Link cries, because he feels like Rhett understands. Rhett gets Link. Rhett knows exactly how Link thinks and feels and Rhett gets this situation, Link’s situation, perfectly.

“My kids pushed me back into datin’ long before yours did.”

…and this was not the response Link expected. He’d expected laughter. He’d expected an eyeroll. He’d expected anything but Rhett to say what he just said and thus his response is less than elegant, “Eh?”

“Locke and Shepard got on me 'bout dating only a year or two after the deal with Jessie was finalized. Think they were worried I’d become some ol’ hermit in the woods…” the last comes out in a bit of a chuckle as Rhett looks around them, “Can you believe that?”

Link can’t help but join him in chuckling on that front. Once the laughter dies down, Rhett sits up, threading his fingers together before letting his hands hang down between his knees, “Told ‘em I didn’t need it. You reach a certain age and you don’t date anymore.”

“That’s what I told, Lily!” Link crows; overjoyed that his pal is in agreement.

One slender shoulder rises and falls in an easy motion as he confesses, “Not that I haven’t been out though.”

This draws Link up short. It startles him. It makes him sit up as well, his own hands mirroring Rhett’s and one of his legs starts jiggling restlessly, “Y-Y-you’ve been-? Been seeing someone?”

“Nah,” Rhett offers a lazy grin, “Not seriously. Seen a coupla different folks, but no one I’d care to see again.”

So.

Rhett had…or is…dating. Sure, he doesn’t call it dating, but still…the omission trips Link up. For some reason, he’d just believed both he and Rhett were in the same boat. Sure, Rhett was divorced, not widowed, but Link had felt – in some way – that it held the same sort of principle.

You chose someone to spend the rest of your life with and when their life or your life ended, that was that. There was nothing else, no one, else. And he’s aware how immature that is, how backwards-thinking, but it just…it’s what he always thought. Until now. Until this very moment where Rhett revealed that it’s not that way at all.

At least not for him.

Rhett…seeing people…with-with potential romantic intent…

For some reason it just doesn’t compute and now Link knows he’s the one blinking madly as he tries to process this. One reason it’s hard to swallow comes to mind, so he asks, "You-you never mentioned…?”

“Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re telling me right now!” And there’s that hysteric tone again.

“Not givin’ you names, now am I?”

Link feels the sound of sheer disgruntled aggravation that leaves him right now really nails his feelings home. Rhett, however, is unmoved, “Gotta say though, Lily is way off base…”

Link’s hands unhook as he practically melts. A wave of relief washes over him, his whole body falling back to rest against the chair, “Finally!”

“…we already know one another.”

Link’s head snaps back up so quickly it defies his advanced age, “What?”

“Well, not only are we well past the age of dating, dating in and of itself is for people who don’t know one another,” Rhett returns candidly, “We’ve known one another damn near all our lives. So, telling us we should date isn’t quite right. If we went out, it’d probably be called something else.”

“What?!”

Rhett strokes at his beard thoughtfully, “Wonder if there’s a name for that? People who’ve known one another for a long time, but then decide to bump it up a notch. Mean, it’s probably still just called 'dating’, but I really think they should come up with another word for it, because they’re making up new words all the time for all kinds of things so, you think there’d be one for that.”

“WHAT?!”

Rhett looks at Link and he edges closer to him, voice colored with concern, “You alright there? Thought I was the one with the bad hearing. My hearing aids really help, so if you think your ears are starting to go you can ask your doc about-?”

“My hearing is fine,” Link stresses, “But I’m not sure about everything else, because, apparently, I’ve woken up in some alternate universe!”

“…well, we did used to say we traveled the multiverse.”

“Can it, McLachlin!” Link points at him, tone sharp, “You’re the one who said it wasn’t a question you needed to answer!”

“…a question-?”

“Back on the show!” Link cries, “One time you said you didn’t need to answer the question of what it’d be like if we kissed or made out or-!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rhett laughs and waves both of his hands, “Look…first off - for the most part - you’ve always had a better memory’n me. Even back before we were old coots. Second, pretty presumptions of you, ain’t it?”

Link frowns, waits for Rhett to continue the thought and when he does, it takes all the strength Link has within in his body not to strangle the other man, “Mean – you jumping right into kissing and making out…haven’t even taken me out proper yet. If you want to start courting me…”

“I don’t!” Link practically leaps to his feet at that. A rather impressive feat considering his body doesn’t move with near the alacrity it used to, “I-I-I mean, I’m-I’m not-!”

“No?” Rhett sniffs, “Rude.”

“What?” And Link hates repeating himself, hates sounding so stupefied but honestly: what the heck? “Do you want me to be courting you? To take you out out? To date?”

Rhett looks far too damned tranquil for this conversation, “Just because a long time ago I said I didn’t need to answer the question to that, don’t mean I’m not pondering it now.”

And with that, Link dies.

Or he feels like he dies.

Or something else.

Something transcendent. Something where he really has confirmed that, somehow, the planets have shifted, the stars have aligned, and he’s been transported to another universe, because he couldn’t have possibly heard that right.

Yet he knows he did.

Link feels lightheaded. He feels like he’s outside of his body, his voice coming back to him in an echo, lips moving unbidden, “But-? You’re-you’re not-? You’ve-you’ve never been interested in-?”

Another easy shrug, “Not sure if I’m interested in men. But I sure as shit am interested in you. Always have been.”

Link really thinks he should sit back down. Sit back down or fall down. Just…down…

His hands feels shaky and wild as they find the arms of the chair, as he lowers himself back into, as he breathes, “You’re interested in-in-in-?”

Link’s head moves around as if looking for someone else, because saying ‘in me’ (and the ‘me’ being Link himself) doesn’t seem at all possible.

Rhett, seeming to finally take pity on him, sighs, “When I say ‘I’m interested in you’, I’m not declaring some secret, unrequited, suppressed feelings for you, man. I’m saying you’re my friend, I find you interesting, and I ain’t entirely opposed to seeing if there could be more to it,” he unlaces his fingers to wave between them, “To us,” then he changes one of his hands into the two fingers to motion between their eyes, “To this.”

“…this…” is all Link can manage. It comes out faint and whispery. He’s still pretty convinced he died. Probably happened on the ride here. Damn twisty backroads.

“…’course if you’re not interested,” Rhett sucks his teeth, “Or chicken…”

Link snaps back to life right quick. He’s alive. He’s alive and in his body and his ears are burning, his heart pounding, his cheeks bright red as his blood pressure rises, “I’m not chicken!”

Rhett just eyes him balefully and-and the utter gall of it! Of those eyes looking at him in this fashion and Link puffs up, “I’m not! I’M a modern man, dang it! I-I’m not afraid to-to-!”

He runs a hand through his thick (now completely) silver hair and tugs it hard, “It’s just-? It’s crazy! It’s insane! It’s-it’s-it’s-!”

He’s stuttering all over himself, all the things he wants to say not coming out of his mouth quickly enough and he just points at Rhett accusingly, “It’ll ruin our friendship and be all kindas awkward and-!”

Rhett leans back in his chair, crosses his arms again and stretches out his ridiculously long, giraffe-like legs, “You know…we drank one another’s urine.”

Link stalls at that.

“Once upon a time.”

Link is still stopped. Enough that Rhett just breathes in and looks off to one side, “Messed around with one another’s feet. Did Mama Bird/Baby Bird. Cuddled with cockroaches.”

“Thought you said I had the better memory.”

“’Bout some things,” Rhett offers with a small grin, “My point is – we’ve done much crazier things. Only difference this time would be that it’s personal and it’s not for an audience.”

Link digests that, chews on it. He rolls it over and over again in his mind. Rhett seems to be waiting for him to answer – one way or another and when it becomes obvious that no real answer is forth coming, he lets out another sigh and rises up, wincing some.

Link would bet it’s due to his lower back twinging, because sitting long periods of time now just does that to him. Link knows, because it does it to him too.

Rhett puts his hands in his pockets and offers another blithe shrug, “Look, don’t worry about it. I don’t blame you if you’re-”

“Okay.”

Link’s eyes are downcast. They went in that direction when he knew his final answer. He wants to raise his head. He wants to know who said it, that quiet word. So quiet as to almost be inaudible.

And shy.

Quiet, shy…unreal.

And he knows he said it. Knows it came from his mouth. And he feels it when Rhett gets closer to him, feels the heat of his friend and he can just make him out of his peripheral vision as he repeats just as quietly, just as shy, “Okay?”

Link licks his lips and looks up. He looks up into his friend’s kind eyes and feels his head wobbling on his neck as he nods, “Okay. Yeah. I…I guess it’s…it’s worth trying…”

“So,” Rhett’s lips tug up in one corner, a teasing sort of smirk, “You are courting me?”

Link shoves out at him and the two laugh. But the fact still remains. Link has just agreed to go out with Rhett. Out out. As in a date, as in…

…and Link knows, eventually, the panic will return. But for now? For now, it’s nice to just be with his friend and laugh.

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the prompt fill, number 3 for Indruck seems pretty fitting!

Here you go! Prompt 3 was “sweet” , Indrid’s design is based on a barracuda and I went with SFW on this one.

“Duck, can you do me a favor when you lock up?” Leo dumps orange taffy into a glass jar. 

“Sure, what d’you need?”

“Got some locks for the garbage cans; put ‘em on after you set the alarm out back. Somethin’s been getting into our trash every damn night for the last week. It makes a god-awful mess and I’m worried we’re gonna get a fine for littering.”

Duck nods, turns his attention back to the flock of tourists approaching the window. The afternoon is swallowed up in a pit of sugar-sticky air and blasts of welcome cold from the freezer. There are worse places for a summer job than Tarkesian’s Sweets--he’s right by the water, can watch the wildlife on his lunch break, and Leo is low-maintenance boss--but after eight hours on his feet getting splashed with soda or burned on the popcorn machine, he’s ready to head home. The trash locks have other ideas.

It takes ten minutes of cursing and fumbling to get the first bin secured. He doesn’t even know how the damn things are getting overturned; they seem too heavy for a raccoon or seagull to knock to the ground. 

A tiny splash behind him, probably a fish jumping. 

Then a crooked, shiny pole slowly enters his periphery. In dim yellow of the streetlight, he can tell the end of it is curved. It pokes inelegantly at the wall, then the locked can, then the wall once again, and then Duck’s leg.

The hook pulls back, pauses, then pokes him again.

“The fuck?” He grabs it when it goes for another jab, pulls up only for his arms to be wrenched towards the water. Not to be outdone, he tugs harder. His opponent retaliates with enough force that he almost tumbles off the pier. He growls, braces his foot on the railing, and hauls the hook and its owner up onto worn wood with him. 

It’s a guy about his age, angular face framed by a mess of silver hair and pierced ears. Figures it’s some sort of artsy punk swimming around poking people in the leg. That explains why he’s shirtless too. 

It does not, however, explain why he has a tail. 

“Rude.” The guy sits up on his hands, silver and black tail flicking droplets of saltwater everywhere, “I don’t go around stopping you from eating.”

“Look man, I just wanted you to stop jabbin me and knockin the trash over.” Maybe if he doesn’t mention the tail it will go away. 

“How else am I supposed to get at those odd, pulpy tubs full of ‘cookies and cream’ or ‘bubblegum’?”

“The fuck--wait, you were tryin’ to get the ice cream containers out of the trash?”

“Yes? I also want more of the caramel apples” he pronounces the last word “applees” causing Duck to giggle in spite of himself. 

“Look, I have to piece words together from the signs on your store. And you obviously know what I meant or you would not be laughing, so do you have any in the cans or not?”

“Nope” Duck gets his laughter under control, “sold out of caramel apples today.” 

“Drat” the visitor starts scooting across the pier towards the unlocked trashcan, “I’ll see what else I can find.”

“Wait don’t fuckin knock that over, Leo’ll be pissed at me if he comes back to a mess, and I don’t feel like pickin up trash because you want a snack!”

“But I’m starving!” The merman, because at this point there’s no way he can deny that’s what’s been rooting through the garbage, whacks at Duck with his tail.

“I know for a damn fact there’s food down there.” He points at the bay. 

“Only if you can catch it, and only if it is not in another mer’s territory. Which much of this area is; I am new here, young, and thus have no claim to any patch of sea.”

“You ain’t got any family?” Something pings in his chest. It’s the part of his heart that made him pick out the runt of litter when his mom let him get a cat on his thirteenth birthday, that means he always splits his lunch with Juno because she’s running track and needs it more than he does, that makes him tear up when he thinks about everything a sapling has to survive to become a tree.

“Merfolk leave home at sixteen.” The merman shrugs.

Duck sighs, grabbing his keys, “If I bring you somethin to eat, will you leave the trash alone?”

“Yes.” 

He shuts off the alarm, grabs a cone and fills it with bright blue ice cream. The merman is back in the water when he returns, arms resting on the pier.

“Oooh, my favorite!” He takes the ice cream, biting huge chunks out of it as Duck re-arms the door. 

Crunch

“...The container is edible!!”

He sits next to the merman’s arms, “Guess you wouldn’t have had an ice cream cone before, huh.”

“No, but it is lovely. I wish humans threw these away more often.” He polishes off the treat, licks his fingers clean with moans Duck hears in his dreams later, and smiles, “thank you for the meal. Goodnight.” 

There’s a final flash of silvery tail, and then Duck’s alone in the breezy night air.

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

“That’s a sandwich, correct?”

“AHfuck” Duck knocks over his water bottle in surprise. He’s eating behind the candy store like usual and not expecting an aquatic dining companion. 

“Apologies. I have seen you eating here before and thought you may like some company.” He sets a sea urchin on the ground and proceeds to bang on it with a rock. 

“Found some lunch?”

“I followed some otters; I was mainly trying to draw them, but they led me to a kelp bed no one else was in.”

“...Wait how do you draw underwater?”

“Let me finish cracking this open and I will show you.”

Duck spends the rest of his lunch break on his belly, the merman showing him a sketchbook and enchanted pen that conjures whatever colors the illustrator envisions. The mer is genuinely excited to talk to him. He assumes the nuzzling is due to him smelling like cotton candy; he doesn’t mind, the mer’s skin is cool and he makes cute little noises whenever he touches Duck. 

Before the stands, Duck asks, “You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“Duck.” 

Indrid’s eyes flick to the nearby estuary.

“Yeah, like the bird. It’s a nickname.”

“I like it.” Indrid smiles, dives, and flaps his tail once in farewell.

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

“Cutting school again?” Indrid’s voice bubbles up by his feet. 

“Yep.” Duck watches the spring clouds roll by from his favorite spot on the beach. It’s secluded and far from town, meaning no one will give him shit for skipping class and nobody will see Indrid.

He worked at Leo’s until this past summer, only quitting at the start of his senior year of high school when Indrid pointed out that much of Kepler was surrounded by water and that, if Duck wanted to see him, he did not have to keep working at the candy store in order to do so. 

“Not that I mind the free food.” Indrid winks. 

“Just gonna bring you bulk ice cream from Safeway; no way am I missin out on that chirpin you do when you eat it.”

Duck slides the grocery bag towards the surf, “not like KCC is gonna rescind my offer. Ain’t a fuckin Ivy League or some shit.”

“And you will be happy there?”

“Yeah. They got a decent work-study program with the park, so I can still get a job as a ranger if I want to.”

“Oh. Good.” 

Indrid sounds sad, and Duck sits up on his elbows. His friend’s torso is fully on land, his tail fidgeting in the foam. 

“What’s up?

“I...Barclay told me his human is going to a school further inland, and I know there are many places you could got to learn. You...you did not choose to stay in Kepler because you feel the need to look after me, did you?”

“Course not.” Duck is sitting up now, aching to stroke Indrid’s hair, “I mean, I’m glad we’re still gonna be able to see each other, and I really hopin I can get a room near the beach so it’s easy to come talk. But this is the right choice for me; if I really want to, I can transfer to a different school in a few years, and I can learn a lot here without takin on a shit-ton of debt. Besides, ain’t like I think you’re helpless; I love bringin you stuff and rubbin your fin when it’s sore, but that’s because you’re my friend. Don’t think you’re helpless. I never have.”

“Not even when I was stealing trash?”

“Thought you were a fuckin nuisance, not helpless.” He playfully nudges his shoulder with his toes. 

Indrid turns his head and nips his calf, “How’s that for a nuisance?”

“Not much, felt kinda nice. Uh, I mean, uh, fuck, so, where’d that worry about my stayin come from?”

The mer crawls and wiggles until they’re shoulder to shoulder, “I think my future sight is finally developing; my fathers arrived around the time he turned eighteen, so it makes sense mine would arrive at a similar point. The trouble is, I am having a hard time telling the futures from my own imaginings and worries.”

“That fuckin sucks.”

“I’ll manage. All seers struggle at the beginning. I just wish I was quicker at learning whether certain timelines are really more likely or if they are just ones that I want to be likely.”

“Like what?”

Indrid glances at him, opens his mouth, then shuts it and faces the sea.

Duck smirks, “‘Drid, there somethin you wanna ask me?”

“No. Yes. Maybe? I, I just don’t want to pressure youOOOHhhh that’s not fair” he flops on his back with a groan as Duck scritches his upper tail, “you know I’ll do anything when you touch me like this.”

“Damn right I do. And what I want is for you to tell me the truth.”

Indrid whines, covers his face with his hands.

“Do it or I’ll stop.”

“Rude” Indrid lowers his hands enough that his red eyes peer over the top, “is that any way to treat a mer who wants to kiss you?”

Duck gives his answer by pouncing on his friend, pinning narrow shoulders into the sand as he devours his mouth in kisses. 

“You like that treatment better?”

“Goodness, yes.” Indrid pulls him back down, slipping his tongue between his lips and nibbling his neck when he finally stops to breathe. Then his hand flails sideways, grabbing the plastic bag and chucking it further up the beach.

“The, the tide is coming in and I, ah, foresee us working up quite the appetite.” He tugs Duck’s collar down with his teeth, nuzzling and licking across his skin with little hums of pleasure, “so I want to save those for afterwards. Who knows” he grins, “maybe we’ll need energy for round two as well.”

Duck cups his cheek, inhales the scent of the sea and the sight of his future, “I like the way you think, sweet thing.”

[whiskey-bumblebee]

American Pie

Pairing: Clyde Logan/Reader

Warnings: Brief mentions of returning from war/tour, brief mentions of high school bullying, brief mentions of PTSD. Despite these, this is overwhelmingly a fluff piece!!

Word Count: 871

A/N: I don’t... write Clyde... but... I wrote this? 

“You know that song, the chevy in the levee one?” You wonder aloud to Clyde. “Do you like it?”

Clyde went silent, his hands stilling and coming to rest flat on the dining room table, where the two of you had been talking. It was his tell that he was about to have a flashback, so you were silent, but took his hands softly to ground him.

His father tapped the steering wheel rhythmically to the song. It was the first time Clyde had heard it, a mournful, folky crooner singing about Americana. His father said this was what music used to be like, real rock from the 50s. Clyde liked it. It wasn’t his usual taste, he was much more into the evolving rock sound of the 80s, and the constant comfort of country. It was the only ‘modern’ song he’d ever seen his dad like, and the drumming on the steering wheel was as close as his father would ever come to singing. It was high praise from the usually stoic man.

Clyde listened to it a lot after that, memorized the lyrics even though he wasn’t much of a singer either. He felt like the song was speaking directly to him, especially in his high school years. A lot of it reminded him of his father, the whisky and rye, the allusions to old rock and roll. 

It was the song that inspired him to buy those carnations for that girl, Tabby, and hang around the gym waiting for her volleyball practice to end so he could ask her to prom. By the time he’d worked up the nerve and rubbed the sweat off his palms, walked into the gym with the words all ready on his lips- there was another boy there. Asking her to prom. Sure as hell, they were dancing with their socks on, just like the song, laughing and twirling on the scuffed wooden floors.

They saw Clyde standing there in the doorway.

“Hey ears!” The boy called. “What’re those flowers for?”

Clyde was silent, feeling the beginnings of his first heartbreak cracking through his chest. 

Tabby laughed. “You gonna ask someone to prom? All the girls have already left. Prob’ly for the best, you shouldn’t use so much gel if you wanna yes from them.”

Clyde dropped the carnations in the trash can outside the gym, making his way back to his pickup. He drove too fast, drove laps around the town to work out his feelings, the radio on full volume. By the time he got home, he was just numb. He went straight to his room and didn’t come down for dinner. Prom was the same. He stayed home, reading comics and watching reruns.

Years later now, he was in the helicopter, flying to some hospital somewhere, focusing on anything except the pain in his arm. The radio was playing in the helicopter, the pilots singing along loudly.

“I was a lonely teenage bronckin' buck With a pink carnation and a pickup truck But I knew I was out of luck The day the music died

I started singin', bye-bye, Miss American Pie Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye Singin', "This'll be the day that I die...”

“American Pie?” Clyde asked hoarsely.

“Yeah, bud! We play songs from ‘merica when we’re takin’ folks home.”

“I’m goin’ home?”

“Ain’t no way you’re staying in Iraq, Logan, was it? Hate to say it but if ya can’t hold a gun, they don’t want ya anymore.”

“I’m goin’ home,” Clyde said softly. 

“I’m goin’ home.”   

His eyes blinked open. He closed his hand around yours, taking a deep breath. As he focused on the room around him, he glanced down at his prosthetic.

“Anything I can do for you, honey?” You asked softly.

He shook his head. “American Pie?”

You nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. Chevy in the levee.”

He nodded. “I like it.”

“So it’s goin’ on the playlist?”

He nodded again. “Yeah.”  

Clyde twirled you around the barn, watching the bottom of your white dress sweep the floor. The reception was coming to a close now, the last of your playlist ringing out as the guests started leaving. He pulled you back in, close, and nuzzled your hair, hummed along.

“And the three men I admire most The Father, Son and the Holy Ghost They caught the last train for the coast The day the music died-”

You smiled up at him, glowing from the joy of the day, your day. You bounced around the dance floor, singing the last few lines of the song, looking around at your family. The people with drinks toasted and whooped, realizing the night was coming to a close. The DJ confirmed as much, gently telling people to gather their coats ‘cos there were only a few songs left. One of the waitresses lingered by the door with a broom, ready to sweep up the night’s dropped items.

Clyde held you tight, kissed your hair. “I think it’s almost time I take you home, Mrs. Logan.”

You hummed a laugh and pressed your lips softly to his.

“I think so too, Mr. Logan.”

[kwaj115]

Ina x MC: Meeting the Parents – Part 2

Summary: Raven comforts Ina.

Warnings: Angst, MAYBE a sprinkle of fluff

Tag: @kulaykape @ikingsley @domakir @sheepmomther-personal @itsoverihavethehighground

Author’s Notes: Sorry, I was finding the motivation to get it out on my doc. There may be some names that pop up in this fic. (You have to read ‘Takin’ out the trash’ for that.) It’s not as important but I may not describe the character since I already have in my previous fics.

Raven tries to find Ina in the dark park. Panicking, she reaches into her pocket to pull out her phone.

*2 new messages from Ina*

Ina:

Hey, I’m sorry I left. I needed to leave.

I’m at home.

Raven sighs and rushes home, running half the way.

When she gets home, Raven shrugs off her jacket and quickly but quietly makes her way through the apartment. She comes to a little bundle under the covers of their shared bed. Raven hears little sniffles coming through and can see the outline of Ina’s body shaking. She climbs into the covers, holding Ina from behind. Ina jumps a bit but turns around and starts to cry into Raven’s chest, more freely. She holds her, shielding her from the world under the comfort of their blanket and drift off to sleep.

The next day, Raven wakes up and sees that the clock reads 10:30am. She sighs and looks over at Ina clinging to her as if she would vanish. She starts to move but freezes when Ina stirs. As Ina turns to the other side, Raven quietly makes her way to the bathroom and begins her morning routine. She wakes Ina up with breakfast in bed and bites her bottom lip, debating if she should talk about the conversation between her and Preston. Ina gives her a grateful smile as they both ate their breakfast in a comfortable silence.

“Ina? How are you holding up?”

Ina sighs and looks towards Raven. Raven’s heart broke a little when she saw her puffy red eyes filled with hurt.

“I just don’t get why he has to come back when I finally feel free and happy.”

Raven bites the inside of her cheek, debating if she should tell Ina now or later on in the day. As subtle as Raven can be, Ina has come to know when Raven is holding something back. To others, they both seem like a closed book when it comes to personal things. But to each other, they are an open book, no matter how they try to cover things up.

Ina broke the silence. “What’d he say to you?”

Raven looks stunned. “What makes you think he said anything to me?” Ina raises her eyebrow. “You’re biting the inside of your cheek, cracking your knuckles, and...” Ina reaches up and uses her thumb to smooth out her furrowed brow. “You also look like you might kill someone.” Ina whispers, softly chuckling when Raven grumbles.

“Well, Mr. Kingsley-“ Ina huffs. “So polite.” “Fine, Preston, asked for me to talk to you about visiting your mother.” When Raven sees Ina open her mouth, she quickly placed her hand over Ina’s and continued. “He said to me that your mom was very ill and…” Raven looked over at Ina carefully before speaking. “She only has a few months to live.” She saw her face scrunch up as if she was holding back her tears and refused to let them drop.

“He says it’s her last wish, to see her children again. Preston admitted that what he did was wrong and he was willing to do anything to make up for it. He claims that your mother couldn’t bare to live with him or meet his eye after kicking you and Lillian out.”

When Raven was done, tears started to make their way down Ina’s face and Raven carefully pulled Ina into her arms.

“I-I don’t know, Raven. I can’t bare to even look at him, how would Lillian react if she hears about this?”

After awhile of being wrapped up in each other’s arms, they get ready for the day. A few days after Raven graduated, she encouraged Ina to focus more on research. They discussed and came to a decision that Ina can try teaching again. It was hilarious for Raven to see students drool over “Professor Dreamy” but look like a kicked puppy after they realize that she’s taken. With that experience, she decided to stick with a research-based career. Raven took up a part-time job of working as a martial arts instructor at her uncle’s gym. Later on, her uncle decided that Raven shares a partnership with running the gym with Tal, her cousin.

Today was the day Ina decided to stay home to work on her research which gave Raven an excuse to go to the gym, not to work but to figure out a way about Preston’s situation. She goes to Rudra, her most-trusted friend that she met through her uncle when he joined the gym as a fitness coach, and fills him in on the situation without giving away a lot of personal details about Ina’s life.

“Okay, so what are you going to do about it?”

“What? I came to you for help, Rud.”

“Yeah, you’ve told me but I know you, Raven. To others, you may be hard to read but not for me. I know you have a plan on how you might convince Ina and, maybe, Lillian.”

Raven sighs in frustration and runs her hand through her hair. She starts to get up and paces around the room, Rudra watching her walk back and forth.

“I don’t know, Rudra. If I were to talk to him and try to open his mind up instead of thinking narrow-minded, it can take awhile. I can’t even tell Ina about that.”

Rudra sat up, confused. “Why not? She may be reluctant but wouldn’t she be happy that you’re putting the effort to change the way he views the world?”

“Nope! She does not want anything to do with them. If I ask her, she’ll say no and she might keep a watch on me or something.”

Rudra sighs and gets up, laying a hand on Raven’s shoulder. “I know you’ll do what’s right, Raven. I’m proud of you for wanting to spend the time to change his mindset. If your mother was here, she would be so proud of you.”

With a nod, Rudra left, leaving Raven alone to lock up for the night. Raven gets caught up with sorting out bills when she thinks about Ina and her family. She picks up her phone and decides to call Preston.

“Raven, hello.”

“Preston. Before I decide to start convincing Ina and Lillian, I need to prepare you first.”

“Prepare?”

“Yes, prepare. When you kicked them out and when Mrs. Kingsley did not do anything about it, we can’t just take your word that you’ve changed or because you simply miss them. I don’t want to convince them only for both of you to make me look like a fool for wasting their time and breaking their trust.”

Silence filled the room and she didn’t hear him say anything. She heard rustling on the other end and a sigh.

“Okay, I will educate myself better.”

“Not only educate but I will show you the world from the outside of your narrow perspective. I will send you the place and time of when we should meet up. ”

“Alright, I’ll be waiting. Thank you for considering. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Please keep in mind that I am not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I’m doing this because I know what it’s like losing family, I don’t want Ina and Lillian to continue going through the struggle that their parents refused to accept them the way they are. Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Kingsley.”

Raven ends the call and sees a missed call and messages from Ina. She smiles when she sees it and calls Ina back.

“Hey Ina, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I wanted to ask when you’re coming home.”

“I’ll be home in a bit.” Raven puts the phone on speaker and continues to organize her work space.

“I got an idea. Do you want to do a movie marathon, binge-watch any show?”

“Actually, yes, that would make me feel better. Can we have pizza too?”

“That sounds great, I know it’s been hectic. With us working and barely having any time together, I just want to spend time with you.”

She heard silence and then a soft voice spoke.

“I love you, Raven Wardin.”

Raven smiled, all the tension from the day disappearing.

“I love you too, Ina Kingsley.”

[gooferdusted]

hypothetically, if I were to write a fix-it/rewrite au fic, (thinking of starting at s5 but debating starting earlier) what are some storylines you’d take out/change, characters you’d save/kill, and specifically changes to sam’s character/arcs you’d like bc i need ideas

ok. ok. I'm gonna try to not go completely off the fucking rails while I write this up but I gotchu (also these r all just my own hot n spicy takes so like. pick what u like, it's all goodie goodie)

• no time passing differently in hell. literally four months is ~Enough!~ a year is enougghh!!!!!! like I get that they wanted to make hell this horrible unreachable thing but u can still like... get that across without having it be this unfathomable chunk of time out of a persons life. like sam was down there with TWO very pissed off angel's for 180 years??? how can he still speak english??? how does dean remember ANYTHING about his old life when mentally more than half of it was spent being endlessly tortured until he finally cracked??? its just.... Too Much...

• ON that note, I feel like later on they never rlly had sam and dean bond over the fact that like... they are genuinely the ONLY two people on earth who have survived actual hell. I mean we got that one off line from dean at some point but??

• no chuck as god. just a greasy greasy rat man getting insane stories projected into his brain. and on the topic of that.... I dont like the reflection of the real life fanbase in the spn universe??? they're pulp fiction novels, it should be all like 50 year old + ladies who picked them up at the local bargain bin, not b*cky r*sen

• I like... WANNA say smth abt s4..... bc I think the way that they handled things were a little out of character BUT I also think that was lind of the point??? like the angels and demons were manipulating them to say/do things they would normally never say/do to eachother to drive a big enough wedge between then that they would eventually say yes to being the vessels. like it hurts to watch sooo much but it did drive the plot forward in a very particular way that probably couldnt have happened otherwise. that being said, when the levee breaks makes me sad, and I dont want to see sam crying for his dead mother alone in a basement! cest la vie.

• sam and dean.... are Friends...,, why did we all forget that..... watch hell house and maybe I'll calm down.....

• PSYCHIC SAM!!!!!! you all know me. you know how I feel about psychic sam... robbed. s4 finale rlly had sam like "drinking that much demon blood has truly changed me forever..... theres no going back now...... 😔😔" like ok. ok. where are your superpowers. where are they.

• I wish some of the other special children had made it out :(( I really liked andy and ava (also sam finding other friend who are like him??? queer allegory??? spare queer allegory?????)

• I also dont think the roadhouse shouldve burned down!!! that shouldve been a Staple Location like Bobby's house. same w Missouri's, literally why did we only visit her once.

• ur sending an ask to my blog so I assume this is just a given for u but!!! we're takin away the misogyny. we're takin away the fetishization! anything that would be given the greenlight by joss whedon we are putting straight in the trash. <3

• this is mostly a thing in later seasons like. idk 9-15, but no ppl knowing who the winchesters are. they are NOBODIES. they pop up like little meerkats and fuck everything up beyond repair.

• also no fancy tech. no iphone 76z or whatever the fuck. sam has an ipod 1. the wheel is so stuck he can barely press play anymore. remember when he literally just tore off the top casing off his laptop and threw it away? more of that.

• no nice clothes. NO nice clothes we fuckin hate that. everything sam and dean own was purchased pre 1995 and dean is an expert at removing blood stains and sewing up jackets. dean will walk into a laundromat with a tide pen and just start goin for it like that scene in deadpool.

• tbh.... I feel like the issues in later seasons are really this massive horrible domino effect. like I could say heres how to fix s7-10 but the fact is if shit hadnt gone down lile it had in s7 s10 would be a different story entirely.

• I am gonna do it tho bc I suck <3

• s6: soulless sam was funney but did that really go anywhere? no. tbh I dont remember what happened w cas and I'm just not going to look it up. it's just not in the cards for tonight. dean w lisa.... ehh.... I've discussed this at wayy too much length w mushroom and we both agreed that dean would probably keep hunting to keep his mind off things and to try and honor sams sacrifice. I guess theres an argument to be made for the fact that it kind of was Sam's dying wish that dean just go fin her and live a normal life but... idk. purgatory was. . indeed a Concept..... that could have maybe gone somewhere if it didnt rapidly spiral into....

• s7!!! I mean. jesus christ. I know some people like this one but jesus christ. the way they literally couldnt commit to having sam have genuine mental health problems after centuries in hell or to just magically wipe them away..... bobby dying halfway thru.... charlie was a bright spot I suppose, but her intro is not my fave episode w her.... idk what the fuck happened w cas, I guess he was god. the leviathan designs were kinda neat but like oh my fucking god it wasnt worth it.

• s8: uh. rough start. idk why the turn tables so suddenly and dean's like "why didnt u look for me >:((" bc??? yall agreed not to???? at the VERY least they couldve had sam been like "I legitimately had no reason to think u werent dead and in heaven and tha wouldve been a little rude of me to pull u out of that." but we went for ~drama~ to make it spicy I guess. ouygh. bunkers there!!! that was cool!!! MoL is a cool concept!!! altho... it doesn kinda contradict the whole sam and dean are nobodies thing... idk. trials of hell was like... cool in theory but bad in practice unless they were planning on ending the show for realskies. and they did not.

• s9: uhh... hated gadreel! hated that shit! wish they had spun that whole storyline to be more "hey sam I noticed u were s*icidal should we maybe address that??" or even like.... I mean dean probably couldve just TOLD sam abt his plan, he had already convinced him to stay alive by that point??? there was no reason to lie!!! plus the betrayal of gadreel not being who he said he was wouldve been like. literally enough drama, we didnt need to fracture the team again. and cas was??? where exactly??? be was human for at least half of that season but hey didnt know what to do w him so they chucked him in a convenience store??? good lord.

• s10: got no suggestions for that one, just toss it

• s11: ok... shes cute.... we can forgive her.... the lore is shaky at best but the episodes SLAP and the characterization is *chefs kiss*. it's been a hot minute since I've seen it so if smth sucked I dont remember and I plan to keep it that way!!!!

• s12: n.. no. no mary. no mary unless we're doing it right. and I promise u doing it right was not poorly ripping off kingsman. couldve brought back bobby!!! if they desperately wanted some drama couldve brought back john!!! actually fuck that, no way

• s13-15: no thoughts, only jack kline <3

[junosartsthetic]

In the Morning

Y’all gotta read till the end to find out who this is about. Bonus points if you figure it out beforehand. Also I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

It was rather early. That much you knew. Your eyes remained closed, bare body still as the form behind you shifted. 

Would he leave? Just up and vanish after last night? You weren’t sure, but you wouldn’t be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had a one night stand with you. You didn’t mind too much, but after a while you started to wonder if you were unlovable.

His body shifted, and you prepared to hear his footsteps touch the wood floor, but instead arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close. His chest was warm and firm. You almost let out a delighted hum. It took you by surprise.

Was he not going to leave yet? Was he not like the others?

You pushed down the butterflies in your stomach. You refused to get your hopes up. Just because he was showing you a little extra care right now didn’t mean he wasn’t planning on leaving soon.

You debated whether or not to alert him that you were awake. It might just scare him off. Embarrass him. You shouldn’t.

Faking a yawn, you slowly raised your arms above your head. 

“Mornin’,” his voice spoke, rough from sleep. His arms tightened around your waist. “Sleep nicely?”

You cleared your throat before replying. “Mmhmm. You?”

He chuckled. “With you cuddlin’ up next to me? I slept like a baby.”

Cheeks flushing, you snorted. You knew you didn’t sleep too gracefully, but whatever.

“You hungry?” you asked, playing with his fingers against your stomach. “You can always stay for breakfast if you want.”

You expected him to avoid the question somehow or make up an excuse. Instead, he responded positively. “Makin’ breakfast for me? Thank ya’ kindly, sweetheart.” He gave the nape of your neck a kiss. “You don’t have to make me nothin’, though. I’m the guest here. How about I make you a homestyle breakfast? How'd ya like your eggs?”

For a split second the word ‘fertilized’ almost slipped out, but instead you cleared your throat swiftly. “Oh, uhh, sunny-side up. But you really don’t have to, I can—”

His arms suddenly shifted, and within moments you were cradled against his chest as his back rested against the backboard. “Oh, no ya don’t,” he said. “You did quite enough already for me, the least I can do is make ya breakfast.”

He pecked your forehead before setting you gently on the bed, getting up. You quickly remembered neither of you were wearing anything. Of course, you couldn’t help your gaze as you blushed furiously. Flashes of last night came back in a rush.

Your whines of pleasure. His low gasps. The way he gripped your hips so nice as he ground his—

You snapped out of it when he slipped on his boxers, discarding his other clothes. You quickly got out of bed, following him while throwing on your silk robe.

You wandered into the kitchen, noticing his cowboy hat was now on his head as he rutted through your fridge. You tilted your head as he did so, paying close attention to his back muscles moving and the curve of his—

“D’ya want anythin’ besides eggs? I don’t wanna waste all yer food, but I can make some mean bacon and sausage.”

Currently, there was only one sausage on your mind, but you let out a hum of agreement nonetheless. “Oh, make whatever you’d like. I can grab out some things too. Lemme help.”

You opened one of your cabinets, sights set on your frying pan. Sadly, your short stature made it rather hard to grab. Usually, you’d simply climb on the counter but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself.

A body soon pressed against yours, his hand resting on your shoulder while the other easily grabbed the pan you were looking for. Your eyes scanned his bicep and forearms as he did so. His large fingers gripped the handle of it, placing it onto the stove and turning on the heat.

And the heat wasn’t the only thing he was turning on. Your chest ached as you remembered how well he was able to maneuver your body, fingers fitting inside your—

He cracked an egg with one hand, dropping it into the frying pan. “Where’s yer trash can, sweetheart? I don’t wanna set this on the counter.”

You scurried to open the drawer where your trash can was, watching as he tossed in the cracked shells with ease. In moments, the pan was full of eggs simmering, the smell pleasant in your nose.

“Do ya have any coffee? I could use a cup a joe. I’m worn out.”

Your mouth opened to prompt why he was worn out, but quickly shut it. You supposed both of you were working quite hard last night. Heh.

Simply nodding, you moved over to your Keurig. 

You grabbed a K-cup to began brewing, placing a large white mug underneath it.

“Do you like sugar?” you asked, shaking a sugar packet for yourself.

“Only from you, sweetheart,” he quipped, winking at you before laughing.

A bright red hue dyed your face. You didn’t respond to him, just shaking the packet faster. You opened it, pouring the sugar inside while the coffee was still flowing into the cup so it’ll mix.

Throwing it away, you moved towards the fridge, grabbing the creamer out.

As you poured it into your cup you asked, “do you like cream?” Quickly, you added. “In your coffee, that is.”

He snorted. “I figured. But yeah, Cream and sugar both is fine, hun.”

You began to brew a new cup, now a black mug underneath. Once both cups were brewed and the cream and sugar were mixed in, you set them on the counter table in front of your bar chairs.

Deciding you’d just let him make you breakfast instead of butting in to help, you sat down to wait.

Now, any other person might find waiting boring, but you had something to focus on. 

The man in front of you was like nobody you’d ever met. His shoulder-length sandy blond hair looked nice all messy, structuring his strong jaw line well and whisping down his broad chest and muscled back haphazardly. Not to mention he was a gentleman at the bar where you two first met, and he even made sure you were alright often throughout the night, especially when it came to—

“Alright, soups on, sweetheart,” he said, placing down a plate in front of you. Two sunny side up eggs laid beside strips of bacon. You quickly grabbed the fork beside you and dug in, sipping your coffee intermittently.

Once you finished rather quickly, you simply sat in silence, hands clasped around the mug. You weren’t sure what to say.

He cleared his plate right after you, and luckily prompted conversation so you didn’t have to. “You’ve got a nice place,” he said, glancing about. “I didn’t really pay much attention last night, but now that I get a good look, it’s real pretty. Not as pretty as you, of course.”

Sipping your coffee to hide your red face, you mumbled a thank you. You figured he wouldn’t have been examining your house last night, especially since you’d gone from the front door to your bedroom in the course of about 2 minutes.

“When are you gonna leave?” you asked suddenly. You weren’t sure why you decided to speak your mind now, but it had been simmering in your subconscious ever since you woke up. “Not that I want you to,” you added hurriedly. “It’s just most people would be long gone by now. I wake up alone almost always.”

His eyebrows furrowed, his expression annoyed. “Who the hell is leavin’ ya? They’re bastards and sons-a-bitches. All of ‘em. Anyone leaving a beautiful gal like you alone in the morning is scum.”

“Oh uhh.” You picked at your robe sleeves. “I don’t blame them. I just was curious.”

“Well I do,” he retorted before his brows softened. “If it’s alright with you, sweetheart, I’d like to treat you to a day out. I’ll buy ya somethin’ nice and treat you like a real man should.”

“That’s really kind, but seriously. I’m alright. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to guilt trip you—”

“Oh hush,” he said, standing up and pulling you out of your seat gently by your hands. “Now you go get dressed and shower and such and I’ll do the same. Then I’m takin’ you out.”

You thought about arguing, but decided against it. It would do you some good, and why should you care if he pays? Because you’re nice. But still. Pushing that aside, you wandered back into your bedroom.

After spending a good half an hour getting ready, you two were at your front door.

“Alright-y, just hol’ my hand and follow me, I’ll walk ya to all the best spots around here.”

You did as he said, his large hands fitting nicely around yours.

With that, you two were out the door. You had a smile on your face. This was nice. He was nice.

You suddenly stopped. Wait. He. He, who? What the hell is his name? You didn’t remember! Did he even tell you? How were you supposed to figure it out without sounding rude?

He took note of your frozen stance, panic in your eyes. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Uhh,” you spoke up, clearing your throat awkwardly. “I’m so sorry, but, what’s your name again?”

He let out a loud laugh. “Holy hell, I guess I never did tell ya’, huh? My mistake.”

He let go of your hand to take off his hat, putting it against his chest. With his other he held out his hand for you to grab. “The name’s Hol Horse, sweetheart. Pleasure to finally introduce myself.”

You placed your hand in his and he kissed the back of it before placing his hat back on his head. “Nice to meet you, Hol Horse,” you said. “Now, where were we?”

You two began to walk once more, hand-in-hand, down the sidewalk. 

[mushi-shield]

reason why I really love Tom McDonald music.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I6FmwBPDT-w  "People So Stupid"

What a contradiction, being human is so tragic Focus on minorities, ignoring all the masses Hallelujah, everyone, activism saved the planet No more plastic straws in paper Just paper straws wrapped in plastic, congratulations

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oxJtX081jj4   "WHITEBOY"

I would never hate a man for what God gave him in pigments And I would never plot against him just because he is different I would never judge a human for the cards he was given or Call them lesser than myself 'cause of the race that he's mixed with

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=omMpqbuyDdc   "Straight White Male"

Fine, y'all don't gotta be my friends Y'all don't gotta like white men Y'all don't gotta hold my hand Y'all don't gotta have my back Y'all don't gotta, y'all don't gotta, y'all don't gotta, uh Y'all don't gotta see my side Y'all don't gotta be down to ride Y'all don't gotta do anything but ghost And I'mma do me even when it's the most, yeah

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ita4g_oDyns  "Politically Incorrect"

Don't let 'em censor your thoughts Don't let 'em make you regret that you talked Don't let 'em tell you that nice is the law Tryna make you all right here when nothing is wrong, yeahWords hurt you, clothes hurt you Memes hurt you, jokes hurt you, we hurt you Half the time you don't even probably know what hurt you But you super mad, trust we heard you

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EHBMbZdCpSk  "Cancelled"

I don't care if you mad at me, okay? Go ahead and change the channel Don't waste your time tryna cancel me, okay? They love me 'cause they know that I'm an asshole Say what you want, I guess it is what it is Haters can talk but they can't cancel the kid Go 'head and go off, try and say this is it But I swear to God, you can't cancel the kid

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2l6JUNFAJ9o  "Fake Woke"

Use violence to get peace and wonder why it isn't working That's like sleeping with a football team to try and be a virgin Politicians are for sale and someone always makes the purchase But you and I cannot afford it, our democracy is worthless If a man has mental illness call him crazy, say it silently When country's going crazy we accept it as society

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t86ClLM3ZGY  "NO LIVES MATTER"

Freedom's dead, if you have an opinion, take it back (facts) People hate the president, if you don't then you trash (facts) Indoctrinate the nation using news and mainstream rap (facts) The government abuses us, it's all part of the plan (facts)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B2K1xQOp4qo  "White Trash"

This is for my white trash, the ones the whole world hate The ones who voted for Trump, got labeled racist but ain't The ones with ball caps, "Make America Great" Who love their country to death Who struggle on minimum wageAyy, they angry about illegal aliens Takin' work that maybe they could get Single parents with some baby kids Hated for being a patriot All my life, I've been white trash All my life, it's been like that The whole world been left leanin' I'm proud of the right who fight backBeen chewed up and spit out They scream but no one listens They're so in love and vote for Trump 'cause fuck a politician They're our neighbors They're our soldiers, our men and women and children They're middle class families who got forgot by the systemUh, in God we trust and all the guns are just backup Rockin' camouflage, don't tread on me, get smoked like tobacco Yeah, we're white trash, we rednecks, crackers since we were young We grew close, we move slow, these colors don't run

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gT5DpOiQ_WA   "Fake Fans" (DISS) 

Look, I ain't changing for a buck, I ain't changing for a fan I ain't changing nothing up, this is who the fuck I am If you fuck with me, I'll hope that y'all enjoy it Beware of all the fake fans trying to destroy it, yeahI ain't switching it up, I am the man that I was Way before I blew up and everyone fell in love Never once gave a fuck, been doing me from the jump And I will never become the man that you wish I was

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zeb7bVA3pjE   "Im Sorry"

Sorry, that doesn't bother me I don't owe anybody an apology I don't have no regrets in my biology Reload and shoot for the stars, y'all look like astronomy No one as hot as me, copy me commonly Wannabes, y'all are so shockingly comedy Carry the weight of my songs all on top of me I will not break, I'm not made out of potteryBury your bodies on acres of property Place them at angles like sacred geometry Down with modesty Everything I drop is quality Promise, like honestly, follow me

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83Ntpeih4f4&t=236s  "Buttholes"

Someone's always gonna hate you no matter what Might as well just be yourself and let people think you suck Opinions are like buttholes, everyone got one they cover up And all you gotta do is follow through When you're yelling that you don't give a fuckI ain't letting anyone piss in my Cornflakes Stay the hell out my face, and I will stay out of your way I know that life is cruel, and lately it ain't fair at all You hate your job, your phone is lost, there's evil men and racist cops Yeah, I don't care if you are black or white or gay or straight Or old or young or smart or dumb or where you're from or what you make The only thing I care about is living like I'm not afraid Of dying while I'm sleeping, so I seize it while I'm still awakeWe're so angry, hating everyone we don't know We can't even take a joke, we should really let it go And be happy, stop talking shit on our phones And blocking everyone we know, we've been being buttholes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ueyNLoRWdao  "American Dreamz"

We're distracted by free porn and compilation videos of puppies and kittens While our children use the internet to bully one another and then purchase ammunition So addicted to your phone that you ignore the kids and never give them any supervision So they learn to build a bomb with things you keep inside your kitchen and you wonder how they ended up with life inside of prison We mourned a dead gorilla, but don't care when it's a person, we're forgetting that we're human We're angry that chickens are being locked up in cages and then forget we do the same to kids in our institutions When they ask you about stupid shit, you tell 'em they should Google it Then you wonder why the troubled youth are homicidal lunatics You think it's tragic when a shooter killed a student But then say it's all a plan for them to change the constitution

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQ4tAbwi31I  "Castles"

  Everybody's got a story; if you look a little closer, you can see it in the wrinkles in their face They can hide it in the silence, they can bury it and fight it, but it comes out when their hair is turning grey You can feel it if you touch 'em, you can tell that they are troubled, you can hear the story running through their veins We all travel different roads, and we put on different clothes; underneath it all, we're really all the same

Everybody has a tale that they're too afraid to tell, you can see it in the cracks in their hands They can cover it with smiles; if you walk a couple miles in their shoes, then you'll know where they stand Everyone who really lived had to climb out of a ditch they were in before they found the right path If you wanna know the truth about what we've been going through, then try to put your phone away so you can ask

We've all got problems, and we all feel alone We've all been haunted by the secrets we hold We could fill our coffins with the rocks they have thrown Or we could build our castles with the sticks and the stones We've all got problems, and we all feel alone We've all been haunted by the secrets we hold We could fill our coffins with the rocks they have thrown Or we could build our castles with the sticks and the stones

We are the neighbors that you'll never meet We are the strangers walking down your street We are a million faces in the crowd We are the ones the system's tearing down We are the people working to survive We are more than just our nine-to-fives We are the shopping malls and streetcars We are one, it's time to tell 'em just who we are

[jornthur]

Jail Time

John Marston x Abigail Marston, Low Honor 🐺

(Thanks to my friend @liars-and-cheats​ for helping me with this idea!)

Summary: John is in a terrible mood and finds himself in jail, what’s he going to do to release his frustrations?

(Warning: Smut ahead, hanging sentence if you read)

•••••

John sat on the hard bench inside the jail cell he currently occupied, silently fuming as he stared down at the trail dust covering his worn boots. He let out a hard sigh, lifting a hand to take off his hat. Lowering it to his lap, he stared at one of the last reminders he had of his old friend.

He knew he'd gotten drunk last night at the saloon, but he could barely remember a damn thing. All he could recall was that he’d been in a dark mood, some moron had talked shit to him, a fight had ensued, and now here he was.

Oh, he was definitely still angry alright, and he was going to make sure everyone else that ran into him knew it, including that piece of shit deputy.

He lifted his gaze from Arthur’s hat, looking up through the iron bars at the deputy who was leaning back in his chair across the room. The man was piggish, and there was no doubt the dumbass had an inbred lineage, his own features giving off his overbearing ugliness and stupidity.

Those small eyes glittered when the man realized John was looking at him, his lips twisting into a sneer. “Oh, they gon’ hang you for sure, amigo!” He lowered his eyes, “I already called dibs on dem boots a’yers.”

John said nothing, his eyes narrowing into slits. He wanted more than anything to take this bastard out here and now with one of his guns, but considering they were hanging on a wall opposite the room at this very moment, he willed the boiling venom inside him to a simmer.

He stroked the brim of the hat, trying to calm himself down.

“Dat’s one ugly-ass hat ya got theres,” The deputy taunted, “When yer hanged, I’m takin’ all yer stuff, but I’m gon’ burn that old rat trash.”

The venom came back to a raging boil, but John absolutely refused to give the idiot any sort of satisfaction. He couldn’t wait to get out of this cell so he could strangle the ugly man with his bare hands. There was so much anger built up inside of him, and he knew he needed to release it, really soon.

Discreetly, he scanned his surroundings, seeing if there was anything he could use to his advantage.

Suddenly, the front door of the jail burst open, and in charged an angry, beautiful woman.

His wife.

Abigail looked absolutely livid. “Where is he?!” She spotted him and stomped over in his direction. “I’m gettin’ real damn tired of dealin’ with your shit, Milton!”

The deputy stood up from his chair, and John noticed how the fat man was staring at his wife, lust clear in those small beady eyes of his.

“Well, hey ther', beauty.” The man said in a low voice as he made his way over. He was clearly making a desperate attempt to make himself look good in front of John’s woman, but it was a vain attempt. The man rested a hand on his belt as he got closer, “Don’ you worry none, he’ll be hangin’ soon ’nough.”

Abigail noticed how the deputy was looking at her, and she decided to use that to her advantage. Recalling her old skills, she began to seduce the man. “Well, you seem like a tough man that takes care of his own.” She could feel John’s dark eyes on her as she made her move.

Those cracked lips stretched into a self-satisfied smile. “Oh, I can take good care a’ ya, beauty,” he said in a low voice.

“Is that right?” She got up close to the man, moving her body in a way that kept the man distracted. “I’d like to see that.”

Just as the man was close enough and about to touch her, she reached out and snatched the gun from his holster and aimed it at his head. The deputy froze, lifting his hands. “Open the cell,” she snapped, her tone completely flat now.

The man narrowed his eyes, “You dumb whore, I ain’t doin’ shit — ”

She swung the butt of the gun through the air, hitting him square on the head and knocking him out cold. The deputy collapsed to the ground with a hard thud.

“Serves the bastard right,” she snarled under her breath. Leaning down, she snatched the keys from the deputy’s belt and made her way over to the cell as John approached the locked door.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” John teased.

“Oh, shuttup, Marston, I’ve about had it with you.” She snapped, placing the key into the lock. With a loud clank, the thing gave way, and she opened the cell door. “Now c’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

He followed behind her as they walked over to the wall where his weapons were stored. As he put his equipment back on, he bore the brunt of his wife’s harsh words the entire time, all the while his frustration continuing to build. The fact that the man had looked at his wife the way he had, it was all he could do to barely control himself.

Abigail sighed, “What am I gonna do with you, John?”

With that, she turned away as if to walk out of the jail. But before she could take a single step, John reached out and grabbed her wrist. She looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

The next few seconds happened in a flash then. Before she could blink, John had her pressed up against one of the cells, his hard body pressed up against her small frame.

Abigail’s eyes widened at her husband’s unexpected actions, “John, what the hell are you d— ”

Those dry lips of his interrupted her next words. His breathing was hard, hot air hitting her cheek as he breathed through his nose and parted her lips with his warm tongue. She moaned, the familiar taste of coffee and him combined more than welcome, to hell with the situations. She closed her eyes, relishing the heat of him through the fabric of their clothes. How long had it been since she’d felt him like this? Too long, she knew, but — but now wasn’t the time. Her rational mind kicked in, and she pulled away in an effort to reason with him once more, “John, we can’t do this here.”

“Shuttup, darlin’,” he growled, and with that he pushed his lips back to hers, and she lost herself in his rough touch. She had no idea what was going on, but it was clear he was tense. He needed a release, and she couldn’t bring herself to deny him.

John groaned, running his hands up the sides of her body, relishing in the feeling of her soft curves. It had been too damned long, he thought. He’d missed this, the feeling of her, the wild and heated sensations. He tilted his head for a better angle, deepening the kiss further as he pressed himself against her even harder.

Abigail groaned, and John instantly pulled away looking worried, “Did I hurt you, sweetheart?”

She let out a short laugh, looking up at him, “It’s these damn bars, they ain’t quite that comfortable, John.”

He let out a deep chuckle, and she gasped as he suddenly lifted her in his arms, carrying her over to the desk across the room. He sat her down on the edge of the hard wooden surface, and without wasting another second he picked up where they left off.

She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck as he leaned down and continued to kiss her. She would never get used to the sweet overwhelming feeling of being so close to him, this beautiful idiot man she loved with all of her heart.

He pulled away and began placing quick warm kisses on her cheek, and she leaned her head back with a sigh as he made his way down her neck, leaving a wet trail behind. As soon as he reached the hem of her blouse, he traced his way back up with his tongue, groaning at the taste of her skin.

Grabbing her hips, he pulling her towards the edge of the desk and pushed her skirt up until the fabric was pooled around her waist, then he pulled her hips flush with his and began to thrust his hips into her. “Oh, damn,” He groaned, grunting as he gripped both of her thighs and spread her legs further apart to give himself more room. Shit, she felt so damn good, their bodies fitting together perfectly. The tension inside him was at a breaking point, and he needed to be inside of her soon.

Abigail gasped as she felt the heat of him through his ranch pants, unable to help but notice the unmistakable arousal he had for her. He was so hard, so hot that she almost lost herself completely.

John pulled away and began yanking at her drawers, his fingers merciless as the fabric began to tear away. Cold air hit her center as soon as she was finally bare to him, and she looked up to see those brown eyes of his staring down at her most private area, looking completely lost at the sight.

“Abigail … ” his gravelly voice was so low, almost feral. It would’ve terrified her had she not known that he would never hurt her.

A silent moment passed between them, and she couldn’t help but give him a small smile. Reaching up, she grabbed the brim of his hat and placed it on the desk behind her, using her other hand to grab the back of his neck and pull him into another deep kiss.

He let out a deep moan, and without pulling away he brought his hands down between them, working at the fly of his pants until they were undone. Once his cock was released, he looked down and gripped it with one hand, placing the hot tip of himself to her wet core. Another hard breath passed his parted lips, and he looked back up to meet her gaze, as if he were waiting for something from her.

Without a word, she wrapped her hands around his neck, laying a single kiss to his cheek. John growled, and with that he moved his hips forward, slamming himself into her with a single thrust until he was buried inside her to the hilt. They both gasped, and Abigail threw her head back, digging her nails into the rough material of John’s gunslinger vest.

John lowered his head, nearly losing himself in the warm embrace of the woman he loved more than the world. He took in the feeling, the heat, the hold she had on him in more ways than one.

Finally, he began to move, pumping himself into her. Slowly at first, pulling his hips back and bringing them forward again and again. John bared his teeth in a hiss, “Damn, you’re tight, woman. I ain’t — I ain’t too sure about this.”

Abigail let out a short laugh, and his heart nearly skipped a beat at the soft sound. “Well, I can say the same about your size, Mr. Marston,” she teased.

He grinned at that, he so loved this woman. “I suppose you could, Mrs. Marston,” he teased back.

They both laughed, and John continued to thrust his hips back and forth, closing his eyes as he allowed himself to relish in the warmth of her, her soft sheath to his hard shaft.

After a while of slow love-making, he started to pick up the momentum.

Soon their bodies started to sweat from the heat they created, and before too long, he was hammering her into the desk, the heavy piece of furniture creating scraping sounds as the thing inched across the floor with each of his thrusts.

The sex then became furious. It was wild now, and John was no longer holding himself back, pumping himself in and out of his wife’s soft core, releasing everything that had been pent up inside of him over the past several hours. Abigail had to keep her legs wrapped around his waist to keep from being pushed off the desk.

He was getting so close to release now. Everything felt so damn good in this moment that he didn’t care about anything else but her. “You’re mine, Abigail,” John growled into her ear, rocking his hips forward hard to emphasize his point.

Abigail gasped and nodded, “Yours,” she agreed.

John grinned, and continued his relentless hammering, grunting with each push as he plunged his cock deeper and deeper into her heat. A white hot fire slowly began to grow in his gut, a familiar burn he knew all too well. He sped up his thrusts, ready for the explosion to come.

Suddenly, there was a low groan coming from across the room. Halting his hips, John looked over to see the deputy’s head moving around, realizing that the man was slowly coming back to reality.

To hell with that.

Snatching his gun from its holster, Marston shot a single bullet into the ugly man’s skull.

Without being bothered, John went straight back to what he’d been doing, the heat building up once more inside his body. Abigail gasped at his actions, but she was unable to care at that moment in time, completely overwhelmed with the hot pleasure coursing through her entire body.

John gripped her hair in one hand, using the other to keep her hips in place as he thrust into her harder and harder, the slapping of flesh on flesh the only sound in the room next to the moans of pleasure coming from the both of them.

At last, John threw his head back and let out a loud, long groan, like a wolf howling at the moon. Abigail felt his release shooting into her as she came at the same time, hot rays of pleasure shooting from her core to every single part of her body.

Finally, he collapsed onto her, his head going limp as they both panted hard.

“Oh, John,” she sighed, closing her eyes as he lowered his head into the crook of her neck. His hot breath tickled her skin, and she reached up to run her fingers through his long black hair.

She said something under her breath, and John lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. “What’d you say?” He asked.

She let out a small laugh as she smiled, reaching over to his hat and placing it back on his head, “You’re my sexy wolf-man.”

•••••

The End

(*This was my very first smut entry, I hope y’all enjoyed. Please lemme know what you guys thought!*)

[pinktatertots99]

Oooh and maybe as a second ask: 43. “What the fuck were you thinking?” for Qi and whoever you want to add please?

O HELLA time to write the weed man~! takin place post enki arc. kinda a sad but weirdly comforting type. would’ve done this with liang buuut i did a plot similar to this before lol so have the other end of the line!

𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

43. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

___________________

cracking his eyes open slightly, inori’s golden orbs winced at the bright lights of the medical unit’s lights. man, they can’t find somethin dimmer? he thought as he got up. he sighed, already feeling the presence of the other in the room.

“samon gave ya permission-”

“what the fuck were you thinking?” he raised a brow at qi, sitting in the chair next to the bed casually, a leg ontop of the other with his arms crossed and a serious look of annoyance on his face. he chuckled lightly. “man, weird seein ya take somethin so...seriously?”

“am i? thought i was subtly hiding it with the casual pose.”

“ya face can hide soooo much seventy-one, guess it has it’s limits though.” he replied, watchin the chemist’s eyes look to the absent arm on his left side. “on the bright side, i probably lost so much weight the chicks will dig it.” inori replied with a snide smirk as qi rolled his eyes. “as if you were really thinking that when ya thought ‘hey, lets attack my ex-supervisor with barely a compatible army of robotic zombie guard’s and two drag queens. that’ll SURELY get me some girls by the end’.”

“hey it would’ve worked! just didn’t know the sis would give the final blow.” he replied pouting. “can’t deny though, probably would’ve liked to see her do that. sounds pretty cool some cute lady stabbing ya.”

“and people thought i was trash.” qi mumbled as both smirked to themselves with the joking atmosphere. “....i...wasn’t thinking i guess.” inori mumbled as qi looked up. “i thought...honestly i didn’t even thought what was i thinkin? offer the underground ex-supervisor a way out and start a mini army only to betray him later? i could’ve done myself wastin my free time by keepin him in the cell!”

“maybe samon was onto somethin bout your gambling.” qi mumbled as inori glared. “if only it was as easy as gamblin. with gambling ya learn all the info ya need, take in whatever outside factors benefit or detract from it. then ya put ya bets on it, a lil more, a lil less, depending on circumstances...and paychecks but whatever.”

“guess this time ya lost to the slot machine huh?” qi asked slyly as inori chuckled. “naaah, if i really lost we wouldn’t be in this conversation. lets just say, i lost most my earnings but i had enough to take a cab home.”